Household Perfidy

And, by extension, office perfidy.

A couple of years ago I posted about the inherent evil in clothes hangers. This was before I'd deleted my blog several times and was in the throes of observational mundane humor. I went on and on about hangers.

But, I was right.  You know how they are. You KNOW how they are. You're trying to clean your closet, trying to remove items you've not worn for a year or two or seven. Trying to hang up the shit you just bought and threw on the floor because the dog was eating your shoe while you were putting stuff away. So, you start pulling out random loose hangers that are completely out of sync with anything resembling organization. You notice that they've mated and have spawned baby hangers in unseemly places. And you attempt to get them into your hands in an aligned manner and they just fucking string themselves into a chain, or fall on the floor with three tops attached or poke you in the biceps.

And you swear and grab the whole mess and throw it onto the floor and toss it in the garbage. And curse them and vow never again to let them take advantage of their situation in order to vex you mightily.

Well, side table corners are worse. They rise up to attack you as you pass by, They poke you in your muscle and cause black and blue marks and hurt you. I was idly walking between the recliner and the table by the couch and the table pushed my thigh into it. That hurts. It stings. It leaves a mark. I wanted to tip it over and beat it up but it has glass in it. See. They're sneaky and deceitful and passive-aggressive and know you can't retaliate because it would make a mess.

And, there's a network between them and office desk corners and drawers. This demands an investigation. My bloody trail of skin and sinew is too much to discount the potential import of this phenomenon.

A Monday Pome

The sun came up
and so did I.
I stepped in pup
y's hork, Oh my..
I should have known
the yakking sounds
meant slime and goo
were in our bounds.

The end.

Warnings! Warnings! Cigarettes et al

Now, I know that cigarettes are bad. Extremely bad. Horrible. Nasty. Something to be avoided.

But, adding graphic pics to the packs, I guess, is gilding the lily. Are people crazy? Do you really think this is necessary? Do you honestly think that people who smoke don't know what it is about? How many years has it been that smoking has been examined and adjudicated?

Shall we put pictures on boxes of cereal, or yoghurt, or lemonade depicting amputated feet from diabetes?

Shall we put pictures of clogged arteries or heart attack possibilities from, ostensibly, bacon-eaters, butter-eaters, steak-eaters, chicken-eaters, french-fry-eaters , pizza-eaters, non-light salad-dressing eaters, cotton-candy-eaters, corndog-eaters and tea drinkers (tea is heavy in caffeine, which is worse than coffee, btw) and chocolate-eaters on each of the packages sold?

Should we put pictures of liver disease on every bottle of wine, scotch, vodka, bourbon, tequila, liqueur that is sold?

Should we put pictures of the radiation amount on every mammogram/mri or ultrasound  that a breast cancer survivor or prostate cancer survivor has each year to remind one of what might have happened?

Should we put pictures of the rot that occurs in our brains each time we listen to dumbshits that would love to control our lives, regardless of how much we know and want to decide for ourselves?

Hey, Michelle. Lose some of that gut and butt weight. The apple shape is more likely to portent problems in the future. And, get a jacket.

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman

We just watched Attack of the 50 Foot Woman.  It was totally and completely awesome. I transcends B-movie status by virtue of its semi-okay acting by the peripheral people. The nasty husband was smarmy and weaselly. The deputy was great comic relief. The butler had hidden unrequited love issues. And, until she was fifty feet, Mrs. Archer was okay (and played the drunk/crazy rich woman with a certain insouciance, yet with a 50's pre/during barbiturate cleverness).The satellite/space saucer looked like a giant boob and beeped. Everybody was smoking and drinking the whole time. There were TWO! psychiatrists ruminating over her condition, with accents!

See, I couldn't figure out how come her hand was so big in her bedroom after she'd been irradiated, yet you couldn't see the rest of her. Do they have 60-foot bedrooms in the desert? And why did the deputy have a New York accent?  And why was the alien guy in the beeping satellite translucent and wearing Spartacus clothes? I think he stole fifty footer's diamond necklace for the crystal abilities and wanted to make himself whole again. Yet, he picked up the police car, which magically turned into a woody station wagon and didn't completely destroy it. Then stomped off. Perhaps his less than corporeal being was undernourished.

All in all, it was a tremendous crappy movie. I highly recommend it.

Dream drivel

I sent someone a fur-lined email in my head last night. I think it was lynx or sable.

And, I had two fairies caught up in leaves and twigs floating on top of my head trying to escape to the sky. I was trying to help but they kept hanging on.

Then I fell asleep.

Thank you. I'll be here all night. Leave tips in the flipflop.

Hey there! Jep update, lack of rain update, birthday update

Jeez, it's been awhile. Here are my excuses:1) It's hot here. I know a lot of you live in hotville, too, or, scarier, lately, floodville. I'm sorry for that. However, that makes it no less hot here and we're in exceptional drought.
Why are we so exceptional? Because we ARE. That's why. Also,the Keetch-Byram index (Am I a scientifical sort of genius or what?) has indicated that until we received the 1.5 inches last week, we were at 750. 800 is the highest, which is when you spontaneously combust and rapturize and eat instant crispy bacon while conflagrating to death. 700 (where we're at after rain)-800 means you're really dry to the point of fireworks bans, burn bans and, SHOCK!, Mr. Froth has only grilled once this last week. I'm not making that up. It's bad. Wildfires everywhere, but thankfully not right here. We've had a nine-month drought and we're down about 18 inches. Enough weather bitching.

Except the heat turns your brain into aoli and you have problems avoiding dipping foods and can't stay awake so you go to bed early unless you drink too much wine while conversing with your kids and their fiancees/girlfriends until some weird hour on your birthday. That was the birthday update.


2) Meetings. We've had back to back meetings, including one that ended at 10 p.m. and the next day started, for me, at 6:30 a.m. I have bedsores on my ass and elbows from staying in one position for four hours at a time. Ooh. There was a moment of potential riotousness at the nighttime meeting. A co-worker and I sit at the front of the room-she's the official minute-taker, I'm the official whatever (for 10 years I was the official minute-taker for seven companies having meetings constantly, so in the transition I was ecstatic about giving that duty up. Happy days.) and we sit side-by-side. We're also front and center on the video of the meeting, well, maybe side and center, so we can't throw spitballs or swear out loud or make gross faces. In front of us is a table with cookies on it, supposedly to appease the geezers who get pissed about missing dinner. I had bought those cool krumkake round cylindery ones filled with chocolate and they enticed us as we sat. After the fourth PowerPoint presentation (no, really, there were five) I looked at her and she looked at me, both of our eyes totally scummed over with fatigue and missing rods and cones and we fell over dead.

No, not really. But, while another co-worker was standing at our table waiting to hand something out my cohort whispered, "Git me a cookie," very softly because she's a very soft, sweet person. I stared at her and responded, "Please, mister. Give me more."

At which she started to snicker and I blew out a snot bubble feeling an uncontrollable giggle-in-church reflex coming on. You know, when you start you simply can't contain yourself? If you even remotely think about what you just said, you start spazzing? So, I had to turn my back to her and concentrate on the scrawny neckof someone sitting to my left. Concentrated HARD. Discreetly wiped the snot bubble and hoped it wouldn't be noticed on the video.

But, during a short break I grabbed FIVE COOKIES! and dropped them next to my friend. We ate them like little rats in a hole trying to look like we just normally put our hands to our mouths for no reason every two seconds during a meeting while taking minutes.

Jep update-it went well. I'm in the pool for 18 months and now I need to keep relearning things, but I've been too hot to concentrate, so, maybe posting on the blog will invigorate what dessicated head juices I have left.