tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-187368832024-03-07T02:52:05.321-06:00Ivory's Unfinished ThoughtsCompletely random thoughts, most unfinished, from the mind that just won't quit...IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1161302944265453912006-10-19T18:59:00.000-05:002006-10-19T21:11:19.273-05:00Pack of Angry Wolves...<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/DebtWolf.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/DebtWolf.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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! </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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). </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span> </span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1161119398133269662006-10-17T15:39:00.000-05:002006-10-17T17:00:18.026-05:00All-Weather Babies...<span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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). </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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?</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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 </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Angelina Jolie!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Frakkin' BrAngelina! Dammit, they foil me every time!</span></span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1154475448929906532006-09-11T07:15:00.000-05:002006-09-11T08:08:32.983-05:00Strange & Irratic Ears<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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...<br /><br />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)<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;">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?)<br />3 - All Cried Out by Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam </span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">(Gotta love the slow jams!)<br />4 - Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham & The Pharoahs </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;">(My mother used to let me abuse her vinyl collection starting at a very young age)<br />5 - Never No More by Patsy Cline </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;">(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)<br />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]<br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccffff;">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)<br />8 - In My Wildest Dreams by Belinda Carlisle (Yes, the song from Mannequin)<br />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)<br />10 - With You by Jessica Simpson (I have no idea how this even ended up on my drive)<br /><br />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.</span></span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1154659319805103732006-08-03T21:27:00.000-05:002006-08-03T22:10:53.236-05:00It Just Keeps Getting Creepier...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">. 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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1154647076827134342006-08-03T17:44:00.000-05:002006-08-03T18:28:14.686-05:00Gateway to Hell...<span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Finally I demanded the receipt, snatched it from her hand angerily and stormed out of the building.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1153927101575512752006-07-26T09:40:00.000-05:002006-07-26T10:18:21.766-05:00Da Plane, Boss! Da Plane!<strong><span style="color:#ccccff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Ok so, it's not a plane...but it is a tattoo!</span><br /></span></strong><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/NewTattoo01.jpg" border="0" /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p><p><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1153802771858654812006-07-24T23:23:00.000-05:002006-07-24T23:54:18.156-05:00Insomnia - Part 1<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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). </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1153307804967675762006-07-19T05:23:00.000-05:002006-07-19T06:47:51.073-05:00Paris Hilton Sings...<span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ccccff;"><strong>Someone Snatch Tinkerbell Before She Records A Song!</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Instead, t</span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">he very first thing I see is Paris Hilton, in black and white covered in sand and rolling around on a half naked man. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">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'.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">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.</span><br /><p><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">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). </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Quick! Somebody get Jack Wagner to record another album!</span></span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1150123129897273762006-06-12T09:37:00.000-05:002006-07-14T10:01:04.173-05:00Final Battle Mal & Not Fade Away Angel Part 2...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, here is the long-awaited sequel. Sorry it took so long, but I went on vacay.</span><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/AngelMal09.1.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal09.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Mal and Angel hide in the woods (which is really just a fake plant in my dining room) waiting for when they will strike...</span></span></div><span style="color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><div align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal10.0.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">And finally, the schoolbus they were seeking arrives (I'm 27 with no children...I own a Fisher Price </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Little People schoolbus...deal with it). Time to strike down the wicked non-symboled My Little Pony...</span></div><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal11.0.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#ccffff;">Angel jumps in with some real cool Matrix style moves while Mal takes a more subtle approach with his gun...</span></span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal12.0.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal: "Give up this bus, pony!"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Pony: "Ahhh! Captain Tightpants!"</span></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal13.0.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">"Pony, I will riddle you with holes!"</span></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal14.0.jpg" border="0" /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal15.2.jpg" border="0" /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal17.jpg" border="0" /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal18.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Angel: "Did you have to stop so the bushwhoolie could cross?"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal: "There are pedestrian laws!"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Angel: "Since when are you about the law?"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal: "Fine! He's adorable and we can't go around killin' everything!"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Angel: "This is just like the evil rubber duck!"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal: "The duck is NOT evil and neither is the bushwhoolie!"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Angel: "You wanna cuddle him too?"</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal: "Grrr arrgh."</span></p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal19.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">And finally, Mal and Angel take a lesson on getting along from their good friend The Piv and they hug it out!</span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1150121156881744852006-06-12T09:01:00.000-05:002006-06-12T09:35:16.986-05:00The Incredibly True Adventures of...<div align="left"><span style="color:#ccccff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><strong>'Final Battle' Mal and 'Not Fade Away' Angel...</strong></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, BEG was down a couple weekends ago (uh-huh, uh-huh) and we spent an entire day shopping, mostly at the mall. Shopping for us generally means we go out, to the mall or whatever and raise all sorts of hell. We're loud and obnoxious and all about the mockery. It's not uncommon for BEG to yell profanities in Target at the top of her lungs (I've heard her yell, "FUCK" in Target more than a few times) or for me to yell for her about something from many aisles away. There also tends to be a lot of trying on clothing right out in the open, ala Courtney Love (This usually happens in HOT TOPIC).</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;">Upon our arrival at the mall, post breakfast at the local IHOP, we found that the Suncoast Video was going out of business and selling everything off, super cheap. We were immediately drawn to the action figure section having found it just a few feet away from where it used to be. We oohed and aahed over the rack of remaining marked down action figures which included both 'Final Battle' Mal from the movie SERENITY and 'Not Fade Away' Angel from of course the TV show, 'Angel'. They had to be purchased (Even if only to make sure that Angel was accurately taller than Mal)...along with Willow, Tara and Miss Kitty Fantastico.<br /><br />Returning home with our many unnecessary purchases (there were some 'Littlest Pet Shop' monkeys and turtles), found us busting into my Mal and Angel setting them free of their packaging, bought for entertainment purposes only having been so cheap and all and not for collectible purposes. Along the way, we got KP on the phone and there was some discussion about Mal doing naughty things to Angel with the screwdriver he came with (While being watched by Willow, Tara and Miss Kitty Fantastico) and there was some issue with keeping Mal's sword in his hand. We also oohed and aahed over the fact that Angel has the good rotating hands for better swrod action (yes, we are this easily amused).<br /><br />So now I present to you, the beginning adventures of 'Final Battle' Mal and 'Not Fade Away' Angel...or in other words, what unemployed, clearanced out former TV star action figures do when they have no work to speak of... </span></span><br /></span><br /></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/AngelMal01.5.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal01.5.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal and Angel take a nice, soothing bubble bath together to start their day...but don't worry folks, they remain fully clothed!</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal02.0.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal loves a bubbles bath...He also loves his rubber ducky!</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal03.12.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Angel on the other hand hates rubber duckies. He thinks they're evil and he lives to slay them!</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal04.0.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">"I will slay you with my sword, duck!"</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal05.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal is out of the bath, diving in the rescue his ducky before the sword of Angel can pierce her.</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal07.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">A fight for the ducks life breaks out and Mal does not have time to reach for his gun and his own sword is problematic, it won't stay in his hand...but he is sure he will win!</span></p><p align="center"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/AngelMal06.jpg" border="0" /></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Mal has saved his duck and Angel will just have to learn to cut it some slack. He also has to learn to deal with the stress of being unemployed. It really seems to be getting to him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">As for Mal and his ducky? They're headed back to the tub.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Personally, I can't wait until The Pussycat Dolls dolls come out. I think that Mal and Angel should take them out on dates! Also, Angel should think Nicole is E-V-I-L and try to slay her. Ooh! Maybe we could find a Shakira doll on eBay...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I know there's a Michael Knight action figure around here somewhere although I think it would only be more homo-erotic since the ass of Knight's painted-on pants wore off a long time ago from sitting in the damned 'KIT' car! There could also be a possible 'Mal & Angel's Adventures with Gumby' series on the way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Stay tuned for Part 2 when Mal and Angel team up to steal a schoolbus from a symbol-less My Little Pony...</span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1149630587125023052006-06-06T16:28:00.000-05:002006-06-07T09:54:10.960-05:00Fake You!<p><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color:#ccffff;">[There was a very entertaining picture to go with this post of a flame hand, giving the finger, but since Blogger is being terribly uncooperative, I had no such luck getting it into the post the million and one times I tried to upload it.]</span></p><span style="color:#ccffff;">Huh. Fake is like Cake with an F. Nevermind.<br /><br />So, I absolutely loathe the fakeness in the world, faux concern for others and the like for the most part. It drives me nuts and since it doesn't really matter anyway and since they're not <em>really</em> doing anything to help, only saying things to make themselves look better and make themselves feel better, which is really a lot of work (people, it's tiring to be a do-gooder), I can't understand why people bother. No one really cares. </span></span></span><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I mean, sure, I feel bad for people, and they're are some I concern myself with more than I should and others I should care more about, but don't...whatever.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">I also loathe the programmed response. Without fail, a day spent shopping has me hearing the phrase, "Have a nice day" or "Enjoy your afternoon" more times than I'd like. Cashiers don't really care if you have a lovely afternoon. They probably don't even want you to. It's just something they're supposed to say and after saying it so many times, it just comes out without thought. They might as well say, "Fuck off and die!" when you're walking away from the check-outs.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">"Enjoy your meal" is another one. I don't know about you, but the employees from McDonalds really have no business saying this. It's a friggin' saw dust burger on a mangled bun. It's not a steak dinner at a fancy pants restaurant. My expectations of enjoyment are not that high for food wrapped in waxed paper, food that's probably been sitting under a heat lamp for a considerable amount of time. What they should really say is something like, "Don't choke on an onion snibble" or "Try not to cut yourself with a ketchup packet." It's just more honest.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Third, I hate it when you run into someone and they're all up and clearly pretending to care about what you've been up to when really it's just going in one ear and right out the other and said person is more than likely having an inner struggle trying to figure out what your name even is. Drives me nuts! "What have you been up to since [insert lame more than likely school or work related event said person knows you from] ...blah, blah, blah." I swear it's gonna be a bad day for whomever asks me that question next. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">You could give them any ridiculous response you want. In ten minutes when they're standing in line to pay for their gas, they're not even going to remember. They'll remember they saw you, maybe for a day or two. Maybe they'll even tell another person who also had been at said lame event or knows you from somewhere. The fact that your answer was crazy won't even make them remember. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">You could literally say, "I've been spoon-feeding Wallabies (that doesn't look right...hmmm.) sent here in a time machine from 1972." They would think you were crazy right then, and say something like, "Wallabies (once again, does not look right)?" People, when one word turns into a question, and it also happens to be a marcupial, it's not a good situation. To screw with them a little more you could look at them all crazy like and say, "Yes, from 1972." I would personally walk away at this point, just to leave said person a little more creeped out by me, but then again, I am a bold girl. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">If they remember anything substantial at all it would be like, "I saw so-and-so the other day. He/She is working at the zoo or something now." And then said people would congratulate you, even though you are not there, on doing well and for having gotten such a great job.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">So, here is a list of question, most of which get asked more often than not, for which I will make up stories to answer...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /></span><br /></span></span><ol><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Where are you from? I am generally pretty honest about this one, but since it doesn't matter from now on, when asked such a question, I will respond by saying things like, "Gnome, Gome, Alaska." Thank you, guys at Broken Lizard. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll say, "I don't know." and act like I have amnesia or something. That would be hilarious.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">More times than not, when I am outside, holding the hose, trigger in hand with water coming out, directed at my new sod and/or gardens, a small, not white child will walk up to me all cautious like and ask me what I am doing. From now on, I will tell any such child that I am feeding the bugs in my garden so they grow big and strong and eat your dog so I never have to listen to it bark all night ever again. I will tell them I am growing a legion of hell-mouthed raised beetles given to me by my wicked, evil crone of a mother-in-law (she does live in OH, near Cleveland) to kill my enemies and leave this ghetto a quiet, peaceful place again. They will grow as large as rhinos! Insighting fear in the hearts of children is awesome.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">What have I been up to since [insert lame event mentioned above]? "I take a lot of pills." 'Nuff said about that. Of course with the people I have met in my lifetime, someone is bound to say something like, "Hey, who doesn't?" in a very agreeable kind of way.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">"Why'd you do that?" This one I get from a lot of people and especially my hubby. Why did I do that? I was dared. The birds told me to. I saw it in a dream. It doesn't matter and why do you care? Most of the time something I've done is something so crazy or so time-consuming to explain (the complexities of me are just insane) why should I bother to tell the truth?</span></li></ol>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1148998106072865262006-05-30T08:43:00.000-05:002006-05-30T09:08:26.263-05:00Stinky Mimes...<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/Hoop03HulaHoopCrossing.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Hoop03HulaHoopCrossing.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I wanna live where this is necessary, people just wandering around...in traffic...in the desert...while hoola-hooping. I would laugh my ass off if there was an actual death or dismemberment that brought on this sign, some poor hoola-hooper just minding his own business, hooping around the desert and then splat...mowed over by a high-speed vehicle in the night (I'm assuming this would have happened in the dark as the desert is poorly lit at night and one could surely see a person with a hoola-hoop in the daytime...epsecially if they're not blind...Blind people should not be driving cars...unless they're Stevie Wonder, but that's another issue altogether).</span><br /></span><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I can only imagine the campaign that was launched to get this sign put up. I'm thinking the speech that nailed it home was something like this...</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">"Dammit, people! Bill WILL BE remembered! He couldn't do much, but he could <em>hoop</em> like no other. It was magnificent (in a very James Lipton kind of way) the way his hoop would go 'round 'n 'round! Ted Speederman has taken that away! This kind of carelessness must be stopped! No more <em>hoopers</em> will die!" (Viva la revelution! Chant, Chant, Chant!)</span></p><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">This would really only be funnier if the pedestrian representative was a mime, although, I have no idea how that would be conveyed on a street sign. Mimes are so quiet and sneaky you may not see them coming. Sure.</span></div><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Trust me, people. You can always tell when a mime is coming. They have sort of an odor (I'm totally kidding), although I suppose you wouldn't smell that while carelessly racing through the desert (uh-huh, uh-huh) but I bet you could easily convey that on a street sign. I think it would go a little somethin' like this...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/MimeWarning.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Nevermind. My fabulous artist rendering looks more like the ghost of a mime...a Scooby-Doo style villian maybe. Ahh, but the sign would still work if the ghost of a mime was haunting this particular stretch of desert road. On the flipside, my mime pedestrian representative could also pass for a mime puppet, possibly a possessed mime mariennette.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Either way, the entire concept of the hoola-hooper crossing is hilarious...and sort of reminiscent of when the deaf girl got run over by the train while text messaging...although after all the broo-ha-ha that discussion created, I will not be drawing the sign for that.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">P.S. I think Katrina Kravy is slowly turning into Allison Gillman. If you live near Milwaukee, you know who they are.</span></div>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1148662974087554932006-05-26T11:39:00.000-05:002006-05-26T12:29:41.020-05:00Where's 'Slater' When You Need Him?<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/MPG02NYPDBLUECast.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/MPG02NYPDBLUECast.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, I watch/hear a lot of daytime TV...mostly on TNT. I really don't and haven't had time in years to watch a lot of the primetime and later night TV I would have liked. Basically I catch the shows I missed...years later, in re-run. Lately, I've been watching both hours of 'ER' (although, I actually still watch this on Thursday nights and BTW: WTF? was up with that season finale?), both hours of 'Judging Amy' (Because I came to realize this show wasn't nearly as sappy as it seemed when it was on) and then suddenly because I'm lazy, I just stopped changing the channel when 'NYPD Blue' started right after 'Amy'.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I actually watched 'NYPD Blue' when it was on, right up until Jimmy Smits died. The addition of Rick Shroeder scared the bejesus out of me, so I stopped watching and thus also missed the loss of Mr. Silver Spoons and the additions of Mark Paul Gosselaar and Esai Morales (Can anybody scream, "RICHIE!" from a bridge as well as he can? I don't think so. Sorry, I had to get a LaBamba reference in here somewhere). The re-runs I'm currently watching on TNT have both MPG and EM. Mmm...or so I thought.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/MPG04AsClark.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 176px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px" height="156" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/MPG04AsClark.jpg" width="140" border="0" /></a><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/MPG03CopStuff.0.jpg"></a><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/MPG06CopStuff.0.jpg"></a>I've been watching the 'NYPD Blue' re-runs for about three weeks now. Luckily, like 'ER' this show was on forever and one can easily pick it back up after a long time away. Nothing ever really changes, I guess is what I mean. Plus, along with EM and MPG, they also got Charlotte Ross, and as a child who grew up with a mother that watched 'Days of Our Lives', I remember her as Evie (daughter of Shane)...and then from failed (although it wasn't given much of a real chance) show 'The Heights'.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Everything was going well. MPG is still ultra-adorable. He even looks like he fits in with the cast and for all intents and purposes, he's not a horrible actor, nor was he a horrible addition to 'NYPD Blue' (EM on the other hand could have spent more time with less clothing on, but hey, it was what it was). MPG as Detective Clark even seemed convincing doing cop things and hangin' with Dennis Franz...</span><br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/MPG03CopStuff.0.jpg" border="0" /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 99px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="188" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/MPG06CopStuff.0.jpg" width="95" border="0" /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Anway, Sipowicz and Connie were having a battle for her sister's baby and planning to get married on the sly. MPG got a new girlfriend once the whole 'framed' thing went away and his dad died. Just swell...until yesterday.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">MPG as Detective Clark was mostly naked, pouring honey from a honey bear (was there a need to drag the poor bear into this) on his mostly naked new girlfriend's back and licking it off. This would have been fine if it had been anyone other than MPG, formerly Zack Morris...wholesome, wholesome Zack Morris. I literally started to feel queasy and had to look away from the TV until it was over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/MPG01Zack.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 191px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px" height="206" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/MPG01Zack.jpg" width="201" border="0" /></a>No one of the original 'Saved by the Bell' cast should be licking anything off of anyone in prime time or whatever...except for Tiffany Amber Theisen, whom actually wasn't a part of the original cast but anyway (I got over the trauma of her being naughty when she joined the 90210 cast and basically lost her mind). It was one of the most disturbing things I've ever had to witness, especially since no matter how old he gets, MPG will always be Zack Morris to me and like I said, wholesome. Where is Slater when you need him? Even the homo-erotic tendencies of his relationship with Zack Morris were less detrimental to my fragile mental health than seeing MPG licking the back of a half-naked woman, adult themed TV or not! I think I would have rather just seen Dennis Franz's naked ass again...at least that didn't mess with my childhood memories as much as the honey licking thing.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1148567478856536892006-05-25T09:26:00.000-05:002006-05-25T09:42:05.113-05:00Wooo-Hooo!<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">The writer of this blog has been stricken with Spring Fever. She is feisty, her brain is lost and she is unable to sit still long enough to write a long-winded post about anything, and even if she could, it would be further delayed by her constantly looking out the windows to her right, out into the sunny world around her. This may also involve her leaping from her desk chair to dive out said window as any pre-thought of 'door' wouldn't be thought of quick enough. It's seventy two degrees, the sun is shining. Said blogger will return though. This is Wisconsin and good weather never lasts for as long as one would like. We are expecting rain later tonite, so maybe said blogger will finally be able to slow down long enough to finish at least one of many started and abandoned posts/drafts just sitting in the bin mocking her. Until then, said blogger will be starting and abandoning many other projects she feels are urgently goddamned important at the time or possibly taking photos of 'Final Battle Mal' and 'Not Fade Away Angel' riding around on extraneous My Little Ponies and battling the evil, stinky monkey kitch (not to be confused with John Madden's Itchy Monkey).</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1147469160360386972006-05-14T10:00:00.000-05:002006-05-14T10:02:44.393-05:00Live Birth Under Water...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">[83 is an excellent number. I like the way it looks. Sorry about that.]</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, here's the second installment of, "Sometimes, My Mom Just Scares the Crap Of Me" (Remember the last time...when she sent me the picture of the dress made all of unwrapped condoms and I had oh, so many unanswerable questions? Ahh, special times.)...Or what I am now calling...since we're right on top of it, "Happy Mother's Day Mom! Sometimes, You Really Scare the Crap Out of Me".</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I was sitting here, thinking about what I should do. I figured it should be something good and productive seeing as how I've been up for quite some time now and have not accomplished one single thing all damned day. I was watchin' some 'Little House', pokin' around the internet...pretty much the same old, same old. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I went to check in on my e-mail, one of the few things I've bided my time with today and there it is, an e-mail from my mother...with an attachment. I opened it, thinking that it would be something lame and very nearly 47 year old-ish humor. That's the sort of thing she generally sends and it's because she has a mailing list, like many people, that I, like so many others out there, get to be right at the top of simply because I am her offspring. She's careless with the internet and thus is why I pay the fine Norton anti-virus people to protect me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">It was a video clip, but I had to click through an astounding number of 'forwards' just to get to what essentially amounted to a public television played commercial with a man waking up 'the morning after' in a cage at the zoo to find a monkey humping his leg and spanking his ass. Apparently, this was all the result of the man having had too much beer the night before and something about how he should have had root-beer instead. This commercial was for IBC Root Beer, or whatever the fuck it's called. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">First I wondered what's with the man and the monkey? Was this supposed to make me want a frothy, cold root-beer? Never once in my life have these to things ever even crossed my mind in reference to root-beer. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">And what the hell happened to public television. Had they lost their minds? Did they think sex could sell root-beer to their viewers and thus make them a good chunk of change in the Ad Dept.? Couldn't they have just had another pledge show/auction? BEG would buy stuff. And what were they thinking in getting this ad...an ad that clearly is all wrong and improperly geared, especially on their station?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">This concept will never win over the beer drinkers. They will not switch from beer to root-beer just as they aren't likely to switch from ESPN to PBS anytime soon. Secondly, IBC people, they will not switch to root-beer because continuing to drink beer might mean they will wake up from a black-out to find a monkey humping their legs. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Beer drinkers would go to the zoo to taunt the monkeys into humping their legs for the sheer fun of it. No real beer drinker wakes up from a black-out in the zoo. The beer drinker had already been their to rile up the monkeys long before this jack-ass. The beer drinker is already gone and on his way to Der Waffle Haus to meet his stinky, grubby friends to go wading through the mucky swamp all morning. And no real beer drinker watches public television anyway. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Hardcore root-beer drinkers watch public television, IBC in particular. So IBC you're trying to appeal to a market you already have. The commercial should have been a dorky guy waking up with a hot chick to remember, because he had root-beer and not beer the night before, exactly how he got there. Root-beer drinkers remember things, which is exactly what the original commercial expressed in it's sort of terrifying way.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">But, in the end, there was the fact that it was funny and I could see why it was out there floating around in my mother's reach...and finally, why she had e-mailed it to everyone she's ever possessed an e-mail address for.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">A little while later though, I was still slacking and dropped in on my e-mail again to see what was goin' on. I got another e-mail from mom. It also had an attachement, but this time, there was cause for concern. This new e-mail was sent only to me...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">She does this occassionally, sends me something she doesn't send to anyone else and it's usually the most peculiar crap she could come up with and generally has me worried for her safety. I'm tellin' ya, that condom dress was on the very low craziness end of the wacko scale. Often times, these e-mails have me wondering if I should get her a helmet and a bus pass just in case.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">I can tell you this also, the second e-mail's attachment is also a video clip and that I haven't watched it yet because I'm still stuck back at the title...'Live Birth Under Water'. God only knows what the hell it could be. Knowing my mother, it could actually be a live underwater birth...and that's just not something I need to see. So, for now, I live in speculation.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Happy Mother's Day, mom. Be surpised when you open that box and see the helmet and bus pass!</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1147294938040197132006-05-10T15:52:00.000-05:002006-05-10T16:38:20.736-05:00Desperately Seeking Schwartz...<p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/Spaceballs01.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Spaceballs01.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ffffcc;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Why don't I have 'Spaceballs' on DVD? I have like 500 other DVDs, and that's not an exaggeration. Why isn't that one in the collection? It seems like a movie I should have. And what worries me more, I don't have it on VHS either...so there's like no 'Spaceballs' in my general vaccinity.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">And why all of a sudden do I desperately need to watch 'Spaceballs'? It seems a little strange to me. I don't believe this has ever been a crisis before...wanting to watch that movie and not having it I mean. It's not like I have said, done or seen anything, etc. to have encouraged Spaceballs to pop up in my head. And why the hell hasn't it been on TV lately?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffffcc;">TBS, Why aren't you airing 'Spaceballs' every two hours like you used to in the good ol' days? Where are my three chances to watch, TNT? </span></p><p><span style="color:#ffffcc;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Where is my Druish princess? Where's my 'Spaceballs' desert pick and my 'Spaceballs' toilet paper. Where's my statue on the beach and mocking 'Planet of the Apes'...apes. Where else can you see Dick Van Patten these days?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Sometimes you just need to see a slimy, little alien in straw hat, claw out of a a man's chest and woop it up all Vaudeville style. Sometimes the desert needs to be combed. And sometimes ya just need Schwartz...</span></span></p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Spaceballs02END.jpg" border="0" /></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1146954966379629162006-05-06T17:30:00.000-05:002006-05-07T13:44:22.300-05:00That's An Ostritch!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/BionicWoman.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/BionicWoman.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I don't like that I live in a world where every two minutes, The Bionic Woman tries to sell me a mechanical bed via the television. I don't know what they're tryin' to acccomplish, but I also don't know anyone who would buy a bed from the TV, let alone Lindsay Wagner. Does she even need a bed? Does she sleep? Why don't you just sign up The Incredible Hulk to sell Avon door-to-door in full 'Hulk' mode?</span><br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Hulk.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I also don't like that I live in a word where a product/tool called 'The Luma-Tweeze' exists and I can own it for just $19.95. How picky do you have to be to need a lighted, magnifing tweezers?</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Ostritch.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;color:#ffcccc;">That's an ostritch!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/Enya.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Can someone please tell me when the new Enya CD became the so-called perfect gift for Mother's Day? It's more like the perfect gift for someone with insomnia. My mom works. She might be tired, but I really don't think she needs an Enya-induced coma for Mother's Day. Even these cats can't handle it...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/passed_out_cat.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/passed-out-kitty.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, there was blog-surfing. I saw on some religious freak's blog that their headline is actually, "...Been there, done that, NOTHING compares to Jesus!" WTF??? NOTHING compares to Jesus? I've had sex...and ice cream... Orgasms and Hagen Daaz win over church any day. Also, if this 'NOTHING compares to Jesus were true, Sinead O'Connor would have been a completely different type of person. I like her just the way she is...tearin' up pictures of The Pope and all and with her neo-nazi boot camp look! This of course only got stranger when I clicked the number it told me to and was taken to another blog. That one's latest post was titled, "Been There, Done That". Apparently everyone was over everything yesterday. And then literally the next time I clicked it was KP's blog and her post about how it's okay to spank her (very literally, I suspect) for not being more on top of her blogging. The blog-verse is such a special place!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/tempra%20can.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I am a little worried about the number of people out there blogging about the Tempra-IC (Instant Cool) self-refrigerating beverage can though. It's just baffling (16, after I started counting). Don't people have anything better to do? I hear there's a line forming to spank KP as I blog this. And secondly, the entire idea of this much technology for a beverage can really freaks me out. Tomorrow I'll probably wake up in an 'I Robot' kind of world and there'll be a Cylon sitting on my front steps waiting to impregnate me with a programmed-love-child...and wouldn't that just be too much? The speed at which the world around me produces new technology now days is just insane! Geeks! Slow down a little. I don't want a toaster shaped baby! I don't even put my soda in the refrigerator!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/LegoMoniter.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:#ffcccc;">I'm not sure if this is technology moving forward or backwards. But hey, who doesn't love LEGOS?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Also, disturbing to know, while watching a 'Kate & Allie' marathon (don't ask), Chip was rattling off statistics. Back when that show was on, there was only one murder in this country every two and a half hours! Hmmm. Maybe they should revive the show and get the country back on track, although, after having suffered through the 'Annie on Broadway' casts version of how mentruation works many times in my youth, I don't know how well I'd take to seeing that girl that was Jenny ever again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/CheapSwords.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Cheap swords? I'm sorry, but I think if you're gonna buy a sword, it should be quality. Swords aren't a place for skimping to save a buck or two...and you never really know when a swarm of dragons may show up on your block!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/p-chan_back.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">And finally, I don't have even the faintest clue what this is, but it's Japanese and it scares the bejesus out of me! Those damned wacky Japanese!</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1146849047154242832006-05-05T11:59:00.000-05:002006-05-05T12:10:47.170-05:00Uninspired Rescue...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I was google image searching the word 'RESCUE' the other day looking for inspiration for the TV show BEG and I have been developing for like a year now and this is the very first picture that came up...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/Rescue01Moose.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Rescue01Moose.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"> <span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">This was named 'Rescue'. Clearly, this is just the head of a moose. I do not consider this a rescue. The word 'RESCUE' implies that something has been save and is still viable. This moose was definitely not rescued, as it is just the bloody head. It should have been named 'Souvenier' or 'Kept' or if you want another 're' word...recovered. Not rescued!</span><br /></span><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">This is the second picture that came up...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Rescue02PantsGirl.jpg" border="0" /></p><p><span style="color:#ccffff;">This photo was also named 'Rescue'. Seriously, whom were they trying to fool by naming it that? This girl is shopping. She isn't saving anything. She isn't rescuing the pants from the racks of the evil store empire. They're probably just having a sale and if she's saving anything it's money. Buying the pants and taking them out of the evil store/mall has no effect on the pants. The pants do not care where they are.</span></p><p><span style="color:#ccffff;">So, needless to say, I was not inspired to do anything for the TV show...although, I did go on a shopping spree for new spring/summer clothing and shoes today, so maybe I was inspired afterall!</span></span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1146751586219278922006-05-04T09:02:00.000-05:002006-05-04T09:06:26.236-05:00Assault on My Senses...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#ffccff;">(<strong>Dually posted on 10th & Park) </strong></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Dear People outside of my house (let's say those within a five house radius to mine), </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">It's warm today. My windows are open so I don't have to spend another dark gloomy day feeling like I am suffocating (this does not mean it is not still dark and gloomy). They are open to air out a large stuffy house that has been all closed up since the end of November. They are NOT however open so you can just fucking assault my senses. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">It's cool if you want to listen to your slow-jams or your gansta rap. I don't mind. I even like some of it...when it's at a reasonable volume and not blaring to fight with someone else's respective slow-jams/gansta rap and the ten gillion pimped out rice-grinders you people instist on racing around here all day and night long. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">It's a wonder Sammy is deaf. Yeah, you people know Sammy. Don't pretend like you have no idea what I'm talking about. The man lived in the house next door to mine for eight years now and he can't hear a damned thing. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">It's not necessary to have a sound war. It is also not necessary to yell out to your homeboy Javan when he is all the way down at the other end of the block with his stereo thumpin' away. Javan cannot hear you! The only reason I can hear you is because you chose to stop right outside my open windows and scream for him at the top of you lungs...not once, but seven times before you finally gave up and walked your fat ass down there!</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Also, while we're still on the topic of loud. In the middle of the night, it's hard to make the distinction between gunfire and fire-crackers. I think if you're going to make the loud sounds and disturb us all anyway, you should begin doing so by yelling either FIRECRACKER or GUNFIRE. At least give the white people a chance to duck since we clearly have no idea why you continue to shoot at each other and break beer bottles over each other's heads.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I don't think we want to know. Just go about your business and leave us out of it. This new rule also applies to those of you who think it's ok to bounce a basketball lazily down the sidewalk in the dead of night. I don't know why you do this. I don't want to know. Just yell, "BASKETBALL!" and get on your merry way. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Next, in the long line of my many senses you wreck on a daily basis all warm weather season long... It is just not necessary to fire up the grill every night. No one needs that much grilled meat...if that's a name that can be applied to any of the things you're grilling. On a side note, if whatever you're grilling is not traditionally thought of as a farm animal, I am not interested. I don't care to eat the raccoon you shot digging through your garbage last night (BTW: You should have yelled 'GUNFIRE'. I almost peed my pants!).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">And once again, it was NOT necessary to yell down to Javan that you shot the raccoon. Javan cannot hear you.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1146528430313098942006-05-01T18:46:00.000-05:002006-05-01T19:07:10.330-05:00The Most Unconvincing Contest Ever...<span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, I was sitting here on the phone with BEG, at my desk with a brand new bag of Cheetos Puffs. I was getting ready to open it up, but since it's rude to chew on the phone and generally makes talking and understanding difficult I waited...reading the stuff on the bag. I do this a lot. No shocker.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">This is what the front of the bag looks like...</span><br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/Cheetos01.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I notice they're having a contest of some sort, so I read the pretend 'Cheesy Tribune' Chester is holding on the front of the bag. This is what it says...</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/Cheetos03.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Cheetos Recipe Stolen??? I'm confused. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">If the recipe was stolen, how did they make the Cheetos currently in the bag. Pretty hard to make something without a recipe and if it isn't, why are they looking for the recipe? Why is it important enough to have an entire contest about if they can already make them and don't really need to recover it?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Let's say the recipe, which BEG tells me practically doesn't even exist (she saw a show on TV about how they make the puff Cheetos...she's such a food network junkie), is missing, are the Cheetos in my bag right now, Cheetos that have been laying about at the Cheetos factory for a while, from before the recipe was stolen? I don't want old, Cheetos. They could have bugs or something.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Who the hell would even want to steal the Cheetos recipe? Does Chester now have some arch-nemesis out there, stealing recipes and trying to build his or her own bigger and more bad-ass cheesy poof empire? I shudder to think. Was it some covert, ninja operation? Did they sneak in, by the light of the moon and frolic around the Cheetos plant searching for the already pretty much self explanatory recipe which had been kept in a locked glass case under the watchful, but sleepy eyes of Sam the security gauard, who I can imagine has now been let go because of his life-altering screw up?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">It's Cheetos, people. Nothing about them is life-altering. They're just tasty.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">This is the most unconvincing basis for a contest ever. Recipe stolen? Whatever. They could have at least come up with a better story. Hell, they could have come out and said terrorists have taken over the factory and we need to rescue Chester and the puffs supply. I could've gotten on board for that one.</span></p>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1146149723844764592006-04-27T09:25:00.000-05:002006-04-27T10:06:42.033-05:00Save the Tiny Turtles!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/1600/TinyTurtle.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/TinyTurtle.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I know I shouldn't do this cause a lot of people could care less about what other people dream and I honestly wouldn't do it, except for it was just a little too creepy, the things going on in my head while sleeping, to not discuss...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, last night I had one of the strangest dreams I've had in quite some time...considering I don't generally sleep. I'm think last night's strangeness can be attributed to the fact that right before bed I got hungry and ate some leftover lasagna and garlic bread (yes, I brushed afterwards) and the fact that I have been watching entirely too much sci-fi programming, namely 'Battelstar Galactica', for my own good [BTW: 'Scar' from mid-second season is hands-down my favorite episode of the series, followed very closely by season 1's '33', but please keep in mind I am still trying to dowload the rest of season two, so I have yet to see it].</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Anyway, it was a tripod assembleage (Me, BEG and KP) on some sort of cruise ship (actual cruise ship...c'mon, we can't all live or live in our dreams, on the battlestar, although said cruise ship was capable of air travel...but not space travel). We were packing shit up (this could be because BEG has been weeding out her undersirable clothes, which is something I need to get to myself before my closet takes over). I was also seemingly suffering from some serious shoe-loss paranoia and I kept going through my shoe collection (yes, it is a collection) to make sure every shoe was present and accounted for. I suppose that Walter (my white Angora) can be blamed for that one seeing as how he recently chewed my favorite red strappy shoes to bits while I wasn't paying attention. Little bastard!</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">For the most part, this is all relatively normal. All things that can be blamed on some other curcumstance in my reality-based existence piling up in my head and getting to me when I sleep. However, here comes the strangeness...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">For the entire duration of the dream I was either carrying around a dish of six, tiny turtles (you know, the ones you can't buy anymore cause the government is just as afraid of Salmonella as BEG-Sorry BEG!), or carrying the dish or tiny turtles around trying to save said turtles. This was all because every time I put the damned dish down, my dog would appear out of nowhere (Angus, the gigantic Golden Retreiver) , knock the dish over and start chewing on the poor turtles. Then there would be some screaming for hubby (these would be the only times he was present in the dream) and rescue of the turtles...which survived every single chew attack. Boy those little buggers were resilliant.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">The entire tripod was a mission to save 6 tiny chewed on turtles. This is not something we have ever done or even spoken of (except for that one time when that wayward turtle wandered into my yard and we all thought the vulcan brought it to me) in reality. In the dream I kept taking them to the kitchen staff of the cruise ship for fixing (Probably not the best plan with the kitchen staff and all) and they kept wanting me to get KP to fix their computer, although the woman with the broken computer was the woman that played the blonde nurse married to Aaron on 'Chicago Hope'...a show I haven't seen in like a millenia.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Nevertheless, we built a suitable tiny turtle habitat, complete with faux trees and...Phat Boys Die-cast cars (I do collect these...cause they're adorable...and flat).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I literally woke up with a WTF? sort of feeling. The tripod doesn't save tiny turtles, especially tiny turtles no one is even allowed to legally possess anymore. Savin' the tiny turtles really isn't our thing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">If we had been out drinking in my dream and possibly taunting young waiter boys or taking an impromptu trip to the very non-local porn store or even perhaps had been using a disposable camera found in BEG's backseat to take pictures of a bloody, dead animal strategically placed on the sidewalk, I would have said, "Sounds like us." Hence not the case and now I'm wholly disturbed.</span> </span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffccff;"><strong>BTW: Check out </strong></span><a href="http://paranormalstories.blogspot.com"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffccff;"><strong>http://paranormalstories.blogspot.com</strong></span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ffccff;"><strong> the renter on Eric's Panic Blog. She put of my tale of ghostly occurances and some pictures I submitted</strong></span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1145544637444265152006-04-20T09:47:00.000-05:002006-04-20T17:07:23.976-05:00It's a 'Tom Zarek' Disco Dance Party...<span style="color:#ccccff;"><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Look out, Apollo! When the terrorists start to dancin'...</span></strong><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">So, yesterday I was purusing the internet for yummy pics of Jamie Bamber who for all of you that don't already know, plays Apollo on Battlestar, is English and is also quite adorable and nice to look at when he wears nothing more than a falling off towel...</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/ApolloinTowel.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:#ccccff;">'Nuff said...or unsaid as it were.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Yes, in the absence of and my impatience for new episodes, or even the re-airing of the nine I haven't seen, this is the sort of activity I have reverted to. There was also some discussion with BEG about how I like it when he touches the big board...</span> </span></p><p align="left"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/ApolloTouchinBigBoard.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left"></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;color:#ccccff;">Mmm...Apollo and the big board! Gotta love it when he dry erases!</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Okay, so now that we've covered the new Apollo (Trust me, we really would rather have him uncovered - There was also talk of a well-written letter to Sci-Fi requesting that his wardrobe be depleted to nothing but the falling towel or checking to see if on the off chance next season's costume budget was running low and offer them the suggestion of giving him a uniform with no pants)but we'd rather have him uncovered...and preferably doing something naughty with Starbuck...hmm...maybe on a raptor...but that's a whole different blogpost...</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/GalacticaActionFigures.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I was googling 'BSG Apollo' and I kept getting all these pictures of the old Apollo and Starbuck action figures from the original TV show. That's all fine and good and was to be expected, but they both seem to be in disco positions. Were they disco-ing? Was that part of their appeal. I know Apollo's seventies style mullet is quite huge and lifelike (Richard Hatch still has this hair-do...it's not just a hair-cut...it's a 'do) and I assume that was part of his appeal as an action figure. Even the Cylon Action figure could be accused of disco action.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">At first this only mildly concerned me, but the more I saw and the further this google shit went on the more and more creepy me and BEG got as girl-type humans from middle-class families. </span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Somewhere along the way, I decided I wanted a new Apollo and Starbuck action figures (Once again so they can smack each other around and do naughty things - Imagine if they did exist, I would have them and they both would've been repainted and changed by now). BEG and I started to chat it up about this, pow-wow style like we usually do under such dire needs for new BSG action figures. It came up that we could buy these old Apollo action figures and re-paint them to look like Richard Hatch's new BSG character, Tom Zarek. I was all, we need to do this because <em>they'll</em> never make a 'Tom Zarek'. I started to google BSG action figures, finding all these disco style posed Apollo-s and Starbucks again and became increasingly amused. I know this was probably intended as a serious action move, making the most literal of the words 'ACTION FIGURE', but to me...still looks like good ol' fashioned disco goodness. And thus the plotting and scheming for 'Tom Zarek's Disco Dance Party' started. BEG said something about it being live from The Astral Queen, their first duty as a ship unhinged from the rest of the fleet and full of hardened criminals, was to build a disco ballroom. Hell, the resistance built a regulation size Pyramid Ball court. Why not a disco ballroom?</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, now I'm set forth on a mission to buy some old school Battlestar disco action figures of Starbuck and Apollo, re-paint them so Richard Hatch's likeness is wearing the prisoner jumpsuit he wears in the new Galactica as terrorist/activist/prisoner, Tom Zarek and then I will build them a decent diorama of a disco so we can act out 'Tom Zarek's Disco Dance Party'...Live from the Astral Queen's newly built disco ballroom...on film. Of course I have to file down the chins on the Hatch-es because now aged, he seems to no longer have a definable chin. "Hey, Hatch! Get that excess skin removed. You're freakin' me out!" Anthony Edwards actually suffers so badly from this disease, regression started at birth and his face seems to be just caving in altogether. It's sort of sucking back into itself... Shit! I <span style="color:#ccffff;">am way off topic...Back to the big board...</span></span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/200/ApolloTouchinBigBoard.0.jpg" border="0" /></span></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:78%;color:#ccccff;">Hmm...Big board...</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">If you have a mildly abused Apollo from childhood hanging around, collecting dust in a box somewhere or from teenhood when you bought him at a garage sale cause you thought it would be fun to actually hang him and he's been hanging on a action figure sized noose (I know my friends and I wrecked many knight-rider toys bought at rummage sales...and lets not forget when Pokey got licked), give me a shout so I can start constructing the party.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Also, Sci-Fi was playing a marathon of the original Battlestar either yesterday or today and I was reading the descriptions of the episodes, which are often similiar to new BSG descriptions and titles, but when thinking about it, I was actually thinking about old Apollo and Starbuck, both men once again, but in terms of their newer versions' relationship, boy and girl and how they flirt and slap each other around and it was really...well, it was really something else.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I leave you with this...</span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Apollo%26Starbuck01.png" border="0" /></span></p><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Found somewhere on the internet along the way. I had nothing to do with it. If it's yours, you know who you are and I applaud you. Clap! Clap! Clap! I'm sorry I'm an idiot!</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1145286636150066932006-04-17T09:48:00.000-05:002006-04-17T10:10:36.710-05:00All Around the Mulberry Bush...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, I've been thinking about this. I've been sick. Cut me some slack.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">When on Earth, does a monkey chase a weasel around a mulberry bush? When are these three things even in the same place. I'd have to think the zoo would be the most likely bet on finding at least two of the three things. Does the zoo even have weasels though? I don't remember, but then again, it has been quite a while since I've been to the zoo. Suppposing they do have weasels, I'm sure they are without mulberry bushes. So literally, you would have to go to the zoo...with a mulberry bush (try not to look suspicious and supposing you can find one) and abduct both a monkey and a weasel...and we all know how unruly monkeys can be. It all ends up like the stupid shit they teach in foreign language classes. I took many years of highschool German, not to mention short terms stints with French, Spanish and yes, friggin' latin. Trust me, this nursery song plays out like a bad French lesson where for some reason a monkey is riding a bicycle. It's incredibly arbitrary. Might as well just sing things like "All around the ghetto the INS chases illegal immigrants"...it's just as not likely. Or "Up to the top of the condemned building the po-po chases a meth-freak"...although entertaining...also not likely,and in the end, the meth-freak is more likely to jump from the structure than give up. I have to say, speeders...they don't give up when they're geeked! Give 'em a square peg, a round hole and a bindle of glass see what happens. By god, the peg, square or not, is goin' in that hole, even if it requires whittling. How about, "All around the hot, hot desert G-Dub chases Osama Bin Laden"? At least that shit exists and has as of now, been going on for years. At least it gives children some sort of grasp on reality. And what is this business about the cheese standing alone? Why isn't the weasel chasing the cheese? It is a rodent isn't it? We're led to believe that while the monkey is chasing the weasel around said bush, there's a hunk of cheese just off to the side, not tempting either one of them. I have to imagine that you could get a monkey to eat cheese. Cheese is tasty! I could gather an entire team to stand with the cheese. Me and mine...we're all cheese-backers...cheese-heads if you will. It's Wisonsin for the love of JP! No cheese is ever alone here! Hmm...cheese!</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1144899550776919852006-04-12T22:15:00.000-05:002006-04-12T23:49:37.510-05:00It's All About the Butter Lamb...<span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So, yesterday, after all this time of still being sick, I decided to stop being a slacker. I decided that since the poke hole from the eight inch needle jabbed into my abdomen last Thursday morning for a surpise biopsy of sorts was practically healed, I may as well try to be normal again, even if there is pain and I constantly wanna take a nap no matter where I am or what I'm doing. I got my ass up off the couch, compiled a ridiculous shopping list, which involved going to the bank and buying the new LL Cool J CD (after the release date kept getting changed and I had already made many attempts to purchase this CD even with the 'featuring Jennifer Lopez'). First, I head to Walmart to get the crap I generally buy every time I go to Walmart. I like that I have a Super Center and don't really care how Walmart treats their employees so long as I just have to go to one store to get everything I need. Walmart could torture their employees all medieval like and I would praise Joe Pesci and/or Sam Walton for being able to get a lamp, fourteen yards of ginham, and a goldfish all at the same store, saving both time and money! I don't even care if the goldfish is American or not or if their collection of American Flags were pressed in Taiwan. The less I have to shop, the better it is for all of mankind and possibly some as yet unknown alien races. Anyway, I go to Walmart, thinking everything will be dandy seeing as how it's a Tuesday morning and sort of rainy and gross. I think I'll just be able to get in and out quickly. This did not in fact happen. First, I was gonna get my birth control pills since Miranda said I could take them without stopping for the bleed. The Pharmacy was a mob scene though. Old people and small, angry Mexican women with moustaches thicker that Adama's and six or seven bratty kids apiece all clinging to their stretch pants-ed legs. I take a democratic vote amongst myself and decide in favor of the candidate for a tota psychotic break should not linger in the midst of this chaos for very long and change my mind about the pills. I'll take the hit and bleed if it means I don't have to stand around the Walmart pharmacy with some of the scariest and possibly sickest people on the face of the Earth, not to mention some of the most ancient and crusty, some with wheelchairs and canes even. I decide to browse through the new music rack and see if the new LL was one that had to be edited. Alas it was not. I snatched it up with the knowledge that I had just been saved a trip to Best Buy which no doubt would have ended with my walking out with the entire 'Stargate' thus far. I walk in to Best Buy and my brain just falls out of my head and I wander around with the checkbook rambling incoherently about Sci-Fi. Unfortunately, on my way out of the entertainment dept I grabbed Daniel Powter and saw the new Pink CD which was in fact edited and now would have me once again headed towards BB and muttering something about how there is just never enough Sci-Fi available to me at a moments notice and purchasing more depressing Patsy Cline, this, a behavior that can only be blamed on 'Space: Above & Beyond' and the depressing frakkin' episode with all the Patsy Cline and death. So, I resign and put Best Buy back on the list, headed for the parusal of the Walmart Fabrics & Crack department. I end up gathering 11 different fabrics, most of which are blue. Blue is my favorite color. This was bound to happen. I tell you, the two chicks that work in the department are some of the most ghetto bitches I have ever had to deal with. Their fingernails were so long and claw-like that they could barely operate the scissors to cut the fabric. Then they broke the tag gun thing. I waited patiently though. Finally they finished. I grabbed the rest of the stuff I needed and headed for the checkouts. It seems everybody and their cousin was there buying shit for Easter as though stores are going to run out of food by the end of the week and Easter will be totally fucked. It was madness. I had a lot of stuff so I got in line behind someone who had slightly less. She was pretty much my only option and she was a woman in Walamart Super Center on a Tuesday morning buying four, yes, four butter lambs, which by the way, are obscenely priced. It is a mighty fine thing to have a butter sculpture of a lamb on the Easter dinner table though. Mock sacrifice with a butter knife is a hell of a lot of fun. Plus, it just seems to taste a little bit better and make the world seem just a little more bright when the butter is shaped like something other than butter. Personally, I think the original butter slab design is inferior and that from this day forward all butter and butter-like substances should be shaped like animals. I think butter fish are an excellent idea. Anyway, I'm standing their, waiting...and waiting...and waiting, eyeing the KitKats, which I was out of but not close enough to grab them yet. Two freaks who had no business being together, meaning that he was a middle-aged biker, leather and all and she was a frumpy ghetto girl dressed all gangster boy and if I had to hazard a guess on her age, I wouldn't have said she was more than seventeen. Together, they were in line behind me to buy one bottle of Tylenol. This becomes creepier though because I did think for a minute that he was her dad, but then they started making out as a little, old German women gets behind them. LOGW didn't seem to like them so she kept trying to get them to go over to the self-checkouts. Creepy Couple of the Damned were resistant to her old lady pushiness. She put on the full-court press and finally, instead of just relocating to the self-checkout, slam down their one bottle of extra-strength Tylenol Geltabs and flee the store. And so LOGW is now right behind me and she's totally scoping out what's in everyone's carts and not being even remotely slealthy about it. She notices as I get to the conveyer belt that I have a large stack of fabric. I know this is not going to end well for me. She says in her thick German accent even though she's probably been in this country long enough to have lost it by now, "Oh, you sew." in a very accusatory kind of way as though the fabric is for making neo-nazi concentration camp garb and I'm the new Hitler. I said, "Yeah." very cautiously as though she might start freaking out at any second. Instead she says, all accusingly again, "When do you find the time to sew?" There I was, not wanting to be rude to the LOGW by not answering her, but also surrounded by sweaty, angry, poor people and the truth is, I don't work and don't have to. I said, cautiously again, this time for fear of a tar-feather icident incited by snot-face toddler toting brown people who probably aren't even legal (It's great to be an American), "I don't work. My husband does." Luckily, I'd managed to say it quiet enough to keep the others from tackling me and still loud enough for LOGW to hear me. Next thing she says is, "You like blue." while scrutinizing my pile of mostly blue fabric. I could only manage a nod. There's no telling what old folks are capable of and even less telling when their old and tiny and German. They're fiesty and they don't take shit from anyone. Also, some of them are just a little bit out of their minds...I blame The Holocaust. Anyway, I realize that this woman is in what seems to be the longest line anywhere to buy just a value box of knee-highs and some meds. Why didn't she go to the self-checkout? Why did she choose to hang with me and scrutinize my soon-to-be purchases? I'm like a crazy, old person magnet these days. Finally I get my turn and my attentions are forced elsewhere. LOGW knows this and leaves me to tend to my check writing. I get out of Walmart and head for the bank, which is just down the street. However, I always drive right passed the bank and have to turn around and go back. This time I was dtermined to not miss the bank. I get stuck behind a car with no brake lights and am instead forced to pay attention to the car in front of me, shooting the getting-it-right plan right out the window like a boogied tissue! I miss the turn, and have to them turn around in lunch traffic on an extremely busy road. I made it out alive and made haste for Best Buy. Got there, grabbed the Pink which was conveniently located right in the front of the store and got in a checkout line. I always end up in the same happy, black woman lane and she's all cheery and shit about working at best buy and the free weeks of magazines speel. I had to halt her, having heard it from her before and having just heard her tell it to the two customers that'd been in front of me in the line. Strangely there was a man with a girl baby dressed all in pink behind me. After Best Buy I headed for McDonald's drive thru. I figured some I-Don't-Have-Cancer McNuggets were in order. By this time of the day, the line was long and the temperature outside had increased dramatically. I had definitely left the house wearing too much clothing and was now sitting in the drive thru taking things off and discarding them on the passenger seat. I even turned on the A/C. I booked home with my nuggets just in time to see Sammy and James standing around at the end of the driveway, doing their thing. Old men are hilarious...especially when they're already drunk and one of them has a lisp and a southern accent. Regardless, I knew I was in for a lecture from Sammy for leaving the house. It ended up being something about how I'd waited for him to leave and then snuck out cause if he wasn't here, he couldn't stop me. I think it's adorable when he gets all crazed about my sneakiness as though I had actually plotted an escape. I'm not that covert when I go to Walmart. Sorry, Sammy. Anyway, he called me hard-headed like he usually does and I finally got to come in the house and eat my celebratory McDonald's. However, I realized that while out, I had missed the last episode of 'Judging Amy' a show I have watched from the beginning now on TNT because surprisingly it isn't/wasn't as wholesome of a show as I had been led to believe (Tyne Daly is priceless as Amy's mother and the entire family goes nuts the last two seasons). When I turned it on, I was right in the middle of the second ep they play in a day and it was the pilot. The show had started all over again. Dammit! So, now I'm watchin' it all over again from the beginning, two episodes a day. Actually, even if I had seen the last episode I'd probably still be watching it over and over and over again. Two words...ADRIAN PASDAR... </span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">I rest my case. After the 'JA' fiasco, I listened to my new CDs. All three are awesome. I highly recommend Daniel Powter and Pink, if you're an angry girl. I really didn't have a whole lot of faith in Powter but I have to say the album is fantabulous. It reminds me of Maroon 5. I think I listened to it like 5 times. Of course, Pink's 'I'm Not Dead' is totally for the Kelly Clarkson fans. I love new music and this time it really panned out well. These two albums I can listen to straight thru without skipping any of the tracks. It was like a new music Tuesday miracle!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">P.S. If you ever get the chance to see 'Austin City Limits' with The Flaming Lips and The Shins, the lips half is definitely worth the watch. There are people in animal suits and the lead singer poors blood on his head while wearing an American flag as a cape while they perform a Black Sabbath song. I love The Flaming Lips.</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18736883.post-1144242470486847182006-04-05T07:30:00.000-05:002006-04-05T08:24:19.440-05:00BEG's Birthday Butterfly Quillow...<span style="color:#ccccff;"><strong><span style="font-family:verdana;">How I Seemingly Built a Cocoon...</span></strong><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">So, about two months ago, it occured to me that it would soon be BEG's 27th birthday. Hmm, I thought. What should I do? What should I do? This was hard cause when I have a quandry, she's the one I call. Couldn't very well call her about her own birthday present.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">It was around this time that I busted out all my stray fabric to start cutting it into quilt pieces just to get rid of it. Trust me, I have like my own personal fabric store upstairs in one of the many spare bedrooms, so this was quite an undertaking. Anyway, I was like, "I'll make her a cool quillow." She had been telling me how she couldn't find the one her mother had made her a while back. So it was practically a perfect plan...unless your a psychotic perfectionist like me! BTW: For those of you not acquainted with the quilloq concept, it's a blanket that folds into a neat, well-contained pillow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /></span><span style="color:#ccffff;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I busted out the graph paper and colored pencils to work out a very BEG design. She likes butterflies and the color green. Easy enough, or so I thought. The design process took considerably longer than I had planned and was harder since as mentioned, she is like the other half of the design team and when I got trouble, she's the one I call. I struggled without her creative input. CPs were shitty and old, so I went out and bought two new sets (I think I actually did a post about that) and got back to work. It took about a week and had started as mostly a whim, caused by my fear that she would freeze to death in The Great White North and her of course having lost or misplaced her other one. After much work, designing and re-designing and modifying this is what I came up with...</span><br /></span><br /></span><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/Pattern.jpg" border="0" /> <p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">The design was for a 19 square by 19 square blanket, making it 97 " x 97". Big enough for a queen size bed if she wanted to put it there, making the pocket a great place for her fur kids to hide, or alternately, in the hopes that she finds someone who likes her (her words), it's big enough for two and the pocket is big enough for two sets of feet. Also, since she lives in a dinky apartment with not a whole lot of room for furniture, I figured if it was big enough folded correctly, she could toss it on the floor for an impromtu seat for someone. There was ultimately a lot of thinking that went into this and without BEG's assistance no less.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, I set out to find cool fabrics. I'm like a mad-woman at a JoAnn Fabrics. Most of the fabrics I bought were faux suede and similiar, so there was also big plans for it to be toasty warm...saving her from ever freezing to death in The Great White North, as mentioned earlier.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/FabricSquares.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">This was a lot of work ahead of me as the pattern for the blanket and the pocket for the reverse side, which the blanket gets folded into called for 386 fabric squares. This was a lot of cutting and omigod was my hand tired. Thank JP for sharp Fiskars!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">With all the squares cut and organized by row in neat little piles on my dining room table, I got crackin'. I wanted to make sure that it was done for her birthday when KP and I go up there to poke at her cause she's the first of The Tripod to turn 27...not that me and KP are too far behind! But alas, there was a problem.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I had to crack and call her about the damned thing. I needed input on the backing color. The cat was out of the bag, but in the end, I don't know that it's such a big deal. If it was staying here, I would've put a black back on it. We decided on white for her house. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">I got about this far before the mystery sick showed up...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/QuillowHalfDone.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">And so it sat. And then there was my sitting in the hospital all day last Saturday and well into the night, coming out with no more info than I had when I went in. Sunday, I decided that I might as well get to finishing that dang quillow since it was just a few short days until departure for BEG's birthday festivities and at least it allowed me to control something!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">Monday, I finally got to it all assembled, complete with tickle-knots (anchor knots). It was around this time that it occured to hubby that it was like a cocoon that opens into a butterfly. I guess he was sort of right...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/QuillowFolded.jpg" border="0" /></span><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3459/1422/320/QuillowDone.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#ccffff;">So, there it is. Finally done and ready to go. It even has it's own protective plastic zipper bag. I'm so proud of myself. The damned thing is heavier than hell and it was no easy feat with the sick and the dogs and the fact that I was basically protecting the white back with my life to keep it white. Plus it weighs a ton and there was really no easy way to deal with laying it out flat. But still, so proud!</span>IvoryValentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398200507993963176noreply@blogger.com2