Wednesday, August 30, 2006

A Valuable Lesson (in song)

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your eeeeeyyyyyyeeee!

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your EEEEEEEEYYYYYYYEEEE!

Hot Pepper!


The End.

Monday, August 28, 2006

How Capitalism is Working For Me

Here's how the car buying has gone so far:

Me: I have some money. Will you take it, and give me a car in exchange?
Car dealer: No. No I will not.
Me: It is American Dollars!
Car dealer: get the fuck out of my face!

It may have something to do with the exact number of American dollars I am offering to exchange for a working vehicle. Which happens to be less that Car Dealer would like to obtain. I can see how this will be a problem for me, probably ending in my spending more than I want to/getting a lamer car than I want to. And damn, it is hard to be a lamer car than the one I want.

Monday, August 21, 2006


"We all took a taxi to St. Peter’s, which we had already been through. At a small side door we were admitted to the Vatican palace. Mother and my sisters had to cover their heads with little black veils that were supplied there. Some men were in full white tie evening dress. There were about 200 people at the audience. We were conducted upstairs to a huge ornate renaissance room with beautiful ceiling paintings and wall frescos. Soon papal attendants lined us up standing in rows to wait. Then the Pope entered in a white gown and white skullcap. We were all told to kneel. He held his two fingers up and gave us all a blessing; then walked slowly along the kneeling lineup presenting his hand with a ring on it, which each person in turn was expected to kiss. The “audience” did not mean that we were able to say anything to him nor he to us, except for his blessing at the beginning and at the end. Many people had brought rosaries and little crosses that they held in their hands when they took the Pope’s hand, so that he would have touched it; and that would have given, I suppose, some special quality to the cross or rosary. When he came to Betty Jane, 2-years-old, who was standing because she was so small, he held his hand out to her just like everybody else. But she didn’t rise to the occasion. He waited a few seconds and Mother whispered “Kiss it, kiss it.” But she answered very audibly, “I don’t want to.”

(Look, I don't know what they were doing there. They were not even Catholic.)

Done! (Bathroom Edition)

Take a good look, because it will never be this clean EVER AGAIN!

Thursday, August 17, 2006

I am going to scream

Never try to improve your home, I say.

The tiling guy totally flaked on Saturday (which was his suggested time! not mine!). He did show up on Tuesday, about an hour late, but he did come. He and his helper worked a while and argued some and then left at the end of the day, promising to return to finish the job on Thursday morning. "I will be here at 9," I said. "Not before 9, because I have to drive my wife to work. I will be back at 9."

Is that clear to you? Because guess what.

While I was out driving Miss Lady to work, he left a message on the machine. "I want to come in before 9, because 9 will be too late," he says, "I have to be somewhere else at 9."

When I returned at 8:30 and heard this message, I was pissed off, and I called him up. "I'm at another job already," he whines. I don't know if he really whined. It's for the story. Just go with it. "I can come in tonight, though," he says. Dude. DUDE. NO. "I took off work today, and that's kind of a big deal for me," I said (assertively, I hope). (No laughing. It was a big deal. Though I do next to nothing at work, they are really weird about having people there anyway. Go figure.) "Grumble, grumble," he said or something like that. "I'll see what I can do." Oh THANK you. Thank you so much for going out of your way to SHOW UP WHEN YOU SAID YOU WOULD YOU BIG DORK.

9:30, he rolls in. I point out where he has installed a fucked-up piece. "That is going to drive me crazy," I explain. He tried to blame it on me but what the fuck? I sure as hell didn't install it that way. YOU DID.

Now he has gone out to "get stuff" while I sit here, not at work, and I CAN'T EVEN USE THE BATHROOM.

I have already paid this guy for Tuesday's work, so I'm in this for good. Just have to tough it out (and go to whole foods to pee.)

No stories about your fabulous experience hiring home repairs, okay? Misery loves COMPANY, people, not tales of terrific handymen.

update: he is here, but he is not speaking to me or something. Yes, I hired a thirteen year old. What is UP with people?

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Because I never know when to end a joke

more hilarious faces from the hilarious internet

Me, as a Monkeyman:

Me, as different evil gnome baby:

my wife, as the world's fattest baby:

and me, as "drunk" (how is that a face?):

Friday, August 11, 2006

wanna see something scary?

This site here has provided me with my face, transformed into a "baby"

Introducing..... evil gnome baby from 1000 miles below the surface of the earth!

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Hold the phone! A car could be blue!

Here's what we've learned from our car research:
we can maybe afford this vehicle.

We might also want to look at something in a bicycle. Maybe even a tricycle!

Right now I am wondering whether we should try to buy a car off, you know, some guy, or go to a dealership. If I'm buying from some guy, my own ignorance dooms me. If I go to a dealership, my paranoia and suspicion combine with my ignorance to create a Perfect Storm of Mishap.

Am I overworrying? Is car buying actually fun and puppies? Someone lie to me, quick.

PS High five to anyone who IDs the post title!

Monday, August 07, 2006

Sharks will EAT YOU, is all I'm saying

This weekend we drove through miserable, awful traffic to Maine for a cousin's wedding. Spending time among these particular cousins always makes me feel very, very lame. They are excellent people in all respects: kind and thoughtful and good with names, easy conversationalists, accomplished musicians and lobsterwomen, and they have a herd of adorable blond children who never, ever, ever cry. I know my dad wishes one of his daughters was seaworthy (we suffer from motion sickness, and in my case, a crippling phobia of ocean-dwelling creatures that keeps me land-based whenever possible). These girls know how to tie knots and talk about boats just like my dad likes. How'd he end up with a pair of lubber kids, I'm sure he's wondering. Meanwhile I feel a little embarassed all the time I'm there, while they ask oh-so-kindly about the adoption and I have no information to give them. No, I don't know where my kid is. I don't even know if/when he/she will be born. I felt a little envy watching everyone tickle the babies, and then hated myself when my cousin, who nearly died having her child after years of IVF, sympathetically said, "It must be so hard not knowing when this will end." Well, I would have complained of exactly that a minute ago, but now I feel like a jerk. Adopting will not physically try to kill me nor land my kid in the NICU for five weeks.

Why is everyone so nice?

Due to circumstances beyond our control, we may finally cross over to the dark side and become car owners. There is no describing how many different ways this terrifies me. Here's a start:
1. I hate driving
2. I am a very bad driver
3. And a worse navigator
4. I have never owned a car
5. How much do I know about cars? They have four wheels. Generally. I think.
6. I will never ever be able to fool a salesman or mechanic into thinking I know more than that. I might as well have a shirt made that says "Pigeon" to wear when car-shopping.
6. I hate spending big money. Especially on things I won't enjoy.

I am happy to have advice about car buying, car driving, car care, and how to not hate cars. Bring it on (she said to the empty auditorium).

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Greetings from Boredomville

I have been kind of grumpy lately, and though I know that suffering is the wellspring of comedy, I'm not actually miserable exactly so there's no funny.
For one thing, I am trying to get the bathroom floor tiled, and "The Guy" won't call me back. Why must he be such a cliche, I ask? For another thing, I am trying to eat less candy*, which is ridiculous and I don't even see why I'm doing it except I realized that I probably eat enough candy in a year to fill a dumpster, and that grosses even me out. Then, one of the agencies where our profile is was like, we are missing one of your forms, which isn't a big deal except it makes me think that they are only NOW looking at our file, three months after sending it in, and what the hell is up with that? Then of course, there is the lung-crushing soul-sucking brain-frying HEAT we've been putting up with for the last few days. I like to eat my lunch outside, I have never set foot in the cafeteria (five years now), I always go to the park and sit by the fountain like all the other blue-shirted office drones. (In the winter I go to the library or someplace.) But the heat has caused some kind of bacterial bloom in the fountain water and it smells like hobo feet.
And of course we've had no indication of any kind that we will ever, ever, see the other side of this adoption thing. Which is more discouraging than you might think only three months would be. The thing is, it took us a dog's age to get to the waiting stage so I feel like I've been waiting more than a year. I am getting older! The world is getting crappier! Hurry up!

*and ice cream, cookies, brownies, cake, frosting straight from the tub, popsicles, candy that comes free in sample copy shipments, and old candy I found in my purse.