Your Kiss Would Be On My List, If You Weren't Such A Total Dork

We totally geeked out last night. We drank some wine, played some cribbage, and listened to Hall & Oates Greatest Hits.

Obviously we reminisced about our days at the roller rink, too.

Bloody Hell, I'm Back in the U.S.

How bad do I want an English accent? Bad. How possible will it be for me to develop one? Not. And believe me, I tried. We met this German guy who had been living in London for a few years already, who's accent sounded much more American than German or English. As it turns out, he had spent two years in NYC and is quite convinced that an American accent is much easier to pick up than an English one. I guess I'm just stuck with this lousy accent/non-accent.

Our trip was so much fun, outside of the fact that I woke up with a nasty head cold on Sunday morning, our only full day in London, so we got a late start because I couldn't seem to get out of bed and the fire alarm that sounded around 1:20am Monday (the day we have to get up and fly home) that forced the hotel to completely evacuate for a 1/2 hour. Other than that, I'm officially infatuated with the city!

Scenes from the St. Pauly Family (minus Stinky Pete, of course):

Location: Outside Buckingham Palace

St. Pauly Boy: Do you think the Queen is sitting on her throne, right now?
St. Pauly Girl: I'd say that's a no, but she very well could be sitting on her Porcelain Throne right now.
St. Pauly Boy: Yes, she could be. But do you think she has someone to do the dirty work?
St. Pauly Girl: Oh, I'm sure. I believe they call him the Royal Ass-Wiper.

Location: Big Ben

SPB: Big Ben looks bigger from far away.

Location: Westminster Abbey

Random Middle-Aged Midwestern American Woman: Um, excuse me, do you guys know which one is the West Minister Abbey?
SPG: (standing directly in front of Westminster Abbey) NO. (walks away)

Location: Somewhere

SPG: GOD, tourists are annoying.

Short time later...

SPG: OMG, totally take my picture in a phone booth.

Location: Some Pub

SPB: What the fuck are all these coins?? Why do they need so many coins? God I hate all these coins!!
SPG: Shut up and get us a couple pints.

Location: Tower Hill Underground Station - Exit

SPB: Is that the Tower of London in front of us?
SPG: (rolling eyes) No!

Moment later....

SPG: Where the hell is the Tower of London then???
SPB: Honey, that's it right in front of us.
SPG: (thoughtful) Oh. Ok. Let's smoke.

And that in a nutshell was our London Experience.

God Save The Queen

We're off to London and the top item on my husband's To Do list is taking a crap in Buckingham Palace. We'll see how that goes.

Cheerio.

Laundry To You, Food To Him

I happened upon a hilarious account of animal eating habits over at One Good Thing that reminded me of a similar incident we had with Stinky Pete. In true canine fashion, Stinky enjoys munching on soiled undergarments. He especially enjoys a good dirty sock, on occasion*. And as dog owners know, unless you have your eyes glued to your animals whereabouts, at all times, they're bound to get into something here and there. You just pray it won't end up being fatal. So, as the story goes, Stinky went outside to go potty and St. Pauly Boy just happened to accompany him**. Pete's routine for going #2 is to sniff out a good spot, squat, then use your hind legs as leverage to get the job done as quickly as possible. Basically this just means he stomps his back feet on a ground a few times, to help the poo come out. This particular time, he found his spot, popped a squat, but then encountered some technical difficulties. His hind legs didn't seem to be providing enough leverage, so while maintaining the squat position, he proceeded to slowly migrate across the yard, stomping his back feet all the while, stopping every so often for another big push, then proceeded on his potty-trail. Every time he stopped to maneuver a big push, the effort was made obvious by the fact that his ears were smashed down on the side of his skinny little head and his hind legs were shaking like he had ants in his pants. Only, he wasn't wearing any pants. St. Pauly Boy is observing that there's something not right about this particular potty break, so he goes to investigate. This is when he notices that what's coming out of Pete's arse has some shading to it that's not normally there. He looks a little closer, thinks to himself, "that looks a little like that pair of argyle socks that my wife wears sometimes.....wait, it could be....is it?...It IS the argyle socks my wife wears sometimes, well, used to wear, I guess, considering that one is about to come out of the dog's butt, I doubt she'll be wearing them anymore."...something like that.

So, without going into the gory details of having to pull a dirty black and gray argyle trouser sock out of a dog's butt, he was able to get the job done and Pete ran off like nothing ever happened.

Of course, the argyle sock account reminded me of another, sweeter smelling Pete story of the night he tryed to help me do laundry. As he was nosing through the basket of freshly dryed clothing, from what I assumed was him looking for a nice piece of clothing to fold, he happened upon a delightful little treat called a "dryer sheet". Before I could even flinch, the dryer sheet disappeared into Pete's mouth. I rebounded quick and made a valiant attempt to retrieve it by chasing him around the coffee table only to be defeated, as I watched him swallow, lick his chops, and make his move to go back for seconds. I put up a block and scolded him (yelled and whatnot). Realizing my defeat, I retreated to the sofa where I proceeded to give him the silent treatment, because if you can't beat him, pouting is the only remaining option. He slowly approached my pity-party, resting his head on my leg and looked up at me with his liquid brown puppy eyes, but I wouldn't let him win this battle. He can outrun the shit out of me but no one, and I mean no one, beats me at the pouting game. His final attempt to win back my heart was made when he climbed up the front of my legs, sat right down on my lap, and facing me with his puppy head, took a deep sorrowful sigh which drenched my face in dryer-fresh puppy breath.

And that was it. I put up the white flag***. He won. I lost. How could I possibly stay mad at that sad puppy face with that glorious dryer-fresh breath?

Needless to say, Pete is no longer allowed to assist us with household chores.

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*Occasion = any chance he gets.
**Allow me to clarify, St. Pauly Boy potties inside the house, Pete potties outside the house.
***If I weren't speaking metaphorically, I'm sure he would have attempted to eat the white flag.

St. Pauly Girl's New Life

Well, the deed is done. I have officially resigned from my job, effective February 2nd, 2007.

What will I be doing on February 3rd, you ask? Probably nursing a massive hangover. But after that, I'm [finally] going to pursue the career path that I want, that I've actually wanted since high school. I'm going back to school for my masters in psychology. I don't know where, although there's a program at the U of M that is making me drool right now, the Counseling and Student Personnel Psychology program in the Educational Psychology department. But first I'm going to take some time off to research my dream job, working with college age kids, 18-22ish, as a college counselor of sorts. I finally realized that it'd be a good idea to harness the passion that I have for helping, young women specifically, realize their potential and to help them develop their self-confidence and self-esteem so they can go out into the world and kick a lot of ass. And feel really good about themselves while they're doing it.

This is going to be such a huge life change for me and I'm scared as shit, but at the end of the day, I know I'll be so much happier pursuing something that I'm passionate about. And it's not going to suck to get out of the Corporate World, that's for damn sure.

Here I come, unemployment, you better be ready for me because I'm gonna totally use you!

Taking a Flying Leap.

In about 20 minutes, I'm going to be giving my boss my official resignation from my current place of employment.

I feel like I'm about to throw up.

Do I have another job lined up? No. Will I before I quit? No. Am I pregnant? No.

Stay tuned for further details.

Do You Want the Terrorists to Win?

Apparently, I do.

Your 'Do You Want the Terrorists to Win' Score: 94%

You are a terrorist-loving, Bush-bashing, "blame America first"-crowd traitor. You are in league with evil-doers who hate our freedoms. By all counts you are a liberal, and as such cleary desire the terrorists to succeed and impose their harsh theocratic restrictions on us all. You are fit to be hung for treason! Luckily George Bush is tapping your internet connection and is now aware of your thought-crime. Have a nice day.... in Guantanamo!

Do You Want the Terrorists to Win?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

(Link via Bitch, PhD)

Weekend-In-Review: I Got Action

And tons of it.

I saw Mission Impossible: III, Superman Returns, AND the new Bond movie this weekend.

You thought I was talking about another type of action. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Loved all 3 of these movies. Yes, everyone hates Tom Cruise because he's a crazy psychotic Scientologist. But you know what? I still like his movies, dammit. And this one was no exception. Superman was awesome. Props to the new guy, he pretty much nailed it. And even props to the new Lois Lane, played by Kate Bosworth whom I tend not to like very much. But I thought she was actually pretty good in this movie.

But that new Bond movie was by far the best of our weekend action. In fact, both St. Pauly Boy and I agree that we think it's the best Bond movie ever. The action was insane, to say the least, but they also added in some actual character evaluation. James Bond is more human in this movie. He's vulnerable and he makes mistakes, and DAMN does he look good doing it. Double-o-HOT is what he is. I actually found myself wishing I could be a Bond-Girl, even it means I have to die in the end.

3 thumbs up for the movie weekend.