Pack of Angry Wolves...

Got another bill for XXX from his dermatologist, even though I have called them repeatedly to tell them he doesn't and never really did live here. I'm guessin' they're beyond pissed and fixin' to send out the wolves on him.

Hey, wouldn't it be funny if they really did send wolves after him, like a pack of wolves just chasing him around Milwaukee? Hilarious!

I think the outdoors would be a lot more entertaining if every once and a while someone ran by with a pack of wolves chasing him/her. Maybe one rips the bottom of a woman's dress but she manages to get just a little bit ahead again. A lot of people are in debt. And it would be kinda like 'The Poppins' (If unfamiliar with this referance please see Arrested Developement, Season 3, Episodes 2-6 featuring Charlize Theron).

JP, do I love 'The Poppins', even if they are unregistered! So, I'm sure that I would be amused for hours, watching broke folks getting chased down by angry, debt-collecting wolves.

This chase scene should also apply to people who launder money, commit any sort of stock fraud and evade taxes just to keep it equal...people like Wesley Snipes. He's an action star (C'mon people, I've seen JUNGLE FEVER. He does not have a flare for the dramatic). They could film it. They'd make millions. It could be Weskey's comeback.

What about Martha Stewart? Wolves could chase her...and she could say, "And that's NOT a good thing." Also, why not throw in cheating boyfriends/husbands...Nah, wait. That would just be chaos in the streets. Said 'hunted' would then get off scott-free if they manage to survive for...let's say 72 hours or so.

All-Weather Babies...

So, it's been a while...but in my defense, I have been a busy girl. I've been doing some major painting in my house, fighting with the weather which has either been blindingly dry and cold or soaking wet amongst other numerous things (made all new curtains for the living room and dining room, replaced the old crappy window seat wood, cleaned the chandelier - every single crystal cleaned by hand, so on and so forth.)

Anyway, I had to move Jezebelle's house from the spot it's been in for the last year and a half since we got her to the middle of the room, on the other side of the dining room table and away from the cats locked safely behind the bedroom door. This is giving her some major wiggins and she still has issues if you tell her to go to her house. I'm sure she won't be traumatized for the rest of her life for it, but the trouble is....I'm gonna move it again to the foyer right by Angus' house so that'll be like their own little room and what not...and it gives me the chance to get the gigantic puppy bed out of the newly redecorated turet portion of the living room.

I also decided along the way to get them toddler beds for beds, so I've been shopping around. There's one I really like the style of but it's like $100 more than I planned to spend and only comes in white. My search continues.

Today, a day the computer actually got turned on amongst the redecoration chaos, I decided to shop for the toddler beds online. If any of you have ever read anything of mine before, you know I have serious problems with online shopping (It's frustrating and I have no patience). I googled TODDLER BED...came up with Amazon so I decided to give it a shot first since it's usually one of the most frustrating sights of them all and if left till the end...my fist may go through my flat screen.

So, there I was at Amazon...only it hadn't taken me anywhere near toddler beds. In fact, it had taken me to baby cribs. Sometimes the brilliance at Amazon is priceless. They generally make it into the ball park with their search function (That is unless of course you search for Barbie like I was last Xmas and they offer you Twister - the game, not the movie...although, if they had offered the movie, it would have been just as bizarre.)

I moved the cursor to the amazon search bar, typed in toddler bed and hit enter. This time, there were toddler beds. I finally began my shopping. I thought I was on my way.

I filtered through the first couple pages with my mouth agape at the prices of some of these toddler beds. Honestly, I'm looking around for beds for my dogs so I'm tryin' to be frugal about it and still get something decent. I repeat they for my dogs...there's a high likelihood they'll be destroyed within a year and I'll be doing this again...I'm allowed to be a little cheap. And I'd like to think that children for the most part are better behaved and less destructive than my dogs, or any dogs for that matter, but parents, if you're paying upwards of a grand for a toddler bed which by it's name it's implied to be temporary, you should be taken out to the nearest child slave labor lumber yard and fed into the wood chipper by the eldest male child of the tribe!

It's absolutely ridiculous the prices of some of these beds...and then they don't even come with the mattress. And if you want a toddler bed that converts into a larger bed (generally full size so far as I've seen) that costs more, not that I'm looking for that option for the dogs. I'm just saying, toddler beds are a little pricey. I'm not really looking to spend more that $500 on two beds and that's including the price of the Sealy crib mattresses.

I dove in deeper on a few beds that I found intruiging and within my budget, ended up not liking most of them, but I did notice the bizarre descriptions.

Someone, please tell me why a paragraph about a toddler bed would ever need to include the phrase 'All Weather'? I expect descriptions for tires to say 'All Weather'...camping equiptment...maybe even electronics...but descriptions for what is essentially baby furniture...I don't think so.

What are you people doing with your children? Are there two year olds sleeping outside during hailstorms (no, really. the babies really like getting pelted with ice balls)? Did everyone at DCF die?

Why does it matter if the toddler bed is 'All Weather'? I can't even imagine the scenario. I guess if you were like a treasure hunter, or possibly...a...starship captain...never mind that one. Who the hell traipses through 'All Weather' with a toddler bed? I've heard tales of people that never saw the light of day from anything more than a closed window for months after having children, let alone experience even the remotest need for anything 'All Weather'. And I'd have to seriously question your parenting skills if your family is livin' in an igloo one year and a thatch hut in the middle of a jungle tree the next.

I'm a firm believer that if you have a baby or toddler...don't take it to the rainforest. Just get a babysitter. Or tell your friends ya can't go.

Are there people out there testing these beds in 'All Weather'? If so, I'd like to know how they hold up in a hurricane. If it's better than the levees in New Orleans, I think I'm sold. I figure they should have to at least be better than The Saints' stadium.

OK, I've said my piece, and now, after all this venting, I've actually come up with someone who could at some point in the near future be in need of an expensive 'All Weather' toddler bed...

Angelina Jolie!

Frakkin' BrAngelina! Dammit, they foil me every time!

Strange & Irratic Ears

So, I was sitting here, bored out of my friggin' skull and pretty concerned that I'm melting when I decided to browse through the strange-ass MP3s and the like left on my hard drive...hmm, a pretty strange array if you ask me especially if you take into consideration my age, race and gender...not to mention my general attiude, which recently has been pretty pissy. Here's the top 10 of bizarro mix...

1 - Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots by The Flaming Lips (Why do I still love The Flaming Lips after all this time? Four words for you...Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots. They're evil natured robots, ya know. And this is probably the most played track on my PC next to Fort Minor's Where'd You Go)
2 - Pinacoladaberg By Coconut Pete from the movie 'Broken Lizard's Club Dread' (As opposed to Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville...What can I say? This movie has a really entertaining soundtrack. We have jungle rats?)
3 - All Cried Out by Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam (Gotta love the slow jams!)
4 - Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham & The Pharoahs (My mother used to let me abuse her vinyl collection starting at a very young age)
5 - Never No More by Patsy Cline (This can be blamed on Space: Above & Beyond and the really depressing episode in which this song showed up, not that there's anything wrong with Patsy Cline...other than the fact that I think she died before I was even a notion in my mother's head)
6 - Regulator by Warren G & Nate Dogg (Thanks BEG) [It actually was a three-way tie between this song, Snow's Informer and Positive K's I Got a Man]
7 - Murder She Wrote Remix by Chaka Demus (I knew a little girl, her name was Maxi...which now also just makes me think of Max on Dark Angel, not that this song ever popped up on that show...On a side note: This show eventually boiled down to Ellen Degeneres' 'Someone Might Marry a Goat' theory. Apparently the same logic that applies to republicans and gay marriage also applies to freed 'nomalies' and the general public)
8 - In My Wildest Dreams by Belinda Carlisle (Yes, the song from Mannequin)
9 - Get Naked by Methods of Mayhem (It's the dirty version and I can't resist Tommy Lee. I also have Fame 2002 and I actually watched Supernova)
10 - With You by Jessica Simpson (I have no idea how this even ended up on my drive)

It's fun to check in every once and while, sort of like stopping by to measure the level of mental and move it back to a safe area before it gets out of control.

It Just Keeps Getting Creepier...

So, I was downstairs in the basement. This is an activity I generally don't engage in after dark with the creepy, possibly haunted house and all and the fact that there's that weird room with the heavy door and the hollow floor down there, but I needed to empty the dehumidifier cause I totally forgot to do it when it was still light out. So, I went down there and emptied the stupid thing so it doesn't sit filled and burn itself out. While I was down there, I thought, hell, while I'm already being brave I might as well sort some dirty laundry. And then I had to pee.

Using the bathroom in the basement is another something I never do. I think I've used that half bath once since we moved in almost two years ago and that was in broad daylight when I wasn't the only one in the house. The bathroom is really small and I have some serious claustrophobia. Also, this bathroom gets used a lot by hubby and his dirty handed friends and is for the most part not female cleanliness compliant.

Anyway, I go into the dinky, little room to basically hover over the toilet as opposed to sitting on the seat directly, making sure to lock the door behind me. For some strange reason I thought ghosts wouldn't be able to get in if the door was locked. Silly me.

I was about to commence the hovering, when the door flings open and bangs me in the knee. Yes, the locked door. The door I made sure to lock before I even unzipped. Creepy, yes, but since I never use that bathroom, I thought maybe the door lock was a little trickier than I had previously assumed. Once again, I locked the door, really inspecting the thing to make sure it was fully locked this time, which even involved me tugging on the knob to see if I would open it. And I couldn't.

So, I'm hovering...not like you needed to know that and the door which was fully locked to the point I could not pull open myself, flings open again. I literally hit the light and bolted around the corner and up the stairs making a horrible ruckus. The basement door was promptly closed and double locked.

Now, I'm totally freakin' out and since I don't sleep anymore, I'm just gonna be sittin' here all night freakin' out. And I swearm I don't care how much I have to pee, I will never use that bathroom again. I will walk four blocks to the Open Pantry before I do and use their equally not female cleanliness compliant bathroom.

Gateway to Hell...

So, hubby is a bad driver. He has a lead foot and basically has a serious lack of concentration. He has a radar detector, but it's either quieter than his blaring talk radio or he just ignores it.

In the beginning of June he went to traffic court to try and save his driver's lisense after getting his umpteenth speeding ticket. The judge or whatever the hell she was gave him sixty days to enroll in a points reduction class and hubby who would've ordinarily said this class was going to be a waste of his time agreed to comply.

Unfortunately, in addition to being a bad driver, he is forgettful and a total procrastinator. His court is tomorrow...he called me at noon today to talk me into going down to Gateway to sign him up for the class.

Now, I have reminded and nagged at him about taking care of this for the last 59 days. I'd hoped he'd get on it. Alas, I got to be the one to walk into the Gateway student services center, after having not slept really at all for the last six days (something like a total of 16 hours over the last six days is all the sleep I've gotten) to deal with a system I appparently am just too retarded to understand while squinting...in the dim light and shaking heavily.

I stood in line at the fourth admissions desk (the other three bitches were apparently out to lunch) with no idea where I was supposed to be especially since hubby is not a real student. Point reduction is not a real class. I waited in this line for about thirty minutes behind a mother and her two Gateway bound children (how adorable) listening to the phone ring and go ignored. They did not pick up the phone once while I was there and I thought hubby was lying when he said no one was returning his phone calls.

Finally, I get to the front of the line just in time for the woman at the desk to put up her out-to-lunch sign and walk away from me as though I was clear and not standing right in front of her with an angry look on my face (this was the sort of look that could burn holes in human flesh). I was not amused and stated so, seeing as how I was the last person in the line. Bitch finally stepped back into place and helped me, telling me to fill out the top half of the form with hubby's information, the class number and then I should sign it at the bottom. She even offered me a pen.

I performed these tasks with my own pen when the one she gave stopped working and basically became nothing more than a weapon with which one could gauge their own eyes out, or someone else's while waiting in these ridiculous lines. But like I said, I had my own pen so I moved right along...until I got to the part where it wanted hubbys social security numer.

Am I supposed to know that? I imagine if I did it would just end up jumbled with all the other numbers in my head...and I wasn't about to write down what could be half my nazi grandmother's phone number and part credit card pin. So, I tried to call hubby...twice...to no avail. I said screw it and got in the registration line.

The woman at the desk was on the phone. I assume she had made this call as opposed to her having answered a call seeing as how they don't seem to know how to respond to a consistently ringing telelphone there at the technical college. She seemed perfectly pleasant though.

I waited for her to get off the phone for twenty minutes, fanning myself with the green registration form. Finally, a short brightly colored hispanic woman appeared in the next window. I thought she was my salvation at the other woman continued to flap her mouth at the phone. As my luck would have it though, this was not so much the case when I stepped over.

I asked her what I should do about not knowing hubby's social in its entirety (I know the last four but that's a bank account thing). She decided she was going to yell at me for having signed the form, telling me I couldn't do that. I told her the woman at the fourth admissions desk told me to. We then had to wait for the woman on the phone still flappin' her jaw so the hispanic troll could ask her if I could do that or not. Clearly, I had already done it and had been told to by the woman at the fourth admissions desk now disappeared to lunch. Woman on phone finally noticed she was needed and although did not end her conversation, merely put her hand over the phone and said that I could sign the form, which clearly I already had and had been told to do.

Hispanic troll then decided that she was going to further her bitch status by being snippy with me and telling me she would have to send hubby the paperwork through the mail as she is not allowed to give the information to anyone else (little did she know that just a mere four blocks away I was the one who opened hubby's mail). I needed proof he was enrolled for court tomorrow and she was not even being nice about being not helpful at all. She wasn't even going to give me a receipt for the check I clearly wrote.

Finally I demanded the receipt, snatched it from her hand angerily and stormed out of the building.

Da Plane, Boss! Da Plane!

Ok so, it's not a plane...but it is a tattoo!

So, yesterday's tattoo excursion went on until shortly after one this morning, long after the place had closed and long after I had originally expected to be home...especially since we started with appointments for seven o' clock.

We got there, early, no less to find Steph (tattoo artist extraordiare) just starting a tattoo for a walk-in. It was the girl's eighteenth birthday...and her first tattoo, so there was slack cut. This slack quickly began to wear when various members of her family and random friends began popping in and out of the tattoo place to check in on her/harass her and she was whining about the pain and just generallly being a total wuss about the entire ordeal.

We sat there (Chris was looking through the design books searching for her perfect new soon-to-be tattoo) poking fun at said 18 year old girl. For quite some time we thought she might actually vomit, but no dice. After about an hour, Steph told us she was still gonna be a while, but that she had no problem staying late for us if we didn't mind the wait. She said at least another hour, so we booked to The 'Ho to get a drink since Chris hasn't been there since she was pregnant and put on bed rest.

At The 'Ho, I completely fascinated a pair of out-of-towners with tales of my possibly haunted house. This was me talking to Chris and Bob and the O-o-Ts eavesdropping and then finally getting involved. They were drunk as hell so screwing with them was fun since they at that point would have believed just about anything. I, myself, only half-heartedly believe the house is haunted and just generally try to ignore it.

We got back to the tattoo place at like ten after nine to find annoying girl still in the chair and still whining, not to mention once again looking like she was about to throw up. Poor stupid girl.

First off, one's first tattoo probably shouldn't be the most gigantic angel wings to be found across one's very tan (tight) back. This girl had no clue what she was in for and in the end had been sitting in the chair for nearly four hours. Also, when getting gigantic tattoo across one's back, one should not be allowed to whine when she literally had to sit in front of gigantic windows wearing nothing more than a bra (and this girl had some big boobs on her) to have enough space to accomodate everyone who came in to see her. And finally, I don't think one gets to bitch about the pain when there was four hours put in for really beautiful art for which the artist requested a fee of only $150.

Finally, it was our turn. Chris had at this point changed her mind several times about her tattoo design bouncing from 'something non-girly' to a fairy to a pin-up angel with giant breasts (this for some strange reason a request from Lil' Miss Maddy) and then back to a very non-girly giant black dragon which would take up her whole forearm and have her wearing long sleeves to work for the rest of her life, but at that point I wasn't about to argue.

Then, because I think Chris was being a big wuss, she declared I needed to go first. I hadn't had a tattoo for like three years, so I got brave and got in the chair. It was a cakewalk and I love my tattoo for which Steph only wanted $60. I told her she was being robbed blind considering I paid $100 for my last one and in comparison the last one was a little nothing tattoo that took less than an hour. There was some declaration that at her prices I would be getting tattoos every other day.

With me done and wrapped, Chris, friggin' exhausted since it was pretty late and she has that new baby and all, finally got in the chair, ready to pass out and got her gigantic black dragon. I also somewhere along the way (probably with the liquor and late hour) lost all concept of depth perception and tripped on a step taking a nose dive into Chris' knee...no damage. And then it was like ten after one and we were in a bad neighborhood so we got the hell out of there.

Tattoo is on my right back shoulder. The pic was the best I could do by myself. I will try to get hubby to take a better pic later...when he calms down enough from my going out and getting a tattoo without his prior knowledge and then coming home way late and waking him up so I could get in...and then keeping him awake with my insomniac with a new tattoo babbling when he had to be up at 4 am...but hey, I was starving and clearly I never sleep. I don't know what else he expected.

Insomnia - Part 1

So, I'm still not sleeping...big surprise. Now, I've basically decided to just bypass the notion of even laying down especially since the headache that I've had coming and going for the last six days only seems to want to kill me when I slow down and try to relax. Said headache has had me chowing down ibuprofen like it's candy and that's basically tearing apart my stomach.

I keep suggesting in a very 'Arnold' kind of manner that it may be a tumor and BEG keeps reminding me that it probably isn't. She's probably right seeing as how it's more likely the result of my ever continuing sleeplessness, which I can only imagine is a result of stress (this last week has not been very easy on me with the 12 day old washer breaking and being replaced, the flood in my office due to a strangely leaking radiator, etc.) and anxiety.

Hubby suggested that turning the ceiling fan off in the bedroom may help me to sleep. It's not very likely since I'm used to the noise both it and the left-on-by-hubby TV make. He's been lulling himself to sleep with the same 10 documentaries for the last nearly eight years. I'm used to them, know them and could probably repeat all narration verbatim if I had to.

I'm also pretty used to the sounds of the ghetto...gunshots, bastard children riding power wheels from sun up til...geez it's nearly midnight and I don't think they've even slowed down yet, not to mention the schrill screams of angry baby mommas. This is mostly exaggeration. I really only live in like ghetto lite...but we do still live close enough to hear the occasional gunfire. Regardless, I'm accustomed to the general craziness of my 'hood.

In the past few hours I have uttered such memorable things as "I was going to put baby heads in the oven but my wooden balls are too big." (this actually does make sense) and numerous hilarious remarks about Suri Cruise (wherever she may be). Also, I reminded BEG that she hadn't watched Morley Safer (I have no idea if this is spelled correctly, but then again, I also don't really care).

Hubby made me watch the movie 'Marci X'...the edited for TV version on WE no less. Sometimes, I just don't understand him at all. I guess it was better than him forcing me to watch some fucking retarded documentary about that Japanese airport that I've seen like twenty seven million times already. But then again, I do actually own 'Marci X' on DVD.

I'm supposed to go get tattooed with Miss Maddy's momma tomorrow. I agreed to it earlier today, or now yesterday as it were and we supposed to go yesterday, but the tattoo bitch didn't call back in time. Now, as I'm sitting here, plotting said tattoo, I'm losing interest and having second thoughts. Tattoos are expensive (not that I can't afford it) and time consuming (not that I don't have the time...clearly, since my wooden balls are too big, I will not be puttng baby heads in the oven later today either) and I'm certainly lacking patience at the moment.

Paris Hilton Sings...

Someone Snatch Tinkerbell Before She Records A Song!

So, I'm awake...and it's awfully friggin' early. Problematic? Why, yes, especially if you take into consideration that I am once again not getting enough sleep thanks to the ever rising temperatures and humidity and the fact that I'll need to at least be awake until like 10pm (current time...5:23 am) after having already been awake most of last night thanks to hubby sleep-ranting and thrashing about (he is also not sleeping well thanks to the weather) but ultimately not my biggest issue at the moment.

I turned on VH1, which is generally the course of things even when my eyes weren't pried open by the blinding light of my hubby turning on every switch he could find, madly searching the house for his Treo. His entire existence is in this device and he cannot function without it..or me. It's one of these things where I remind him to breath and the Treo reminds him to call me. There's a system in place folks and it's not to be tampered with. Regardless, I was basically aggravated awake to begin with.

I turned on VH1, for some reason with Fort Minor's 'Where'd You Go' (very nearly the most depressing song one can expect to hear first thing in the morning...Thank you VH1 for single handedly raising the suicide rate by usually playing this song back to back with Blue October's 'Hate Me' which is now as I like to call it the suicide anthem of 2006) already in my head, but alas, there was no Mike Shinoda/Holly Brook assault combo lulling me to tears. There wasn't even any sign of them, nor was there a whored out Nelly Furtado singing when instead she should have just spread her legs and filmed that for three or for minutes with the 1812 Overture playing in the background.

Instead, the very first thing I see is Paris Hilton, in black and white covered in sand and rolling around on a half naked man. At first I thought she had another porn video floating around and then for a moment wondered when VH1 started playing porn (I had this very same reaction last night when I saw Sci-Fi playing ECW wrestling). I gave this up around the time Nelly Furtado came to mind again. Alas, it was a music video...Paris Hilton's music video...and now, my brain hurts.

If you overlook the fact that Ms. Hilton is well, quite frankly, more suited for porn and on a good day, the mere act of her speaking is reminiscent of a chihuahua caught in a vaccum...with it's nostrils stapled shut...and the fact that her about to be a one-hit-wonder video is so clearly a blatant rip-off of Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game' video, the song was just not that bad. It's sort of catching in the same way as famous hits of yor, like 'The Macarena' or The Children of the Damned's, er, Hanson's 'Mmm Bop' or even Pat Boone covering 'Crazy Train'.

So, Paris Hilton sings...or at least went into a recording studio and made some kind of noise they were able to clean up enough to call singing. If I had to guess, I'd say it was possible that it was actually Paris in the studio squeezing poor, little Tinkerbell forcing her to make squealing sounds into the microphone which were then fed into one of those SETI computers and turned into what sounds like singing. Either that or Ms. Hilton paid some loser who used to be on The MMC (someone who's daily life involves acts if voodoo against people like Justin & Britney) to sing for her in a Milli Vanilli sort of scenario.

This just goes to show that if you have enough money, a good engineer and have seen at least one music video from the early 90's, you too can record a song and find one-hit wonder fame (not that she needed it). Quick! Somebody get Jack Wagner to record another album!