Back on the Shelf

Generic Cheese. I thought you had expired, so I took you off the shelf. Hold up partner, not just yet. Maybe artificial preservatives aren't so bad after-all. You've aged a little, but maybe that just means you're worth more these days. I wonder if you'll taste sharper or nuttier than you did the last time. Let's take a bite and see, hmm...

DELICIOUS!!! Enough with the supermarket inspired pseudo-sentimental musings; I'm back, bitches! Ugh, gross. Sorry.

I've abandoned this for so long that I don't even know where to start again. So many happenings, both big and small...shaking hands with Coldplay, saying farewell to Swayze, not to mention all the actual real-life stuff too. I sorta feel like cutting those pieces off into cubes, piercing them with decorative toothpics, and saving them as appetizers for another party. OK, sorry, guess I wasn't quite ready to retire the cheesy analogies.

It's springtime again. The skies are getting sunnier, the clothes are getting tinier, the flowers are getting pollenier, and the people are getting hornier. At every turn, prepare to be confronted with an image of some gloriously toned and tank-topped arms wrapped around one another in a passionate, can't wait to copulate embrace. If two of those arms happen to be yours, congratulations. Happy Springtime. I'll just be hanging out over here in my turtleneck. See ya when the leaves fall.

Enough of the bitter cheese, time for something tastier...like Jack Black. Dreamsicle. Shallow Hal is on TV right now, and I forgot how much I enjoy him. I really wish this movie was a documentary; I could be engaging in some springtime copulating right about now.

Random thought of the day...

I think it would be really funny to see someone non-chalantly walk around in a Vegas-style oversized feather head-dress. Color me simple, but the mere thought of oversized items in unexpected locations delights me beyond measure. What if you wore the head-dress to work and acted like it was no big thing? Khakis, polo, and thirty pound sparkle hat. What if you were in a meeting, and you also had an oversized pencil that you were using to take notes...a pencil so oversized it would require the use of both hands. If someone in the room asked to borrow a writing utensil, you could throw it at them like a javelin. What if you wore the head-dress to the movies, and the person behind you said they couldn't see, and you said, "Oh, I'm sooo sorry! I wasn't thinking," and then plucked out a single feather.

These are the thoughts that keep me warm when it's time to put the turtlenecks away. Smile. Cheese!

Taft '08 and The Night of Magical Thinking

I've been away a long time. Why? Intensive training for the Graduate Level Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge. Obama has inspired me to do the sit-and-reach and hang from a pull-up bar. Did you ever have to partake in the dumbed-down events for Presidential Challenge in gym class? At my school, you could either do pull-ups or just hang from the pull-up bar for as long as possible. How unfair is that to the kids who can actually do pull-ups? Do you know what's even more unfair...I couldn't even hang from the effing thing for more than ten seconds! Can you keep a secret? Promise not to tell Obama?! One year I totally cheated on the mile run! GASP! I have to say, it was one of my prouder moments in life. I can't believe I actually got away with it. "Wow, that's crazy how I shaved like five minutes off my time! Yeah, I'm sure I did all four laps." I totally only did three. Why do presidents have to be such bastards; they could sign Certificates of Participation or Good Sportsmanship Awards or something like that. Was Taft our fattest president? I bet things would be really different for a gal like me if Taft was runnin the show.

I'm currently taking a break from training and watching a rerun of some old David Blaine special. I don't even know what kind of trick he's doing, but he totally just touched this lady's boob and let his hand linger there for a while. Man, I really ought to look into magician training. "OK, I'm gonna need you to touch my right boob and tell me I look pretty while you think of your favorite card. Three of Clubs." Magic.

I went to the grocery store tonight, and my favorite check-out guy was really workin the canned goods. He took my Campbell's Chicken Noodle and was doing some Tom Cruise Cocktail-style moves. Soup has never looked sexier, and that means a lot coming from me; I really enjoy soup.

OK, random thought time:

What if you stopped using pens and did all of your written work with glue and glitter? Is it just me, or is the image of that really hilarious. Write your student loan check in glitter. You'll see.

Wouldn't it be weird if people farted in public without shame? Just let it rip with wild abandon. A couple of weeks ago I was in a checkout line, and this old fella behind me let out something fierce and just said, "Whoops!" Magic.

What if Romantic Cookbook was a legitimate literary genre? If you're so inclined, send me your favorite recipe and let me see if I can erotify it. "Melt 1/2 cup butter in microwave-safe bowl; in separate bowl, cup a buttock until frontal denim-covered area stiffens." I dunno. What kind of bowl could you even use? Eff that. That's just weird. OK, I'm just gonna bank on the magic thing working out for me. I really think it will. I mean, I can name pretty much every card in a standard deck. Magic.

Why I Wish I Was Sixty

Helen Mirren...Damn!

Miracle, Dude

Guess who's looking FIERCE?! OK, you gotta admit, he looks about twenty times better than most dudes half his age who have top-notch pancreases. Pancreases? Pancrei? Whatever, you know what I'm saying and I don't feel like looking up the proper plural of pancreas; (PAUSE slide your eyes directly to the left of the word PAUSE... you're welcome!) that's information I'll probably never need again. I'm so happy for him! Yay, Buddy! I'm yearning to hear about his struggle and victory during a very special hour with Oprah. I think it makes perfect sense, especially since he's working in Chicago for the next few months. I'm gonna e-mail Miss O when I'm done with this, and then every day thereafter, until I see him on her show when the new season starts. Please join me.

So, I've been away kind of a long time. I've been embarassingly caught up in the Twilight series of books. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to run to a bookstore immediately. It's like 2Am, so you should probably bring a window-smashing implement with you. Just foolin! Don't call the fuzz! Seriously though, if you're wondering what it's all about, all you need to know is this...teenage vampire love. I'm not into vampires, or teenagers for that matter, but these books are really entertaining and surprisingly romantic. Seriously, pick up a copy and get your vampire on.

For the last two nights, I've enjoyed a rum and coke before deciding to retire for the evening. This was not a good idea. Why the hell have I done this two nights in a row?! Once I finish my beverage, I feel an insatiable urge to dance and then I can't fall asleep. It is now 2Am and I have not yet retired. I gotta stick to Squirt from now on. Have you had a Squirt to drink lately? I forgot about Squirt for a long time, and then I had one and it's like I've fallen in love for the first time all over again. I love beverages! I almost want to try a Tab again. Whenever I'm at someone's house and they ask if they can get me something to drink, I have a very strong urge to ask for a random beverage. "Oh, thank you. I'll take an RC, or if you don't have that a Tahitian Treat would be just fine." Eww, I do not want to fall in love with Tahitian Treat all over again. The redness of it makes me think of babies with messy faces, which is definitely on my top-ten list of most hated things in the world. It's about like this: 1)Devil 2)Osama 3)Playa Haters 4)Land Mines 5)Fat-free mayonaise 6)Belly Buttons
7)Babies with messy faces that no one cleans for hours
8-10) Hanson...ya know, "Mmm, Bop"
Just kidding; Hanson's not so bad! I do have a fierce hatred of belly buttons though. True story, two days ago one of my coworkers said, "What stinks in this room? It smells like belly button fuzz." OMG, I almost spewed. I was like "Exsqueeze me, what did you just say?" I then mentioned I hated belly buttons and that I wanted to ralph, and everyone just laughed. Not funny.

Why do silly peeves like that seem to follow you wherever you go? One time, I was staying with my family at a lakeside condo. They had the bathroom decorated all woodsy-cute, and by the sink was a piece of pottery that was clearly purchased at an overpriced knick-knack store. It was a little jar with one of those cork tops, the kind of thing you would presumably use for potpourri or something of that ilk (oooh, ilk...good one). Anyway, on the front of the jar, where you would usually see something like "Give me chocolate or give me death" (what is up with that, by the way) it said, "Belly Button Lint 10 cents." WHAT THE EFF?! OK, first of all, I don't ever want to see a container that has those words on it. Second of all, ten cents? What is this implying? Like, in ye olde days you made ten cents for every piece of belly button lint you could find? It's disgusting and beyond me...like, for real, because I don't get it. Do you think there's a store called "Ye Olde Chocolate is my Boyfriend Shoppe." I hope not.

I'm tired now. I'll be back soon!

Pizza, Dolls, and Tank Tops

Fairies give me the creeps. You may be wondering if this has anything to do with anything, or how it relates to the title of this blog entry. Well, tonight's theme is that I don't really have anything in particular I want to write about; I'm just going to let my thoughts fly and see what comes out for the next twenty-ish minutes. Grammar be damned, I just don't care about anything that's run-on or dangling tonight. Fairies are on my mind because I am currently watching Marie Osmond selling some creepy fairy doll on a home shopping show. I've always thought fairies were creepy. I just can't trust anything that's so petite and sparkly. Damn, though, she can sell the shit out of those pricey little creeps. Right now she's talking about how this doll is a symbol of the peaks and valleys we have to travel through in life or something. I better go grab my credit card.

I'm so hungry for pizza right now that I just did an image search for "gooey cheese pizza" so I would have something delicious to look at. I'm looking at pizza pictures and listening to Marie Osmond talk about walking through life with a magical porcelain fairy. Amazing.

I don't think of myself as a person who makes judgements about people based on what they wear, but I've come up with my own little theory that most women who have a little bit bigger arms and wear tank top-ish sleeveless shells with one bra strap hanging out are probably unhappy with their jobs. Think about it.

I have too many chins. I need to do something about that.

The other night I was pretending to be a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance. I woke up the next morning with a sore neck. I couldn't figure out what it was from, until I went to rehearse my signature SYTYCD wild head-roll and went "Ow!" Woops. Reality TV is dangerous for my mind and my body.

Have you ever gone to a movie and had a sudden urge to get up in the middle of it, stand in front of the screen, and start waving hello and/or tap dancing? Like, you wouldn't say anything, you would just move your body for the people in front of the movie screen for about 5 minutes and then return to your seat as if nothing happened. Draw a mental picture of it and I dare you not to laugh. People would probably think you had issues, but that's something I would enjoy seeing. I guess I would rather see it than actually do it. So if you're game, you should invite me to a movie sometime.

Did you ever see that Michael Jackson interview that Martin Bashir did a few years back? It was right around the time of the baby dangling incident. Well, I was chewing a piece of gum tonight and thinking about that interview. I remember Michael saying that when he was a kid and making so much money, he didn't understand why he couldn't have any of his money because he just wanted to buy candy and bubblegum. It got me thinking, what if you blew millions of dollars on candy and bubblegum? That would be so weird.

I like it when ladies who have really fakey looking acrylic nails point at things while they talk. It tickles my funny bone in a way that I can't really explain. Put on some fake nails and point at stuff; it's impossible not to laugh.

Do you know what would be a funny chest/torso tattoo? Crumbs of your favorite foods. Then, if you took your shirt off, it would look like you had just spilled food on yourself. This would also be a good idea for a lap tattoo.

Gooey cheese pizza.

I hate it when people leave their farts in random store aisles. Then, if you go down that aisle by yourself and then somebody else comes down that aisle, it's totally getting blamed on you. Not fair.

Do you ever wonder if you have an amazing natural talent for something you've never tried before. Like, what if I'm this amazing skeet shooter and I don't even know it. One of my favorite parts of Arthur 2: On the Rocks is when Dudley Moore is shooting skeet, and he shoots first and then yells "Pull! Hit the bullet! Hit the bullet!" I effing love that movie! IOL! If you don't know what that means you need to see the movie ASAP. It's SO under-rated!

Remember that gay dude Liza Minelli was married to a few years back. David something. Remember how he said Liza beat him up? He did an interview a few years ago with Stone Phillips and lifted up his shirt to show off his Liza scars...they were totally stretch marks! He tried to blame Liza for his flabby gut! Stone might not know a stretch mark when he sees one, but I sure as hell do.

Mmhhh...garlic.

I think I'm going crazy. I need to fall asleep so I can stop thinking about pizza and garlic. Plus it's been way more that twenty minutes. I've rather enjoyed writing this little piece of spewage though. Mmmhh...dipping sauce. Good night!

Order for Zbornak

Have you ever gone to a restaurant where you get to order your food at the counter, give them your name, and then wait for them to call you over the loud speaker? Isn't it totally boss to know that an entire restaurant hears your name?! All you need to do to get your 15 minutes of fame is pay a visit to your local Fuddrucker's. It's like you're actually a celebrity without even having to make a sex tape; alls ya gotta do is order up some flame-broiled piece of heaven on a bun. Ya know what's even funner, though? Giving them a celebrity first name and last initial! I know you're sitting in front of your computer right now, waving a judgemental finger at your monitor and saying, "Stop that, you! That's too crazy!" I know, I know, but it's just so fun that I can't help myself sometimes! An order of fudd-fries for Sarah Jessica P. One milkshake for Jennifer Love H. One double-cheeseburger for Gwyneth P. The fun is literally endless!

I was reminded of my favorite celebrity burger story while discussing famous-people crushes with my work mates last week. One of my colleagues said, in jest, "Mine is Bea Arthur!" Well, Bea Arthur just happens to be one of my favorite performers of all time. Not only was she brill on The Golden Girls, but I've also had the pleasure of seeing her perform live in her one-woman show entitled And Then There Was Bea. It shouldn't be a surprise that I lover her so much. I mean, I was named after one of her most iconic characters; she's practically a part of me. Anyway, getting back to burgers, one night after I had downed a few too many pre-dinner cherry cokes, I was feeling a little amped up and decided to pull my old trick at the Fudd. This time, however, instead of giving a first name and last initial, I gave a first initial and a last name. I know, but just wait, cause that's not even the crazy part yet. I gave them the name D. Zbornak. If you're wondering who that is, you have NO place being here. Seriously, get the hell out my blog! Everyone knows this was Miss Bea's name on Golden Girls. Ok, so as fun as it was to pretend to be Dorothy Zbornak while shoving chicken tenders down my gullet, the best part came after I left the restaurant. What?! Keep reading.

Alright, after our bellies were full, my sister and I headed over to our local Bead Monkey store to get some raw materials for necklace-making. I'm not good at it, so don't ask me to make you one; it's just a fun creative outlet and another way for me to express my art. Anyway, I usually don't even glance sideways at the section that has all the tiger's eye beads. I don't think they're ugly, I just don't like that they're called tiger's eyes and it makes me feel inadequate because I've never even been on a safari. I was stopped dead in my tracks this particular evening though by a statuesque, silver-haired woman hunched over the bead bins. She was wearing what I guess you would call a topper or duster jacket that was like a patchwork of swirls, various animal prints, and flowers. Crazy beautiful! She smelled like my kindergarten teacher...the perfect number of squirts of Gloria by Gloria Vanderbilt. Then, in that unmistakable timbre that almost made the beads start shaking, I heard her say, "Oh, these tiger's eyes are just gorgeous. If it's alright, I think I'll just take this entire bin and bring it back to my guy who does all my jewelry. I'd love to see what he could do with these." The moment I heard her speak, I know it was her...Dorothy effing Zbornak live and in the flesh, sharing the same air with me and talking about my least favorite bead. I'd never really met a celebrity; I didn't know what to say or where to put my hands. I did the only thing that made sense at the time. I called out to my sister across the store, "I have to go to the bathroom. Just come find me after you check out." What?! I panicked. I was hoping my sister would just get an autograph for me; she's not easily embarrassed by doing stuff like that. It seemed the perfect plan. I got to see her AND I would get her autograph without actually having to make a bold move. I'm not really into autographs; I'm more for giving celebrities their privacy, but this was different. It's D. Zbornak herself! Oh man, she didn't even know I had practically stolen her identity not two hours prior to this. I never thought I would actually see her on that very night! Those things almost never happen to me; I just don't have that kind of luck. I thought my luck had changed, but my plan didn't really work out the way I had hoped. My sister was alarmed by my behavior; she thought I was sick and followed me to the bathroom. She didn't even notice D! I didn't want her to feel bad, and I thought it would just be embarrassing if she went back in, so I made up a story about the chicken not sitting well with me and we called it a night. I've NEVER told her this story, so if she's reading it now I'm sure she's experiencing what Oprah likes to call an "A-ha!" or "Full-Circle" moment. Don't feel bad! It happened the way it was supposed to. Maybe I don't have an autograph, but nobody can take that moment away from me.

Zbornak, if you're out there, thanks for always keeping it medium well. You don't even know it, but you taught me an important lesson that night: When placed in the right hands, tiger's eyes can be beautiful.

Viva la Vida!

If you haven't heard it yet, I demand you go to iTunes immediately and fork over $.99 for Coldplay's amazing new song. I promise it will be the best $.99 you've spent all year. It'll be even better than that dollar you spent on the slick 'n shine bubble gum lip balm you think makes you look like Angelina Jolie, if you can imagine that. Sometimes you have to give a song a few listens before you warm up to it, but this is a total love at first listen experience. I've heard it like a bajillion times now and it still gives me goosebumps. While you're out there surfing the world wide interweb, you should go to their official website and sign up to win a pair of tickets/airfare to their show at Madison Square Garden; think of how much fun you would have taking me with you! Not like the deal needs any sweetening, but I'll even let you hold me while they sing Yellow and In My Place.

I've heard people say that when they put their iPods in the shuffle mode, they feel like it can read their soul. I've never had that experience of having it pick the exact song I needed to hear at that moment; ya know, like some song you haven't listened to in ages but is so all about your life right now. Invariably, when I put mine in the shuffle mode, within the first 10 songs I can count on hearing Will Smith sing Freakin' It and/or Wild Wild West. I'm not really sure what my iPod is trying to tell me with this. Do I need to incorporate more "dang diggy dang da dang da dang diggy diggy" into my daily vocabulary? I just don't really know if I could pull that off, or "freak it" if you will. Ya know, though, at least ten times a day I do hear myself telling people, "Don't let your lip react, you don't wanna see my hand where my hip be at." Hmm, maybe I should start wearing belts.

I hope you all did something nice to celebrate your moms today. I honored my mother by eating deli salads, doing the dishes, and taking a nap. As I type this, I'm thinking back to the first time I helped my mom get on the internet; she took the mouse and pointed it at the monitor like a remote control. I also remember her telling me we needed to make sure we wiped it down a lot so it stayed clean and wouldn't catch a virus; she tried to play it off like a joke, but I'm quite sure she was serious. Gotta love her! I wouldn't tell these tales if I thought she had the slightest chance of finding this. "What letters do I push, honey? Ww.maude/com.internet. I think we need new batteries for the rat, nothing happens when I point it on the picture screen." Ok, she's not that bad. Mom, if you ever push the right letters and let the rat guide you to the right place on the picture screen, know that I love you and I'm just playin.

I've said it before, but Sunday just sucks the life outta me. I dropped my remote on the floor right next to me like twenty minutes ago and have endured half-watching a program I have absolutely no interest in because I just really don't feel like bending down. Damn. It's Swayze Sunday though, so I'm gonna have to freak this and just bend down and get it. And yes, the tradition continues although I have stopped writing about it. I felt like it was probably really annoying and decided to just keep it to myself. I'm freakin it on my own. Dang diggy dang da dang da dang diggy diggy.