M.I.A.

Yeah. I've definitely been missing in action lately, haven't I? The sad thing about it though, there has not been any action on my end. None, whatsoever. So I guess I'm just M. For missing.

I've been home sick with tonsillitis. I missed 4 days of work last week, my tonsils were the size of giant superballs, I could barely swallow my own spit. Lovely, isn't it? St. Pauly Boy was in Californeeah, so I was left relying on Stinky Pete to take care of me. As you can imagine, that didn't work so good. He doesn't necessarily comprehend when I'm not feeling up to taking him for a walk or playing with him in the yard. He just barks at me, completely oblivious to the shooting pain in my throat made worse by the shrill tone of his bark. You know that saying, "His bark is worse than his bite."? Yeah, it's true. I'd much rather he naw of my entire right arm than bark at me while I'm sick. Just chew it off, Pete. At least then I can focus on that pain, instead of the viral war on my tonsils.

But the good news is, I'm feeling better. Slowly but surely. The boys (my tonsils, I've named them Evil and Mean) have deflated since last Tuesday when they blew up like beach balls. Evil is still being a bit of a pain in my neck, literally, and just under my ear too, but Mean has pretty much given up and is taking his defeat quite well, I assure you. The funny thing is, people keep telling me the same thing.....have your tonsils taken out. As if it's a procedure you can order at the Walgreen's drive-through. Yeah, prescription for St. Pauly Girl and a Tonsillectomy, to go please. What people don't understand is that the procedure for removing one's tonsils is actually quite dangerous. As we get older, as in past the age of 10, when we officially enter senior citizen status apparently, the wounds created by the removal process aren't able to heal quickly enough. You run a very high risk of bleeding to death. Sounds peachy. I'm gonna keep my tonsils, thank you. They are a pain in the ass (or neck, if you will) but dammit, at least I'm alive!

What my real concern is, if I'm considered a senior citizen already because I'm too old to have my tonsils taken out, then why the hell am I not getting the damn discount on Wednesdays???

Nothing better than a good story to get you out of bed in the morning.

So, I'm laying in bed this morning attempting to wake up and get motivated to shower and get ready for work and, as I do every morning, I flipped on the morning news, you know, the station with my favorite weather man. There were a couple of back-to-back stories that just left me stunned, first in an amused and followed by a horrified, way.

First was the story about the "sport" of Shin Kicking, in England. This sport consists of 2 men, stuffing their pants with straw, facing off against each other and, literally, kicking the living shit out of each others' shins. The winner is determined when one opponent essentially gives up. Apparently this sport's popularity is increasing so rapidly that they would now like Shin Kicking to be considered for an Olympic event. An Olympic event.

Discussing this with St. Pauly Boy on our way to work this morning, it was decided that next in line would be the Olympic event of Bloody Knuckles. In which case, I believe my husband would most definitely try out for the US Bloody Knuckles Team, in hopes of fullfilling a life long dream of bringing home the gold medal. We'll see how far he can get, I can only assume the competition will be fierce. I plan on getting him started with a weight lifting program, ASAP.

This was the amused portion of being stunned by the news this morning. Then came this.

A story of a woman who's chiwawa puppy had tragically passed away, where the woman was apparently dealing with one of the many stages of loss, and from what I can gather, it was the anger stage. As the reporter stated, it can be a traumatic experience to lose a puppy, everyone could agree with that, I think. But what I don't think any of us coule agree with is taking your dead puppy back to the breeder's residence, demanding a new [live] puppy in exchange for the dead one, and then using the deceased animal to then physically assault the breeder when terms of an agreement could not be reached. She used her dead puppy as a weapon, people. And in her fit of rage, as she was driving away, she continued to wave this poor dead puppy at the breeder's house, out of the sunroof of her car.

At this point, the stunned expression on my face turned to complete disgust, with a side of depression on the account of the poor dead puppy. Perhaps the puppy is better off, given the apparent psychosis of her owner.

But regardless, it was an odd day for news, people. Odd day, indeed.

Cartoon Kids Say The Darndest Things

Since I'm being such a bad blogger lately, here, go read these Stewie quotes. It's better than the shit I'd write anyway, so what the hell?

Favorite Guilty Pleasures

(Via Snarky Squab)

Four Guilty Pleasures in Reading
1. People Magazine.
2. John Grisham
3. Used to read Danielle Steele. But I gave it up. I swear.
4. Dan Barreiro's Blog

Four Guilty Pleasures in Movies
1. You've Got Mail and/or Runaway Bride (pretty much any romantic comedy with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts)
2. Twister. I'm obsessed with tornados. Even the completely unrealistic ones paired with hideous acting by Bill Paxton.
3. Clueless. Oh god that's embarassing. I even watched it this weekend on Comedy Central.
4. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Enter Stage #1 of my Sarah Jessica Parker obsession.

Four Guilty Pleasures in Food
1. McDonald's.
2. Little Debbie's. Any kind. Can eat the whole. box.
3. Easy Cheese
4. Chinese buffets

Four Guilty Pleasures in Music
(WARNING: the following is a gross display of hidden love for pop music. Easily nauseated individuals should stop reading now.)
1. Britney Spears. It HURTS me to even say it.
2. N'Snyc. Oh god, I'm in PAIN.
3. Ashlee Simpson. Kill me now. Please. Put me out of my misery.
4. That one song, "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy". I don't even know who sings it.

Trust me people, it hurts me as much as it hurts you.

Four Guilty Pleasures in TV
1. Mtv reality shows. Even though they practically induce rage-like emotions over the extreme ignorance and obnoxious behavior of the characters, for some reason, I can't quite make myself change the channel.
2. Gilmore Girls
3. Bridezillas on WE
4. Anything on E!

Four Guilty Pleasures in Booze
1. JagBulls (Jagermeister & Red Bull, in shot formation)
2. Apple Pucker. Out of the bottle.
3. Boones Farm. Also out of the bottle.
4. Franzia. You know, wine-in-a-bag-in-a-box?


Post Script: I will honestly be surprised if I have any friends left after publishing this. Take pity on a pop-culture-tortured soul!!

Post Post Script: Now tell me yours so I don't feel like such a loser. Do it for my self-esteem. Please!!

I've reached my limit for cuteness.

Dude, this ain't right.










I weight in around 5.5 lbs. Yeah, I'm huge.








I'll take that to go, please. Thank you.










Really need to....make...that..call...zzzzzzzzzzz.










Yeah, well you should see the other guy.











You WILL obey me.

Back @ Home Base

You know what? It sucks being back from NYC. We had such a good time, I could have stayed another week. I'll have lots of fun stories and pics to share as soon as the mourning period is over and I've accepted that I do in fact live here, in MN. When I'm back to being St. Pauly Girl again, pissed off about stupid republicans and Planned Parenthood protestors. Right now, I'm a New York Poser, who needs a reality check. Once I get it (which I'm guessing will be in 15 minutes when I have my first meeting after vacation, here at work) then I'll share all the fun stuff about how we kicked ass on the subway (and by kicked ass, I may mean it kicked our ass, but whatever) and how Tavern On The Green is overrated and how I truly thought that John Cusack would be at the Waldorf when we went there for cocktails on our anniversary. He wasn't. I was legitimately bummed. I'll also tell you about Woody, our new best friend from Manhattan, who's a dirty Yankee's fan but we love him anyway. And about 4 of the cutest little Spanish girls we partied with, even though we could barely understand each other. But I comprehended when they said I had cute shoes, which ruled because they hurt the hell out of my feet. At least it was worth it. The Spanish girls liked them. What else will I tell you about? OH, how my dear husband, St. Pauly Boy, is the best tourist to travel with. Ever. He didn't force me to go to the Statue of Liberty, given it was 90 mile an hour winds that day. He also didn't force me to wait in line for an hour and a half to go to the top of the Empire State Building. Thank god he didn't care enough to put me through that crap.

Argh! I have to stop talking about it now. The zipper on my "bitter-pants" is stuck and I can't get them off. I promise to share, once I stop sulking.

Wishing I Lived on the Upper East Side,
SPG

Start Spreading The News...

...I'm leaving today (ok well, tomorrow)
I want to be a part of it - new york, new york
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - new york, new york

I wanna wake up in a city, that doesnt sleep
And find Im king of the hill - top of the heap

These little town blues, are melting away
Ill make a brand new start of it - in old new york
If I can make it there, Ill make it anywhere
Its up to you - new york, new york

New york, new york
I want to wake up in a city, that never sleeps
And find Im a number one - top of the list, king of the hill
A number one

These little town blues, are melting away
Im gonna make a brand new start of it - in old new york
And if I can make it there, Im gonna make it anywhere

It up to you - new york new york


Goodnight, Bloggers! You've been a great audience! The St. Pauly Family (minus one Stinky Pete, who's lounging at the doggie spa for the weekend) is hitting the big city. I'm coming back with blisters on my feet and possibly some sore muscles from hiking through the concrete jungle, but hopefully sporting a new Kate Spade bag on my shoulder and lots of pics in the digital. I'll be sure to fill you in on the gory details of the trip (outside of what happens in the hotel room...that's just for our own personal memory bank, thank you very much). Speaking of, the most common farewell message I seem to be getting from people is "Have fun! Make babies!" When did I say we were going to NYC for the weekend for the sole purpose of fornicating? And who on god's green earth thinks I might be fit for motherhood at the present time? Sorry St. Pauly People...the patch is staying put. For the time being.

Have a fabulous weekend, whereever you are.

Love and happiness,
SPG

I Need A Heart Transplant

My current heart has been broken into a thousand pieces after watching the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

I literally haven't cried this hard since my boyfriend broke up with me in the 11th grade. And I cried HARD when that happened. Stinky Pete didn't know what to do with me, so he licked the tears off my cheek and then barked. The barking part sucked but the licking of the tears was pretty cute. Who's bright idea was it to have a 2 hour season finale show, anyway?? I want that person dead. Ok, maybe not dead, but seriously compromised for a while. Do they not think we deal with enough emotional stress in our REAL lives?? Jesus. I'd give up television for good if I wasn't already an diagnosed addict who isn't ready for the 1st step of the 12 step program.

I'm going to take some Advil and cry myself to sleep now.

Goodnight.

Reasons Why I Love Instant Messenger

This conversation.

(Precursor: St Pauly Boy (a.k.a. TheDude) and I are discussing our timeline of events for this evening. He wanted me to bail on my manicure appointment so that we could get to the restaurant early - we're having dinner with My Bro and Future Sis-in-Law and then going to the Science Museum to see the new Human Body exibit. I told him to just ride with G & J and I'd meet them there, if it was that big of a freakin' deal to get there at like 5. He assured me that I should do what I have to do, and then the following conversation ensued.)

TheDude says:
i'm freakin' pissed though

E-Diggity says:
wtf

TheDude says:
i made some mac and cheese for lunch then wanted to add some pepper and the lid fell off the pepper shaker and the ENTIRE bottle dumped into the pot

TheDude says:
that's why i'm pissed

E-Diggity says:
lol

TheDude says:
the pepper incident

E-Diggity says:
that's hilarious!!

TheDude says:
not funny

TheDude says:
not funny at all

TheDude says:
i swear there's more pepper in there then noodles and sauce

TheDude says:
DAMNIT!

TheDude says:
i'm going for a second try now

TheDude says:
but it's the white cheddar stuff that i don't like as much as the regular yellow stuff

TheDude says:
i don't know why i buy it

TheDude says:
it's 3 cents more then the yellow stuff

TheDude says:
so it's more expensive and not as good

E-Diggity says:
honey, do what ya gotta do

TheDude says:
oh i'm doing it

TheDude says:
and i'm going to add pepper too

TheDude says:
only this time i'll hold onto the lid

Is it strange that I find my husband fastination and pure love of mac & cheese to be a bit of a turn on?

Oompa Loompa's Are Evil

This goes on the list of reasons why I am "unAmerican". I cannot stand the movie "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." I watched it as a child and despite the icky feelings that it gave me inside my tummy, I kept watching. Because every other kid thought it was the best fucking movie, ever. I couldn’t admit to being the only one who was frightened by the little orange men with green hair and striped overalls. Or Willy Wonka himself, for that matter. Who on earth is scared of Willy Wonka?? I still thought that Mary Poppins was the bomb. How big of a loser was I?? The other kids will have a field day with a pussy like me. So I kept my feelings to myself. I sat on them, let them stir inside, while they preyed on me in my dreams at night, causing more and more anxiety towards the movie. Not only does the movie cause me anxiety but Gene Wilder, in anything, makes my stomach churn a little.

It wasn’t just the Oompa Loompas or Willy Wonka himself, that reeked such havoc in my childhood psyche, mind you. It was also the grandparents who couldn’t leave the bed, the boy who drowns in the chocolate river, and the freaking girl who blows up into a blueberry! I really worried about their futures, how would they survive (or did they survive) their situations.

“All 4 of those people have to share that bed?? What happens when they have to go potty?? What do they do?? What if one of them dies?? Are they just going to leave them in the bed??”
"Oh no, that boy drowned!! His parents are going to be so sad! I wonder if he has brothers or sisters, they’re going to be really sad too. He'll never get to go to college or get married!!"
"OMG, she turned into a blueberry!! How will she ever learn to drive a car like that?? Will her parents have to get a bigger bed for her?? What if they can’t afford a new bed??"

Those thoughts ran continuously through my mind. All night long. To the tune of the Oompa Loompa song.

When I was about 16, I grew tired of silent torment. I spoke out against this dreaded movie. And just like I suspected, I have suffered endless ridicule ever since. My family members hum the tune at the dinner table. They say things like “The Oompa Loompas are going to GET you” and “be careful, you might turn into a big blueberry, just like that other naughty little girl”.

But now, at the age of 29, I finally have some relief. Thanks to the worlds funniest fashion blog, I can finally rest. The song now has a different face attached. One that’s uglier (fuglier, rather) than the one’s in my nightmare. Thank you, GFY. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

To Women Who Poop: Please Review the Following Request

This request goes out to all the ladies in the place, who poop. Apparently some women "don't", like Supermodels and Hot Women in general. So this is directed to those of us who, do in fact, poop. And specifically the one's who poop in public [restrooms, at least I hope they poop in restrooms and not in the hallway at the office or something].

Please leave the vocal stylings of relieving oneself in public, to the men.

NOTE: This request is not sexist in nature. Women have every right to grunt and moan their asses off - no pun intended - ok, maybe I did intend it - while relieving themselves of fecal matter. Sometimes it's a difficult process and being vocal can be help the situation along, I understand that. It's the public aspect of my request that we all need to focus on here.

Let me just generalize for a moment. Men, for the most part, have no problem pooping in public. A lot of men are proud of their abilities in this arena. Giving the process some vocal enhancement can be seen as a testament to the quality of their performance. That's all fine and good, because as disturbing as I think this trend is, I don't have to witness directly because thankfully we have separate restrooms. Yes, I know there are Unisex restrooms out there, but good lord, I'm not analyzing this scenario for every goddamn exception to the rule. In fact, I'm just GENERALIZING.

Anyway, this topic is prevalent for me today because as I just used the Ladies Room at work (#1, not #2...not that I am obligated to explain myself or anything) and there was a fellow female using the stall 3 doors down from mine. Let's just say...the room was not quiet. I'm not talking about the occasional unavoidable flatulence or slish-splash. I'm talking grunts. GRUNTS. Luckily I was able to finish my job (which includes hand-washing, don't get me started on that topic, Ladies) and get the fuck out of there before all hell broke loose. All I could think of was......

must. blog. this.

So please, Ladies, for the love of all that is holy and pure...let's maintain the unwritten rule of Silence in the Ladies Room. Perhaps someone should actually write this.

Put This In Your Blender And Smoke It.

My response to Blender's 50 Worst Things to Happen to Music is stated below. For the record.

#50 - Back off The Beatles, man! Seriously. Don't take them on. You cannot win. And in response to the question you pose ("And is there anyone alive who hasn't suffered a collapse of the will to live during 'When I'm Sixty-Four'?") the answer is me. I'm still alive. And I'll put that song on repeat just to get under your skin. Screw off.

#42 - You can totally have Scott Stapp. I'm still pissed that he rebelled from his Christian fundamentalist upbringing and dove into mainstream pop/rock. If that had never happened, I wouldn't even have to know he exists.

#40 - Have Jimmy Buffet too. Most overrated musician ever. Stick a cheeseburger in it, Jimmy, I've had enough.

#38 - Sting? That's all you have to say for yourself?? No justification for his presence on this list? I'm going to assume it's a typo, and move on.

#36 - Agreed. Pick a fucking name, Mr. Self-Important-Ego-maniacal-Combs-Diddy-Daddy-Puffy-Warbucks.

#35-32 - Not even worth printing. Can't believe you wasted the effort.

#29 - How could anyone have anything against a kid like Josh Grobin?? He's harmless. And goddamn he has a good voice. I detect some jealousy in your statement.

#28 - Totally, dude. We used to have one on Nicollett Mall called "Let It Be" Records. Aside from having the coolest name for a business, since the invention of business, it was also really fun to sit on the patio of the pub across the street and watch the cute little indie-freaks roaming in and out. I heart indie-freaks!

#26 - Adam Duritz's dreadlocks were dead sexy. No, I am not kidding.

#24 - Should move to the #1 spot, IMHO.

#22 - HI.

#21 - My favorite entry to agree with on this list. Hip Hop videos are so incredibly ridiculous, I'm appalled that money is even spent on them. Gross.

#14 - LOL. I admit, I had my boyband phase. But I'd be ok with wiping out Florida all together. (As long as Rebecca's parents move up here first, that is).

#12 - The sole purpose for the existence of KFed and his beautifully talented wife...Britney, is it?...is to make us all feel better about ourselves. Mission accomplished, Mr. & Mrs. Spears.

#11 - Cannot believe the words "irretrievably dull" were used here. I'm seriously starting to want to kick your ass. But you didn't mention DMB* in that entry so I'll let it go this time.

#7 - Lay off God, dude. What's he ever done to you?

#6 - Righto, chap.

#4 - Couldn't. Agree. More. And appropriate placement on the list, I might add. Just gives me the willies.

#2 - Fo'shizzle, m'a nizzle. But you better watch your back for printing that.

#1 - Are you kidding me? That is your #1 worst thing to happen to music?? Ok, grandpa.

------------------------------------
*Note from the editor: the spell-check suggestion for DMB is "dumb". That pisses me off a little.

Ok, just go ahead and shoot me now.

We watched Capote this weekend. I have to say, I was b.o.r.e.d. Don't get me wrong, Phillip Seymour Hoffman was great in the role but the story was just not good enough to keep my attention. I never read (or heard of, for that matter) the book "In Cold Blood" and maybe my admission of this makes me sound like a completely ignorant, uneducated a-hole. But I do have a college degree, so I'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say that it's OK that I've never heard of the book, nor it's author. Capote is a funny little character, I'll give ya that. But as I watched the movie, my thoughts toggled between "when's it going to get as good as everyone says it is?" and "how much is left of this movie, I want to go to bed" and "god, I really need to get a pedicure."

I know. I suck for not liking this movie. Give me gay cowboy sex anyday over the story of some author falling in love with a psychotic murderer, any day. I'm going to go home and watch Napolean Dynomite now.

Death Penalty is NOT the Answer.

I am an avid supporter of anti-death penalty legislation. I am very glad I live in a state that does not allow the death penalty and I seriously doubt I could live in a state that allowed it. I'm not going to get into the reasoning behind my position at this moment, but the topic is prevalent at the moment given the Moussaoui verdict of life imprisonment. I was happy with this verdict and here's why:

1) This man admits he conspired in the 9/11 terrorist attacks and admits that he would have gladly flown a plane into any number of American buildings, giving up his own life for his "cause". Putting him to death would be like giving him what he wanted in the first place.

2) His sentence of life imprisonment may as well be considered the death penalty. You think he's going to live a quiet life in solitude in the Colorado prison, cursing Americans and bragging about the thousands of Americans' lives lost at the hands of the terrorists? I'm sorry, Bubba is going to have a fucking field day with Moussaoui.

When are people going to realize that life in prison is just as good as the death penalty? I'm not saying that I think every criminal has the chance to rehabilitate themselves because I certainly don't believe that's true. But what's the harm if they do? It's not like they're going to make parole, in most cases. Tookie Williams was certainly not eligible for parole and I do think he rehabilitated during his time served before the government ended his life. How can people accept our government imposing revenge as a punishment yet establishing laws against vengeful crimes committed by it's own citizens? I just don't get how especially the ultra-conservative religious base of our country thinks that government murder is acceptable, as long as it's in retribution for some other crime.

Don't. Get. It.

Weird Little Things That Drive Me Insane

1. When the shampoo and conditioner bottles aren't even. As in, one has less than the other.
2. The fact that there isn't a gauge on the dashboard in cars that tells you when you're almost out of windsheild washer fluid.
3. CD's. All they produce is dust and clutter. I'm sick of their existence.
4. Memoribilia. That you just cannot bring yourself to throw away. For example, the towel I have from the 2003 NHL Western Conference Finals, Game 1 vs. the Mighty Ducks*, at the Xcel Energy Center. No WAY am I throwing it out but what on earth am I supposed to do with it?
5. The Anaheim Mighty Ducks. It was supposed to be just a movie, not develop into the name for a professional hockey team. But apparently they decided to mature and drop the "mighty", so now they're just the Anaheim Ducks. Sick.
6. Everytime I open a new bottle of water or a can of soda, I can't seem to finish it. So I have a desk/house full of half-empty bottles and cans of stuff. That's just stupid.
7. Lisa Loeb glasses.
8. Receipts. I cannot stand receipts. I would rather not return anything for the rest of my life than have a gazillion receipts laying around my house.
9. The O.C. (TV show, not the actual county in CA...although it's not my favorite spot in the world, but anywho...). I don't care what anyone says, this show is nowhere near as cool as Beverly Hills 90210.
10. Law & Order - don't get me wrong, love the show, love the concept, good acting and writing and all that good stuff. But why the hell do we need 14 different versions of the same show? And secondly, why do they have to run marathons on 14 different channels, every single day of the week?
11. Dog poop. Cannot. Stand. Dog. Poop. Which sucks for me since I have a dog.


To be continued...

Hang On, This Could Be A Bump'y Ride.

While I throughly enjoyed myself during Draft Weekend, I have to say that I agree with Bump. Underwhelming, from the Viking's persective. B- to a C+ grade on the Vikes performance. Yes our first pick was fantastic, just how it was predicted by 99.9% of the Mock Draft World. But let's not break our arms trying to pat each other's backs. We need a good 3 years to figure out whether or not any of our draft decisions were good. Or not good. Vikes history would point us towards not, but as usual, the fans (or at least, the "real" fans, IMHO) remain optimistic. New coaching, good free agency pick-ups, and an "O.K." draft...it's a rebuilding year, we've got a good chance at being good. Too many uses of the word "good" here, I know, but it's the only word I can use in this circumstance, I'm sorry. Can you hear me now? Good.

But on a lighter note, the rainy, gloomy weather and the 8 hour straight footage of NFL drama, provided St Pauly Boy and I a fantastic, almost zen-like, environment on Saturday. No, I did not survive the entire 8 hours of ESPN goodness without a little catnap, which consequently came upon me 2 minutes before the Vikings were on the clock. But I fought back, heard the word "Greenway", debated whether or not Tag's just said "Green Bay" but then realized that it's assinine to think that the Vikings just drafted the entire Green Bay Packers in the first round (everyone knows they wouldn't be worthy of anything more than the 5th or 6th round), and the contentness put me into dreamland for at least until the end of Round 1.

Am I sad that I missed the entire last half of Round 1 of the 2006 NFL Draft? No. Why, you ask?

Because I have it all on TIVO.

Funny T-Shirt. Funny Like, Ha Ha.

Mint.

(Courtesy or Funny Designs dot com.)

I sang to a fork because I was high.

What did you do??

Pick the month (number) you were born in:

1----I fell in love with
2----I ate a
3----I smacked
4----I sang to
5----I gave my number to
6----I murdered
7----I shot
8----I gave a lap dance to
9----I chocked on
10---I bitched out
11---I had sex with
12---I humped

Pick the day (number) you were born on:

1-------A homeless guy
2-------your mom
3-------a banana
4-------a fork
5-------a Mexican
6-------a gangster
7-------a hooker
8-------an ipod
9-------my best friends boyfriend
10-------a goat
11-------my dog
12-------a ninja
13-------the computer
14-------a football player
15-------my neighbor
16-------myself
17-------a Jones soda
18-------a llama
19-------a pickle
20-------a stuffed animal
21-------a permanent marker
22-------my dad
23-------a condom
24-------my psychiatrist
25-------a policeman
26-------my brother
27-------my sister
28-------a baseball bat
29-------a dvd player
30-------a paperclip
31-------my cell phone

Pick the color of shirt you are wearing:

White-------Because I was high.
Black-------Because I was drunk.
Pink--------Because I'm NOT homosexual.
Red---------Because the voices told me to.
Blue--------Because I'm sexy and I do what I want
Green-------Because I hate myself.
Purple------Because I'm naked.
Gray--------Because that's how I roll.
Yellow------Because someone offered me 1,000,000 dollars
Orange------Because I hate my family.
Other-------Because that's how I roll.

TGI NFL Draft Weekend

I have lost all motivation to work today. I was doing pretty well all week and today, I'm just a slug. I think even my dog has a better attention span than me today, and that, my friends, is no easy feat for a Springer. Speaking of the Stinkster, that mofo ate my sunglasses yesterday. For the 2nd time. It was cute listening to St Pauly Boy giving him a lecture about it too:

"Now Pete, you're really not making a good case for us to allow you to be alone in the house. Kennel. Good boy."

I'm looking forward to getting a manicure at 5pm and then meeting my beloved and our friends down at the neighborhood watering hole. It's rainy and cold and very dreary, making a good atmosphere for having some pints. In bulk.

And the best part of all is that tomorrow is Day 1 of the NFL Draft. In the last few years, I have become a draft junkie. Rainy Saturday, minor (ok, possibly major) hangover, snacks, couch, TIVO remote, 43" Plasma, and the drama of the draft. God, that's like poetry to me. Who's going to be the first pick? What team needs a running back the most? Is there going to be a good linebacker left when the Vikes number comes up? How many embarrassment will Vikings fans endure this year in the draft? (Good chance we come out clean in this one, given the great Mike Tice got his walking papers last season....stopwatch, anyone?) Who's going to get Matt Leinart? He's so hot. And to watch it all go down live, in front of your eyes...I can't imagine a better marathon to commit to (except for maybe Season 1 of Road Rules, I'm a sucker for the old school MTV "reality" shows).

Our hopes is that draft day ends on a good note for our team. We like our picks, we feel confident about our free agent signings (and this year, we should), the majority of the bad blood has been righfully fired or traded by this point (capped off this morning by the release of Onterrio Smith, who is the self-titled S.O.D. (Steal of the Draft) and now more commonly known as The Whizzanator. Bye bye, S.O.D. We will miss your endless suspensions and the cloud of green smoke that follows you everywhere.

I owe my draft devotion to my brother, Bubs, without whom I would have virtually no interest in sports, but has successfully molded me into a true freak. I'll TIVO day 1 for you, brother, while you're at the tasting with your wedding caterer!

Just Change My Oil, Jerk-Ass.

I discovered a flat tire on my car yesterday. I had pulled out of the garage and onto the street, recognized that the vehicle was not operating appropriately, pulled into the gas station lot across the street and called my husband.

There were two reasons for calling my husband. 1) I needed a quick ride to work and he was working from home, right across the street. 2) I don't know a damn thing about changing tires. Ok, ok. I don't know a damn thing about cars, in general. I've tried understanding cars, but I can't seem to retain the knowledge. I hate representing that stereotypical woman, but unfortunately with this topic, I do.

Anyway, St Pauly Boy drove me to work. Then he went back to the truck, put on the spare tire, and drove down to the Tire Store. At the Tire Store, he ordered me a brand spankin' new tire, which comes in today, and will be replacing the spare with the new tire this afternoon.

Here's what pisses me off. Last Summer, I got a flat tire (same car) while I was en route to bring Stinky Pete to Grandma & Grandpa's house for the weekend while SPB and I went on our annual DMB/Camping excursion in Wisconsin. SPB was in the air, flying home from The OC at the time, so I was on my own. No problem, I can handle this. It was 98 degrees out and humid as shit. Stinky had just come back from a night spent in the Emergency Vet Clinic, after having gotten into some cold medecine. He was just fine after being treated by the wonderful vet but I was still feeling like a nervous mommy and was concerned about leaving him alone for the weekend. Now I've got a flat tire and can't go anywhere until I resolve the issue. So I'm at the Tire Store, with a sick dog, and this piece of metal protuding from my tire. God only knows what this piece of metal was from or how the hell it got stuck in my tire, but whatever, I just needed it to be fixed so I could be on my merry way.

Tire Guy was very nice, he let me bring Stinky into the Tire Store so he wasn't stuck in the hot hot car. They took a look at the tire and told me that they'd try to patch it up but if the patch wasn't good enough, I'd have to buy a new tire. That's totally fine, just get it done, I've got places to be. Then Tire Guy brings another Tire Guy over and the Tire Guys proceed to tell me that because I have 4 wheel drive, I'd have to buy all new tires because if they just replaced one tire, it would mess up the alignment.

Immediately this doesn't sound right to me. Luckily, I didn't have to deal with that option because the patch worked and I was able to drive away without spending $1400 on all new tires.

Now, when SPB went to the Tire Store (same one as I went to) there was absolutely no mention of needing to replace all 4 tires just because of one flat. And you want to know why?? Because he's a man. And men are born with the knowledge that you don't need to replace all of the tires in the case of one flat. Women, on the other hand, are there to be taken advantage of.

It happened to me at an Oil Change Place once too.

It absolutely burns me up to know that they actually do get away with this stuff too. Luckily I was smart enough, not to fall for their shameless ploy. But other women are not.

The funny part of this story involves the 20 minute timeframe where Stinky Pete and I sat on the sidewalk in front of the Tire Store, while they investigate the weird piece of metal in my tire. The street on which the Tire Store resides is a busy one, in an urban area. It also happens to be on the corner of a busy intersection. So Stinky and I were sitting on the sidewalk...correction...I was sitting on the sidewalk, Stinky was attempting to pull my arm out of my socket while I tried to hold his leash, preventing him from running into traffic. As it turns out, Stinky needed to go potty. And I wasn't quick enough to get him to any sort of grassy area. Out comes the poo, onto the sidewalk. Ill prepared for the appropriate disposal of the doggie-doo, I tried to figure out what to do. Wearing my flip flops, I kicked the poo off of the sidewalk and onto the street. I completely understand the dirty looks I got from passers-by and would have exibited the same disgust if I had witnessed the scene myself. But to my defense, they had no idea what kind of day I had. And quite frankly, the kind of day I had was appropriately represented by my poo-flinging actions.

The Tire Guys are just lucky that I didn't have the balls to pick up the poo and throw it in their face.