In Case There Is Any Question

About whether or not I have the very BEST children in the world...

 

The girls are on Spring Break this week, so they are home all day while I'm off slaying the dragons.  When I got home from work last night, I discovered that not only had they cleaned the entire apartment (except their rooms, but hey, they have all week...) but they had also set the table and cooked a delicious and nutritious dinner, which was waiting for me when I walked in the door.

 

 

They were rewarded after dinner with copious amounts of ice cream and candy.  And chocolate chip frozen waffles.

 

 

 

I promise, at least for this week, to stop worrying about whether or not I'm doing this parenting thing right.

People Behaving Badly In Restaurants...For Fun

Usually, when one of my daughters says, "Mom! Take a picture!" it means that she has dressed the cat in MC Hammer pants and a muscle shirt or something, and wants to record the moment.

But The Diva is the queen of the interesting shot. She is an artist, and, this stuff is fun for her. The last time we were out at the local salad bar place, she started dumping salt on the tray. I gave her The Look, but she assured me this was going to be good, and eventually said, "OK, take a picture." Here is what you get:

Child snorting...something.

My God, I love the way her mind works. That's good humor, people....

This shot is similar to the Thanksgiving photo of years ago, when she washed out a wine bottle, filled it with water, said "Take a picture" then proceeded to chug it down. I did not send the picture of the 9 year old chugging "wine" from the bottle to my mother. She has a pretty good sense of humor, but I'm not sure how she would take it.


Speaking of chugging from the bottle...I went to dinner with a couple of girlfriends on Saturday, and when we finally decided on a wine, we ended up with a bottle as big as....as big as.....

As big as Sarah's purse.

For those of you who have never met Sarah, let me assure you that you could lose a toddler in her purse.

After we poured, we were continuing to marvel at the gigantic bottle of wine, and, in honor of The Diva, I told Sarah to take a slug of it, and I would take a picture, of the gigantic bottle of wine. She stopped short of actually drinking...damn! But, we had fun anyway.

Our Lady Of The Large Purse

Oh! And since we were at Buca, and there are all sorts of nude paintings on the wall, my other friend spent half the night obsessing over the fact that there were "penises EVERYWHERE!" I tried to snap a picture of one of the offending articles, so I could email it to her, but by that time we had consumed the entire bottle of wine, and I was laughing my ass off, so the photo came out super-blurry.

I won't post the results, because I feel very strongly that if you're going to be looking at a penis, you should be focused. And that' all I'm gonna say about that...

Very Scary, Bordering On Evil

I did another one of those Evil Girl Trick things yesterday. 

 

I panicked, OK?

 

 

 

I was at work, and some stupid crap was happening and it was stressing me out.  As it happened, my most useful advocate, the person I NEEDED on my side, happened to be a male, so I put on my helpless female mask and sobbed my way through a few gut-wrenching emails to get him to do what I wanted.

 

 

So evil.  So very, very evil.

 

 

Even though it was not an in-person conversation, the man reacted the way most men would react to a crying woman:  "WHAT HAPPENED???  Are you OK?  Can I beat somebody up for you?"

 

 

And my answer was so incredibly sad....so drenched in melancholy, that it came out sounding something like this:  "Well...(sniff-sniff)...yes, you can do something for me, (voice trembling)...but....if you're not able to...(sniff-sniff)....it's OK...(*LOUD SOB*)...I understand...(burst into tears)."

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

And of course he did exact what I wanted him to do.

 

 

Jeezuz that's bad.  Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad....I'm going straight to hell...

A Couple Of Pics

Happy to be back in the world of functional camera phones, I discovered this little gift on my desk this morning, from my friend and co-worker...it's from a batch of anise/lavender soap she made, and I'm thrilled. Its been such a crap week, with a high amount of insanity and tears...I need a long soak in the tub. A very, very, long soak in the tub.

You. Me. My place. Later.

I'll bring the pomegranate martini.

(A note to those who might wonder what to do when they catch me openly weeping at my desk, at the store, while driving down the street, while getting the mail, while taking my children out to dinner...handmade soap is a beautiful thing.)

And here is our beautiful boy, Bailey.

Since we moved to a home without a dog, the first such place we have lived since Bailey was very young, he has returned to his very charming habit of camping out on the floor, on his back. It's so cute, you just want to rub his tummy, but of course, that just pisses him off and he goes back to sleeping on the dining room table where he can get some peace and quiet...

And More Of The Mildly Amusing...

I just love opening the mail at work...people are such smart-asses.


It takes a smart-ass to appreciate a smart-ass.



So, today, in response to a sales flyer that we sent out, I got a funeral announcement with a note that read, "I don't think they need insurance in heaven"



Um....are you SURE???


Cuz I work for an insurance company, and my boss (the nice one, the one that didn't get fired) told me that EVERYBODY needs insurance. You may have noticed, judging by the mailing list that we are sending sales pitches to, that we don't care if you're dead. Just send money, is all we're sayin'.



Oh, and to the kindly person who sent the porn, the pictures are lovely but the BEST part was the order form! I'll be ordering my copy of Revenge of the Dildos shortly! Only $12.95? Awesome!

(Can you imagine if I was some freakish conservative person sitting at work and opened an envelope to see pictures of women with men's body parts in their mouths? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA....keep that image in your head until you find it as amusing as I do, would ya? Thanks...)

Another Tragic Reminder

Of how tentative this whole thing is...

Natasha Richardson dies after ski fall.


I usually don't "do" obits.  And, I think, I'm not going to do one now.  Things like this are, and should be, jarring.  I've fallen down while skiing, dozens of times.  I'm sure she had, too, before this happened.  I guess, on all of those falls, we were just lucky.  Today, I am reminded that being alive is series of lucky events.

It seems a shame to waste all this great fortune, so at least today, don't.  Today, do something that you think is very scary.  Ask the girl out, accept that exciting, but frightening job offer, strike up a conversation with the cute boy you've been noticing lately, drink your coffee with cream and sugar.  Whatever.  Have a day in which you don't act like you've got all the time in the world.

Where The Goblins Go

Did you ever have one of those bosses who was soooo good at making everyone miserable that on the occasion of their firing, you can just tell that the entire staff is itching to break into a chorus of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead"?

 

 

 

Aaaaah....sweet justice....

 

 

 

Now go away, before somebody drops a house on you, too! ;-)

Entrelac: For When You Need To Send Your Brain On Vacation

I had a moment of divine inspiration while looking at Lisa Shroyer's Basic Entrelac Scarf Pattern.

 

 

I thought....."That could be a rug."

 

 

 

I love entrelac.  Love it. 

 

 

It comes with a rather gigantic "Ta-Dah!" moment at the end of each project because it looks difficult.  People who don't know how it is done ask you deep, probing questions like, "How did you do that?"

 

 

Oops!  Not difficult!  Which is why I feel perfectly justified making a rug using this technique.  There is something cool about gesturing toward some intricate-looking knitted thing on the floor and saying, "Just throw your boots over there on the rug"

 

 

Except I won't be using Noro Kochoran for the rug....I may enjoy owning and using nice things, but you're not putting your muddy boots on ANGORA in my house, OK?

 

 

Anyway, I looked at the pattern, blew it up to gigantic proportions--for the scarf, CO 24, but I started with 112 stitches to make it into a rug--and I guess I'll stop when I feel like stopping, or, when it looks like a rug.  I am currently on the second tier.

 

 

This is exactly what my brain needs right now.  I have had so much on my mind--so much weirdness.  I wish I could write about it, but I can't, not just because of the Who Is Involved, and the What Has Been Happening but also because I'm so off-balanced at the moment, I feel like if I add an extra weight to either side (by talking about it), I'm going to topple over.  Entrelac is something you can focus on, to keep the crap out of your head.

 

 

 

Then again, there is something to be said for toppling over.  Falling probably won't kill me, it just looks pretty high up where I'm standing.

I'm Not Blaming Monday

I won't do it.  I'm not that kind of person.

 

Unless you've noticed that I am that kind of person....I mean...do any of you ever note the level of bitchiness slightly higher around here on the day after the weekend?  You can be honest--I can take it.

 

 

Those of us who work Monday through Friday tend to act like we've lost our minds on Mondays--as if, over the course of two days we completely forgot what time we're supposed to get up, how long it takes to get ready, what level of caffeine we need in order to feel normal, whether or not we need to thaw out the car, etc..  We awake with blissful ignorance on Mondays and wonder what the hell happened, because we were sure that we had it all together just a couple of days ago...

 

 

This morning, I forgot to make coffee. 

 

 

Forgot to make coffee.

 

 

Seriously...how does a caffeine-addicted freak FORGET to make coffee?  How does that happen?

 

 

The Bad Addict returns.

 

 

The Bad Addict, having created a situation in which, without caffeine and nicotine, I would curl up in a ball on the couch, emerging only occasionally for the purposes of angrily lashing out at those who might try to speak to me, sometimes 'forgets' to buy/make coffee and sometimes 'forgets' to buy cigarettes. 

 

 

I don't do this on purpose--apparently, I'm just a ding-bat.

 

 

I noticed the No Coffee thing about 2 minutes before I was supposed to walk out the door this morning, and thought I might even try to scrape by with some re-heated Yesterday Coffee, but alas, there wasn't any Yesterday Coffee left, and by that time, no time to make a fresh pot. 

 

*Gulp* 

 

 

I filled my travel mug with placebo hot water for the drive to work (AKA The Land Of Flowing Caribou) but, of course, I was twitchy by the time I hit the crosstown.

 

 

Again...I'm really bad at this whole "being addicted" thing.  Its not that I am NOT addicted, because clearly I am.  The good news is, it is apparently all physical and not psychological, because if it was psychological, I'd be much better at protecting my stash...

 

I know that the fact that I keep forgetting I'm addicted to certain substances would indicate to many of you that "quitting" those substances would be a good idea.  I shall take that into consideration.

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

OK, I thought about it and decided not to quit just yet.

 

 

When the day comes that I stop forgetting to make coffee or buy cigarettes, then I'll know it's time.

Look Back And Laugh

I think, sometimes, that the most difficult truth that any of us ever have to face is the fact that the "right" thing will always happen.

We may not know WHY something that happened was "right" until years after the fact, but I do believe that if you listen to the universe, this realization will eventually hit you.

Maybe you didn't get the job you wanted, or the guy you wanted, or hell, even that pair of shoes you wanted (extremely rare, but it does happen) and you're pissed and hurt and don't understand it.  Eventually, though, you will.  You will understand, someday.

Those words are of no comfort whatsoever. 

I know that the words offer no comfort, because I've been asking "Why?" for a couple of years now (specifically "Why am I so damn stupid?"), and, you'd think an answer would get thrown my way, but so far, it hasn't.  Telling myself that I'll know 'someday' doesn't make me feel like less of an idiot today.  Telling yourself that you didn't get the job or the guy or whatever because there is something better waiting for you out there, doesn't make you feel good, and won't make you feel good until, well, something better shows up.  Don't bother checking your calendar--we have no idea when that will be.

Carol Allen likes to say, "Rejection is God's protection".  I like that--it helps.  Maybe that thing you wanted turned out to be something completely different from what you thought, and it's not good, and one day you'll be damn glad you didn't get stuck with it.  Maybe the company you wanted to work for will go belly-up amid rumors and scandal.  Maybe the guy you wanted will do the same.  Maybe the shoes will turn out to be the Edsel of the clothing design world.

Aren't you lucky you dodged that bullet?


Right now, I am very much looking forward to one day looking back on this and laughing...

Almost Made It!

You know how, when you get that first glimpse of Spring, and you think, "Hey, cool!  I made it through the Winter without slipping on ice and falling on my ass..."?

 

 

Yeah...

 

 

Whacked my belbow. 

 

 

I have an owie.

 

 

I wonder if I should go for the sympathy vote around the office?  Can't type--broke my belbow.  *sigh*

Random

• While I was listening to Pandora, The Kinks "Destroyer" came on, and I had a weird flash-back to a church field trip in which the supposedly young and hip pastor and his lovely bride encouraged the wacky teens (us) to bring our music along to play on the bus, but they changed their minds about the whole "kid music" thing about halfway through this song.  Of course, it was one of MY contributions.  Was this the beginning of the end of my church attendance?  I think it was.  I figure not liking the Kinks is like not liking pie.  I'm always suspicious of people who claim to not like pie.
• What's better than payday?  Payday when they are serving Pepperoni and Green Olive pizza in the cafeteria!  Seriously, I thought I was the only person on Planet Earth that ever ordered or made Pepperoni and Green Olive pizza...kiss the cook.
• Sock One, Almost Done!  This is the pace at which I knit these days:  Two or more weeks on one sock.  I'd take a picture but my toes stick out and I'm looking a little Winter Feet at the moment.  It will be a pair of black socks, perfect of course, for the Summer that will be here by the time I finish both of them (facetiousness implied...).  And thank you Recipe Donor, cuz I still can't find my sock book.  Damnit. 
• I realize that what is missing from my life are the long car trips in which I am the passenger and I knit to alleviate the boredom of passengering.  I thought, for a second, that no longer having a driver was a bit of a drag, until I remembered that the driver was the reason we had the long car trips in the first place, so, no harm, no foul.  Now when I knit, I sit in a comfy chair, like a lump, with my feet up and a cat in my lap.  Much better.
• There will be actual grown-up conversation and getting out of the house and live music and everything tomorrow!  And perhaps drinking!  Whatever shall I do with myself?  Actually, I will be staying home on Tuesday, because I don't "do" amateur night, so a mid-March Friday will be my substitute.  Besides, it is my sister's birthday tomorrow, and she deserves a toast.  Honeydogs, Dawg!  See you at First Ave...

Hilar...

Wanna hear something funny about my job?  Something that makes me chuckle inwardly and occasionally laugh out loud?

 

This big company where I work was concerned that maybe the customers weren't feeling the love--which, they're not, frankly, because we're an insurance company and pretty much nobody ever feels any love from an insurance company.  We want your money, and, we don't want to give any of it back.  Ever.  Normally, I applaud that type of attitude in business, because what the hell are we here for, if not to make lots of money?  I'm all about making the money, and don't mind being a little cut-throat about it.  If you're too slow, I'm going to eat your lunch--Hey, I hustle from the second I walk out of my house every morning, and I leave pretty damn early.  I have EARNED your lunch.  If you can't seem to get yourself up off the couch, you don't get to eat.

 

The thing about insurance companies that bugs me is that the entire industry promotes itself in such a way that we want you to believe that we are your friend.  That is the entire angle--we're here to help.  Security.  Support when you need it. 

 

 

It's mostly crap.  We're not really your friend.  We expect payment and we would prefer it if you never had to use the services you're paying for because that costs us money.  It's not personal.  It's just business.

 

 

Sometimes, like right now, when people are a bit freaked about money, what they are doing with their money and especially, what they are getting for their money, people wake up to the fact that, "hey, my insurance company doesn't seem very nice..." and they start to look around to see if maybe there is someone more suitable out there.  Perhaps someone who doesn't seem so wickedly heartless.

 

 

So what did my big company do?

 

 

...

 

 

Formed a committee.

 

 

 

 

 

....because nothing rocks it like a committee.

 

 

 

 

...a Committee of Customer Love.  Oh yes, we have one.  A means by which some members of management can stroke themselves a little, in their efforts to show people that they really, really care.  The 'team leaders' have signs on their office doors that say "Committee of Customer Love Team Leader", and everything.  Ironically (or not, depending on your attitude of these things) the 'team leaders' are the people so far removed from the customer that they couldn't possible formulate anything resembling consumer empathy.  THEY don't have to pay through the nose for health insurance.  THEY don't ever have to talk to our customer service department.  THEY make plenty of money and can afford to pay for expensive medical care out of pocket.

 

((eye-roll))

 

At least I can laugh about it, right?

 

 

It rather reminds me of No Child Left Behind.  Anybody remember that gem?  Where somebody had a brilliant idea (cough-cough) and declared it the law of the land and then provided NO means or resources with which to carry it out?  Yeah....that was a good one...

 

 

So far, the Committee of Customer Love has....sent out a bunch of emails to all of us, each talking about how freaking AWESOME they are!  Yay!

 

 

And they are happy to remind the rest of us the Customer Love is our duty, while remaining oblivious to the fact that most of their underlings have been operating on this principal for a long time.

 

 

It might be refreshing, instead of forming a Committee of Customer Love (and have loads of people be annoyed by the fake Give-A-Shit), to simply start a realistic ad campaign--something along the lines of "Health Insurance--Slightly Less Expensive Than Paying Your Doctor Directly", and let the chips fall where they may.  Some people still might buy it...

Oh, And One More Thing...

I'm TOTALLY changing my name to "Hilaria"!!!!

 

 

Yes, its a real name--I just read it somewhere.

 

 

I must say, the world is a better place, just knowing that there is somebody out there named "Hilaria". 

 

 

My previous pseudonym, "Hertula" (which is the real name of Barb's aunt) will be retired, effective immediately...

New Rule

If you work at an office, like me, and you push obscene amounts of paper around all day, like me, you'll be happy to note this new rule: 

 

 

If something is mailed, faxed or otherwise assigned to you and your name is spelled wrong on the document, you don't have to do a damn thing with it. 

 

 

Feel free to apply that to any other area of your life, as well...I know that everyone in my office is VERY excited about this one.

 

I mean...who can't spell "Matthew"?  Really?

Invincibility Returning

....you know that the gloom and doom can only go on for so long, right?

 

I only worry about myself, truly worry, during those times when, for some reason, I don't feel utterly invincible. 

 

 

Yes, I usually feel invincible.

 

 

In fact, my insistence that I am invincible is usually what most people find so annoying about me.

 

 

This week was peppered with work stupidity in the form of people asking me to do something that is extra work for me, but completely un-necessary, and with wasted effort being a MAJOR pet peeve of mine, I wanted to strangle someone.  When I was unable to rally the troops and find anyone else willing to also strangle someone or at least dispose of the bodies, I was bummed.  Luckily, my boss is coming back from vacation, and, she's totally sympathetic to my "I want to strangle someone" moods.  Yay!  While I may not actually strangle anybody, having a like-minded person in the building is always nice.  Besides, she is in a better position to put the screws to the offending individuals, what with being a 'boss' and everything.

 

Then, while I was bummed out about the work thing, I let myself get bummed about the "I'm alone" thing for about a day, until somebody told me Venus was in retrograde.  You wouldn't think it would make a damn bit of difference, and actually, I feel like a total weirdo for even talking about it, but this stuff keeps being proven to me, again and again.  So weird!  How does that even work?  If I could keep a Vedic Astrologer on speed dial, I totally would.

 

Anyway...somebody mentioned something about Alabama, and I was all *sigh* and remembering beautiful days on the Gulf, and melancholy-melancholy-melancholy.....and it SUCKED.  Strangely, it wasn't a "I miss my husband" thing so much as it was a "I missed having a grown up with whom I agree about many things so I can VENT to somebody while using harsh language" thing.  Because in order to maintain invincibility, I require a huge amount of venting in my life.  You'd think that having a blog would take care of that need quite handily, but it doesn't, simply due to the fact that there are some things I will never discuss here.  It would be waaaay too Jackie Collins-esque--you know, how everybody knows exactly which celebrity she is talking about in her little romance 'novels' but she keeps insisting it is just a character in a book?  Sure, Jackie....sure.  I mean...I have stories, too.  Good stories.  Spotlight on truly amazing human behavior, stories.  Curse my respectful heart, I can't seems to make characters out of these characters--the fact that they are who they are is the only reason they're even IN the stories.  And none of them have pissed me off enough to go all Jackie Collins on them.

 

THEN, in the middle of job/alone bummed-ness, the stupid Check Engine light came on in my car....delightful!  And that, of course, compounded the "I'm alone" thing because normally I would have someone to bounce this stuff off of, not that he knew anything about cars.  Usually, I would come home, vent-vent-vent, get little or no useful information from spouse regarding what could have caused the Check Engine light to come on in the first place, then go out and reset the Check Engine light myself and watch as it turned out to be nothing.

 

As it happens, the only thing that was missing was the 'vent-vent-vent' part....it turned out to be nothing. 

 

 

And that was the beginning of a fantastic Friday.

 

 

Invincibility returning.  Carry on.

Perspective

There is an image that I have stuck in my head, of Diane Sawyer standing in front of what used to be the World Trade Center, or as close as she could get to that spot, on the day of the attacks.  The air is full of debris, and especially, sheets of paper are floating to the ground all around her.

 

She notices all of the paper, grabs one of the sheets as it drifts past her, and says something along the lines of, "All of this paperwork was important to somebody, just yesterday."

 

 

And....that is where my head is at right now, as I pile through this stack of paperwork.  In the grand scheme of things, it is incredibly unimportant.

 

 

But somebody made a point to stop by my desk and explain to me how incredibly important that pile of paper is, and they did the figurative finger-poking-chest thing, too, to stress just how damn important and time sensitive it is.

 

 

Still, I cannot bring myself to give a shit...

Ms. Blue Sky

You can add this to the "Is it weird that people annoy me so much?" file, and, as always, feel free to compare notes.

 

 

One of my co-workers just got back from a long weekend in Charleston, and was telling stories of her travels.  Most of the stories, as you can imagine, involved the weather.  She lives in Minneapolis, after all, and, Charleston is a completely different meteorological animal.

 

She had made note of, and was happy to relay, the temperature and wind conditions for every single date of her trip from the time she touched the ground to the time she got back on a plane.

 

Is it bad of me to have wanted to scream, over the Blathering Of Nothing Important, "DUH!  Its WARMER there, brainiac!"...?

 

Because I don't know why people go on and on about the weather.  Who cares?  Any 6 year old can tell you that the South is warmer than Minneapolis.  Why must we give so thought much thought and discussion to widely accepted fact?  Is she trying to make people jealous because she had four whole days of 65 degrees while we had a snow storm? 

 

WOW I don't care!  Don't care.  I don't look upon weather as "good" or "bad".  It just is.  I know I'm weird about that--I know that I am.  When I speak to people in different parts of the country and they say things like, "You guys just had a big snow storm up there!" my usual reaction is, "......We did?  OH!  Yeah!  I guess we did!", and I'm never sure if my reaction sounds nonchalant or, just stupid.  I mean....what kind of idiot doesn't notice a blizzard? 

 

 

Ahem...It's not that I didn't notice...it's that I didn't care.

 

 

I'm able to feign interest in this mush for a short time while I am standing in front of someone, but to be honest, I could not wait to sit down at my keyboard and talk about how stupid it is to talk about air temperature, unless someone is paying you to talk about air temperature.  With so many other things to think about, seriously, WHY does anyone ever engage in lengthy discussion about this?  Why would anyone make note of the actual temperature? 

 

Try this:  Walk outside, asses the feeling of the air, look at the sky, apply or discard clothing as necessary, and move on...its not rocket science.

 

But...we're just not like that, we humans.  No time to look at the sky...no time at all.  We'd rather rely on somebody else to tell us what the temperature is going to be, tell us how to dress, tell us whether or not to take an umbrella, tell us to take a little extra time getting to work because the roads are bad.  We put it all in someone else's lap, and act all superior if it isn't what they said it would be.  How lame is that?

 

People talk about the weather because it is one of those things where anybody can be an expert, due ENTIRELY to the large group of actual experts constantly feeding them the answers via the media.  Let's face it...if you started right now, would it take you more than 12 seconds to get today's forecast?  Not me! 

 

The greater question is, if that forecast turned out to be dead wrong, would you notice? 

 

Not me!

 

 

I would love it if we could talk about something interesting for a change--something we have a say in, or something we can change if we get up off the couch for once.  Weather is something that people talk about when they have nothing of substance to say, and they just like the sound of their own voices.

Teetering On The Edge Of Trashy

There is a definite Ameri-Slang sound to the way I write and, even more so to the way that I speak (yes, one day, you shall hear these rants performed in the manner in which they were intended--if you visualize the destruction caused when a Great Dane stomps though a tulip bed, you'll get an idea of the sound of it).  Some days, like today, I absolutely hate it.  I hate it today, because I spent the weekend burying myself in the works of people who demonstrate far more talent in the use of the language than I.  Through their talent, they show what the instrument is capable of, and I am humbled to the point of not wanting to open my mouth, because 'Teetering On The Edge Of Trashy' is the only way I can think to describe my "style" at the moment.

 

 

Communication is...truly amazing.  You can make infinite noises to convey every thought you could ever imagine.  You can say nothing and speak volumes.  You can create your own sound, and a whole new language if you wish.  You can create a thing called 'Teetering On The Edge Of Trashy', counting on at least a small group of individuals who will be able to find the humor in it, and a large chunk of the population who won't understand that you meant it as a compliment when you called a guy 'that little fucker'.

 

I come by this way of speaking and writing through the bearing of many influences in my life, the most important being the fact that I spent 15 years actively and intently listening to myself when I worked in radio.  There is nothing like being forced to hear yourself speak to beat the colloquialisms right out of you.  (By the way, I work within listening distance of one of our company's call centers, and have come to believe that every person in that department should be REQUIRED to listen to themselves speak, every day, for at least an hour a day, so they may be similarly educated regarding their horrific speaking habits.) 

 

Now, I just use those crutches as humorous device, in effect making fun of every person who continues to utter them while being unaware of how they actually sound.  For what other reason would I TYPE the words "you know?" into a sentence?

 

Ahem....It is because I'm being a smart-ass.

 

 

I wonder, very often, how many people actually get the joke.   It is difficult to pull off if you are writing--simpler if you are speaking out loud.  People who have known me forever, who also read this blog, tell me that I write how I speak, but, unlike a lot of you, they have the benefit of actually hearing the aggressive facetiousness in their head while they read.  They know me. 

 

Perhaps I should post a disclaimer at the top of the page to indicate that in all cases, sarcasm should be assumed.  Or that in 'Teetering On The Edge Of Trashy', most variations of the 'F' word should be considered an adjective, simply meaning, "very, very", as in "Fucking Brilliant" from this weekend's post, (except when inserting the 'F" word into a name, ala "Justin-Fucking-Currie", in which case you are referencing that person's obvious greatness and your comparatively lowly position in the talent pool).

 

And let us not forget that "Shit" is actually just "Stuff".  Except when Stuff is Shit.

 

 

 

*sigh*

 

 

Too much explaining.

 

It might be better to simply say, "It's supposed to be funny," let it go, and hope that it will be.

Everybody's Up For Sale, Sometimes...

A collection of items from Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch, ranging from Michael Jackson's white glove to the entry gates to Neverland Ranch are....up for auction.

 

 

Even more delicious than that?  If you want a catalog--that is, a listing of the items for sale--it will cost you $100.  Just for the list.  For $500, Michael will sign it.  The list.

 

 

A portion of the proceeds benefit MusiCares--read all about it here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Did you notice the complete lack of snarky comments?  Did you notice that I didn't say ONE mean thing?  I think my head is about to explode!)