i, for one, welcome our new squirrel overlords.

ladies and gentlemen, we have a plot.

it's not like it's original or anything since, well, it's all about me me me, but what isn't really? (i assume my reputation for arrogant presumption has preceded me.)  but i mean, where else am i gonna get a plot in three days replete with character, names and locations? come on, a no-brainer, of which, incidentally, my ex-husband had to remind me. of course, i will fictionalize whatever i damn well please, because i am the author, motherfucker. so, if you are afraid to appear in my crappy, tell all, roman a clef, month-long novel, let me know, and i'll be sure to make you be the biggest fucking asshole prick in the book. i get to do what i want, bitch. no, really, i do. it's my book. gosh, novel writing and novel thinking has made me mean. well, i guess that's what genius does.

so, interestingly, i wikipedia-ed (it doesn't work as well as google to become a verb, eh?) autobiographical novel, and this entry came up. i know how fucking nerdy of me to wikipedia it, but whatever, it's my world, you are just reading about it. the interesting part was that after the definition, there is a list of famous autobiographical novels. something to note was Ballard's Crash is mentioned with this note after it: described as "an autobiographical novel in the sense that it is about my inner life, my imaginative life." two words: holy fuck. that was the sickest book i have ever read, man, and i have read some sick fucking books. i couldn't finish that shit, seriously. i mean, i did, but i was having some serious vomiting issues during parts of that. let's think happy thoughts, shall we? like, look it's blythe!

wonder twins powers, activate. Form of Useless Shit.

not for nothing, but my sister and brother-in-law are raising my nephew like it's the 70s. the dvd of spiderman, schoolhouse rocks, and my sister and my favorite cartoon ever--the superfriends. it's funny watching them again, from the bleedingly obviousness of aquaman's homosexuality to the complete uselessness of the invisible jet, it's amazing what we missed and that what we thought was cool was really worthless and totally absurd. let's take the wondertwins, por ejemplo, they turn into really gay things that are totally useless. i mean, zan can only become water related things. how fucking useless is that! how emasculating! if he becomes water, he needs a bucket and a fucking monkey to carry him, if he is ice, he can melt. jayna on the other hand can only become an animal of some kind. like an elephant or an eagle, which i will grant you can be useful if you have something with opposable thumbs as a counterbalance. i mean, her partner in crime is liquid. useless. impotent as a superhero. completely. anyway, a band called gleek would still be rockin'. or was it jayna and gleek? my sis might remember what the name of our band was. gleek and the smug hussies.

UPDATE: It was Gleek and the Bear.

i hate when this happens

Someone Stole My Scotch After I Passed Out, Man Tells Police
BETHLEHEM

A Bethlehem man who said he passed out after drinking scotch reported to police that the rest of his unconsumed whiskey was missing, city police reported.

Jeffrey Walters, of 8 E. Broad St., told police that sometime between when he passed out at 3:30 a.m. Saturday and when he awoke at 5:30 a.m., a half bottle of scotch whiskey was removed from him, police said.

Walters told police he was drinking with a friend when he passed out and woke to find that his whiskey was gone. 
 
listen, baretta, i think your prime suspect might be the friend. just a hunch.and instead of "stole", i might just use the word "drank" when you were passed out cold from "stealing" your own bit of scotch.
actually, the more i think about this, the more it really is mind boggling that someone would report this to the cops.

as jon secada sings the national anthem at game 4 of the world series (and after announcing the latino dream team with two panamamenos by the fucking way), i am reminded of my friend ken's party circa 1993. a house full of people. ken came up to me in the kitchen and pointed to some dude in his living room.
'is that jon secada in my living room?'
'i dunno, man, but it does look like him.'
'hold things down, ub, i'm going to tell that sappy mutherfucker to get out of my house.'

make the screaming stop

yeah, yeah, it's a freaking awful night out there, and yet, despite it all, there is still a couple screaming at each other under my window. 'go ahead. fucking hit me' she is yelling. in the rain. and cold. on a monday night. she is getting hoarse. and why not? it's pneumonia weather out there. there are some things about the city i will never understand, and the ability to ignore that you are in a city is one of them. i am constantly aware that about a bazillion other people live within earshot of my every conversation. we are stacked like gerbils or japanese over every conversation in this place. the kids from the suburbs have no idea, they ell drunk and pissing in your flowerbeds on friday night. yes, i think, 'quiet, what will the neighbors think?' if this makes me a podunk, then so be it. the irony is if i interfere, and say, yo, do you need help? she would tell me to fuck off. granted, i turned off my music to listen to them, so i clearly suck at life too.

oooooooooooooo, i want an elephant.

philadelphia zoo contemplates giving away its elephants. [kyw3]


me. me. i will name him stompy, and feed him peanuts, and love him very much.

rip bling

You know, i am not much for the gambling, well, except for the weekly football pool, and march madness, and, like, who is going to be the next apprentice, or america's top model pool or whatever. oh, and lottery. and, uh, blackjack. texas hold 'em. OH, nevermind, you know what i mean. i hate vegas. still, over at oddjack, they have a great bet going on: nba props: who's going to suffer for their bling? y'all know what i'm talking about? the nba has instituted a mandatory dress code for their players, like homeboy gotta be wearing a suit and shit. nah, it all good. it's just business casual. and by business casual, i mean, brothah can't even be wearing his bling outside his shizzle. damn. that cold. but the morbid sonsabitches at oddjack got allen iverson at 2 to 5 as the first nba player to be fined under the new guidelines. not for nothing, but let's take this opportunity to look at kevin garnett in a suit (marvel above). aaaaaaaaaah. that dude is, like, the most handsome man, ever. just look at him. go on. he looks like a statue.


still, back to AI and the hatorade that the world splashes on him after every victory. he's a good guy, he just has his own style, and do you watch him? he gets thrown around more than a midget in a midget tossing contest. all those big lugs elbowing him and shit. well, here is what allen had to say about the whole thing:

"Honestly, I really think that I will [keep the dres code]," Iverson said. "Once they start talking about suspending me, then I don't have a choice. I don't want them to take my money, either. I don't want to just give my money away. That's just like taking it and burning it.

"But when they start talking about suspending me and hurting what we're trying to do here as a basketball team, then I don't have (any) choice but to abide by it."

it's a mature response and all, i mean, he's not giving his money away to the nba, because lawd knows they don't need it. later in the article entitled Iverson says he can conform to dress code, allen notes:

"I feel like if they want us to dress a certain way, they should pay for our clothes," Iverson said.

"I don't think it's good for the league. I really don't, because it kind of makes it fake. The whole thing is fake. You've got all these guys with different personalities. Tracy McGrady is different from Kobe. Kevin Garnett is different from Tim Duncan. And I'm different from those guys. Everybody has their own style. It's just unfair when you take that away from people."

Iverson was especially bothered by the section of the league memo prohibiting players from having "chains, pendants or medallions worn over" clothes.

"Basically they're saying, `Don't dress hip-hop,' " he said. "What does a chain have to do with your outfit? A lot of guys wear chains with their religion on them or personal things. I have chains with my mom's name on it, with my kids' names on it, a chain with my man that passed away on it, and I don't think that's right for people to say that I can't express it. I think they went way overboard with it."

you know, it is unfair. it is unfair that the corporate fucking machine makes us conform to their little insipid shows of power and control through our dress. it is unfair that they are making us sheople by making us shop at the fucking gap, and live on planet reebok and shit. it is unfair that i have to fucking wear business clothes all fucking day in my fucking cubicle, allen, and i can't show my shoulders, or ankles, or heels. here is the thing, though, about the nba BUYING your clothes for you. listen, allen, you make 12.4 million dollars. TWELVE POINT FOUR. MILLION. DOLLARS. A. YEAR. broken down, this is $6200/hour. i shit you not people. this means, for all you keeping score at home, i make .4% of allen iverson's salary. ain't no nba buying my shit for me. math is not my strong suit or anything, but for $12.4 mil a year, i think i can say, SHUT THE FUCK UP and WEAR THE DAMN KHAKIS, JACKHAT. i mean, come on, that is like a fucking 2 hour commitment to not wearing bling. of taking your fucking job seriously. i agree that me not wearing my "your retarded" t-shirt on a daily basis to the office is sort of fake, but that's what i have to do to pay my rent and feed my childun. it's life, allen. that's what fucking happens when you grow up and stop playing games on the school yard. oh, wait, right. nevermind. bling away, yo.
anyway, in other related interesting factoids about how much my life sucks compared to ai, while i have been writing this blog, allen iverson has made $733.66 and i have made a whopping $3.03. that hasn't even paid for my latte. you can calculate that in weber grills at this site. well, you too can see how much the rich and famous make compared to you here at salary wizard. it is a very cool program, but i just want to say i hate everything.

lusting after the bikes of bucks county

this weekend i did a 50 mile covered bridge ride of bucks county. lots of middle aged guys in spandex. lots of money. lots of sweeeeet rides. damn, if i saw another orbea, my brain was going to explodamente. bianchis. le mond. holy crap, old school pirandellos. check out the orbea if you don't believe me on it's extremely beautiful body and sleek engineering.

but why do the girl's version always look so much dorkier? why can't girls ride black and orange bikes?

there was a dude with an old school, european touring bike and a hoffenbrau jersey, and a stunned into stupidity fucking expression on his face. that dude was my nemesis. i always have to pick one. the person i am not saving if the plane is going down. that is hoffenbrau guy. we'd hit a hill and my girls would kick it. my legs hard steel pistons pumping up the hill, i'd punch by the stupid upright dumbass in his hoffenbrau jersey and think, not in my house, muthahfucker. girls rule, boys drool. booya. yeah, i'd think all that and plenty of more cusses too. he would turn his head and with his stupid simpleton smile nod, and then when i ran out of gears and was down on speed, my girls start bitching and running out of steam, pee wee fucking herman would pull up along side me with his silly, shit-eating grin and blow past me, until i was mad enough to bury him again. then i would hang low, wait for john and repeat on the next hill. i swear i didn't pee next rest stop, just so i could catch 5 minutes and i didn't have to see the dude on any hill ever again. his non-chalance mocked me.

anyway, not to worry, there were hicks and rednecks a plenty in bucks county, even if they can't afford the taxes, they still blow into the county to try and hurt men who shave their legs and the women who love them.rich dickwads with big suvs plowing by us at 50 mph beeping their horn. obnoxious bitches. i got a bottle thrown at me, and consequently a thousand little shards of glass in my tire. damn, a-holes. some guy made chase, but alas, the gmc eagle is no match for the trek 1500. it shook me up, the vehemence and random act of violence always upsets me and shakes my belief in people as inherently good. the bottle crashed against a wall right in front of me, clearly aimed at scaring the crap out of our group of cyclists. john k. had a slow leak after that too. i now need new tires. i am thinking about getting those cool mag tires.
the ride was beautiful, though, here is the breakdown of hills and what not:

2700 feet of climbing in 50 miles. well, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound like much. the wind was fierce though. but all in all, a great way to end the organized ride season. here is a picture of me in the morning (i think i am number 98 of the 447)and here is another making a climb 5 miles from the end (and three photos ahead of john k). i look pretty much the same in both. like a smiling alien. as david bowie so eloquently put it, is there life on mars? oui, david, oui.

strung out on peeps, part 58

strung out on peeps, part 58

my boss just gave me a six-pack of delight-fills, pumpkin shaped peeps filled with chocolate cream. holy shit, these are good. i mean, i am not for messing with peeps too much. call me a peep purist. i get a little turned off by peeps even shaped like fierce kitties for halloween, but they still taste like peeps, just happen to be a different color and shape. i can live with that, but like the orange cream gigantic peep egg that my sister and i got for easter one year was just WRONG. my sister's exact quote was "this is so good, it tastes just like baby aspirin." anyway, the peep delight-fills would be so good on a stick over a campfire. just sayin'. or roasted on my gas stove. holy crap, i'm a genius. i should get the noble prize in crap that will make you throw up. currently, i have one resting on top of my computer monitor so it will get all crusty.

anyway, so to get this picture of the delight-fill at the top of this post, i visited the official peeps website. so, there is a fan club, and a page with crafts and recipes, things like sugar cookie with a peep on it, or a mobile with different halloween peeps hanging off it (that is frightening to have roaches all over your house because of a fucking craft done entirely in peeps). so, then there is a link that says, "ingredient information", which i clicked and i get this screen:



that sucks. it is so lame. it says contact consumer information for ingredients. i mean, just say sugar and nothing found in nature. who cares? we are fucking peeps moonies if we are on your site, popping around and looking at fucking recipes and crafts that will make us more obsessive about peeps, we would eat it if the page said, 'made out of babies and rat's ass.' they are soooooooooo good. that are THAT good. sidney i'm sure remembers when i worked at makam's kitchen on 24th and lombard and would walk to that horrid sleven on lombard, but where the street curves to south street bridge, and i would buy like the worst, most disgusting seeming candy, and mostly just LOVED it, things like gummy burgers. so, my favorite candies are candy corn, licorice, peeps, fun dip, i mean, shitty fucking candy, nothing like belgian chocolate or whatever. in new zealand, i would just buy these bags of penny candy, which everyone calls lollies, and just constantly nosh on crap, get excitable, then be mean, then crash out.  can you tell i'm a little wired on peeps? next thing, i am going to be ramming my head into the wall, and trying to hit someone's little sister.

chewbacca becomes american citizen

i knew that wookie was british. i could tell by his accent. this sort of reminds me of that time i was going to the airport lounge with vero in tucson and we walked in to see the lovermakers, and dude at the money box goes, 'did you hear the princess died?' and i screamed in all my airheaded glory, 'princess leia died?' and then i realized that i was a dumbass and he was talking about diana. still, you can see my confusion.

mickey, mickey, mickey.

you know, you are my main bitch and everything, homes, but please, sweet baby jesus, mickey rourke, let's pull it together. you and me, babe. you and me can figure this thing out. dude, shiny paisley? hair plugs? no and a no. the surgery needs to stop. come on, now. you are rumblefish. I miss you. (call me.)

dirty dirty sock monkey

okay not for nothing, but this is so wrong, it's right.

sock monkey porn i know the lot of you are curious what string of google key words got me to this place, and really, i can't tell you, but porn was not involved, yet somehow, i always get to the porn, don't i? so, if you have children, i would stop scrolling now and tell them mummy needs another drink.actually, my blog box isn't letting me add pictures for some stupid reason, so just click the link. the one withthe two sock monkeys is very very naughty indeed, but the logistics are quite interesting. like, if you too didn't have, ahem, bones, think about the different possib...oh, nevermind.

i have a confession to make.

most of you know that i am not a fan of soda. it hurts my throat and i complain about that. and it makes me hiccup and feel gross. i get seriously rammy and crazy, like a six year old on a hershey bar, and angry and kick people. plus, what i have read about your teeth and soda. GROSS. but right now, at 10:45 am, sitting at my desk, i can honestly say that:


i'm a pepper.

other than that, it's really a pretty normal day at the office.

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong

01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.
this was posted in craigslist's best of section, but i thought it deserved a repost somewhere.

war of the rosas and sleep

yeah, so it's 2:30 in the am and i am on the computer, which means i'm hitting critically productive strides towards another bout of insomnia. once i actually leave the bed and turn on a light, i'm past the point of no return. i've cleaned my office, well, sort of. i can't bear to put laundry away from last weekend. it will soon be this weekend. this i think makes me feel like a failure as an adult in many ways, the fact that there are some domestic chores in which i simply throw up my hands and say 'i cannot bear it right now'. and so sits the third world squalor that is my office. i currently have a load of towels with detergent in the broken washing machine downstairs replete with $1.25 in quarters. an uberwenschen adult crime scene. some sort of maturity police might come in and arrest me.

it is late, and i imagine myself face to face with the little shits that are eating my peanut butter sacrifices. yes, that is right, the rosas are back. war is on, baby. currently, i have one mouse under my belt, and i have carved one little notch into the trap. i feel like that kid in red dawn:

'all that hate is gonna burn you up, boy.'
'it keeps me warm.'

oh, i just had a frightening thought, i am so glad the mice don't parachute into the kitchen and speak russian and spanish interchangeably, that would be horrifying. or if they had wings. shutter. one down, 147 left to go. no, i don't know how many of them live here, but cheeba, the neighbor's cat, does a fan-fuckin'-tastic job of chasing them to floor three where their audacity and arrogance make me want to exact a sort of roman punishment upon them and their kin. they are currently getting incredibly talented at eating the peanut butter off the trap without setting it off. little fuckers are evolving. i only killed junior, a little baby mouse and he was damned cute for being a dead mouse. i hear the little 'avenge my boy' squeaks from under the stove.

all this being said, i received my daily writer's almanac poem. today's poem is from an anthology called A Cappella: Mennonite Voices in Poetry. here is "Instructions" by Sheri Hostetler:

Instructions

Give up the world; give up self; finally, give up God.
Find god in rhododendrons and rocks,
passers-by, your cat.
Pare your beliefs, your absolutes.
Make it simple; make it clean.
No carry-on luggage allowed.
Examine all you have
with a loving and critical eye, then
throw away some more.
Repeat. Repeat.
Keep this and only this:
what your heart beats loudly for
what feels heavy and full in your gut.
There will only be one or two
things you will keep,
and they will fit lightly
in your pocket. 

maybe i sort of needed that. what are my absolutes? right now, i have no problem with the critical eye part, but the loving part is escaping me. i know i need to sleep, but experience and a lifetime of not-sleeping has made me keenly aware that this will not come easily and without some kind of internal peace summit and/or drugs.

current mood: not fucking sleepy.

so, just curious, does anyone remember the four years in which i stopped dropping the f-bomb on a regular basis and snapped at people when he would say the f-word? perhaps i should try to reinstitute that again. it's really unbecoming, no? and i may drop it in front of a child or something.

i wrote down this quote about two months ago while talking to my sister on the phone from work: "I just saw a bear rip off a fish's tail. I didn't need to see that. Stupid Animal Planet."