The Pissed Kitty Cometh

IS THIS THING STILL ON...?

2009-09-30T21:24:00.001-07:00

No news is good news? Well, that's questionable, but to answer your question, which you're not asking: I've left my job (also questionable), gone back to school, and got another job (which is even more questionable. I've even been called "questionable," to my face, at the new job). Never the hell...here I am.

For 10 minutes a day. A writer I admire told me I should do that.
Which is going to mean a hell of a lot of typos, but there you are.

I am still unmarried, even more single than ever (how is that even possible?) and still pissy as hell, except possibly not quite as bad because I've lost some of the ability to care, as Kat (is Kat still around?) says, I'm about half past give-a-shit.

I still really, really, hate L.A., still need to move back to Texas, where I would be more socially acceptable. Yeah, I'm still not five-foot-nothing and anorexic. Also I wear underwear in public now.

In other news, I smell dog farts. I am trapped in a room with 4 dogs. One with a bad leg and a mystery ailment, i.e. an extremely swollen penis. More about him later.

If you're here (anybody? Anybody? Bueller...?) leave me a comment. I'd love to know what you've been up to, as I've had even less time for reading non-textbook type things than I've had for writing.

Crud.

WANDERING OVER HERE FOR A WHILE

2008-06-07T14:24:00.000-07:00

We'll see how much it sucks, 'k?

http://thepissedkitty.today.com/

I NEED A JOB

2008-05-28T12:44:00.000-07:00

EVIDENCE-!
Pt. I

Pt. II

Pt. III

AN OCTODOG FOR MOTHER'S DAY

2008-05-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

What did y'all get y'alls moms for Mother's Day. (Sorry if y'all don't know who y'all's moms are, and/or y'all's moms are dead. I have that same problem with Father's Day...)

Mine has every kitchen device known to man, so I thought I'd finally found one here which she didn't have, this very obscure, but absolutely essential, kitchen basic.

However, you can only buy it, like, at the aquarium? So I ordered some cookbooks online, instead, and told her if she wanted one, I would totally get it.

ME: Do you want an Octodog?
MOM: Octawha...? What is it? No.
ME: It's a device that cuts your hot dogs into octopi-shaped things.
MOM: Uh...no.
ME: Why not?
MOM: (...)
ME: Maybe little Octodog...?
MOM: NO NO I DO NOT WANT THAT THING
ME: Oh. I guess, if you wanted your hot dogs to be octupusses, you would, you know. Just eat an octopus.
MOM: Exactly. Right.
ME: Although, there may be, you know. Some octopus in your hot dog.
MOM: DO NOT ORDER ME THAT THING.
ME: Oh. Kay.
MOM: I MEAN IT. I DO NOT WANT ONE. DO NOT SEND ME THAT THING.
ME: Fine. Okay. I won't.
MOM: You're sending me that thing, aren't you.
ME: NO. Maybe. For self-defense.

You do not even need to have kids in the house - I am sure this octothinger has many other uses. Such as, making radish roses. Banana slugs. Indian deities. Chinese eggplant Cthulhus. And life-sized, anatomically correct models of Bret Michael's genitalia. Which every kitchen should have. And also, some PAM. And a lot of Lysol.

Dude. I am so not hungry anymore.

STOP AND SMELL THE SPOOGE

2008-05-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

Next time you try to smell an orchid, just remember the copious amounts of insect ejaculate that might be swimmin' around in there, ready to latch on to your nose hairs and attempt to impregnate your BRAIN, then causing you to start watching "Keeping Up with the Kardashians".

Not that most orchids really smell, I'm just saying,
you were warned.

By the way, maybe it's just me, or the fact that I've been working in a casting office for the past week, but I think this says a lot about attempting to date in general (and especially in L.A.) and also explains Daisy from ROCK OF LOVE (just replace "orchids" with "plastic boobs"):

Male pollinators can prefer orchids (plastic boobs) to real females, prematurely end a copulation with a real female to visit an orchid (plastic boobs), or be unable to find real female mates among false orchid signals (plastic boobs).

I think Prospective Mates should send half the women out here a nice big bouquet of bug spooge. Not that they could smell it anyway through their reconstructed Barbie noses...

BOSCO'S LEAVINGS AND LEAVING

2008-04-29T15:07:00.001-07:00

Bosco gives new meaning to "Petco: Where the Pets Go".
Ew.

Also, he hates, hates, HATES having his picture taken. I thought at first it was just the whirring sound the camera makes, but no. I have attempted even from quite a long way away using a telephoto lens and he still somehow senses the paparazzi. He hates it worse than the celebutards on TMZ.

Here he is, trying to leave:

-The general area
-A picnic
-Hiding under the table, wearing hoodie for disguise.

He even hates it at Christmas:
He even hates SANTA.

He hates it on Valentine's Day. In a boat. With a goat.
He hates it WITH A CUPCAKE, for crissake...
You can almost see his whiskers quivering with revulsion.

I'm going to stop taking pictures now, or else he might explode.

(The hedgehog is a live grenade.)

THE CULT OF FRIDA KAHLO

2008-04-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

So did y'all see Larry King Live...? I am. So. Horrified.

First of all, that these Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints would let an otherwise decent-looking person go through life with a monobrow. And a mustache.

What, is it Wax vs. Jesus? Can't they have both...?

That hairdo alone is grounds for child abuse.

No, really, I'm not here to make fun of these ladies. Or their religious convictions against superfluous hair removal. Or their inexplicably poufy hairdos. Or their shapeless-dress-and-lumberjack-boots combo.

Actually I am mostly scared of the obvious brainwashing as they each parrot the other's statements, almost verbatim. Of their scary baby books full of pictures of women and children with no apparent fathers ever involved. And they all swear they have only nine children, and weren't married until they were 20 or 21. Riiiiiight.

I have no quarrel with "religious freedom" if it only affects the koo koos involved, however, these kids are born into this whack job factory, are given no freedom to choose, AND THEY CANNOT GET OUT. That is, unless they're boys and get kicked off the ranch at a tender age for the crime of bringing their young hot weenuses around girls of their own age, which old guys named Orrin and Nephi find threatening.

Anyway, their mothers wear Army boots.

MOMMY NEEDS BIGGER T*TS SO DADDY WILL STOP SCHTUPPING THE NANNY

2008-04-17T10:37:00.000-07:00

I always thought it was screwed up that mothers of young children, other than those who require reconstructive surgery, decide that they need boob jobs. A reduction I would understand, but does Mommy really need to look like Plastic Surgery Barbie...?

Now this book attempts to justify and explain the unexplainable.

(I mean, couldn't one at least wait 'til the kid's older? Then they already know you're f*cked in the head. Like about the time you divorce Daddy (if you ever even bothered to marry him) and they catch you on the couch with Rahoolio, who has come to weed whack your bushes.)

Most disturbing to me is the idea of little boys growing up with circus tits and thinking this is the norm. Best possible outcome being that they are so repulsed that they turn gay. (I know, people don't spontaneously turn gay, I'm just saying...best possible outcome.) Not to mention that breastfeeding after such a procedure would be questionable at best. Enjoy your petrochemical-laced clown tit juice, kids-!

Kids shouldn't be scared because their mommy is having plastic surgery; kids should be scared that THAT IS THEIR MOMMY. Too bad, this book could have been useful, and included a chapter on legal emancipation. Kid has probably left Mom in the dust, IQ-wise, long ago.

I think they should change the title to My Plastic-Assed, Stripper Mommy. or, Mommy Cannot Hug You Because her Water Balloons Will Burst.

I also think I am a closet Republican. Wait, no, it's the Republican moms who are pulling this crap (thank you, Orange County.)

PLEASE TO CLOSING YOUR MOUTH.

2008-04-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

My friend was an exchange student to Germany in high school. She tried smiling in her German class photo, and they told her, "SUZANNE STEIN, PLEASE KLOSE YOUR MOUTH."

Ze Germans, they are not liking so much the smiley Jews.

Anyway, I've been wishing some other people would close their mouths lately:

1) John McCain - and not even for the obvious reasons. His mouth is just...too small for his face. Or his teeth are too big for his mouth. Or something. I think I'd go crazy having to listen to him for four (or more) years, just because the way his mouth moves bothers me.

2) Almost all people in commercials. Either their mouths are hanging open for no reason (didn't their mothers ever tell them they'd catch flies that way?) or because photographers tell people to do that (is this supposed to be sexy? Because to me, it just looks like they're about to bite someone.) Watch any cosmetic commercial and you'll see what I mean. They're not smiling, exactly. Their mouth is just hanging open and their teeth are showing. Like a confused Mr. Ed.

3) Speech impediments. There is this woman, I think she did a Corn Flaksshhh, or Cherriosssh, commershial or shumshing. Now some lunatic in advertising has made her the shhhpokespershon for shumshing elsshe; I am not even sure what. I was just sho shocked that sshe keephs getting WORK. Her mouth makes so many weird assed clicks and pops and lisping noises I want to a) fire the ADR people who recorded this monstrosity, and b) go and shhhstrangle Gillian Anderson, because shhhe shhhtarted thisssh, shhomehow *whistle*! (and now she's hoshting Masshterpieshe sTheatre?! And has gotten lip implantshh, which make her shhpitch WORSE?! ShhhhiT.)

She always reminded me of this beaver (just ignore that it's in Finnish - you get the point).

4) Japanimation. I have always hated it because the people, who have no noses, sprout HUGE beads of sweat, and then cannot finish their sentences without saying "Aaaaaaaaaaa...!" I think because the Japanese takes less time to say than the dubbed-in English, so they just fill in the empty space while their mouth is still open with "Aaaaaaaaaa...!" even though they don't appear to be in any imminent danger of, say, a dragon eating their head (unfortunately). At least, that is my theory.

5) That "I Want My MPG" commercial, for what car, I don't even know. They insist on showing both extreme closeups of people's mouths "singing" (gross) and bad dancing. Uggghhh.

6) Chili's! Oh, Christ. There are a bunch of friends riding in a car, and sadly, unlike those other commercials which really annoyed me, where the friends were broadsided violently by another car, they do NOT get broadsided violently by another car. No, they are trying to decide where to go for dinner, and this girl says, "what about Chili'sssssss....?" AND THEN FORGETS TO CLOSE HER MOUTH. FOR ABOUT FIVE MINUTES.

GAH!!! I wish I could reach through the TV and throttle her. Or duct tape her mouth shut. Or force her to wear a Hannibal Lecter mask, so she can never talk, or lisp, or leave her mouth gaping open, or suggest eating at Chili's EVER AGAIN.

I really am not irritable in the least. Just because I want to staple people's lips closed. And superglue their arms to their sides so that they can't make irritating hand gestures for no reason like a tard, either, but that's another post.

SHATISFACTION

2008-04-03T19:29:00.000-07:00

It just occurred to me, while walking my two-plus-a-foster this afternoon, that I felt far more accomplished after making all three dogs poop than I did in my entire four years working for AssCrack Media.

Closure is good.

P.S. Watch Oprah this Friday, April 4th (click here for times). It's important, and I swear, not Rick Astley.

URGENT URGENT EMERGENCY

2008-03-27T13:20:00.000-07:00

Please read this if you ever gave a damn.

Thank you.

Sincerely,
The Pissed Kitty.

CALLING ALL CHRISTIANS

2008-03-21T16:13:00.000-07:00

Actually, I take that back (especially not you, Pastor-ized John Hagee)(urrgh...shudder!...if THAT's who you meet in Heaven, I don't wanna go) but I'm just wondering about something which has confused me for a while.

If Good Friday means Jesus lit out en route to getting nailed to a cross...that isn't "good", right? That's BAD.

No...? Bad Friday?

Of course, a lot of bad things have happened, if Christ died for our sins (bad). But that's considered good, how? Also, Eve snarfed the apple = bad. But getting kicked out of Eden, so we could have Jesus, only to be murdered horribly when he turned (my age) 33 = good?!

Help me, Jeebus...but not 'til after the Gay Parade. (Notice John McCain endorses the guy, or the guy endorses John McCain, does it really matter which? And nobody snorts. Bill Clinton shakes Obama's crazy-assed minister's hand, and everybody raises hell. What was he supposed to do - flip him the bird?!)

Jeeesus Christ.

AND A TWEEZEE

2008-03-11T17:35:00.000-07:00

Reason #621 not to fall asleep with the television on: upon waking, the sudden urge to purchase mineral makeup...and I don't wear makeup.

The tweezer thingy looks halfway useful, but you know I'd use it exactly twice before going, ahh, fuck it, and throwing it in the closet with my three dead Epiladies.

Perhaps this is why Sharper Image went under.

SIGN OF THE QUESTIONABLE TIMES

2008-03-02T19:21:00.000-08:00

...

I just saw a SLAYER sticker on a minivan.

Lawd help us all.

LIKE TAKING A WALK IN FRESHLY LAID CAT DOOTS

2008-02-21T15:19:00.000-08:00

BOX WATCH ALERT:

I have tried everything. Baking soda, crystals, Litter Pearls, Feline Pine, flushable litter (do NOT flush flushable litter - cat feces poison sea otters. Not even shitting you), litter made out of newspaper, litters made out of wheat, litter made out of banned books, litter made out of corncobs. I've wasted money on exorcists, burning sage, voodoo curses. Nothing, short of axe-murdering my neighbor, would seem to help my Litter Box Aroma.

Until now.

It has finally happened: science have finally brought aromatherapy to the cat box.

It was only a matter of time.

FreshStep® has introduced two new smell-a-rrific scented expensive rocks for your cat to poop on: Mountain Forest™ and Lavender Valley™. I can't wait to purchase these since my Meddling Neighbor™ has informed our Nincompoop Landlady™ that she thinks our balcony smells like Cat Feces (NO trademark, since cat feces are an Act of G_d or some crap).

The website describes this gritty kitty litter like some of your hornier Fancy Feast varieties - or, more accurately, like some sort of douche. For your cat holes.

Bring the crisp scent of the outdoors into your home with Mountain Forest™ scoopable litter. As fresh as a light burst of mountain air, this patented formula also works better to eliminate odors than the leading scented scoopable litter.* Now a trip to the litter box feels like a walk in the woods.

Yeah, and the lavender scented is like "a walk in the fields". OF CAT POOP.

Try not to step in it, folks. You know I will.

PORCH MONKEY:

2008-02-18T10:16:00.000-08:00

...the most racist, horribly hilarious term for a person I have ever heard in my life. And yet, she is one. Only, we don't have a porch. Just a shared balcony (which, by the way, is the dumbest architectural idea for an apartment house, EVER). So, balcony monkey?

I looked back at my bLOG and I have been having problems with this B.M. (also stands for Bowel Movement) since 2006. Scroll down for lovely pictures. Yeah. Now she keeps her TRASH CAN out there. Not just her actual trash. Her trash CAN. As if to say, I am too good to have trash in my apartment. However, it is perfectly OK for the person next door (lucky me) to have to look at/smell it.

What an inconsiderate, clueless, and selfish B.M.

It gets worse.

Lately, when I have been standing in my very own (supposedly) kitchen, or opening/closing windows when B.M. happens to walk by, which is all the time, I have thought I have heard some smart-mouthed remarks from Herself or the approx. 5 illegal tenants she has living in there.

Then, there was the time I had a bag of gargage explode on me (and I mean literally ON me - our dumpster is approx. 1/2 mile away down a steep flight of stairs). Which is the LAST thing on earth anybody wants to have happening to them. Because NO ONE enjoys cleaning up hot garbage juice, off the stairs and/or her person. Which is what I was doing, immediately post-explosion, with bleach and my one good kitchen sponge, when B.M. stickers her stupid nappy-assed (yes, Don Imus) head into the hallway, out the door she NEVER uses, because she is too busy stomping across the balcony DIRECTLY OUTSIDE MY KITCHEN AND BATHROOM WINDOWS, and complains.

This is rich, because a) it was an accident, b) I was cleaning it up directly, and c) she never uses that entrance. She only comes home at 1:30 AM, stands directly outside my bathroom window (no wonder I have I.B.S.) and talks, at full volume, on her cell phone INSTEAD of going into her own damn apt. Or entertains men (her son? Boyfriend? Who can tell?) who walk down the enclosed, non-ventilated hall with a lit cigarette. I moved 1300 miles away from my mother in order to avoid this; now it's living next door.

Now apparently she has gone so far as to actually complain to the landlady, who (despite multiple tenant complaints about this person and the fact that she'd totally ignoring landlady-imposed 10 PM Balcony Monkey Curfew) apparently came by to sniff my windows, which I leave open a crack. (Did she not see that B.M. keeps HER TRASH OUT THERE?!) I feel violated. I also feel like putting a Poice Line, Do Not Cross tape out there, except it would say PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SNIFFING MY WINDOWS, YOU FREAKING NOSY FRICKING CUNT. Or, if you do not like the smell of my apartment, STAY OFF THE GODDAMN BALCONY. Some people just don't learn. Also, for your information, I buy expensive cat litter; I scoop (at least) daily, and no cat box on earth reeks as bad as your goddamn cigarette smoke-! And last I checked, cat turds do NOT cause cancer (although I know some cat owners who might disagree).

God, I hate the B.M. and my stupid ninny bleeding-heart landlady, who has also just informed me that a mewling infant will be moving in downstairs, right after they are done with the Loud Construction At All Hours of the Day.

Maybe I'll do a Self-Help Eviction.

I CAN HAS UNEMPLOYMENT?

2008-02-13T19:35:00.001-08:00

Anyone know how to move interstate without breaking the bank? Or any vital organs...?

I just looked at the supposedly cheaper rental truck site and was quoted 2K. That's just the truck - not the gas or anyone to move crap.

Apparently trucks are more reasonable when you're trying to get into - not out of - this hellhole. Lots of folks trying in vain to escape, so they need trucks here, what with people always spewing out like so much human diarrhea...can't imagine why.

Speaking of which, my dog getting into bum poo and/or vomit here on our street is a daily occurrence. Something something about that quality of life thing...leaves something to be desired.

FACK THE STUPERBOWL

2008-02-03T19:23:00.000-08:00

I thought I got off easy because Cranky didn't care enough to watch the game, at least not the whole game.

Then he put it on the radio. In the car.

I said, "could you turn it down? For some strange reason, I do not enjoy the sound of 10,000 people screaming."

And you know it's way more than 10,000.

I'm sure tomorrow he'll be back to happily watching his new pre-pubescent adolescent vagina-bot crush in TERMINATOR: The Underage Chronicles, or whatever that show is. I would find it significantly less disturbing if he thought the mom was hot, but no, men cannot like anyone in their own age/height/weight range. It causes their sperm to wither and die, or something. Anyway, it's the only thing I find possibly less interesting than the Soup Or Bowl.

In other news, my post-Lasik eyeballs are always dried out, I'm always having to put drops in them, I can't wear eye makeup for a month, and the drops are making all my eyelashes fall out.

I know, I am sex. Again.

WORST TELEVISION SHOW EVER

2008-01-17T21:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I'm glad I'm not married, if only for the reason that I don't have to share the remote.

Cranky watches the most horrible television shows. Not only does he watch these really boring History Channel shows about the most tedious minutiae on the planet - you know the ones - it'll be a whole hour just about iron, say, or salt. Or welding. Or corn. There's one on now about Things that Are Pointy. I'm not even kidding, it called Modern Marvels and it's about scissors and razor blades or some crap.

No, worse: he watches a lot of MSNBC.

Which is fine, he leaves it on during the day, so Toolip and Bosco can learn about poolitics.

What's worse is that after about 6 PM, it turns into The Molester and Car Chase and Dead Baby Channel. The latest was called "Cradle to Grave" or something and it was all about how every kid this couple had for like ten years died.

It's enough to make you go off your feed.

If not, e-mail me and I'll mail you a video of my eyeball surgery.

INSERT BITTER COMPLAINTS HERE

2008-01-14T21:36:00.000-08:00

Work:
-Writer's strike
-Layoffs
-wrong, wrong, all the wrong people
-not me :(

Home:
-overpriced
-substandard
-still live next to ghetto trash
-still smells funny
-happy little fluffy animals :)
-hamster still dead :(

Family:
-grandpa: still dead.
-JESUS CHRiST
-don't wanna talk about it

Personal:
-nothing to speak of
-how is it everyone I ever once touched is now getting married? Blessing or curse?
-everyone else is getting married. Or going on trips. Who can afford trips?! especially in this climate of layoffs and of strikes?! My boss, that's who. Bastard. Where is this boat I missed, and where is it going?! I hope on a trip. Because the next boat that comes along is gonna get sunk if the motherfucker don't take me on a goddamn trip. I will cannonball that bastard ship's deck with my own generous ass if I have to. But, knowing my luck, that fuckhole ship? will just be en route to the San Pedro Smelly-Assed Fish Market.

-I have only been to Mexico, and that was stupid. Do you know what I found on my last "trip" out of L.A.? An hour up Angeles Crest, in the otherwise pure, virgin snowdrift? Two Bud Light empties and a hot pepper. (My dog Tulip ate the hot pepper, with ill effects.) Why did I bother going to Mexico. This is fucking Mexico.

-But at least it was a vacation from her usual diet of discarded chicken bones from homeless bums, and subsequent emergency animal hospital visit.

-God, I hate L.A.

Health:
-plastic thing in mouth
-plastic thing in crotch
-plastic things over eyes (though not nearly as sexy as this person's)
-I know, I am sex.
-no, no plastic things here
-they're still real. A little too real if you ask me.

Go ahead. Ask me about my plastic things.

How are your _____s?

LIKE MR. HANKY, BUT FOR DOOGS

2007-12-19T21:10:00.000-08:00

Huh?!

It's December, the, twenny-fish. Wha' happen.

I am not done: not done shopping (not that I'm really doing any), not done doing cards, not even started doing cards...not even for work.

Plus I haven't managed to get my filthy little paws on the one gifty I planned on gifting: Mr. Poo.

Please do not ask me why I need to procure a Mr. Poo.

Mr. Poo is not for you. No, he is not. Noo noo noo.

Mr. Poo? Is a squeaky turd.

Don't ask.

Anyway, I called the pet store, and they are fresh out of squeeky turds.

I know they had squeeky turds, because I saw them there. I probably even made them go, SQuEEKY, SQuEEKY. Yet I foolishly declined to purchase them.

YOU try calling a store and asking if they have any more squeeky turds.

Go on, I double dog-turd dare you.

P.S. I attempted to Google "Mr. Poo" and "squeeky turd" with no success.

Christmas, 2007: a fruitless search for squeeky turds.

Boy am I glad I have not produced offspring, as they would, no doubt, be clamoring for squeeky turds, come Christmas Day. And, knowing my luck, that would be the year squeeky turds were all the rage. Because that is just the sort of perverse, alternate universe that would allow me to produce children.

What are you still looking for, like dumbass?

Tickle Me, Homo? Lego Porn?! What...?!?

ICK: NOT JUST A FISH DISEASE ANYMORE

2007-12-08T10:58:00.000-08:00

I heard something on the radio the other day that combined two of my great hates*

*my mom said I'm not allowed to hate things, I can only strongly dislike them.

...my great dislikes:

John Mayer (Meyer? Oscar-Meyer? Don't make me look it up)'s song, "Your Body is a Wonderland" (iccchhh) and Jennifer Love Hewitt (iccchhhhhhhh).

Apparently he wrote that about her (MEGA-icccchhhh and also, yack).

I hate (sorry Mom, it's too many letters to type) her, I hate her rat-like face, I hate the fact that her friends call her "Love," her alleged ginormous tatas which I never understood why people found so impressive, I mean, ANYTHING looks ginormous on a skinny midget chick) and the fact that for the past umpteen years, she's been sporting the same hairdo I wore in high school, I mean, wtf.

I call it "Heavy Metal Poodle," because she looks like a poodle with a disproportionately small head vs. the size of her hair doo.

And that song, just, retch. It's okay to have those kinds of feelings about someone, but for crissake, keep 'em to yourself. Nobody needs to hear that "room for two" is how you think of a vagina.

Specifically, Jennifer "Love" Hewlett-Packard's vagina.

Foul.

AMERICA, PLEASE

2007-12-02T19:23:00.000-08:00

Omit from your vocabulary anything that contains the words, "get your _____ on".

(Yes, I hate those McDonald's commercials. The ones that showcase a food stylist's wares accompanied by the VO of a woman faking orgasm over a freshly cracked egg. NO ONE gets that excited over an English muffin, motherfuckers.)

By the way, I was recently asked if I fake orgasm.

My answer: I am too old to care enough to fake it anymore.

Too harsh?

Well, it's true.

And this is my natural haircolor.

Ha, ha.

MAYBE SOME WORDS SHOULD GO HERE

2007-11-20T20:44:00.000-08:00

It's been a while. Sorry. Lame excuses.

Dying to post about work, because it's just so...wacky. But I won't, because of strange desire not to get fired. Not until after the new year, anyway.

I'm getting laser eye surgery. Sick of not seeing, you see. Sick of not being able to tell who's coming down the hall toward me, whether it's an attractive or unattractive, large blur. Sick of mistaking unattractive, large blur for slightly less large, more attractive, blur. Tired of insulting people that way.

Also? Tired of not being able to see TV (from the bed), tired of asking, "wha' happen? Wha' does THAT say?" during movie; SO very tired of losing glasses, finding out I ran over $300 Nicole Miller frames w/ my car (well, if not MY car, then A car. Anyway, they were smushed).

Tired of, I never liked those glasses anyway, because they had those stupid, Vegas-y rhinestone-y thingies on them, which I never noticed when I picked them, because when you pick them, you aren't wearing your glasses. Which you are in the process of buying. Because you cannot see.

Last year, I got Invisalign, which is not at all invisible. Wrote a whole post about it. Didn't publish.

Anyway, hopefully it fixes my bucky beaver teeth. 2nd time I've had braces. 3rd time they've been paid for. What a drag.

Cranky had braces once, he decided to take them off himself w/ a pair of pliers. How his parents didn't kill him to death, I don't know.

What else. Turned 33. Do not feel like Jesus. At all.

What did I do for my birthday? Hate my birthday, but have learned that it's an excuse to eat bad food. For a week. Because I made Cranky buy me cupcakes, which no one would eat. Have had a cupcake/day for approx. 1 (one) week.

Sprinkles piss me off.

How are your...thingies?

I'm not doing so much else, have no social life due to a certain small, burrito-shaped dog named Bosco, who will not let anyone else but me walk him, and who screams like a woman, loud enough to be heard down the block, if they even attempt to take Tulip out without him. Freaky li'l flying burrito.

Maybe, in 2008? I might be able to leave the house one time.

Other birthday redux: got disastrous haircolor. I asked for 3 shades of red (her idea); I got 2 shades of red? And poop.

Poop seems to be a very popular color for people to be sneaking onto my head.

It's growing on me. Or, at least, it covers the gray.

Losing the last 10 lbs. I have been carrying around where my ass used to be when I was 17 (now technically my muffin top, or "Danger Area") is Phase III.

Phase III doesn't happen until after the holidays, because that would be stupid.

I am not sure what happens at the completion of Phase III. Possibly some sort of midlife crisis involving a younger man and a red sportscar. Unfortunately, due to 2nd-time-around braces, laser surgery (unless I get laid off, because those are happening, whee, scary for Halloween, 'cuz there's no place like home! For the holidays...'cuz no matter how far away you roam...you can live with your MOTHER! when you're 33! For the holidays, 'cuz they sh*tcanned your aaaaaasssss...!!1!!) new car will not be happening in 2008. Even if old car dies a horrendous death, involving me, an actively pooping cat, and the HOLLYWOOD sign. And Fabio. And a dead pigeon. And a roller coaster. And some Viagra.

Uh, will advise.

Happy Turkey/Tofurkey/Fermented Bean Curd Day!

Miss you...

Love,
Pissher.

GONNA TELL YOU A STORY, BUT HIS NAME'S NOT JED

2007-10-29T20:23:00.000-07:00

Also, it's not even my story. But his is better than mine, you'll see, you varmints.

I got it again the other day. The surprise. Oh, but you're so mad all the time.* Uh, yeah. See: thepissedkitty@geeyouareslow. Mail. Dot com.

Ding dongs (merrily are high...)

Speaking of dongs, I gave blood the other day. The bloodsucky coordinator person asked for my e-mail address, since them swoopy folks at See Dorks Sigh-and-Die, despite having a state-of-the-art facility, have just discovered this newfangled e-mail thingamadingy.

So I gave it to her, and the bloodordinator asked me to double-check my info as she handed back my paperwork.

What she had typed out under "e-mail" was:

thepisskitty@geeyouareslowmail.com

I drew a line through that, corrected it, and added the note:

You do not want to be taking the blood of a person who calls herself The Piss Kitty.

Maybe it's just me, but then I also get asked if I've had sex with a man who has had sex with another man since 1979, I mean, how should I know.

(Does anybody really know that?! I really don't want to know.)

(And what do they mean by, with. Like, in the same room? Same person? Same orifice?!)

I also like how they ask you all these obscure, malaria and mad cow-related questions, then abruptly blurt out, DO YOU HAVE THE AIDS?!!! Like, ha-HA!! We tricked you, again, with the surprise AIDS question!! How clever are we? GOTCHA-!

My bad, sorry, AIDS is still not funny. Although one time, at the clinica, my friend was asked ARE YOU THE HOMOSEXUAL?! Like he was the only one, aHA! So, YOU'RE the guy who's been...anyway, after that, the "doctor" just said, "hoboy." And backed slowly out of the room.

But that's neither here nor there. The moral of the story is, there is no moral. Or morals. And people are downright dense, darn tootin'. The End.

*Furthermore? When people say oh, I'm sorry you feel that way, they're not.
That means they think you are Chock Full O' Poo, just don't have the balls to say it to your face.

STOP THE INANITY

2007-10-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

With so much blah and badness and just plain pathetic behavior afoot, I need nothing so much as pure stupidity these days.

These things do help:

1) The following jingle for a local furniture store:

The only way you can get furniture for less
is to iiiimpoooort it yourself,
and you don't know how-!

(I also enjoy Cranky's version, which he sings to Tulip & Bosco, and has something to do with them fecklessly not knowing how to import furniture, either. Because they are kittycat dogs. And their brains are the size of a piece of used chewing gum.)

2) Mike Diamond, "the smell-good plumbers". Am tempted to call them and perform a sniff-test myself. But I suspect they just purchase cheap cologne in bulk, something named Armenian Club Promoter, perhaps, or Hispanic Valet #2. However, if they are also the asscrack-free plumbers, I would be willing to throw in another $10/hr.

3) The fact that parents in So. Cal are so goddamned lazy, they will pay to have someone else remove their child's head lice for them. I thought that was a rite of passage. They are missing out on valuable quality time, here. Why, I remember my grandmother picking nits off of my head (and chasing down fleas on the dog, and drowning them in a mayonnaise jar ) like it was only yesterday...sigh. Scritch, scritch...I wonder if they do pubic lice? Because they could really rake up some business there, among the Paris Hilton set, no?

4) When all else fails, have someone shove doggie treats* in the back pockets of your pants (and down your non-smell-good plumber's crack), release the hounds, then attempt not to laugh for one half-hour. Wahoo, instant attitude adjustment.

They should offer this treatment in your doctor's office on an outpatient basis, instead of Prozac.

*May I suggest Buddy Biscuits™ Bacon & Cheese Madness for maximum efficacy.

SAD TRUTHS

2007-09-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

Bosco sez: MOVE, B*TCH! GET OUT THE WAY-!
-So, it turns out, a burrito a day does not keep the doctor away.

-Soon, your body will change.

-People will not give you a better job/raise because you are skilled.

-People will give you a better job/raise because you beg, scream, and cry, and threaten to leave. And are a suck-up.

-My little dog, Bosco, does not care if he is standing in a huge lake of another dog's pee. He still has to stand, IN Pee Lake, while he makes his little sprinkle. This is ineffectual, and only results in his feet getting wet, but I'm not about to burst his bubble. You do it.

-Mothers, regardless of age, race, and gender (well, maybe not gender) are the most puffed-up, entitled acting...well, mothers, on the planet.

-This morning, while I was walking Bosco to do his tiny Pee Lake sprinkle, two of the mother(effer)s were parked stroller-to-stroller, completely blocking the sidewalk. Yet when I walked all away around them (into the street) so Bosco could pee on a signpost, one of them still went harrumph.

-I almost paid Bosco $200 to go and pee on one of their strollers/infants, but he would only use it to buy silk Hugh Hefner pajamas.

NOW WITH 75% MORE BONUS FURY

2007-09-19T21:37:00.001-07:00

Divided into 5 thingies:

1. People who say, "gee, you sure are pissed off," even after seeing the above blog title.

2. Men who are rude to females, barging ahead of them in the store, etc. Especially ones who wear mandals and probably consider themselves pro-women. Maybe it's just my Texas showing, but I think men should always treat women with grace and dignity, whether they weigh 3 lbs. or 300 lbs. - as if that woman were their own mother, daughter, or grandmother. I am a delicate fucking flower, goddamnit. I am a cocksucking princess (of nothing), but you should still offer me cuts in line. And go put on some shoes. And clip your nasty-assed toenails. And get a haircut.

3. Club cards. I wish Ralph's, Von's, Petco, RiteAid, SavOn, CVS, habla blah would just stop having them. Because I do not know where they are, and will only waste precious retail time digging for them in my purse-dog sized purse. Then, when I do not find them, I will make them give me a new one. This is a massive waste of petroleum products let alone space in the landfills.

And please do not suggest that I keep one of those pissant-sized little keyring ones on my chain, as this only leads to lost keys. Happens to me all the damn time.

4. People who smoke out their car windows. I have a convertible (that does not convert) and also no air conditioning. So by not wanting to befoul their cars, these cocksmokers are befouling mine. The funny part is, they probably also don't want to breathe their own secondhand smoke. But for other people to breathe it is OK.

Personally I think all smokers should be required to smoke with the windows rolled up and not even a vent open. They should also pull into this convenient airtight garage, and put the hose I have helpfully provided from their exhaust into their driver's side window and roll up tight, Smokeybritches!! Just a suggestion.

What. I am only trying to assist them in their quest to be dead soon.

5. The fact that in Hollywood, seeing human vomit/feces seems to be a daily occurrence. How scenic.

OPEN LETTER TO ANNOYING HIPPIE PARENT IN THE LOS ANGELES NAT'L FOREST

2007-09-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, first of all, it is really irritating that in a city as dense as ours, there is practically nowhere you can go to be even 70% not fucking annoyed by people. Not even the so-called wilderness.

We were making our way up the side of a narrow trail which was entirely too precarious to be navigating around a family of three, especially when my dog Bosco would rather throw himself off a cliff (and almost did) than subject himself to the rough attentions of a small child.

Tulip just sat there looking up at Cranky like, help me as the little snot persisted in torturing her by attempting to forcibly pet her while her über-crunchy parents did nothing.

On the way back, we had the misfortune of running into the same brat, who this time approached Tulip with all the subtlety of a herd of buffalo while I admonished Cranky, "please don't put her through that again," which is to say, don't let the damn kid chase her all over the place while trying not to appear rude, because clearly these so-called parents think everything their child does is 100% magically delicious and delightful, and rainbow fairies fly out her ass every time she squats on the sidewalk.

Sorry, I got her confused for a moment with Tulip.

Anyway, the brazen brat chased Toolie, then Bosco, insisting "she's afraid of her own SHADOW," when I turned and flat-out told her, "NO, she just does not like KIDS."

The mother, of course, was completely appalled, "what kind of dog doesn't like kids?"

"Pfft," was all I had to say to her Birkenstock-wearing, hands-off parenting, probably still-lacatating-even though her daughter was 7 ass.

The kind that's been tortured by kids, that's what kind. (I ought to know, because I remember being one, and the mean things I would do to my grandma's chihuahua, Peppy. Mostly by just looking at him. R.I.P, poor little tormented, foul-tempered, La-Z-Boy sitting overbred little snausage.)

I don't get it. They seem to think everything and everybody in the world exists only to provide for their child's welfare and/or amusement. Do I go up to their babies and poke my finger in their eyes, then say, "oh, look! He's afraid of fingers"?! NO.

Fucking stupid granola-chomping, serial-killer-breeding, overly permissive L.A. parents.

SCARY WHITETRASH HORRORS

2007-09-09T13:29:00.001-07:00

For some reason, I have an extreme aversion-bordering-on-phobia of:

-Hannah Montana. I am so glad I don't have a little girl right now. Or boy.
-Harry Potter. And no, I won't read the books or see the movies. I absolutely refuse.
-The musical Wicked, whose godawful oversinging clips keep playing on the radio. I would rather gnaw my own ear off than hear this again, just have not yet figured out how.
-Shrek. I motherfucking hate that green thing. And WTF is a "shrek", anyway. Sounds like a word a 4 year-old made up.

I can't even figure out what some of these have in common, other than popular appeal, bad singing, possible suspect colored contacts, and/or being painted green.

Can anyone explain this. Thanks.

OH. THERE IT IS.

2007-09-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

Let's smoke a Cheeto - It's A Nothing-!

By the way, Cheetos, coffee, and a brownie are not for breakfast; MARGARITAS are for breakfast.

I make 'em with orange juice, y'see.

DUDE, WHERE'S MY PERIOD?

2007-08-28T19:48:00.000-07:00

Cheetos, coffee, and a brownie...

This is not breakfast.

THINGS NOT TO SAY TO THE NICE OFFICER AT THE SOBRIETY CHECKPOINT

2007-08-18T16:27:00.000-07:00

[Image of souvenir coaster not here due to Cranky throwing them away][I put them on the bar!]

1. No, I have not been drinking. I'd sure like to, though.
2. No, my breath just smells real bad*
3. Seriously, this is mineral water
4. I'm just taking these open containers of Everclear to the recycling plant
5. WHAT THE FUCK?! *honk* *honk* YOU ARE MAKING ME LATE TO MY A.A. MEETiNG!!!
6. No, not yet. And your sobriety checkpoint clogging a major artery sure is impeding my progress toward my eventual drunkenness.

What seems to be the problem, Officer? And what's with the cuffs?

*I actually said this. That combined with bad habit of not making eye contact, even under the best of circumstances, does not help. Shaking nervously and going, gee, I'm so scared of your big black stick, Sergeant Spamstuck! while trembling like an inbred chihuahua seems to work pretty well for me though. OK!

**Also? If they don't want you to drink, then why do they give you a souvenir coaster?! To remind you not to drink and drive, while you are drinking? To nail to our foreheads, as a reminder? OK, wise guys. What are we s'posed to set our drink, which we are not supposed to be having, down on, then...?

IF YOU DON'T LIKE FOOD, PLEASE DON'T HOST A COOKING SHOW

2007-08-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Oh, please.

At least it's for PBS. But in general, cooking show hosts should be comfortingly portly, like The Barefoot Contessa, outright fat, like Chef Paul, or else 6' tall, drunk, and horselike, with a hunchback - just like we loved our Julia Child.

NOT annoyingly brash with a 5' wide mouth like the monkfish in the above linked photo (Racheal Ray), anorexically pseudo-vegetarian (Gwyneth) and bobble-headed (Giada De Laurentiis - isn't that a disease?)

C'mon, people. If the ability to maintain an eating disorder is your only discernible talent, just stick with acting.

Er, ACT! with sticking.

TRUE-ISM

2007-08-08T11:48:00.001-07:00

Actors are just like real people, except stupider.

REAL, OR THE ONION?

2007-08-03T11:59:00.000-07:00

How to Get Sued.

This freakin' made my day.

In other humor, I am about to go to the pharmacy to pick up some new crotch products, because the old ones - which is to say, nothing - ain't working. No idea why.

(I wonder if they could make it chocolate-banana pie flavored for me? Or sour apple...no, that'd be just wrong.)

Does anyone have any experience with this thing? I mean, is it fun? Can you wear it as a bracelet? Or use it as a Frisbee...?

I just hope it doesn't fall out on the floor, or the dog will get it.

Furthermore, I don't know how I feel about having that hoopijoob in my pachachca. I mean, you're supposed to take it out when you have your carotchka, but you supposedly can leave it in even when you have a dingdangdonger up there. What if, say, I got some Pillsbury Crotchrot™ during my carotchka, AND had the hoopijoob up there, AND a CramTax®, AND some Monistat Sixthousand?

I mean, how much crap can one woman shove up her hoohoodilly?!

'K, don't answer that.

FOR A GOOD TIME

2007-07-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

Search "Viagra commercial" on YouTube.

Trust me.

Side note: our friend, Dan Kinsella, booked a Viagra commercial. Side side note: he is expecting his first child.

I wonder how he feels about THAT sh*t.

(The Viagra, not the child. And I don't think the child is a result of any Viagra.)

BURNING (LIKE A YEAST INFECTION) QUESTIONS

2007-07-21T21:27:00.000-07:00

1) How do some people remember, in such detail, what happened when they were 3, 6, or even in high school, for crissake? I can't remember dick, and I wasn't even drinking back then.

2) Why is being a girlfriend such a slippery slope? If you don't eventually get to graduate from girlfriendhood to wife (apparently, I've flunked that test multiple times), then it's just stupid. Because:

a) You start acting all girlfriendy by helping your boyfriend out (with whatever his life's endeavor) because...you just can't help your nurturing b.s. self.

b) You start being expected to help out

c) It is not only assumed that you will help, but any assistance you provide, out of the goodness of your own heart, is now subject to criticism.

F*ck that sh*t. I would be more bitter, but I suspect wifedom is possibly worse, if not for the financial benes.

3) Weiner.

4) Why does everything, all of the sudden, cost $8-18.95+. I feel like razor blades, booze, and clumping cat litter are suddenly major investments.

Please to 'splain, Loosey.

DEEP THUNKS.

2007-07-09T15:27:00.000-07:00

-Five. What a weird number of toes to have.

-I started buying these for Toolie; now my office smells like barbecued bull c*ck.

-Trying to do too many things at the same time will only result in getting toothpaste on the dog.

-How in the hell do I keep getting deodorant on my shirt. The armpit is concave. How does that keep happening?!

-Does anyone else think that a woman who calls her boyfriend "honey" or "babe" every 2.5 seconds is possessive and weird? Or am I just a bitter old hag.

-I suspect your answer is "yes."

-Why did I never run into people from my past in the grocery store when I was too skinny? Possibly because I never ate food, but I still needed tp and gritty kitty litter, goddamnit.

Explain.

BAD ADS PART XXVVIIIII

2007-07-01T21:38:00.000-07:00

1) That Bissell vac commercial - makes my dog, and reportedly several friends' dogs, go ballistic with its squeeky toy sound FX. Stop that, dude. Stop it.

2) Haven't seen her in a while (or maybe it's just that I broke both my TV and my vacuum cleaner (see above) in one fell swoop this past weekend. Stoopid Mercury in retrograde. (Mercury: stop that, dude. Just...stop it.) That "Short Periodssshhhzz" chick. I can't even remember the name of the birth control pill; just that it gives you shorter periods(ssshhzz), that the chick is pretty...pretty ANNOYING, that is; that she has a pre-pubescent figure (because the pill doesn't make you gain weight, or anything) with that...SPACE between her thighs that no normal well-nourished woman I know has; and a dog named "Shorty", you know, for "short periodssshhhzz". And a speech impediment.

(Oh, wait...the website has not only the commercial, but further info on said chick "Cammie" and her fucking dog, "Shorty". Fuckin' hell. Also? The fact that she BOUGHT HER GODDAMN DOG, brags about his purebred status, and claims Cammie will "not be able to pick him up for long"...um, maybe Cammie shouldn't be A FUCKING ANOREXIC? Also, perhaps she should have RESCUED a dog that perhaps did not WEIGH MORE than she does?! I fucking HATE Cammie. Cammie is a HEARTLESS, UNTHINKING TWAT. Not to mention that it has a link to the AKC website and actually has THE NERVE to suggest that if she doesn't take him for his daily walk, the fucking dog could "easily put on too much weight"...UNLIKE CAMMIE. Jesus CRAP I hate this commercial.)

Anyways. Why don't they just say, THIS PILL WILL MAKE YOUR PERIOD SHORTER. SO YOU CAN HAVE MORE FUCKING. C'mon, dudes, just spit it out. Say it. MORE FUCKING. IT WILL ALSO MAKE YOU SKINNY. OR SO WE WANT YOU TO THINK. P.S. MORE FUCKING. Thank you.

3) Not one, but TWO Carl's Jr. commercials are out right now featuring guys' FEET. I don't know about you people, but to me, there is little in the world that is grosser than a guy's feet. And these two: a) the one with the guy on vacation, eating fruit, and b) the one with the guy fondling the improbably large-titted Hawaiian dashboard hula dancer both include the guy's FEET, front and center. As if the narsty lip-smacking, finger-licking sound FX weren't gross enough. And as for that badly California-accented voice over:"when a guy can't get his wahine to put some halakahickie all over his E-O-peepee hawillahea"..I don't know what that means, but they know damn well it sounds nasty, and isn't "get his woman to put barbecue sauce on some pineapple". These guys are just a bunch of ill-mannered, whoremongering, pineapple-fucking bunch of pre-verts. FUCK YOU, CARL'S JR. FUCK YOU ALL TO HELL.

4) Nivea "Goodbye to Cellulite" - well, that's all well and good, except that the featured model in this spot is like,
a) 13,
b) Swedish, or some sh*t, and
c) has NO cellulite, probably because she is

a) 13,
b) Swedish, or some sh*t
and/or c) anorexic. Jesus fuck.

Also? White chicks should NOT be dancing to rap music, lame or otherwise. Which I now have stuck in my head...GOOD-BYE, DON'TCHOO CRY, GIRLIES LOOKIN' OH-SO-FLY...agh!!! Sonofabitch!!!

*spontaneously combusts in a firestorm of hatred not entirely precipitated by George*
Fuckin' Cammie. Fuckin' basset hounds. Damn hell crappin' Swedish teenagers and gross guys' feet-!!

Jesus in hell, I hate people. Especially game show hosts, dog breeders, and, apparently, advertising execs.

TALKING POINTS

2007-06-27T13:45:00.001-07:00

I have decided!:

1) Marriage is an institution invented by Jeezus to make the rest of us (single types) feel bad, either because:

a) Jr. High Volleyball Syndrome - we feel like all the other kids were already picked to be on someone's "team" and we're left standing cold, alone, and exposed, wearing bad, too-tight, too-short polyester gym shorts that kind of make your crotch stink;

b) Where the fuck's MY blender, and why should I buy one for two smug people who are clearly doing better on their combined income than I am on my single crappy paying-rent-by-myself one? They should have to pay US a penalty for that sh*t. I think it's called taxes but I'd rather just have some new appliances and maybe cable.

c) It's like announcing to the world, This Person I've Selected is Better Than You (Or, At Least Better At Getting Things from Me Than You); I will now give them sh*t I have withheld from you, like a little bitch, except for my splendid organs, which I shared with you freely - necessitating multiple trips to the doctor and/or Diflucan.

2) Impending marriages tend to put pressure on your existing relationship(s), if the parties in question have been going out for far less time than you. Meaning your significant other (usually female) starts giving you The Stinkeye of Resentment. They should cut that sh*t out. Marriage should be solely on an application-only, Soviet Russia kind of basis. Stand in the breadline until your number comes up, and the people behind you start grumbling to either shit or get off the pot. (That's right, I said shit, not sh*t, even.) This would eliminate so many senseless quarrels, I think.

3) I am starting to think that married people, or at least the women, are some other species. Possibly space aliens. (No offense to any space aliens who may possibly be reading this.)

4) While experiencing marriage, if you cannot refrain from putting your penis or vagina into/onto somebody else's penis and/or vagina, then you do not really love your significant other.

To review: marriage makes your exes feel like SHIT. Marriage makes your crotch stink. Be polite and wait your turn; take a number. I need a blender, and please to keeping your not-so-massive, throbbing organ away from me if you are married, thinking about being married (to someone else), have just proposed to anyone under 30 while in Amsterdam with some whores present, and your name is GEORGE.

Oops, I've said too much.

Anyway, discuss.

SELF-MEDICATING WITH FOOD

2007-06-18T22:24:00.000-07:00

Poll time: what do you want to eat when you are sad?

I've heard: french fries and CAKE (some crap Richard Gere movie), potatoes with butter (Nora Ephron's Heartburn, I think), and whole, roast chicken.

My personal thing is soup.

Go figure.

OH, PLEASE

2007-06-11T18:12:00.000-07:00

...please, please. Yes, please! Oh please.

I don't care if it'd earn me negative 2,000 karma points...it'd totally be worth it.

THE THINGS YOU DO FOR LOVE

2007-06-04T21:43:00.000-07:00

I swore I would never do this. Touch one.
Certainly not give one to my dog.

But I was at a crazily stressful, massive adoption event over the weekend, and I had to bring the dog because I had no place to leave her for six flippin' hours, and all the other kids had one, and she wanted it, badly. I could see the lust in her beady little eyes.

So I gave it to her.

She loved it, she put it in her mouth and went at it right away, all twelve inches of it - her little paws grasping, beady eyes closed tightly in contentment.

So I bought one. I bought her a bull penis. She has it on the bed right now, chewing it.

See, this reminds me of the "Crunchy Frog" sketch. Some stores will advertise it as a "pizzle stick" or a "bully stick" or a "natural beef muscle chew". NO NO NO IT IS NOT, it is a DEAD COW PENIS. This is false advertising, and I think they should really post something saying WARNING: VERY DEAD, VERY PENIS-Y BULL PENIS - DO NOT TOUCH.

P.S. PENIS.

But now...

THERE IS A DEAD BULL PENIS ON MY BED. What's more, THERE IS A DEAD BULL PENIS BEING CHEWED LUSTILY BY A VERY SMALL, VERY CUTE DOG, ON MY BED. And later, there will probably be a very small, very cute dog with VERY DEAD BULL PENIS BREATH LICKING MY FACE.

Nooooooooooooo...!! I have become one of "those" people.

Now I'm just like all the other sucker-fools who wander into the pet store, pick one up, and start to fondle it, waaaving it around blithely while wondering aloud, what is this? while the cashiers snigger behind cupped hands.

Hey, they've gotta get their kicks* somehow.

*penis.

THE ANNIVERSARY OF SHIT HAPPENING

2007-05-30T16:33:00.000-07:00

Reasons why today sucks BALLS:

1) A very colorful person died today, a karaoke queen. For no goddamn good reason (cancer). I am not linking to her MySpace page because that would be just wrong. Anyway, while she was alive I made fun of her and I'm sorry, but it does suck when people are no longer around to make fun of. (Except Paris Hilton, no one should miss her.)

2) Zippy died a year ago today, and yes, I am still very much a basket case, blubbering along to John Denver/Neil Diamond/Journey (and worse) ballads over my dead cat, who will be buried with me (like #1's), and whose ashes are currently resting in my underwear drawer, because SOMEONE (Cranky) hasn't finished his real final resting place/urn, and because otherwise Beeker kept rolling around on the floor with his little container. I can only imagine what the dog would do if she got ahold of them. This is warped.

3) I have to adopt out this kitten, but with e-mails like this, I would rather just keep her:

We need a kitten that is very gentle and if put on her back will go limp and not squirm. I have two daughters 5 1/2 who are looking for someone to love and cuddle and I need a kitten that will be gentle and patient with them.

Massive Bitchface from Hell
Sr. Claims Examiner

I mean, what the hell?! It's a KITTEN, not a claims examiner. Why do these people even want animals? Real animals bite and scratch and yes, sometimes even wiggle when provoked...
Why don't they get a possum? Or a stuffed one?!

Not to mention that the callers from that news clip were all flaky, or crazy, or 87 years old, or 12 years old, or had pit bulls. JESUS. I don't think I'm cut out for this crap.

Besides, the dog really, really wants her, they love to play, and even when separated, they play footsie under the door. It is kill, kill, KILLING me. I am powerless in the face of anything this cute, but have to stop getting pets for my other pets-! Sheezus.

NO MORE DEATH!! Or kittens. OK.

I LIKE BEVERAGES.

2007-05-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

Some of my current fixations, though there are many:

1) Veuve Clicquot. I have not actually tried this, but my boss makes me buy it for work all the time. I think I will have to haul off and get some for myself, and/or skip town with his Client Meals card. Because it is really kind of creepy having to sign my first initial, plus his last name, like I am his freakin' wife or something.

(I ain't ironing his underwear. Gotta draw the line somewhere, even if I am his right hand. And you know what guys do with that.)

2) More in-my-budget-wise, this wine. If you can get past the foot on the label (I have issues with feet), both the red and the white are quite tasty. The cab describes itself as a "jammy" wine...mmm, jammy wine, sweet without being too Manischevitzy. Although I like that too. I'm no snob.

3) What the hell? If this isn't another feeble attempt at being pseudo-healthy, I don't know what is. My boss says it tastes "different". I think that means bad. Coke Plus...kind of like the dumb club kid who seriously thinks switching from rum and Cokes to screwdrivers constitues being on a health kick.

4) Mint Water. Going down, feels like a reverse enema. Please do not ask me how I know this. My favorites are the regular Peppermint and the Orange Mint. The Lemon Mint is good, too, but just kind of tastes like iced tea without the tea. Also makes a mean mojito, because I can only discuss non-alcoholic drinks for so long before I go around dumping rum in them.

5) I know, I know. Sparks, it's at your neighborhood Indian grocery, right next to the Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and the Night Train (which I didn't know was an actual beverage; I thought it was just an especially screechy Guns 'n Roses song). The sticker on the can stating You Must Be 21 is a dead giveaway that this is targeted for underage drinkers - hell, even the website suspects you're jailbait. Maybe, like Red Bull + vodka, it just reminds me of being younger and more fun, when I used to work late on film sets, date male models and otherwise behave irresponsibly. Maybe it's the fact that it causes heart palpitations due to its sketchy combo of caffeine + cheap malt liquor, and that it tastes like an Orange Julius (do they still make those? Mmmm, mall food nostalgia) after it's been left out in the sun or under a bridge for a week.

By the way, don't ever sniff Red Bull. It may taste fruity, but it smells exactly like pyook.

THE EVOLUTION OF TULIP

2007-05-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

So far, the doggie has just a few nicknames:

Tulip ---->
To Leap ---->
Tool Hip ---->
!@#$%!! BAD DOG-!!!--->
Two-Lip ---->
Stink Weasel --->
Stench Blossom --->
THE ÜBERKITTY

Not bad for going on 2 weeks, no?

She is lots of laughs. Her bestest games are False Start/Run in Circles/Fake Bite Fight. Fake Bite Fight is her favorite, followed by Hide and Go Pee...but she's gotten MUCH better about that.

I have specifically trained her to mess ONLY outdoors...and on pictures of Paris Hilton.

I HAS A PUPPY

2007-05-12T10:54:00.000-07:00

Well, she's not a puppy...she's an owner surrender from the Carson pound:

I think the woman who was stalking her (calling us 40x a day) might have cheezed off the woman in charge of the rescue. Meanwhile, I was only supposed to be fostering her, but we were both obviously attached & she was all, DO YOU WANT HER, YES OR NO?! Being out of my mind for various reasons (not excluding extreme cuteness), I said YES. So I got the OK from my landlady and all is well in dog/cat/hamsterville, except now my Iddy Biddy is in the hospital again :(

(Non-dog related...actually, they love each other. The pooch licks his little runny eyes/nose and cleans his ears and etc. I don't know whether to be touched or just really, really grossed out.)

Also, Kat was right...my cat boxes have never been so clean...not because I let her eat the cat candy/Almond Roca; because I have to scoop them 40x a day so that she doesn't.

She sleeps under my desk all day:

...and barks at my boss, who encourages it, and at the Vice President, who does not like dogs. Good one, brainiac...but he never comes out of his office, so it's OK.

Here she is playing "doctor" with the other dogs at work:

LOVE WHORE
Shameless, isn't she?

Now if I could only get her (almost) identical sister adopted, too...they are adorable together (don't worry - I'm crazy, but I'm not that crazy.) She is virtually the same dog, but with floppy ears and longer hair.

Perhaps we should shave her, splint her ears so they stand up, and mail her to the obsessive stalker woman?!

Wait, bad idea.

I GOT, GOT, GOT, GOT NO TIME

2007-05-05T22:47:00.000-07:00

Pee-lots season almost over...after next week, will be almost halfway coherent!!

Trouble is:

1) Does a groomer from PetSmart really have a better home for small dog than I can provide? What if she breaks up with her boyfriend - would that leave foster doggie in the lurch? Can a dog groomer really provide for herself + a dog? Enquiring minds want to know.

1.5) I hate people with live-in boyfriends. This dog I'm fostering needs to be on
the bed. She spoons all night, people. Why do people with boyfriends
need a dog - wouldn't the boyfriend just get in the way?!

2) I guess my real question would be, how old is she. Because is she is 22 or under, no f--ing way is she taking that dog...they'll break up for sure.

3) I really, really, fucking hate Santa Clarita. It is hell hot + ugly. If
they owned a home together, maybe it'd be a different story. But an
apt?! In fucking Santa Clarita?! What's the point of living in fucking hell hot + ugly Santa Clarita if not to have a house? I don't get it.

4) In the course of my foster doggie-ing, I have come across some pretty funny/sad dog stories. Note: I hate sad animal stories. But after my foster dog attempted to roll in/eat a dead cat which I'd been too upset to even drive by for 2+ weeks, the following are too sad/funny not to be seen (from my friend from up the coast). She went to the beach, and:

a) Her dog rolled in a dead seal.

b) Her dog went into a whale. With three other dogs. It was the grossest thing ever.

Thanks for listening,
Psycho Dog/Cat/Hamster Girl.

"When you get a partridge in a pear tree, that's it." -Cranky

PEE-LOTS SEASON

2007-04-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

The reason I haven't been here much is pilot season, otherwise known as (see above).

I call it this because it causes me to spend a lot of time in the bathroom, hyperventilating, with my head between my knees (do not attempt).

For those of you who don't know, of which I hope are many, pilot season is that special time of year which us television folks spend in a half-retarded tizzy trying to produce a bunch of half-baked ideas along with your regularly scheduled programmes.

We hope that some of these idears will take so as to replace our regular shows which are about to crap out due to lack of interest, personality conflicts, and/or the presence of ACKtors. Those guys screw up everything.

So, we run it up the flagpole and see if the cat licks it, while attempting not to die in the process. Thrills! Chills! Being at work with stomach flu!!!

Otherwise, I have been:

-on the toilet

-working on a tranny documentary (don't ask.)

-volunteering for a rescue org. I want to do mainly cats someday, but right now I am afraid because of my cat herpes. Long story. So I'm thinking about foster-dogging, because dogs do not get the cat herpes. Unless...nevermind.

-this may result in me babysitting a one-eyed, one-horned, non-flying, black & blue & purple abused blind poodle for an indefinite period of time.

-Do you think they make eye patches for dogs?

-I think yes.

-figuring out the preferred diet of one Syrian teddy bear hamster previously used by neglectful 8 yr. old. Although he has had only dry hamster chow ever in his life, he has already rejected the following: yogurt, cheese, olives, and celery. He prefers only pepper and a twist of lime in his Bloody Marys.

-what kind of ham star doesn't eat celery?!

-aggravating people

-getting pissed off at other bitchy females. The butchy ones particularly seem to hate me this week, for some reason.

However, the bulk of my time has been spent brushing, flossing, inserting, and removing this device with a tiny plastic crowbar.

But that is a post for another day.

PROUD HAMSTER RECIPIENT

2007-04-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

Pics to come soon. He is a real bundle. Bundle of what, I'm not yet sure.

Meanwhile, the learning continues...hamster-related things I did not know, maybe didn't want to know:

-When a Syrian hamster yawns, it looks like (last panel) this!

-Hamsters may enjoy a dust bath in sterilized playground sand or chinchilla sand (but not chinchilla dust, because apparently the dust is too dusty - who knew?!).

-Archie - that's his name - does not care for the sand/dust. However, the cat did roll in it.

-Hamsters can be litterbox trained. Archie scoffs at this.

-Archie scoffs a lot.

-If your hamster gets "wet tail", a fatal disease, you need to burn its cage or, alternatively, sterilize it with a blowtorch. Yeah, I have one of those lying around.

-Methane gases can build up in plastic hamster tubes and blow us all, or at least the hamster, to Kingdom Come (WAUUUGH!). Sky high. Kill us all. KaboOm.

-OK, so just the hamster.

-Wouldn't that be funny, though? Like that guy on the toilet with the matches and the Darwin Award.

-If you put a soiled hamster cage, sans hamster, in the trunk of your car, and then forget about it, leave the car parked in the hot sun, then attempt to go to lunch, your whole car will magically be filled with the mountain-grown aroma of Hamster Poopourri (that is, hamster doots, wood shavings, and Purina Rat Chow.) Enjoy.

-Although Habitrails make fun and unique homes for hamsters or mice, they are rather small. This tends to be a problem for Syrian hamsters, who tend to either not be able to fit through the tubes, or get stuck while passing through them (!)

-Archie scoffs at that, because while too big for his wheel, he can still squeeze his ass through a Size 6 toilet paper tube. And he is a rather large ham star, with "noticeable testicles". Thank you very much.

-A hamster in a used toilet paper tube looks like an unused tampon. With teeth.

-Archie also scoffs at toilet paper, and likes to wipe his ass on aquarium glass.

-while he is pooping

-Anti-poop story types: sorry. Do not, under any circumstances, read the following:

-Hamsters have different kinds of poop; the regular kind, and a "special" kind of doot, sometimes known as "cecotropes", "ceces" or "night feces" (or possibly "nieces") that they are supposed to eat, often directly from their hamster-holes, because they contain partially digested food.

So remember, kids: there is no shame in eating your own "special" poo, just so long as you do it at night and nobody sees you do it.

-Apparently, nobody told Archie that:

a) no one should see him do that
b) he is supposed to be craptacular, I mean crepuscular, I mean, nocturnal
c) cats are hamsters' natural predator (no one told the cats, either)
d) maybe it's because the cats have no noticeable testicles
e) it is glass; not glASS
f) hamsters are self-cleaning
g) you are not supposed to poop on my boss*, and
h) do not ever drag your balls along my leg again
i) ever.

*even if he does have noticeable testicles.

Sources: Wikipedia, this book, and my leg.

SCENT OF A WOMAN, PENIS OF A HAMSTER

2007-04-13T13:54:00.000-07:00

Welcome, "Hamster Penis" Googlers!

I may or may not be getting a hamster (Star of Ham). Guy at work's daughter isn't taking care of said ham star; I think teaching children that pets are disposable is a shitty lesson, but Jesus crisps - if you only live a thousand days, hell. Life's too short to live is a stinky plastic box.

I have known others who have had Ham Stars and cats and made it work, so I figure why not?

After doing some half-assed research, I have become enlightened as to the following:

-There are a ton of ham stars, guinea pigs, rabbits, etc. at the pound in need of adoption, so even if I am not the proud recipient of this particular hammy, may get mahsalf a rescue peeg.

Said Ham Star is a "teddy bear" ham star. How will I know what he is under the hair? Is he a Robrovski Hamster, a Syrian Hamster, a Chinese Hamster?!

-Please, no racial or ethnic jokes here, Don Imus.

-Actually, jokes of all color (and off-color) are encouraged. I'm full of hamster doots.

-When examined, female hamsters have two holes close together whereas males have anal and genital openings further apart than the female's (the member is usually withdrawn into the coat and thus appears as a hole or pink pimple). -Wikipedia

So you know I had to look.

Now I'm off my feed again.

DEAR MR. CREEPY WORK PERSON

2007-04-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

I am not "shy."

I just don't like you.

Please go away,
Me.

EASTER BUNS

2007-04-05T12:44:00.000-07:00

Here it is, the perfect Easter bunny for that gay man in your life.

Oh, behave.

Dove doesn't have it on their website...latent homophobia?

INCONVENIENCE FOOD

2007-03-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

Texas Toast - I don't get it. It's just thick white bread w/ butter on it. I'm a thick whitebread, and I still don't get it.

Texas Toast is just regular toast, only bigger. Because everything's ~~fatter~~, I mean, bigger in Texass.

Now don't get all, nuh-uh, we're not!! on me. I'm from there; why do you think I look this way?! And it's worse because I'm in Cali now, where homesickness and the stress of not being a giant professional toothpick drive me to eat even more, and then there's the fact that the food out here does not come in Small, Medium, and Bucket.

This just makes me sad.

Besides, isn't it arguably less trouble to buy fresh bread and toast it than to take it out of the freezer, de-thaw, then toast...?

And now, these hot dogs. The fuh!

Depressingly, these were being purchased by a man who was spouting off loudly to the checker about how he deserved to have custody of his kids. I, for one, don't think so.

What next, we'll be buying it pre-chewed?!

BOY AM I GLAD MY PARENTS WEREN'T BIRACIAL BI-SWINGERS

2007-03-22T16:52:00.000-07:00

Or, at least, that they didn't host swinger (of any race, gender, or orientation) parties in MY DAMN BABY GIRL BEDROOM.

I know this probably makes me racist, homophobic, anti-polyamorous mumbo jumbo, etc. But I'm only prejudiced against rich, married, gross old white people with big fat cottage cheese asses and kids who have sex with black guys while the Viagra-popping whiskey-dicked husband watches and then won't talk to poor Leroy afterwards, when they run into him at the mall. Really. That's all. (Poor, unmarried, gross old white people without kids and big fat cottage cheese asses are OK! #1! Thumbs up!)

This reminds me of when Eric Cartman said, "stop... dressing me up like a mailman... a-and making me dance for you... while you go and... smoke crack in your bedroom... and have sex with... some guy... I don't even know. On my dad's bed."

Hell, I didn't even want to think about my parents having sex with each other, let alone a "Mandingo" who calls himself "Art Hammer".

I mean, Art?!

Oh, and these orgy-havers are staunch Republicans, natch.

How disturbed.

Also, remind me not to participate in any interviews, for fear that the reporter will describe me as looking more like Kathy Bates than Kathy Ireland, or having "small eyes" and "a wide head" or exhibiting the "sag of victimhood" or being "a pudding of cellulite".

GO, JOURNALISM!! MAKE FUN OF THOSE FATTY FAT FATS!

(I would almost attend, you know. For the snax.)

I STINK.

2007-03-19T23:10:00.000-07:00

The homeless guy was right.

I am horrible and I smell.

Seriously, I have awful awful thoughts about everyone (and I will tell them to you momentarily, as soon as you all identify yourselves and I can be semi-sure it is not you about whom I am dishing.)

(Which one of you is checking me from your Yahoo page?)

(Please to identifying yourself, thank you.)

Anyway, I think and the awfulness is starting to seep out through my pores. Halp-!

So, does anyone know the name of some foofoo juice which does not:
-reek
-turn all funky after an hour or so
-make people go, what is that horrid stench?!
-smell like Tidy Cat & ammonia mixed with mothballs like the last (expensive!) stuff I got? Because I read somewhere that perfume contains bobcat pee, and I am starting to believe it.

I went to a department store with Cranky because he needed a new fat shirt and some shoes, so I shpritzed a different scent on each arm and asked him, "OK, which one reeks LESS?"

He is not a perfume person, and he told me, "that one smells like Play-Doh; the other one is...not as bad."

This is not helping.

What do you think does not smell completely like ass? Guys? Anybody...?!

It doesn't have to being a puffume; it can be a soap or lotion or anything that doesn't smell like your grandmother's panty drawer sachet.

Be assured, I will not steel your secret potion and seduce all your lovers, because everything breaks down on me like compost heap and I end up smelling like a somewhat gassy, rainbow-colored cloud hanging over a used maxi pad anyway, no matter how much dough I frivolously shilled out for the stink-water. My father says it's all man repellent, anyway.

But pleez to helping me not to smell all the time so bad, like cat box.

GHETTO REJECTO

2007-03-16T19:50:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I was innocently walking to the corner to mail some
paychecks; I was NOT walking to the corner to...well, stand on the
corner.

Apparently the bum walking by my workplace thought it
was the latter, because as he swung around sloppily to eyeball my shit,
I returned his drunken gaze with my customary, how dare you even...burning glare of hatred.

(Actually, that's just my face. My mother always told me it would stick this way.)

Ghetto Bro then proceeds to go OFF.

I usually try not to listen when crazies start ranting, but I was simply trying to get back into my illustrious place of work, not thirty feet away, without being molested. However:

Whatchoo don lookin' at? Don' act like you neva seen a brotha. Don' nobody want choo. I like 'em BLACK. I like 'em BLACK. Don' nobody want choo.

I actually smiled, because, the fuck? Who even asked him?! Jesus, like I need this from a homeless person. Cripes. Racist derelict.

I am now thinking I should have reacted by:

-driving by him and chucking a rock-hard, green St. Patrick's donut at his head (the sprinkles sting!!)

-responding with my own racist diatribe on how I don't exactly like his kind
either, on account of how he never shuts UP; besides, their massive members would make my "vazhïn hang like sleeve of wizard's robe" - Borat by way of Depthmarker

-begging him PLEEEZE to have me, I want him soooo bad, I need to spread for him in his cardboard box underneath the highway overpass; I long to pull down his soiled, saggy pants and deeply inhale the smell of used needles and poo while a broken bottle knives me in the back and I simultaneously contract hepatitis and fleas.

Going forward, I'm going to dispatch one of the guys to mail the mail.

Jesus F*ck.

T.M.(CRANKY)I.SM

2007-03-14T16:18:00.000-07:00

In homage to The Twat...go buy his girlfriend's book!

ME: uneasily eyeing shrinkage upon his emergence from shower When's it gonna come back out?!
CRANKY: When you go home.

Nice.

THINGS NOT TO PUT IN A REJECTED WEDDING INVITE REPLY ENVELOPE THINGY

2007-03-11T16:01:00.000-07:00

1) Letter bomb
2) A rude missive to the parents of the bride explaining that they are idiots for pushing the happy (read: fuckdumb) couple into reserving a venue and etc. instead of letting them at least get used to the idea of their engagement (mistake).
3) A picture of another (older) couple I know, with an arrow indicating the gender-appropriate (bride or groom) half, asking, "why can't you find someone age/height/weight/income appropriate, like Brian/Anna, here?"
4) Hanta virus
5) Anthrax (good for reception!)
7) A copy of this
8) A death threat, in the form of gentle reminder that if she ever hurts him, utilizing a pair of pink pliers once given to me by a Snap-On-Tools salesman, I will pull out each and every one the teeth in her gleaming white sh*t-eating "I'm engaged!" grin and put them into the new blender I am purchasing for them along with her scalp, after donating her hair to Locks of Love, and make her hit "frappé" with her own manicured acrylics, after which I feed her uterus to the cat and make her browse the personals on ETardmoney.com
8) A gift certificate to Babies "R" Us
9) A gift certificate for an abortion
10) Screw the RSVP, I'll just show up at the wedding and casually remark to the bride, "oh yeah, he asked me to marry him, too."

I'm not a very nice person, I know.

But I'll have you know I bought the above mentioned couple a hand-mixer/marital aid AND the crème brûlée set from Bloodbath and Beyond.

I figure if it doesn't work out, they can blowtorch each other
and call it a "kitchen accident."

NO, I WILL NOT!!! WATCH

2007-03-08T20:46:00.000-08:00

P*ssycat Dolls Present: The Search for The Next Doll. I would not even watch Star(f*cker) Search for America's Next Old, Bottom, Wrinkly-Twatted, Somewhat Senile Pussycat Doll. Which would probably be a helluva lot more amusing.

I already somehow (the Devil?) got reeled into America's Next Top Model (Cycle 8)...hehe, they said cycle, how apropos - but mostly just to see if what they say about Tyra's looooong, pendulous TEATS and crotchless pantyhose-with-a-hole-cut-out-so-she-can-pee thing is true, but I know it is so why do I watch? It's a sickness. Also I hate, at minimum, two of the girls and just want to see them eliminated. I can quit anytime. I CAN, TOO.

I will, however, watch this thing I first saw advertised on the back of a bus: ¡Operación Repo! because a) I am, as ever, trying to finish learning Eespeenish, and b) it is funny as hell to watch people, especially men, getting their cars taken away. They squeal like little pigs and fight like big-pantied girls, screaming and kicking like their favorite toy - i.e. penis - just got taken away. Reeheeheehee.

Si no lo puedes pagar, no lo debes comprar, assholes.

SO DEEP

2007-03-06T13:20:00.000-08:00

1) Land Rover owners are the worst, most entitled, biggest a-hole drivers on the planet. Yeh or neh...?

2) I wonder what is the technical difference between cake, cupcakes, and muffins.

3) I forgot (3). I want a muffin now, but a) only if it's blueberry, and I can have it b) toasted with c) butter. Otherwise cupcake unless it is a) not chocolate, or b) not chocolate, with non-chocolate icing. Then, red velvet cake.

4) Want to see my teets?

F--ed up, huh?

WHORWARDS SHOW, FLOW PAS, AND THE HEP

2007-03-01T15:02:00.000-08:00

Hm, I wonder if I got the hep from attending an awards show. Wouldn't that just be a bitch, all of us sitting there, bored off our overdressed asses, not having sexual relations, and getting an STD* from our Chicken A La Yuck. Bugger.

Thanks a lot, WoofGang Fluck.

In other bad news, I talked to my mom recently.

That isn't the bad news.

Okay, so I'm an asshole for talking on my cell in the grocery store, but the line was long and she is two hours ahead of me, time-wise, so I couldn't call her later and had fuck-all to do except wait for the cashier come back with a price check on my Grana Padano. So I asked what was going on, although I could only hear about every third word, when she told me someone had ____er.

ME: She has a HAMSTER?!
MA: No, she has CANCER.

I am officially going to hell now, if I don't die of the hep first.

*Bad news: I don't think Hep A can even be considered an STD. Good news: I learned a new word today: orofecal.

Yeah, I think some drunk guy tried to do that to me before.

DON'T EAT THE COTTONY ACID

2007-02-27T16:24:00.000-08:00

Please tell me I didn't see this. I implore you, just say that I left the television on and fell asleep after eating cheese again:

A bunch of women in white jumpsuits, maybe hoodies a la Woody Allen's Human Sperm in this movie (please note that this actor was credited simply as "Sperm"), were doing retard (only 1/2) jumping jacks, and pretending to be expanding in the manner of your generic, run-of-the-mill, Tampon X.

(Are there tampon mills?)

The name-brand, Tampon Y women were wearing flowery, fluttery skirts and twirling around in circles celebrating their glorious menses, because Tampon Y supposedly expands like a flower, or their skirts, in all directions (even UP?! Oooh).

I want to know how much those women got paid for that commercial, and if they signed off on being human crotch products - or were just told they were happy, you know, about BLEEDING FROM THEIR VAGINAS.

Or, in the case of the hoodies, in a hip hop video, or a really bad GAP ad.

So tell me, did I see this? Say it ain't so.

WRONG-O-RAM-A

2007-02-20T22:53:00.000-08:00

Wrongness is afoot, and it abounds.

1) How sad is it that the gentlest of all creatures, the lamb, is killed, dismembered, and disemboweled, her guts brutally ripped into segments, rolled into little rings, cheesily packaged, and forced to be deliberately stretched over the erect, veiny penises of the wrong species in order to fornicate with very possibly ugly and disease ridden females, also of the wrong species? Only to end up in the trash receptacle after being rudely abused as a receptacle, herself, for their...urrrgggh.

I wouldn't even do that to my worst enemy. Jesus, we are one f---ed up nightmare of one ugly mother of a species.

On the bright side, anyone who used NaturaLamb® brand thingies is, in essence, fucking a sheep.

Enjoy.

2)The fact that the Trojan site is currently down, server "too busy".

PLEASE PASS THE SOY DUCK

2007-02-17T19:26:00.000-08:00

No thanks, I'm tryin' to cut down.

I went to Whole Foods 'cuz I was out of Nag Champa, Hawaiian poke (salt, seaweed, and crushed roasted kukui nuts), and plook*.

Saw this.

Uh...no.**

*I dunno what that is; I was making it up.
**Soy duck not made up.

IF YOU DIDN'T GET ANY VD

2007-02-14T18:19:00.000-08:00

Anything for VD, that is, do not feel bad.

I received, or have in the past:

-meat
-a heart-shaped cutout of two chihuahuas dancing, for some reason
-a battery powered frog that dances and sings "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy"

Help.

I HATE ORIFICE POLITICKS, MY CUNT TREE 'TIS OF THEE, AND NOT MARILYN MONROE IS DEAD

2007-02-10T11:41:00.000-08:00

What a crap week I had. You?

Warning - the following will be petty, inappropriate, awful, and probably will make you feel just plain weird.

Well, there was tons of work, but I burned through that. Nothing offensive there. Then nada, and I felt redundant due to the other ass-istant, but more on that later.

On top of a bunch of office politick bullshit, Anna Nicole Smith died. I don't know if you remember, but I loved Anna Nicole - the Fat Anna Nicole - and was once accused of masturbating to The Anna Nicole Show. Well, I was not. But I will admit that I wouldn't have minded making out with her sometime at Miceli's, where the manager once told me she had been earlier, hijacking the bar and rolling around on the floor with other girls. (I also want a hug from Bill Clinton before I die, so there you are. I don't mind people who give it up freely, I just wouldn't ever marry them.)

Er. Yeah, I loved the Fat Anna. Not TrimSpa Anna. Methinks Skinny Anna equalled not happy Anna. It is so sad. I really think that half of the miserable, skinny people out there would calm down significantly if they would just eat a nice, wholesome meal of Jack Daniels and a brownie. Works for me, anyway.

The other problem, I think, was The Marilyn Syndrome. I adore Marilyn Monroe but would not have wanted to have lived with her, either. Also? Sorry, Anna, but you were no Marilyn. She had much better taste in men, could really act, and I think she read a book one time.

OK, so they were both funny, but Marilyn was witty; Anna was more, laughing at you funny:

"I don't know nuthin' about nuthin'...oh no...ohhhhh nooooo." -Adorable Anna, who was dumb as a post made out of Slim Jims, but at least she admitted it!

Furthermore, the obsession with Marilyn goes way too far. The only reason she is the pop culture icon she is now is because she went and kicked the bucket under sketchwad circumstances, and that is nothing to be emulated. It really bugs me that Anna went and bought her house, got hopped up on painkillers, and claimed to have seen ghostie Marilyn. Now Blindsay Blowhan hauled off and bought it. By the way, Paris Hilton (who I hope they name a new venereal disease after), Jessica Simpson, Christina Aguilera-a-a, Scarlett Yo-Hard-on, and every other semi-starlet I hate also thinks that they are Marilyn. (If I were Marilyn, I would be spinning in my crypt right next to the future home of Hugh Hefner, which is just plain wrong if you ask me, she shouldn't be overtly sexualized even in death. When the time comes, I am gonna picket.) There are too many Marilyns and not a good one in the lot. I kind of hope that whole thing dies down with poor Vickie Lynn Hogan from Yuckhole, TX.

So R.I.P, Anna, I have to love anyone who wanted a pickle and wasn't afraid to get stuck under a coffee table while fat in a blue velvet dress and let a cameraman film her in Butt-O-Vision.

(I wonder how Kimmy is doing? I can't imagine she is well after this, especially if she still has that life-sized tattoo of Anna Nicole on her left ham hock?)

So onto my own petty bullshit - why does there always have to be that one person at work who makes it difficult, uncomfortable, and just downright unpleasant to come to work? I like my job. I love my boss, in a twisted and warped kind of way (built on mutual understanding and genuine respect, of course). I even have a certain affection for everyone else in the entire building, right up to the VP and down to the janitors belting out ¡GUANTANAMERA!...except this person, who has always struck me as disingenuous (you might say, they are a disingenius).

This is one of the Three Things I Hate in a Person:
1) Insincerity
2) People Who Think They Have to Make Others Look Bad to Make Themselves Look Good, But I Can't Think of the Word for It
3) Clowns
...and they are all three.

Perhaps they should look into being a realtor, a politician, or possibly a PR person. I don't know. I just wish they would hurry up and go away if they are going to be so unhappy they have to take it out on me. I say "they" because I don't feel like identifying the gender of this person, but "they" is actually appropriate because it is like they either have multiple crap personalities (one is fake, one is fakier than fake, and the third is a TOTAL...just really unpleasant.) Or one person with three heads, all in varying degrees of a bad mood.

I understand bad moods, I really do. Most of the time people ask me what is the matter with my face, or why I'm not a morning person, but that is just the way I am. I was born looking like I got up at 4 AM and rolled in something and then came directly to work. However, a bad mood is no reason to yell at someone who innocently asked you for some pieces of paper. I do not tolerate yelling except from a) people who need to be heard from a long way away, and b) Robert Plant. And sometimes not even then.

So I had to do something about it, because I am not a giant professional doormat. It was not pleasant, and I did not enjoy it. This is why I did not say anything before, when she (oOp!) make pointedly bitchy remarks to my face, to my face in front of other peoples' faces, and behind my face. Because it seems like simply more trouble than it's worth to open yourself up to criticism when YOU aren't even the megabitch. It becomes not a question of what did they do, but what did YOU do? to "provoke" the attack.

ASK NOT WHAT YOUR CUNT TREE CAN DO FOR YOU-!!!

And that is what my workplace has become...a cunt tree. A tree of cunts.

That's right, Mrs. HR Person. Fire me now, I do not care anymore. As I wrote in the thingy to my boss, I would rather share an office with a nest of menopausal female badgers during their last heat and rabid mimes than that person, thank you very much.

For fun, I think they should let us continue to compete with each other for oh, say, six months - and then fire one of us. I do not care if it is me. I can find another Jill Fernandez*, oOP!, at my next place of work. I don't need this crap.

In the meantime, must keep it close to my vest, because although others have complained about her, if I do the same? I will look like the baddy. So. Avoidy voidy.

I was so bent out of shape, I even forgot to include my favorite ill-advised car stick-on thingy sighting: DOMINICAN POWERED.

I don't even know what to read into that.

Sugar Pie...I want a pickle.

*Actually, Jill Fernandez is not her real name. Jill Fernandez is that one person at my last place of work who decided, for no apparent reason, that she did not like me. Also, Jill Fernandez is a funny name for a large black woman, sorry.

YOU SAY CLAMATO

2007-02-06T17:14:00.000-08:00

I say Clam-ah-to-BLEURGH!!!

Here is what was staring back at me from the 2nd floor vending machine this formerly fine morning:

Please post in comments if you think this can, in any way, be perceived as a good thing.

FINE ASS, CHEAP

2007-02-01T20:23:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of my blogless friend Stass:

I swear, this is real.

I was paying bills the other day and was going through receipts, and
found I bought this. I just wish I remembered where I put it - I'd
like to use it....
CLICK TO MAKE LARGER ASS.

P.S. Her ass is just fine.

A HIPPIE SAYS WHAT?

2007-01-24T20:19:00.000-08:00

Three "interesting" car sightings today:

1) Something something something VAG number number license plate. NOT a vanity plate. Goooooood.

2) Let's Do It stick-on letters applied majestically across (tinted) back windows. Uh. Do they? With just anybody? Because personally, I would not be extending that invitation to just anyone in L.A. Er, genital warts.

3) The Goddess is Alive and Magic is Afoot bumper sticker.
Afoot?! Afoot in their ass, maybe. More like ahead.

So my friend Garbanzo just sent me this: Why don't you try practicing random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control?, which, if it isn't a bumper sticker, should be.

I want to make one that says, I Brake for Red Lights, especially as I'm nearly killed here in L.A. on a daily basis due to same.

SO MUCH TO SAY, SO LITTLE DONG.

2007-01-21T20:21:00.000-08:00

Er, I meant, time. Yeah. Time.

I hate my new new job.

So far it consists of living in my boss' armpit and doing everyone else's job who decided to flake off/call in because it's a new year and they are enjoying their newly replenished sick/vacation/floating holidays.

No, I do not care if they are faking the flu or just got hit in the face by the airbag real hard, I call bullshit.

On the other hand, his armpit don't smell all that bad.

In other news, my friend just sent me this not-safe-for-mixed company (or, well, company) link: Your Independent Passion Consultant!

I told her I can see it now: Muffy J. Stickup: Passion Consultant. A far cry from her former side job as a Mary Kay lady, but with just as much pink.

Er, actually I told her, I am not so sure if I want to be erotically stimulated by an elephant. Even if he is really quite pretty.

At least, I assume it's a him.

And besides, her link was pretty tame. It's no Domestic Partner Black Vinyl Ripple Probe. I've seen far worse.

LOCK UP YOUR EYEBALLS

2007-01-13T13:20:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been rather ooked out (ook = -Stephanie).
Have been huddled under the covers watching absolute crap TV with multiple cat asses on my head, and I can safely say that nothing that comes out of our respective holes could match the ick factor in commercials today.

Two especially sick ones I've noticed crossing the hell over the line lately:

Afrin - Were those not two computer generated, animated boogers I just saw?! Please tell me it was just some bad clams I ate. If not, I expect to see a CGI kid wiping his CGI boogers on the wall, any day now.

These nose goblins are somehow worse than the Mucinex phlegm globber family.

Clearblue Easy - Very nice 3D looking pregnancy test in 360° view, boasting that it is the most advanced technology "that you've ever...well. You know," and then...AND THEN, a CGI stream of URINE - and it is NOT blue* - majestically cascades down, like Niagara Falls, from an off-camera, CGI muff**, and chaos ensues.

Ad execs? We've talked about this before. To review: 1) This Barbie (sadly, no longer available) came with a peeing cat - and featured a picture of it...uh, in action - on the packaging. 2) H&R Block, or similar, commercial in which a baby actually peed on camera. Or, a PA with a squirt gun did - but still! Listen up, suits: pee - even simulated, CGI pee = not okay.

Not before dinner, not after dinner, not anytime.

*it is not yellow, either, but...just you wait. I predict, this time next year: CGI poo.

**by the way? If you do not know where the vagina is, then you have no business getting pregnant.

To reiterate: bodily fluids - blue, red, green, clear, purple, or otherwise - on TV, or anywhere outside of a magazine in a plain brown wrapper - NOT okay.

MORE SH*T I DON'T NEED

2007-01-09T15:59:00.000-08:00

The badvertisers are after my leaky ass again. And they still think I'm bi. (-lingual, that is).

(Okay, so my ass is a huge target, but their target market, I am not.)

Yes, IT CAME IN THE MAIL:

Cleeck to make BIG-!
I think I'm going to hang this on my door, as a warning to others.
Very rough translation:

OPEN THE DOOR TO HAPPINESS-!
These are your days. The days in which you take everything to skin flower. [uh...heart?] And you go one week accustomed to the visit. But your days are much more than one week submerged in emotions. They are the essence of being woman. Your nature remembers… is perfect and it is not mistaken. So it shows your better smile. [Your "better smile" is in your pants?! -Ed.] Because happiness is not just a state of [mind?], it is a decision. It laughs, it cries, it shouts and ?!!!?? Be that as it may if it makes you happy. We are here for to help.

"Dias". Flowers. "The visit". "Happiness...is a decision".

What a crock.

This ad is like a cross between a Scientology brochure and fundamentalist Christian bullshit. I think they've been listening to women like this. And, I could do without "the essence of being woman," it is NOT flower-like, not at all. And I would sonríe a helluva lot more if I didn't have to deal with it, thanks.

See, getting things like the following in the mail does not make me want to go out and buy their product; it makes me want to find the person responsible and shove my Trader Joe's, inexpensive, unbleached, used organic vag bullets down their throat:

Please note the butterflies emerging from the pantyliner. Butterflies do NOT fly out of a cotton ponies - at least, they shouldn't. Unless they landed and pupated in there, or something, butterflies do not fly out of one's crotch.

Moths, maybe.

Waiter, there's leakage in my pantyliner...there's pantyliners in my leakage!

So, what are they trying to tell me - that I'm a) old, and b) premenstrual? That I need something to catch my clots and my pants accidents? That I'm basically one step away from bleeding out while pissing into my Depends® before shitting myself, and I should perhaps start thinking about putting my affairs in order, fuck off, and die. Thanks, Personal Products Company.* Thanks...a lot.

And now, for even more pants-wetting goodness: water, with oxygen...and LOVE!

H2OM Water with Intention "Love" - Only in L.A. Dude, I'm not sure I want love in my water. Shit's not sanitary.**

*"So, where do you work, Bob?" "I'm glad you asked, Rob. I work for Personal Products Company, a division of McNeil-PPC, Inc., a leader in the consumer oral and women's health markets with MONISTAT® vaginal yeast cures, and K-Y® personal lubricant, as well as a line of sanitary products." "Uh...grrreeeat. Hey, isn't that Midge over there? I think I'll go get a refill on my vodka tonic."

**I did not purchase this.

(NOT) POSTING LIKE A HURRICANE

2007-01-06T21:24:00.000-08:00

I hate Klaus, the bald-headed singer with the Bozo hairdo. Still...eieieieiieieeiieee. And, bad boys running wild. And you better get out of their wee.

Well, that's what it sounds like he is singing. It does.

Stupid Germans.

Other than that, I got a new job. Same place, same time, gobs & loads more responsibility, not so much more moolah. Like a silly chicken-headed ninny sucker chump.

It is a "stepping stone" position. I just hope the "stone" is not actually stool.

So, last night, I had a dream that I was Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances, punting on the Thames with her husband. Then, I turned into me and Richard turned into my boss. Apparently, I had perched my Patricia Routledge-sized ass on some rusty railing, (which incidentally, had turned into a Formica counter covered with tiny cockroaches) and he [my boss, in boss form] started laughing and proceeded to clean off my pants, with my ass still in them. Right before I woke up, he said, "you've got to be more careful of where you sit."

Hrm. Better try not to read too much into this.

DREAMBUTT

2006-12-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

Why the fuh would I want to see Dreamgirls. Enlighten me, please.

My reasons for refusing even a free screening are as follows:

1. I do not want to see a singer act (Beyonce).
2. I do not want to see an actor sing (Eddie Murphy).
3. I am tired of all this cross-over bullshit. Greedy sunsabitches.
4. Yes, Beyonce. We see your ass. I know, famous butt. Big fat hairy deal. (Or was that Jell.O.? Whatever.)
5. In the still photos, I keep seeing a fatty (read: off-camera, normal looking girl) as a member of the Dreamgirls. On the poster, there is no such chub; only three skinny girls. WTF gives.

Yeah yeah, The Supremes. Whoopityfuggindoo, with the wigs and the sequins and the "STOP!!! In tha name of lubbb!" and the glavin.

No. Just...no.

Before you call me a racist f*ckhole, I totally loved Ray. But I have no desire to see this. I'd rather watch Judi Dench eat dry toast for 3.5 hours.

CHRIST MESS

2006-12-26T12:17:00.000-08:00

Post-Xmas day in Hollywood: some drunken miscreant is wandering down the street singing, "motherfucker, ass, fuck." over and over to himself.

'Tis the season, and all that.

It is finally, FINALLY quiet, except the street sweeper just drove by at Mach 3. Fuck, those sons of bitches can move when they think no one's looking. Unless of course you are driving behind them, in which case they are slow as fucking turds in molasses.

Yeah, so I'm a little bitchy. I had no power while my neighbor's apartment, which she decorated with approx. 3,000 lights, bottle trees, etc. was lit primly, taunting me through its windows. I didn't even have any festive lights or trees or any of that bullshit; I was just trying to plug in a lamp. A lamp that had worked perfectly well the night before. A lamp that Cranky made for me out of the guts of the previous lamp he had given me, which Beeker broke in 5 seconds flat, immediately after it was taken out of the box.

This is all Cranky's fault, because the lamp he gave me, which I didn't like in the first place, was rewired to form a second lamp, which is also questionable (cords run through a mike stand marked "Beakerproof"); he was not here for Xmas, and it zotzed out all the lights in my whole apt. except for the kitchen. Like I was going to use that.

Suffice to say I spent most of Christmas Day calling DWP, running up and downstairs, throwing switches to see which circuit I'd broken, only to discover my antique fusebox had blown all but one of its even antiquier fuses. And that no one open on Xmas Day carried them. So I bought frozen pizza and some extension cords at Walgreen's.

The only thing more depressing than that was the fact that about two spillion others had the same idea. That place was packed. Which makes null and void my thinking that anyone with half a brain (self included?) or a dollar (self excluded) would get the hell out of L.A. for Christmas, if they could. I did not understand why there should still be traffic (!) here on Christmas Day. Not to mention the fucking conjunto music being blasted from apartments everywhere.

Oh, for the love of fuck. Doesn't anyone care about Faith, Hope, Love, and !@#$% peace and QUIET around here...?! "Silent Night," my a**.

This is what I think of the holiday this year.

ENTER GRINCHMAN

2006-12-18T10:51:00.000-08:00

'Twas the week before Xmas, and what do I get. Another day older and not necessarily deeper in debt, because I have no money to spend, period.

Lovely bi-weekly payroll never lines up with my needs/wants/bills. Why should I expect it to care about the baby Jesus' birthday?

I wish someone would explain that to my credit union, which I joined when I was fortunate enough to get a weekly paycheck. Now they're calling me at 8 a.m. to what, remind me that my rent check just went through, and I'm negative 8 squillion until payday?

I KNOW that, a-holes. It's not like I dip into my credit limit unless it's something dire, like the rent. I have hardly been frittering it away, and have not bought Thing One for Xmakkah. I'm also expecting a half-squillion in retro pay from my employer due to the increase I was "given" LAST SUMMER. I am not the only one who is behind on my shit. I have direct deposit. Now get out of me. (-Kat.)

Then there was another lovely "Christmas card": a notice from my landlord.

Dear Tenants of Casa de Los Insectos:

It has recently come to our attention that we have a termite problem.

On the following form, please note any evidence of termites (actual termites, termite doots, etc.) that you have noticed so we can then come barging into your apartment, do the white glove test on your floorboards and complain if you have not been cleaning properly/using the approved floor wax, then attempt to charge you, in advance, for any damages we may find. Also, we will need to make your life a living hell throughout the coming holiday week, to ensure that there are no further damages.

In other words, your ass (and your apartment) will be our playground for the next several weeks; we will need access to your apartment at all hours of the day, you will get no peace and quiet, so just leave the doors unlocked and don't be naked, or try and make holiday plans, or anything.

Merry, Merry Christmas,
C.D.I.

P.S. We may need to tent the place, so we would prefer if you would pay next month's rent in advance, so we can thoroughly screw you when you have no place to live in January while we fumigate and kill your pets.

I replied with the following:

Dear Casa de Bugs,

While I greatly appreciate your concern for my floorboards, do you really need to come barging into my apartment, just to see if there are any termite doots, when you already claim to know, in fact, that these termite doots exist?! And what's with the "investigation", Inspector(s) Closeau? Because I, for one, am not even really sure what termite "evidence" looks like.

Perhaps you should rent an anteater from the zoo - I understand they like to eat the little buggers.

In addition, I am allergic to any/all insecticides, and my cats lick their feet. So please explain how this is my problem, and/or relocate me to another bldg. Preferably one that doesn't have car accidents outside every day at 3 a.m., so that car parts fly into my window. There are cars wrecked on the lawn every morning, and little piles of car on the sidewalk every afternoon. This is something of a nuisance.

Also, do you really have to do this THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS?! Aren't the termites, maybe, on vacation this week? Some of us have live Christmas trees, perhaps the termites are occupied with eating those. And my peg leg.

Thanks for taking all my money, then making my life a living hell,
Your Respectful Tenant.

P.S. The termites also ate my rent check. Or maybe it was my credit union. I really can't them apart these days.

Merry, Merry $$$!@#mas.

SPORK ME IN THE BALLS.

2006-12-15T14:22:00.000-08:00

Please, I can't take any more of this depressing Xmas shit, let alone people getting fired and laid off around the holidays. Not to mention all of the damned obligatory gifts I have to hand out from various production offices. And the cards. And not to mention the goddamn food baskets. Which always seem to come to the people who need it the least.

Does an executive person really have a wine and cheese deficiency...? I don't think so. My old bosses, both with rather extravagant lifestyles, used to shaft those off on me. I lived on that shit, but I don't think your average CEO is really going to nibble on dry salami, water crackers and cheese ball when he could be having prime rib.

My favorites are actually the "thoughtful", "handmade" gifts.

Now what in the world would my boss possibly need with a coffee cup containing some recycled Easter grass and three cookies on a stick.

I don't know, but I left it on the seat of his chair.

Pointy surprise-!

Me, I'm not going home this year. The plan was for my mom to come out here, but she has all sorts of technical difficulties with the house and she's overwhelmed; it's too late for me to buy a ticket now, and my family is...my family. So here I'll stay.

I suppose I should be grateful for the work, considering a good chunk of the company is being let go or tacitly forced to take time off, unpaid. But I am, as ever, a thankless bitch who would actually be ecstatic to receive my walking papers, at this point. It'd be an easy way out, an excuse to find something even less challenging elsewhere. I'd probably give my boss a hearty handshake while cupping his 'nads, hop up and down, clap hands, make Daffy Duck noises like "wohoo, woohoo!", and grin a shit-eating grin from ear to ear when the doorknob hit me in the ass.

But I keep eking out an existence and somehow being passed over for layoffs, although they did cancel our holiday party this year, offering no explanation; there are no Christmas bonuses, and I just saw a VP eating Top Ramen. Perhaps I should become alarmed...so, make with the holiday sporking-!

If anyone's in town and wants to spork it up & drown our sorrows in bottom-shelf peppermint schnapps while putting up a fake tree, only to have the cats knock it down repeatedly, and spend the night in one progressively drunkener attempt to re-erect the plastic Pinus (well, that's what it's called-!)...lemme know.

ARRAARRUGHH RAAAR SNORT GRRAUUUGHHRARARARAR

2006-12-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

I am nearly drowning in my own irritability of late. Not sure what to do about this. Drinking less coffee left me functionally retarded, and our co-pay for prescription meds just went up.

Hell.

I've been taking an animation class, which I thought was great, because there are only two students (counting me). But it might as well be an entire room full, because between me running out of the room every 5 seconds to defrost from the subarctic temperature, the instuctor's family problems/creeping crud, and the fact that English is not the other student's first language, it is about as much fun as mange.

First of all, even though she's an ESL student, the other girl still has the nerve to be smarter than me. Also, she blatantly interrupts and talks over me and hogs the instructor, who has managed to contract, over the course of a mere four sessions, every single one of her kids' communicable diseases, and there are five of them.

Kids, not diseases. But at that age, same difference.

Plus, one or the other of her five maggots calls every five minutes either to inform her that the baby fell off of something, and/or to guilt trip her about being a terrible mother, even though I'm sure they are calling her on the phone which she paid for, while eating the food which she paid for, in the house, which she also paid for.

I can't hate on her too much because a) hey, free birth control, b) she is patient as my ass is wide, and c) I have almost as many cats as she has kids, and my previous instructor graciously pretended not to mind that my cell phone went off (on vibrate) every 5 mins. for similar reasons, when Zippy was in the hospital. So, karma, baby.

But...she has some narsty snot-nosed brat-cooties and persists in grabbing my mouse, leading me to long for strip decontamination just to de-cootify myself, and her breath reeks like it does when you have a really bad sinus infection. Christ, woman. Take some antibiotics...but she probably can't do that, either, because she's too busy secreting breast milk onto my mousepad.

Sorry, gross. And mean...I'm just jealous I can't grow four superfluous nipples and rear a litter of my own. (Me --> ---> hell ---> ----> handbasket? = YES.)

Meanwhile, the other student is a skinny bitch with a tiny head and big tits, despite the fact that she keeps demanding breaks to go out and buy donuts. Then she decides it is a good idea to eat an apple in class since she already burned the break on her sugar binge. She does this while I quietly seethe with murderous thoughts, because if there's one thing I cannot STAND, it's eating noises (thank you, Carl's, Jr.) For crissake, if you HAVE to eat anything in a non-eating type situation, for fuck's sake, at LEAST make sure it's not crunchy food. Although, even the disgusting smacking, sticky, wet noises of an ex-lab partner eating an orange EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT we had class FOR A YEAR were enough to send me over the edge...but no. Bitch has to eat an apple. AN APPLE! What could be crunchier than an apple - carpet tacks?!

I think, somewhere in the back of her disproportionately tiny head, she knows her audible mastication is intensely irritating, so you know what she does?

SHE EATS SLOWER. Which does not make it less annoying, you overly-endowed Einstein. BECAUSE NOW IT TAKES TWICE AS LONG TO FINISH the goddamned apple.

Maybe tonight, I'll wear a respirator mask, rubber gloves, and a sneeze guard and offer the other girl some nice, chocolate covered NAILS.

Merry, Merry Christmas.

SO. YOU'RE BROWN. SO IS THIS! NOW, BUY IT-!

2006-12-07T14:58:00.000-08:00

Once again, the badvertisers are pushing the limits of racially targeted marketing:

What next, Ebony! It's black, like your a**! ?

I am oh, so deeply offended.

EXPECTED TURBULENCE

2006-12-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

You know, every time I go back to visit Texas, I have to ask myself - why?

Because: I hate L.A. so much that sometimes I forget how much I hate it there, silly.

I think, for once, my hatred of L.A. and my hatred of Texas are in near perfect equilibrium, which leaves me to either bolt for New York, run for the border, or end up somewhere in Arizona.

But it's already too dry here and my face would fall off.

So, here I am. Back in Cali-fro-nia and fully off my nut.

At least I think I'm beginning to understand what it is that I hate about Texas. I mean, besides all the ignorant, bastard redneck squirrel killers.

King of the Hill's Hank Hill best demonstrates it, I think - it's the whole, The Boy Ain't Right syndrome.

Meaning, anyone with a dream, other than buying a square house with a square yard and raising a square 2.5 unit family in a house surrounded by 2x4s is considered = a queer.

Not fitting nicely into that category, I am considered = a queer. I have cats and enjoy sleeping. Also, I'm not entirely opposed to the concept of work, though I will acknowledge that my idea of work is a hell of a lot less stinky, messy, and generally less hard than raising a fambly. And by hard I do not mean difficult, I mean...well, tedious. I like to spend at least 3 hours just reading and drinking coffee on the weekends; I do not enjoy housework. I also have a non-traditional pseudo-spouse who picks up after me, cooks for me, and washes my soiled thongs when I throw them on the floor, because I am an asshole, but I make up for it in other ways, such as by doing his website (badly) and not being completely hideous. But yes, eventually, I am going to die alone and go to hell, and my cats would, indeed, eat my face, if I hadn't already set their asses up with a trust fund (granted, that mainly consists of 2,000 lbs. of Fancy Feast in a safe deposit box in Iowa. It's a start.) And I'm okay with that, but in Texas, it really chafes their hide.

The thing about California is that it gives you the opportunity to reinvent yourself. You wanna be a sword-slinging, tightrope-walking, bad fake-English accent-having butt pirate?! Well, go right ahead, fancy pants. Knock yourself out, and your poofy shirt too.

Not so in Texas. At least, not without being asked repeatedly and directly, why? And told what you should do about it. Unsolicited advice everywhere you go, and probably at least one person per week will tell you what you really need is The Jesus, regardless of whether you already belong to another major world religion. They do not care about that, Satan-worshippers. Because Jesus loves all the little children and whores and pirates (although their first order of business, for some reason, is to tell you why you can NOT be any of those things). Hell, He can probably even un-queer you, while He is at it.

Yep. The boy ain't right.

So, here I am, being neither a boy, a pirate, nor queer (mostly), and my shirt ain't even all that poofy. Yet I am still deeply offended by the lack of celebration, or even respect, of differences in the deceptively pretty state to which I somehow had the misfortune of being born.

Oh yeah, it's probably the you-should-git-yerself-hitched-'n-Betty-Crockered-up-with-a-coupla-buns-in-the-oven thing, although anyone who really knows me probably doesn't think I should.

Besides, I love squirrels, I would kill to have a backyard full of 'em. And why am I living in a shit apartment when stupid rednecks who are blessed with houses and yards are trying to kill or relocate every raccoon, possum, squirrel, grub, etc. in a 3 mile radius? Because they are aging control freaks and that male pattern baldness is NOT a solar panel for a love machine, asshole. Why they don't just cram some Viagra pills up their butts and go beat off to Field and Stream in the shower while their Frito-eating wives are simultaneously painting their toenails Perky Christian Pink, complaining about their husbands on the phone to the in-laws, and plotting to kill them for the insurance money, I do not know.

Excuse me, but I think I need to go put on a rainbow unitard, dress up like a giant Schnoodle, and walk a tightrope while doing an interpretive dance expressing the innermost thoughts of a latent homosexual endangered limpet living in sin with a blue-green algae, go vegetarian (again), learn Mandarin, feng shui my shit apartment, balance my chakras, and perfect my "craft" now (even though I automatically hate people who say that). Because it is nice, just for once, to express a thought, idealized hope for positive change, or a damned human emotional feeling, that does not get shot to shit and stomped all over like so much dirty dog business on their otherwise pristine lawn by my Texas family for not fitting into their narrow realm of experience, for being so Californian.

Yep, this always happens when I go home. Damn you, Texas.

Damn you all to hell.

WHY DID I BUY THIS?

2006-11-21T12:55:00.000-08:00

Wrigley's Kona Creme - they are apparently test-marketing this coffee-flavored gum. I have no idea why I decided that chewing gum which already tastes like coffee would help my coffee breath other than maybe if I couldn't get coffee, this would work. But it tastes like hazelnuts and ass.

These Skilcraft One Step Pre-Moistened Sanitary Phone Wipes - are lovely, but do nothing against the gross security guards who abuse my desk in the night by boogerfying everything, leaving used gum on the floor, talking into my handset with their ashtray dragon-breath (and it seeps in from under the door, and I happen to be The Person Who Hates Cigarettes Second Most in the World), and/or wiping their nose on my printer, for some reason (like chimps who cannot figure out how to use something.) Am thinking of quitting my job just for that. I am not a germophobe but this is too much even for the likes of me.

That should be an interesting resignation letter.

Oh yeah. And these wipes say "Created with pride by Americans who are blind," but does not EXPLAIN HOW-! Damn.

Now this, I need.
1) On my desk,
2) NOW.

Maybe it would help sanitize the boogers.

REASON #6,433 NOT TO GO TO THE CHEAP HAIRDRESSER

2006-11-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

Is, they will cut it too short.*

Reason #6,434 is, two months later, it will still be too short, but you will somehow need another haircut.

*This is also the reason why you go to the really overpriced guy, who cuts your hair without making it look like he actually did anything.**

**Except liberate your wallet of about a hundred bucks*** and sell you some ridiculously expensive, yet unnecessary product.

***Also known as Reason 902 why being female is stupid. I advise against it.

BEKUZZ I IS A MORON

2006-11-15T16:46:00.000-08:00

So, since my stupid bad-luck birthday, I have f---ed up the following:

-Got snootied at & rejected for seating at my favorite restaurant on my !@@#$in' birthday due to not having a reservation (Cranky!) where we have never needed one before, I suspect because of looking like a wooly mammoth

-Let Beeker get high on birthday balloon helium & break my birthday prezzents

-Let my driver's license expire - stupid birthday's fault, not mine

-Then managed to LOSE my expired driver's license

-Booked a flight which conflicts with the only relevant class I've enrolled in, which work is paying for

-Realized I am going nowhere anyway without my license (do airlines accept birth certificates as proper ID? How 'bout a urine sample?)

-Went, b-b-b-b-b

-Used some profanity

-Am driving around all cockeyed without a license AND a current eyeglass prescription AND brakes that are going out AND no roof

-Will probably tootle home in my car with no roof and get rained on and then pulled over for looking like a wet wooly illegal and skidding into a cop car because my breaks went out, and then asked for my expired driver's license and explaining that it is lost, then having the LAPD run my license number and finding that I'm not wearing my glasses (which I also lost) IF I can even get on the plane with no license and/or am not arrested for looking like an ancient, hairy elephant and a blind terrorist, in the first place.

Might as well just cuff me now, Officer.

13 REASONS TO HATE YOUR BiRTHDAY

2006-11-13T17:21:00.000-08:00

1. Monday the 13th: even the taco sauce gives you attitude
2. The cat attempts to spell "happy birthday" in PUKE
3. That is not a Slip 'N Slide
4-8. Annoying co-workers
9. Annoying co-workers sing at you
10. People who write "happy birthday" and nothing else in the damn obligatory card
11. Free license to eat crap all day (actually, I like this one); followed closely by
12. Toothache.
13. This list ain't over yet.

UNDOING, DOi OINNG

2006-11-09T16:34:00.000-08:00

You'll hear no gloating from me. We, the Peep-Hole, need to get to work. We have a lot of undoing to undo.

I'm only sorry there weren't any silly Californian wabbit propositions on the ballot this year, like not eating horse meat or Prop. Against Sending Ol' Bossie to the Glue Factory to be Made into Shoelace Caps. Whaddayoucallthosethings. Sniglet.

I guess the persistence of Goobernator II is enough bull for one year...

Don't you find it funny that all this legislative taking-out-of-trash corresponded with Brit-Brit dumping Keben Smeg-er, Federline? I know I do...frankly, I'm surprised they didn't "find" Osama bin Laden, again (he's been living in Paris Hilton's vacuous hole this whole time.)

Come to think of it? That would make PERFECT sense.

In other brain-dead news...

Have you seen these anorexic twins? There are much, much more horrible pictures - the worst cases I have ever seen, personally - and semi-living proof that having a sibling, especially one who looks like you, makes people too g_d_mn competitive. They look like dueling Skeletors. And what's really horrible is that I am laughing about the one stealing gum and a blender.

(Perhaps they should shoplift some food?)

Hrm, hot in here.

THE ONLY REASON I NEED NOT TO VOTE FOR AHNOLD

2006-11-06T17:34:00.000-08:00

He drives a Hummer.

HAIR TRAUMA

2006-11-06T10:07:00.000-08:00

Today, I look like a particularly strung-out member of Guns n' Roses...in the present day.

It looks like Slash took a dump on my head.

Like Donald Trump's toupee crawled up there and died.

I met a guy who could work with it once on a photo shoot, but he worked for that guy, remember that guy who caused the big stink about Bill Clinton's several hundred dollar-'do? Yeah, it was that guy. (Though, why you would pay someone that much to make it look like a deceased badger lived on your head, I don't know.)(Yeah, I'd still do him.)

Aherm. So anyway, Carlos moved to Prive and no longer cuts hair. That's right. He does color exclusively and that Japanese straightening thing. I guess doing mine sent him over the edge. And even if it hadn't, I have no business setting foot in a place that charges $60 just to look at you, and that doesn't even include a blow-out.

I guess I should start going to some punk rock salon in Silverlake, where my very bleach-happy friend once quoted her stylist as saying, "your hair is SO damaged...cool."

Actually, I belong here, but I don't feel like being The Lone Honky without any ethnic friend as Tonto to make me look halfway hip, as all of them are too busy being in national commercials. Shee.

I'd like a new hairdresser, but I hate that snobby way they assess your Brillo-head, like, what am I supposed to do with this?

Once, I actually had a guy say, "this piece is a lost cause." And that was before a crazy hair and makeup person with a flat iron singed it half to death on the set of a bad hip-hop music video in which I am never seen. Oh, that was totally worth it.

Another time, the hair lady sighed in exasperation and said, "your HAIR..." and just sadly shook her head.

It's as if part of their sales strategy is to make you feel like shit about your appearance; then, and only then, can they get you to rely on them to make you look halfway passable. Must be why the ones that don't feel they have to offer that particular "service" become so popular, you can't even get an appointment anymore.

Insulting hairdressers can suck the split ends off my ass hairs.

MY ADORABLE CAR

2006-11-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

I've been driving a Volkswagen Asshole.

Yeah, they don't make them anymore.

It has opinions. The Asshole does not like going to Burbank. I do not like going to Burbank, either, but that doesn't mean I don't want it to start.

Jeez.

HOLLOW WEEN

2006-10-30T15:41:00.000-08:00

I am a fucking raccoon, okay?*
*Not a costume.

My friend is dressing up as a vampire. I hate to tell her but if I saw an obese vampire ~~flying?~~ coming at me, I wouldn't run like hell, just stand there laughing and probably die to death.

So sue me.

Also, she insisted on having prescription Halloween contacts (prescription freak contacts, that you wear for one day and one day only), so if she ever comes crying to me about being broke again, remind me to slap her.

Someone neglected to tell me that you cannot get a pumpkin, at least, not at a major supermarket, the week of/before Halloween.

I finally found two slightly defective ones at Trader Joe's because I'll be buggered by a rabid goat before I disappoint the kids.

The "kids" being two grown-assed men, one pushing 50.

I think Cranky has kidney stones. Oooooh, scary. That's about as spooky as we get around here. Wooooooo, fire pee. We're old, our backs hurt.

Uh.

You cannot drive in L.A. - especially Hollywood - on Halloween. At all. Just...don't. It is the worst night of the year for traffic from people running around like chickens in the final stages of syphilis to find a costume that is not really considered clothing. Then, the city closes down two or three major arteries for street fairs. So even the streets that are open get clogged from the overflow, plus people slowing down to rubberneck at all the semi-nude types walking down the street in nothing but a g-string, black angel wings, and the clap. Everybody feels compelled to do this in order to get half-naked in public & contract yet another venereal disease. It is basically just a huge Petri dish for crotchial beasties. Scabies and herpes and crabs, oh, my!

I would just stay home but I urgently need to carve my fugly pumpkin and make S'mores and the oven's out. Hopefully in a relatively herp-free zone. And don't tell me to buy those S'mores candy bars, either. Those are sick.

FAGGOT IT

2006-10-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

Note to wedding and gift-registry havers: do not go to the Bloodbath & Beyond closest to West Hollywood, or gay men will try to steal your customer service rep. even though you were there first, even while she is behind the counter, trying to make your little poofy wedding gifty bow foo foo shit.

Look, you old queens (with your trophy cabana bottom boys), I don't care how adorably flamey you are, or that you "parked in the red" - and whose fault is that? - you can still not* gank my girl, Pfuk, or whatever her name is, with the penciled-in eyebrows with the too-high arches.

She is MY checker-outer person.

MINE.

Also, Jeffy is only using you for your money, so you pay his rent and buy him over-the-toilet shelf unit thingies and butter pecan lollipops at the checkout, if he is a good little butt...I mean, boy.

*unless you pay my rent, too
**and get me a wowwipop.

A POOEM

2006-10-25T15:28:00.000-07:00

i am a unicorn
in triplicate
maybe it's a disease
cat herpes of the forehead?

could be the one who sleeps on my face
needs a bath
he smells like the san pedro fish mkt.

perhaps we will go to the carwash
with the roof down
and get all squeeky clean
and sandblast these zits off my forehead
but too hideous to leave the house
need an upside-down one of these

quick, call jessica simpson
need proactiv solution
NOW
i drank it all, *hic*
sulfur-y delicious
but i still have 1/2 teenage mutant ninja pizzaface
this stuff's no goood,
need something harder -
rat-in-hay, or whateveryoucallit

help, flesh eating bacteria
not just one Zit of Warning,
more like 101
talk about bad PMS
its eating me
aliiiiveeee...ALIVE!

i am not
an animal

-e.e. crummy

WHATEVER THE HELL HAPPENED TO...

2006-10-23T15:40:00.000-07:00

a) water beds?
b) erasable pens?
c) smokeless cigarettes (for the love of your mother, this would keep me from having to maim and kill people all the time. Justifiable homicide really saps my energy.)
d) my youth?

Please leave answers in comments...yeah, so I'm too lazy to look 'em up on WikiWiki BangBang or whatever. Oh yeah, and if you are too young to remember these, then by all means go and fuck yourself immediately.

Thank you.

MOM VS. THE CELL PHONE

2006-10-18T16:33:00.000-07:00

For Christmas last year, I got my mom a cell phone on a Family Plan, even though it's just the two of us. I was tired of worrying about her driving around in an old Ford Explorer, which should really be called Exploder; people outside of L.A. don't really seem to worry about having things like AAA, which is essential in CA as if you break down, people will definitely shoot you, or if you're lucky, just swerve around your corpse. I once saw a road worker very nonchalantly placing an orange cone next to a runover guy's head. Seriously.

Besides, she really needs to be able to call Grandma in the grocery store when she gets lost on her motorized scooter, because H-E-B is fucking huuuge and Grandma is like Speed Racer on that thing.

Hence, the cell phone.

I introduced them politely, if a bit condescendingly. "Mom, this is a phone."

I adore my mom. She is not a stupid woman by any means; she's a lot better than me at a lot of things, like math, and balancing checkbooks, and wearing clean underwear, and just about everything else, but...I guess I was hoping she'd understand that the cell phone is just a scaled down, portable version of a regular phone.

Unfortunately, she still doesn't seem to have quite grasped that concept. So I entered every relevant number I could find in my aunt's phone into Mom's phone, and then put those on speed dial, thinking that would fix her wagon. But not quite...

Not long after Christmas I asked, since long-distance on the cell phone is essentially free, if she's used it to call and catch up with any of her out-of-state friends.

"Well...no."

"Why not?"

"Because...how do you call numbers that aren't in the phone...?"

"It's a phone, Mom. You can call whatever numbers you want...you just have to dial like you would on a regular phone, and then hit Sen...uh, hit the green button. See, green means 'go'."

"Oh."

Then, recently, she thought she'd lost it. I told her not to worry, that I wasn't upset, but had she retraced her steps? Had she tried calling the phone to see if she could hear it ring somewhere?

"Well...no."

"Why not?"

"Because...I don't know what the number is."

"You don't know the number? For your own phone?!"

So I gave it to her. Then I said, "haven't you ever tried checking your messages from a landline?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To save your minutes...or, to see if anyone called and said, hey, lady. You left your phone."

"Oh...no."

"Why don't you do that, now that you have the number. Just call yourself, and when the voice mail message starts, hit the star key and enter your password."

"Oh...what's my password?"

"YOU DON'T KNOW YOUR OWN PASSWORD?!"

"No...well, I've got it written down in the little booklet, let me find it..."

Just then, the cat came flying out of the recycling bin, tumping it over, and guess what fell out...?

That was almost as much fun as the time my grandma thought my cell phone ring was kittens I was smuggling into the hospital in my purse.

ALSO THE DEVIL

2006-10-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

The Devil has morphed from a mini-corndog into a party mix of these three:

Cedarlane "Veggie" Ham & Cheese Vegetable Wraps - It's 'veggie'. It's "ham". It's greasy. "Delicious."*

Grandpa Po's Nutra Nuts (Slightly Salted) - Normally, I wouldn't eat anything containing both the words "grandpa" and "nuts," but, holy mother. These things are so addictive that you hardly notice they contain the makings of bean curd. I also like that they have a slightly unnecessary resealable thingy, as I tend to scarf the whole bag of Grandpa's...er...nuts.**

Calbee Snapea Crisps - I've been addicted to these for a while, (I prefer the Caesar flavor, but the Original doesn't get Caesar schmutz on your hands). Although...I'm beginning to suspect they are pulverized peas poured into some sort of pea-magma and then into pea-shaped molds, which makes 'em sorta reconstituted-lookin', like the Han Solo of peas.***

*found at Ralph's, which always reminds me of throwup. You know, RALPH-!'s.
**found at Whole Paycheck, Mayfair Mkt./Gelson's
***found at Trader Joe's, which I'm beginning to think is a cult; a salty snax, Devil CULT. Which explains why, after reading one of their "Fearless" flyers, I proceeded to buy everything in it.

The Devil is now mini-peanut butter cups, unless you have better ideas.

FOR THOSE THINGS WHICH WE ARE ABOUT TO ROCK, WE SALUTE THEM

2006-10-11T11:01:00.000-07:00

Isn't that just the dumbest song ever? I'm not rocking YET, but I'm about to rock. Yes. I am getting ready to rock, I am fixing to, er, I am preparing, for, to rock. Eventually, I will rock, but, very gradually. Presently, I will rock these items.

Fuck it.

Here are some things which I think are good.

1) My invention for Nacho Soup. "Gourmet" recipe is as follows (inspired by Chef Boz of Spaghetti a la Boz):
-get a can of cheese or chicken tortilla soup.
-put some cheese in the cheese soup.
-dump a can of beans in that. Drain first unless you like salty bean spooge in your soup.
-chuck some cheese on that.
-dump some taco chips, Tostitos, etc. on top of that.
-dump even more cheese on top of the whole mess. And did I mention that you should heat it unless you enjoy cold, congealed cheese uck.
-or, just get some nachos.

2) This book, which involves my cats and their herpes.

3) This book, which was stolen from under my desk by the so-called security guards.

4) That book was loaned to us by this person, who is the funniest girl comic alive.

5) This movie, which I am about to rock tonight, at the premiere. I have had a crush on Bobcat since I was a child and he rocked that Godzilla suit in One Crazy Summer. I have a hard-on for men in Godzilla suits. Also giant groundhogs. Or maybe just a semi-.

Anyway, the movie is good, and stars the horny nun from Desperate Housewives. You should see it because, Godzilla suit. Nachos. And hey, horny nun.

NOT ON THE FACE

2006-10-09T12:54:00.000-07:00

Dag.

And to think of all the wrinkle cream I've wasted on my anus.

I guess some obscure German butt-cream company doesn't want our business...except on our business ends. (But(t) there is NOTHING in Preparation H's FAQ about this.) FINE. I guess I'll ~~shoplift~~ take my anti-poof cream business ELSEWHERE.

By the way, those aren't zits on my forehead...those are hemorrhoids. From having my head too far up management's ASS.

TEEVEE CONFUZEE

2006-10-05T11:02:00.000-07:00

I am terribly confused by the following commercials. Please help.

Pizza Slutt - I am not even so much as confused, but annoyed by the Three for $5 Guy. He gets 3 Pizza (The) Hut ("because you ARE a hut") pizzas for $5/ea. and commences to yell, "Oh, YEAH!" like that Kool-Aid jug that used to bust through brick walls (how did he do that without shattering his jug glass? And what was his name, anyway? Kool & The Gang? No, taken. Sugar Tits McPitcher? Juggly?), then proceeds to dance and whirl around like it is the happiest day of his life, giggling like a girly pizza dervish. WHY is he so excited? Because he is cheap? It's not that good. Is he having a crisis of gender? This is creepy. Director: this guy can thank you for totally emasculating him. I also hate the wife in this commercial, who vigorously chomps her pizza and nods as if to say, good job, honey, for ripping off that pizza boy. (Are we supposed to rip off the pizza boy? That's good family values for you.) Creepy.

Pledge? Swiffer? I don't even know the name of this product because I am so distracted by the song; also because I do not dust. Said song features a vocal that growls and belts out, "It's Better with the Spray!" Huh? What's better with the spray?! Broccoli?! I think it's some sort of furniture polish, and by the way, DO NOT EAT. And furthermore, I hope this song was created especially for this sh*t commercial, and there isn't really some song wandering around out there called "It's Better With the Spray!", or similar. Not only would this violate one of his cardinal rules (Bastardization of a Popular Song), but, WTF? What spray...cat spray? Because I assure you, NOTHING is better with that. Except maybe for some of you kink types, but for me, no thanks; not in the face.

Gap's Skinny Black Pant - another offense (The Posthumous Endorsement.) Is that or is it not Audrey Hepburn's disembodied head superimposed (and badly, at that) on another dancer's body, because that is some disturbed shit. It is hard to tell because actresses' heads never fit their goddamn bodies. How can they do that, anyway? She hasn't been dead long enough to be public domain, has she? And even though she is dead, she still overly dramatic, and still dances like a total spazz. Sorry. I should really not speak ill of humanitarian people who still get on my nerves even though they are dead.

Garnier Fructis - I hate these commercials in general, but am especially perplexed by their latest, which features a shit-eating grinning model washing her hair while wearing a purple bikini...in the shower. Why?! Couldn't they have just shot her from the neck up? Is there a European version of her topless? Because then, maybe I wouldn't hate Garnier Fructis so much. Woo-hoo.

I know, I shoulda stayed in skool. Or maybe quit sooner, huh? Then I might could understand these things.

DEAR FRIENDS AND FAMBLY

2006-10-03T21:01:00.000-07:00

Going forward, please attempt not to have brain surgery, become rapidly engaged, married, join a cult, shack up, Hulk out into a female bodybuilder, join the Army, whimsically change gender, get knocked up without my consent and/or a papal directive, make any sudden movements, or die unexpectedly, as this alarms me.

In fact, if you could clear all major life decisions, in writing, by submitting a form at least 364 days in advance of said process pending my express written permission, I would be highly appreciative, as it has been a very "exciting" 2006. In remembrance of that, I have named one of my gray hairs after each of your little IEDs. I do not like surprises. You are quite the ticking time bombs, aren't you...?

If any of you pops out of a cake wearing anything, or nothing, or even think about any unauthorized cake-, hymen-, placenta-, or question-popping, I will personally hog tie you and make you cry for your mommy until you regress to 3 year-old mentality and shit your pants while simultaneously licking my boot and begging to go back to eating Otter Pops and studying triangles and growing different types of seeds out of Styrofoam cups and making turkeys out of your hands and eating dirt and catching head lice in the corner like good little boys and girls.

Meanwhile, I will be in the other corner, with my second-grade mentality, as I think I must have wet my pants and gone home early the day all the other kids were learning to tell time.

Thank you.

Love,
Your Bewildered Friend/Relative.