Roomie is doing a great job of sleeping this morning leaving me unattended -- never a good thing. You all know by now there are things that try as I might, I'm just addicted to... So, here I am doing "market research" in my quest for new sofas, when Yahoo leads me to the Target website. One swift click I accidentally hit the new Spring Issac line... and there they are... dresses.... then skirts... I'm clicking like crazy now... adding to the cart. Sale! Yes, please... I tried really hard to hit the cancel order button. I even sneezed super loud so Roomie would wake up and catch me and turn off my computer... but to no avail... if you have an Amazon account, Target already has your info.. including my favorite credit card. I mean, its just SO easy.. and it makes my credit card people happy too... so I'm pleasing more than just myself. (I'm so thoughtful) At any rate, in 3 - 7 business days I will have a new collection of skirts and dresses and some more bills to add to my credit card.
For the record... if anyone ever wants to tape an intervention for fun. You can gather me and my loved ones in the room and discuss my issues with the following. I may not be as dramatic as Danny Bonaduce, but see what happens if you try to take away my skirt and dress collection... it won't be pretty.
G Addictions
Grande Breve Lattes
Dresses and Skirts
Hummus (this one is seriously climbing the charts)
The Deadly 3 Ps -- Pool, Poker, Pizza
Gambling (not for the cash, for the opporunity to taunt other people--most favorite is horse racing)
Cute Purses (such a sucker)
MTV
Singing cheezy music really loudly (and lately in public places sometimes w/dancing)
Naming inanimate objects (Roomie found out last night about the name for his lamp--I'm goiing to try to keep Stevie the TV under wraps)
I hope y'all are having great weekends...
Smooch,
G
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Insecta, Season 2, Episode 2
Disclaimer from the author: For those who take issue with the use of Ernest Hemingway's ghost as a villain (I've received complaints) I ask that you remember poetic license is an instrument of creative expression. It is true I could have used Harry S. Truman's ghost instead but between the two, I see Ernest Hemingway as more ornery - the authorization of atomic weapons by the latter notwithstanding. It is not the intention of this narrative to, in any way, ridicule, cast aspersions, or debunk the literary prowess of anyone, no matter how anemic that prose may actually be....so, with that, I give you the sunset at Mallory Square.
Insecta, episode 2, season 2
One might reasonably ask why Det. Mangy, her boss, Captain Tombeau, and Mr. Z - who was connected to her in the past through college and had an undying love for her but tried to kidnap her in the last Insecta debacle in Las Vegas - were all walking together to Mallory Square to see the sunset. Det. Mangy was on good terms with Captain Tombeau as he was her boss. Mr. Z had begged Det. Mangy to forgive his madness from before and as a token of his seriousness, he sold everything he had in vegas (casino, hotel, restaurant, and all) for $750,000,000 and offered to share the boon with the others as Key West spending money.
Mangy was certainly smart enough to see the value in such an expense account and Mr. Z wasn't much of a match for her anyway. So, he ended up being part of the sunset party.
Unfortunately, Mr. Z kept pining for the inaccessible Det. Mangy and she grew tired of him. She ended up tossing him into the ocean but not before she took his atm card. Mr. Z managed to swim to one of the smaller island keys which was uninhabited and decided to make his own home there. He started collecting fire wood because that's what he thought he remembered seeing on Survivor.
After the sun actually set, Mangy and Tombeau did head back to Denny's for breakfast for dinner. A Russian woman took their order and mocked them for getting three drinks each -- but pina coladas can really dehydrate you if you aren't careful.
At any rate, Beaumont was racing to the beach to warn Cheetah that Insecta was there in Key West but Insecta and the ghost of Ernest Hemingway were already on the loose. Ernest hadn't felt so alive in years confessing, I should have turned to a life of crime all along. Insecta was glad to have an accomplice, knowing she was no match for the red pumps of Detective Mangy.
Beaumont could see Cheetah still sunbathing (even though the sun had set) in the distance and was moving just as fast as his little penguin feet could run. But he noticed two ominous figures soaring at a much faster rate through the air in the same direction. He tried to yell out a warning to Cheetah but his voice wasn't exactly American Idol volume.
By the time Cheetah realized what had hit her, she was already trapped in Insecta's talons. As Insecta cackled maniacally, Cheetah noticed it took no time for them to reach a dizzying height as she tried to wiggle out of the strangely licorice smelling talons.
Mr. Hemingway flew close to Insecta's claws so he could be face to face with Cheetah who was already desperate to get free but afraid of the height she was now at.
"Hello, pretty. I'm Ernest Hemingway," he said beaming ear to ear.
"Don’t be nice to her you idiot!" Insecta screamed. But her anger somehow softened as she suddenly remembered happier times riding the monorail in Las Vegas, back and forth until it lulled her into a stupor.
"Damn Key West. No monorails!!" she shrieked.
Hemingway rolled his eyes and continued, "Cheetah is it?"
Cheetah was sure there had been something other than alcohol in her drink. While Insecta's arrival was a surprise, seeing Ernest Hemingway gawking at her at the altitude of 200 or 300 feet up was just too surreal.
"I've waited for a long time to impress someone with a rather neat trick I know," Mr. Hemingway said calmly through a fixed grin, "I am going to recite the entirety of "A Farewell to Arms" for you -- backwards."
And that is exactly what Mr. Hemingway began to do.
Insecta could only roll her eyes at such foolishness, "How's that painful for her you moron?" But as Old Ernie started to recite his reverse novel, Insecta realized just how annoying that could be.
On the ground, Beaumont noticed the large insect, the pale and misty ghost figure and a rather freaked out Cheetah flailing about in the sky.
"Oh dear, I've got to go find Detective Mangy and the others now," he thought, "we all split up -- where would they be...let's see, Mangy was drinking and the sun has finally set...so, Denny's most likely."
And off he went in hopes of having a small stack of pancakes.
Insecta, episode 2, season 2
One might reasonably ask why Det. Mangy, her boss, Captain Tombeau, and Mr. Z - who was connected to her in the past through college and had an undying love for her but tried to kidnap her in the last Insecta debacle in Las Vegas - were all walking together to Mallory Square to see the sunset. Det. Mangy was on good terms with Captain Tombeau as he was her boss. Mr. Z had begged Det. Mangy to forgive his madness from before and as a token of his seriousness, he sold everything he had in vegas (casino, hotel, restaurant, and all) for $750,000,000 and offered to share the boon with the others as Key West spending money.
Mangy was certainly smart enough to see the value in such an expense account and Mr. Z wasn't much of a match for her anyway. So, he ended up being part of the sunset party.
Unfortunately, Mr. Z kept pining for the inaccessible Det. Mangy and she grew tired of him. She ended up tossing him into the ocean but not before she took his atm card. Mr. Z managed to swim to one of the smaller island keys which was uninhabited and decided to make his own home there. He started collecting fire wood because that's what he thought he remembered seeing on Survivor.
After the sun actually set, Mangy and Tombeau did head back to Denny's for breakfast for dinner. A Russian woman took their order and mocked them for getting three drinks each -- but pina coladas can really dehydrate you if you aren't careful.
At any rate, Beaumont was racing to the beach to warn Cheetah that Insecta was there in Key West but Insecta and the ghost of Ernest Hemingway were already on the loose. Ernest hadn't felt so alive in years confessing, I should have turned to a life of crime all along. Insecta was glad to have an accomplice, knowing she was no match for the red pumps of Detective Mangy.
Beaumont could see Cheetah still sunbathing (even though the sun had set) in the distance and was moving just as fast as his little penguin feet could run. But he noticed two ominous figures soaring at a much faster rate through the air in the same direction. He tried to yell out a warning to Cheetah but his voice wasn't exactly American Idol volume.
By the time Cheetah realized what had hit her, she was already trapped in Insecta's talons. As Insecta cackled maniacally, Cheetah noticed it took no time for them to reach a dizzying height as she tried to wiggle out of the strangely licorice smelling talons.
Mr. Hemingway flew close to Insecta's claws so he could be face to face with Cheetah who was already desperate to get free but afraid of the height she was now at.
"Hello, pretty. I'm Ernest Hemingway," he said beaming ear to ear.
"Don’t be nice to her you idiot!" Insecta screamed. But her anger somehow softened as she suddenly remembered happier times riding the monorail in Las Vegas, back and forth until it lulled her into a stupor.
"Damn Key West. No monorails!!" she shrieked.
Hemingway rolled his eyes and continued, "Cheetah is it?"
Cheetah was sure there had been something other than alcohol in her drink. While Insecta's arrival was a surprise, seeing Ernest Hemingway gawking at her at the altitude of 200 or 300 feet up was just too surreal.
"I've waited for a long time to impress someone with a rather neat trick I know," Mr. Hemingway said calmly through a fixed grin, "I am going to recite the entirety of "A Farewell to Arms" for you -- backwards."
And that is exactly what Mr. Hemingway began to do.
Insecta could only roll her eyes at such foolishness, "How's that painful for her you moron?" But as Old Ernie started to recite his reverse novel, Insecta realized just how annoying that could be.
On the ground, Beaumont noticed the large insect, the pale and misty ghost figure and a rather freaked out Cheetah flailing about in the sky.
"Oh dear, I've got to go find Detective Mangy and the others now," he thought, "we all split up -- where would they be...let's see, Mangy was drinking and the sun has finally set...so, Denny's most likely."
And off he went in hopes of having a small stack of pancakes.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Telecomedian Makes A Funny....
This dude is on a roll.... it also reminds me of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Guido" by Nicole, Gretchen and myself...
Enjoy!
-G
Cheney's Got a Gun
Cheney's Got a Gun
He's proving he's really dumb
He's shootin' at everyone
What did his buddy do?
To get shot in the head by you?
They said when Cheney was a' shootin'
He would be shootin' at some game
But his man, he had it comin' now that
Cheneys got a gun
His lawyer ain't ever gonna be the same.
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
His hunting day just begun
Now everybody is on the run
Tell me now it's untrue.
What did his lawyer do?
He got shot by Dick Cheney
The man has got to be insane
They say the buckshot that he took to the midsection and the face
put that 78 year old man in the pain
Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away
Cheney's got a gunCheney's got a gun
His hunting day'd just begun
Now everybody is on the run
What did that lawyer do?
To make Cheney fire through?
He had to go quail hunting and put a bullet in his brain
He said 'cause I ain't no quail' but Cheney was a'shootin'
His face ain't never gonna be the same.
Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Everybody is on the run
Enjoy!
-G
Cheney's Got a Gun
Cheney's Got a Gun
He's proving he's really dumb
He's shootin' at everyone
What did his buddy do?
To get shot in the head by you?
They said when Cheney was a' shootin'
He would be shootin' at some game
But his man, he had it comin' now that
Cheneys got a gun
His lawyer ain't ever gonna be the same.
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
His hunting day just begun
Now everybody is on the run
Tell me now it's untrue.
What did his lawyer do?
He got shot by Dick Cheney
The man has got to be insane
They say the buckshot that he took to the midsection and the face
put that 78 year old man in the pain
Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away
Cheney's got a gunCheney's got a gun
His hunting day'd just begun
Now everybody is on the run
What did that lawyer do?
To make Cheney fire through?
He had to go quail hunting and put a bullet in his brain
He said 'cause I ain't no quail' but Cheney was a'shootin'
His face ain't never gonna be the same.
Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Everybody is on the run
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Ow.
Yea, so we played a little too hard... judging by the fact that I'm already in pain...but by far, the best packing snow in years! And a dog decided to play monkey in the middle as we played disc... too fun! A lil' bit of G heaven.
Hope you all got out there!
-G
Hope you all got out there!
-G
Ah, technology...
My dad loves toys and gadgets... its why there is a sign above his garage that says "Daddy's Toy Box". Recently, he bought a new computer which he just found out has the ability to call and talk to me through my computer AND for added kicks, he has a webcam. So, now I can both see and hear my parents and dog at ANY time they feel like calling me.
I'm gonna let you all digest that for a few... and understand why, technology is not always necessary.
Smooch,
G
I'm gonna let you all digest that for a few... and understand why, technology is not always necessary.
Smooch,
G
SNOOOOOOW!!!!!!!!
Yay! Snow day!! I have to admit, I'm having some Jersey nostaglia at the moment. Here are some of my favorite snowy moments:
Listening to my dad curse like someone with Tourette's as he shovels the driveway and the rest of look on from inside and giggle...then my mom saying "someone go help him" as she goes back to bed.
My pooch, Lucky, who views snow as free food from the gods and proceeds to eat her weight in snow to get through the backyard.
My old dog, Rocky, who tried to eat snowballs off the glass as we chucked snow at the front door (while he was inside).
The huge ice storm my senior year in high school, which was so beautiful.
The giant blizzard about ten years ago, where my brother and I were stuck together in the house for 3 days. Extremely hard considering we didn't speak to each other at the time.... after I shoveled snow for 3 straight hours, he came to get me. I guess he was afraid I would die and he'd be in trouble since my parents had taken the Pathfinder to Florida and were on a cruise in the Bahamas.
Sledding with all the goofball boys from the M12 at Laurel Acres Park.
Possibly, my favorite memory is of Dave Roberts from Action News. If anyone grew up in the Philly area, everyone remembers Dave Roberts, the weatherman. Poor Dave was put outside in the "weather box" every chance Ch. 6 could get. He was even out there reporting in the middle of Hurricane Andrew. Watching Dave was the best.
In a few hours, I'm going play snow frisbee with Roomie. What he doesn't know, is that a battle of the white wash is my covert operation. That's the great thing about refusing to grow up... I can get away with that.
One of us ain't comin' back dry.
Hope y'all are enjoying your snowy day!
Smooch!
-G
Listening to my dad curse like someone with Tourette's as he shovels the driveway and the rest of look on from inside and giggle...then my mom saying "someone go help him" as she goes back to bed.
My pooch, Lucky, who views snow as free food from the gods and proceeds to eat her weight in snow to get through the backyard.
My old dog, Rocky, who tried to eat snowballs off the glass as we chucked snow at the front door (while he was inside).
The huge ice storm my senior year in high school, which was so beautiful.
The giant blizzard about ten years ago, where my brother and I were stuck together in the house for 3 days. Extremely hard considering we didn't speak to each other at the time.... after I shoveled snow for 3 straight hours, he came to get me. I guess he was afraid I would die and he'd be in trouble since my parents had taken the Pathfinder to Florida and were on a cruise in the Bahamas.
Sledding with all the goofball boys from the M12 at Laurel Acres Park.
Possibly, my favorite memory is of Dave Roberts from Action News. If anyone grew up in the Philly area, everyone remembers Dave Roberts, the weatherman. Poor Dave was put outside in the "weather box" every chance Ch. 6 could get. He was even out there reporting in the middle of Hurricane Andrew. Watching Dave was the best.
In a few hours, I'm going play snow frisbee with Roomie. What he doesn't know, is that a battle of the white wash is my covert operation. That's the great thing about refusing to grow up... I can get away with that.
One of us ain't comin' back dry.
Hope y'all are enjoying your snowy day!
Smooch!
-G
Saturday, February 11, 2006
In Health News...
Maybe we should start with my own health news... I spent 1/2 of last Saturday in the ER for reasons that I'm still unclear but that are helping me meet my goal of finding a primary care physician for the first time in 10 years or so...
The backstory: After an extremely busy, stressful week, I decide to hang home and sleep and make my trek to Jersey Saturday AM instead. About 3 am, I woke up with a horrible pain in my back... I mean really, really bad. So, I tried repositioning, didn't work. I tried muscle rub, nothing. Finally, I went to the G tried and true remedy of Darvocet... then 2 Darvocet. Nada. I woke up every hour blasted by more pain.
Around 9 am, I decide to try walking it off... this does nothing to help me either. I call my two nervous nelly moms, Schmeffster and my own mother, and they tell me I need to stay in DC and go to the doctor. Being that I'm the type of person that would rather bludgeon out her eyes than go to the doctor, I call my 3rd mom resource, Dee, and she concurs with their assessment.
I hang up the phone and as I wince for the 37th time while trying to breathe in, I realize they're probably on to something. I call Roomie and ask him to please take me to the ER when he comes home from work. I had no idea that would be so late in the day and the pain only got worse.... convincing me that I had a kidney stone. When Roomie did get home, he was soaking wet from the pouring rain and found me curled around a couch because I couldn't sit any other way.
At the ER, some med student tells me the pain is muscular. I then mention the medicine I'm taking and how there is a warning for sudden back pain. He says "uh ohh.. I'll go look that up online". G loses all faith in the hospital.
After a half hour of more waiting, the attending physican comes back with him and determines they need to run some tests. G undergoes the littany of pee here, this may pinch a bit (by pinch they mean, "we're stabbing your hand with a needle to start an IV"), hold steady for the cat scan machine... and finally gets rewarded by the attending with two Percocets (which I'm convinced will not help the ongoing pain)...
Around 6:30 pm, Roomie comes back to check on me (in between that time, my father pages Roomie in the ER waiting room for an update on my progress--Roomie didn't believe me when I said he should call them every 1/2 hour or so) and gets me a Diet Coke... Very soon after that, the Percocets do kick in, making the pain much more tolerable. The ER releases me w/a script and a pat on my head. I was convinced at the time that I would be back the next day.
Fortunately, that didn't happen. I woke up the next day, with no pain at all and no explanation as to why.
Weird right?
The backstory: After an extremely busy, stressful week, I decide to hang home and sleep and make my trek to Jersey Saturday AM instead. About 3 am, I woke up with a horrible pain in my back... I mean really, really bad. So, I tried repositioning, didn't work. I tried muscle rub, nothing. Finally, I went to the G tried and true remedy of Darvocet... then 2 Darvocet. Nada. I woke up every hour blasted by more pain.
Around 9 am, I decide to try walking it off... this does nothing to help me either. I call my two nervous nelly moms, Schmeffster and my own mother, and they tell me I need to stay in DC and go to the doctor. Being that I'm the type of person that would rather bludgeon out her eyes than go to the doctor, I call my 3rd mom resource, Dee, and she concurs with their assessment.
I hang up the phone and as I wince for the 37th time while trying to breathe in, I realize they're probably on to something. I call Roomie and ask him to please take me to the ER when he comes home from work. I had no idea that would be so late in the day and the pain only got worse.... convincing me that I had a kidney stone. When Roomie did get home, he was soaking wet from the pouring rain and found me curled around a couch because I couldn't sit any other way.
At the ER, some med student tells me the pain is muscular. I then mention the medicine I'm taking and how there is a warning for sudden back pain. He says "uh ohh.. I'll go look that up online". G loses all faith in the hospital.
After a half hour of more waiting, the attending physican comes back with him and determines they need to run some tests. G undergoes the littany of pee here, this may pinch a bit (by pinch they mean, "we're stabbing your hand with a needle to start an IV"), hold steady for the cat scan machine... and finally gets rewarded by the attending with two Percocets (which I'm convinced will not help the ongoing pain)...
Around 6:30 pm, Roomie comes back to check on me (in between that time, my father pages Roomie in the ER waiting room for an update on my progress--Roomie didn't believe me when I said he should call them every 1/2 hour or so) and gets me a Diet Coke... Very soon after that, the Percocets do kick in, making the pain much more tolerable. The ER releases me w/a script and a pat on my head. I was convinced at the time that I would be back the next day.
Fortunately, that didn't happen. I woke up the next day, with no pain at all and no explanation as to why.
Weird right?
I'm Sorry, Mother Nature...
Apparently, I summoned the weather gods with my last post... Sorry, everybody! But a good publicist would flip this situation and say that Mother Nature loves my posts so much she created a diversion to keep me indoors all weekend. And while I can't prove it, I believe, she had help from the Sandman who turned my Friday Happy Nappy into a Rip Van Winkle-esque sleep.
A bonus for you readers, looks like you'll be seeing a lot o' posts this weekend, as this town shuts down at the mere thought of snow in the general area (i.e. the entire East Coast). And sadly, going on almost one year, I have succumbed to this ritual and am about to cancel my weekend plans.
Let's start with my favorite news quote from yesterday brought to us by former FEMA head, Michael Brown:
Recounting conference calls that described initial damage reports the day Katrina hit, Brown scoffed at claims that Homeland Security didn't know about the devastation's scope until the next day. He called those claims "just baloney."
Ah baloney. Really, why is baloney not used more often in government affairs? Baloney as part of foreign policy, The Oscar Meyer Advantage, if you will.
Here's some other terms I'd like to see more often in our government:
Crimney - because "crikey" caught on way more than I thought
No Doi - I've been pushing for this one since Dodgeball was in the theater
Pscyhe! - as in "I never knew the levees would break" PSYCHE!!!
Dumas - Ok, there's only 2 people I know that will get this one... this word was invented because my mother insisted words like "ass" and "pee" were bad and forbidden... "Dumas" is code for "f***in dumb ass" and was used by a select group of gals in high school; if you were a real idiot, you were deemed Captain Dumas, not to be confused with Captain Stupid, an affectionate nickname Schmotty and I had for Schmeffster after hearing several of his racquetball injury stories.
I know y'all have some lingo you wanna add... I look forward to it. And I'll be back with more on this non-snowy snow weekend.
Smooch,
G
A bonus for you readers, looks like you'll be seeing a lot o' posts this weekend, as this town shuts down at the mere thought of snow in the general area (i.e. the entire East Coast). And sadly, going on almost one year, I have succumbed to this ritual and am about to cancel my weekend plans.
Let's start with my favorite news quote from yesterday brought to us by former FEMA head, Michael Brown:
Recounting conference calls that described initial damage reports the day Katrina hit, Brown scoffed at claims that Homeland Security didn't know about the devastation's scope until the next day. He called those claims "just baloney."
Ah baloney. Really, why is baloney not used more often in government affairs? Baloney as part of foreign policy, The Oscar Meyer Advantage, if you will.
Here's some other terms I'd like to see more often in our government:
Crimney - because "crikey" caught on way more than I thought
No Doi - I've been pushing for this one since Dodgeball was in the theater
Pscyhe! - as in "I never knew the levees would break" PSYCHE!!!
Dumas - Ok, there's only 2 people I know that will get this one... this word was invented because my mother insisted words like "ass" and "pee" were bad and forbidden... "Dumas" is code for "f***in dumb ass" and was used by a select group of gals in high school; if you were a real idiot, you were deemed Captain Dumas, not to be confused with Captain Stupid, an affectionate nickname Schmotty and I had for Schmeffster after hearing several of his racquetball injury stories.
I know y'all have some lingo you wanna add... I look forward to it. And I'll be back with more on this non-snowy snow weekend.
Smooch,
G
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Can we talk about the weather?
I didn't get permission to use this from Telecomedian, but I was asking this DC native why on earth can we not have stable weather in this part of the US. Two weeks ago, I drove home from work w/Victor the VW's top down. Today, I'm wearing 2 sweaters and other cold weather gear...
Anyway, Mr. T came up w/some darn good reasoning which this gal, who's devoid of most scientific knowledge, fully supports. So, here you go:
G: my sweet area native, can you give me some idea of what the balls is going on with this weather? I can't figure out if I'm cold or hot. It's like living inside a bipolar person.
T: I have no idea what's going on with this weather. If I knew, I'd tell you. I have no clue. It's 40! It's 60! It's 20! I think this is what happens when hurricanes pump billions of cubic feet of hot Gulf air into Canada. All of our cold air is going to Europe. I'm brilliant, I know. Contact the Nobel people. I know what's up.
G: k... you seriously had me there with the weather.... until I realized that you must've watched general hospital as a child and fell victim to the casadine's weather machine.
T: I never watched the soaps, dude. It's my belief that pumping hot air from thesouth way north is gonna *@&! with the jet stream. Notice how it's only just nowgetting cold around here? I'm tellin' ya, blame Katrina.
There you have it... the reason I think I like this answer most... is because if you blame Katrina, you can also indirectly blame Bushie. Something that is quite popular these days!
Smooch!
-G
Anyway, Mr. T came up w/some darn good reasoning which this gal, who's devoid of most scientific knowledge, fully supports. So, here you go:
G: my sweet area native, can you give me some idea of what the balls is going on with this weather? I can't figure out if I'm cold or hot. It's like living inside a bipolar person.
T: I have no idea what's going on with this weather. If I knew, I'd tell you. I have no clue. It's 40! It's 60! It's 20! I think this is what happens when hurricanes pump billions of cubic feet of hot Gulf air into Canada. All of our cold air is going to Europe. I'm brilliant, I know. Contact the Nobel people. I know what's up.
G: k... you seriously had me there with the weather.... until I realized that you must've watched general hospital as a child and fell victim to the casadine's weather machine.
T: I never watched the soaps, dude. It's my belief that pumping hot air from thesouth way north is gonna *@&! with the jet stream. Notice how it's only just nowgetting cold around here? I'm tellin' ya, blame Katrina.
There you have it... the reason I think I like this answer most... is because if you blame Katrina, you can also indirectly blame Bushie. Something that is quite popular these days!
Smooch!
-G
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
How I kissed a boy that wasn't my date...
I signed the purchase agreement to buy my place (FYI, they do NOT let you sign those things in crayons... I did ask), so I'm on my first step to being a real grown up... now, all I need is a bunch o' cash to seal the deal... so I'm doing what all real grown ups do, which is heading to Vegas and putting all my savings on red. I'm kidding! A) I don't have any savings to put down and B) I'm really doing what all grown ups do and that's asking my mommy and daddy for help. I figure I should get it from them now because by the time I get married, they'll have spent that cash and forgotten all about it.
Now, in order to balance the ying yang gravity of the situation, Roomie and I decided to celebrate with a congratulatory drink. Of course, I still had this lovely first date of 2006 to go on, so I tell Roomie, I need to be responsible, so we can only go out for a bit. He throws out the kryptonite ("but I thought we could shoot some pool"), and there I am suckered into the classic, "Ok, but I have to be home by 6:30 to make my date at 7". Since it was 4:30 pm, I thought we'd be alright.
While G racks, Roomie decides we need congratulatory shot of Jager in addition to the beer. A few games of pool ensue (G does exceptionally well against Roomie, her pool nemesis) and it was collectively decided that we needed a few more beers, in addition to a congratulatory shot to congratulate the first shot.
Do we all see where this is headed? Ok. Good.
As time passes and glasses empty, I finally ask Roomie for the time. 6:15 pm. Oot. I better check in w/Date.
Thankfully, Date was running late and we decided to meet at 8 instead. (Eight is great!)
Now, all you responsible readers are thinking, "Oh, good, G went home, had some dinner, got all gussed up and waited for Prince Charming to arrive."
And I'm glad you all think that I could actuallly be that responsible... but think of the pressure... I had signed the deal to buy a home, that day. I am rapidly approaching 30 (as Roomie points out on a daily basis). I was extremely close to another victory on the table against Roomie. Grownup-ville is up on the left after the stop sign. I couldn't go home, then. It would have been against God's plan AND would've drastically shortened this entry.
7:15 rolls around and finally Roomie makes the financial decision that we need to leave (FYI to locals Buffalo Billards ain't that cheap). I get in around 7:30... plenty of time to get ready. However, there is one slight concern. I am, in fact, rather buzzed... in fact, you could say, I'm a bit drunk.
I call out to Roomie from my bedroom. "I need help because I'm not very sober at the moment". Roomie rushes to our vending machines and comes in w/supplies... iced tea (they were out of diet pepsi) and some chips. I eat and drink. Didn't help.
I call out again, "I can't even find anything to wear!" Roomie trots on back... and picks out this gigantic burly black sweater and a pair of baggy jeans, which I pair w/my Doc Martens that I miraculously found at the bottom of my closet. Roomie tells me I look good. It takes me until 1 am that night to realize I'm dressed like a lesbian.
I attempt to refresh the make-up... still not sure how that turned out. Roomie insists that I'm sober. I tell Roomie he needs to lay off the crack pipe and that I need to cancel.
I call Date and ask where he's at... he says "Oh I'm pretty close" followed by "Oooh... ummm... crap... yea, that's definitely a cop". Not getting the hint (because I'm still not very sober) I continue to babble on... until I hear tapping on glass and "Yea, I have to go, the police officer is now at my window".
Before Date even meets me I cost him $110 for driving and talking on the phone. After the poor kid gets lost going around Dupont Circle several times, still not sober me decides its best if Roomie (who refuses to let me cancel at this point) and I walk outside to greet him.
Date walks up and shows me the tickets... Roomie tries to be lawyerly and offers to take a look at them... which consisted of a 5 second glance and "yea, sorry dude, can't do anything about these".
After a minute of small talk, Roomie says, "well I'll let you to get going."
And then it happens.
Without thinking, and more importantly without Date knowing anything about Roomie and I's Will & Grace relationship, Roomie gives me a full-on kiss on the mouth good-bye.
But the real kicker came when Roomie said, "Oh, sorry dude! We just bought a house together today."
This poor chap... $110, a 45 minute car ride to meet a half-sober G who was just kissed by another boy she just bought a house with...
I gain enough soberity to realize I have some explanin' to do.... and quickly recap what the kiss and the house are to Date.
And to add to Date's street cred, I had an awesome time. We grabbed some much needed grub and then he insisted on going to play some pool (yes, more pool) because he had a hankering when I mentioned where we were earlier. Date was super social and made friends with half the bar. I should mention that I took him to a relatively scary bar that I normally don't take sober people to, but at this point it was close and I figured what the heck.
So, short n' sweet... Date #1 of 2006 was a success. As we all know, that means I'm never hearing from this dude again.. but hey, it could be worse! And really, can you blame him?
I hope all is well with everyone. Thanks for all the well wishes, I'm feeling much better (and I'll fill you all in on that exciting story next time.)
Smoooooch!
-G
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Icky...
I hate when I have to comment to on the news, but this is unavoidable.... FYI, I would absolutely shoot these people and not feel bad about it. I really don't give a rat's bum if someone is stupid enough to be a drug mule, but making a puppy do their dirty work... GRRRRRRR..... that makes me very very mad.
N.Y.-Bound Puppies Used As Drug Couriers
By TOM HAYS, Associated Press Writer
NEW YORK - Colombian smugglers turned puppies into drug mules by surgically implanting them with packets of liquid heroin, authorities said.
Investigators believe the ring used the dogs, as well as people who swallowed the drugs, to conceal millions of dollars of heroin on commercial flights into New York for distribution on the East Coast.
Ten puppies, including Labrador retrievers, were rescued during a 2005 raid on a farm in Colombia, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration said Wednesday, while announcing more than 30 arrests.
A veterinarian had stitched a total of 3 kilograms of heroin into the bellies of six pups. Three died from infections after the drugs were removed.
The surviving dogs "are still alive and well, we're told," said John P. Gilbride, head of the DEA's New York office.
Colombian police said they adopted three dogs, one of which was being trained to sniff for drugs.
It was unclear how many dogs might have been used in the smuggling scheme, Gilbride said.
"I think it's outrageous and heinous that they'd use small, innocent puppies in this way," he said.
Besides the pups and human swallowers, authorities said the ring based in Medellin also concealed drugs in body creams, aerosol cans, and the linings of purses and luggage.
Recent raids in Colombia resulted in more than 20 arrests; another 10 suspects were in custody in New York, Florida and North Carolina. About 24 kilograms of heroin was seized, officials said.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Insecta - Season 2 premiere!
Date tomorrow, date story to follow (but its a Jersey weekend, so it may be delayed). In the meantime, I'm so excited to give you the second season of Insecta.... for those newbies, feel free to check out last year's episodes in the archives. Here it goes:
Insecta, Season 2, Episode #1
The Old Insecta and the Sea
Insecta had arrived in Key West and was hiding out in the old Bahama Village until it was just the right time to attack. It was almost New Year's Eve. Best to ruin the whole purpose of everyone's being here in the first place, she chortled maniacally. She'd spent the day having licorice daiquiris which was making the conch fritters digesting in her thorax spin as lively as her head was.
"There's much to be done to ruin New Year's Eve," she thought. "I need some help from an ally... A new ally who'll be just as viscious and just as cruel as me!"
She hissed so loudly the miniature umbrella blew out of her drink and down the quiet, emptied street. Just then, a french woman from a local patisserie came running from her storefront to chastise Insecta for littering. Since the chastisement was in French, Insecta thought the licorice daiquiris had caused her to stop understanding English altogether.
Nonetheless, she knew anger in any language and proceeded to suck every ounce of fun out of the french lady, who's name, for those who care, was Babette Macaroni -- and who will figure into the story again later on.
Meanwhile, at one of the local beaches, Cheetah Kittens was fully reclined with a Mojito in a coconut shell. She was so desperate for a vacation when she left Vegas, she actually wore her showgirl costume all the way from Vegas to the beach.
"This is bliss," Cheetah murmured out of her richly painted lips. "It can't get any better...except maybe if David Hasselhoff came running in slow motion down this beach in swimming trunks."
Just down the beach, Las Vegas mayor Spike Marino was tossing a frisbee with cracker jack attorney, Lion Bree. Spike was in swimming trunks but kept on his famous top hat so everyone would realize he was, after all, still the mayor of Las Vegas. Lion decided his business suit was just not right for the beach so he constructed a swimsuit of cellphones and pagers so he wouldn't miss an important call.
Detective Mangy had decided to catch a sunset at Mallory square with Mr. Z. and Captain Tombeau - the former, quite drunk and the latter begging the others for a breakfast for dinner at Denny's. Captain Tombeau was reminded of his childhood upbringng everytime one of the waitresses would use an ice cream scoop to put butter on his mountain of pancakes.
Beaumont, the penguin, had donned an Hawaiian shirt and some capris and flip-flops and decided to ditch the others in favor of exploring the island on his own. As he waddled through the old Bahama village, he noticed someone he had not expected as he peeked down an alleyway.
It was Insecta.
Fortunately for the artic bird, insecta did not notice him.
"I'd better follow her to see what she's doing here," Beaumont thought.
They ended up at Ernest Hemingway's house. It was closed for tours but Insecta went inside anyway. The penguin, though less mobile, managed to sneak inside to follow her. He had to dodge the many cats that were in the yard. It wasn't easy.
Beaumont found Insecta in the writing nook of Hemingway's home on the island. Her eyes were rolled up into her head and she assumed a position of prayer.
"Oh spirit of Ernest, it is said you wander these halls. I ask you come to help me in my villainous affairs," she whispered.
The house shook slightly and suddenly a ghost that looked very like the old Ernest Hemingway appeared from out of a wall in the writing room.
"Yuck! Who the hell are you?!! Mr. Hemingway exclaimed. "I don't pop up from the dead for everyone. What the hell did you call on me for?"
"I need your help to ruin New Year's Eve," Insecta asked nicely, knowing her powers were useless against a ghost.
"Ruin New Year's?!!" Mr. Hemingway seemed puzzled.
"Yes," replied Insecta who found herself emitting pheromones at the sight of the legendary novelist.
"Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Being a ghost sucks except when you scare people any way," he responded, lighting a pipe.
Beaumont was astonished but did all in his power to prevent his small and useless wings from flapping - a habit whenever he found himself growing anxious.
"I'd better calm my nerves now before I make a mistake," he whispered to himself. So, he took a blunt he'd saved from Vegas from his capris pocket and lit it up.
"What's that smell?!!" Insecta barked loudly as the odor from Beaumont's cigar wafted into the writing room.
"Probably ghost gas," Hemingway responded, blushing slightly. "It's a little known fact that ghosts can have gas."
"NO, you idiot. That's not ghost gas. I recognize that smell! It's someone trying to have fun" she screamed.
"Let me show you what I can do to end the fun,"Mr. Hemingway said, wanting to show Insecta what he could do.
Beaumont decided he'd better get out of there now and warn the others. Ernest Hemingway grabbed copies of The Old Man and the Sea, To Have and Have Not, and The Sun Also Rises. He ran over to the window and noticed an perfectly innocent hippy walking down the sidewalk towards a local restaurant for dinner. Assuming that all hippies are always high and he must be the one who Insecta noticed, he threw the books at the unsuspecting tourist and knocked him out cold.
"Very impressive. Your aim is great," Insecta observed.
"You don't hunt in Africa on safari dozens of times and not develop your aim," Ernest Hemingway's ghost responded.
Meanwhile Beaumont waddled at top speed to reach the others and inform them of the trouble. His first priority was his best friend in the batch, Cheetah Kittens.
Insecta, Season 2, Episode #1
The Old Insecta and the Sea
Insecta had arrived in Key West and was hiding out in the old Bahama Village until it was just the right time to attack. It was almost New Year's Eve. Best to ruin the whole purpose of everyone's being here in the first place, she chortled maniacally. She'd spent the day having licorice daiquiris which was making the conch fritters digesting in her thorax spin as lively as her head was.
"There's much to be done to ruin New Year's Eve," she thought. "I need some help from an ally... A new ally who'll be just as viscious and just as cruel as me!"
She hissed so loudly the miniature umbrella blew out of her drink and down the quiet, emptied street. Just then, a french woman from a local patisserie came running from her storefront to chastise Insecta for littering. Since the chastisement was in French, Insecta thought the licorice daiquiris had caused her to stop understanding English altogether.
Nonetheless, she knew anger in any language and proceeded to suck every ounce of fun out of the french lady, who's name, for those who care, was Babette Macaroni -- and who will figure into the story again later on.
Meanwhile, at one of the local beaches, Cheetah Kittens was fully reclined with a Mojito in a coconut shell. She was so desperate for a vacation when she left Vegas, she actually wore her showgirl costume all the way from Vegas to the beach.
"This is bliss," Cheetah murmured out of her richly painted lips. "It can't get any better...except maybe if David Hasselhoff came running in slow motion down this beach in swimming trunks."
Just down the beach, Las Vegas mayor Spike Marino was tossing a frisbee with cracker jack attorney, Lion Bree. Spike was in swimming trunks but kept on his famous top hat so everyone would realize he was, after all, still the mayor of Las Vegas. Lion decided his business suit was just not right for the beach so he constructed a swimsuit of cellphones and pagers so he wouldn't miss an important call.
Detective Mangy had decided to catch a sunset at Mallory square with Mr. Z. and Captain Tombeau - the former, quite drunk and the latter begging the others for a breakfast for dinner at Denny's. Captain Tombeau was reminded of his childhood upbringng everytime one of the waitresses would use an ice cream scoop to put butter on his mountain of pancakes.
Beaumont, the penguin, had donned an Hawaiian shirt and some capris and flip-flops and decided to ditch the others in favor of exploring the island on his own. As he waddled through the old Bahama village, he noticed someone he had not expected as he peeked down an alleyway.
It was Insecta.
Fortunately for the artic bird, insecta did not notice him.
"I'd better follow her to see what she's doing here," Beaumont thought.
They ended up at Ernest Hemingway's house. It was closed for tours but Insecta went inside anyway. The penguin, though less mobile, managed to sneak inside to follow her. He had to dodge the many cats that were in the yard. It wasn't easy.
Beaumont found Insecta in the writing nook of Hemingway's home on the island. Her eyes were rolled up into her head and she assumed a position of prayer.
"Oh spirit of Ernest, it is said you wander these halls. I ask you come to help me in my villainous affairs," she whispered.
The house shook slightly and suddenly a ghost that looked very like the old Ernest Hemingway appeared from out of a wall in the writing room.
"Yuck! Who the hell are you?!! Mr. Hemingway exclaimed. "I don't pop up from the dead for everyone. What the hell did you call on me for?"
"I need your help to ruin New Year's Eve," Insecta asked nicely, knowing her powers were useless against a ghost.
"Ruin New Year's?!!" Mr. Hemingway seemed puzzled.
"Yes," replied Insecta who found herself emitting pheromones at the sight of the legendary novelist.
"Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Being a ghost sucks except when you scare people any way," he responded, lighting a pipe.
Beaumont was astonished but did all in his power to prevent his small and useless wings from flapping - a habit whenever he found himself growing anxious.
"I'd better calm my nerves now before I make a mistake," he whispered to himself. So, he took a blunt he'd saved from Vegas from his capris pocket and lit it up.
"What's that smell?!!" Insecta barked loudly as the odor from Beaumont's cigar wafted into the writing room.
"Probably ghost gas," Hemingway responded, blushing slightly. "It's a little known fact that ghosts can have gas."
"NO, you idiot. That's not ghost gas. I recognize that smell! It's someone trying to have fun" she screamed.
"Let me show you what I can do to end the fun,"Mr. Hemingway said, wanting to show Insecta what he could do.
Beaumont decided he'd better get out of there now and warn the others. Ernest Hemingway grabbed copies of The Old Man and the Sea, To Have and Have Not, and The Sun Also Rises. He ran over to the window and noticed an perfectly innocent hippy walking down the sidewalk towards a local restaurant for dinner. Assuming that all hippies are always high and he must be the one who Insecta noticed, he threw the books at the unsuspecting tourist and knocked him out cold.
"Very impressive. Your aim is great," Insecta observed.
"You don't hunt in Africa on safari dozens of times and not develop your aim," Ernest Hemingway's ghost responded.
Meanwhile Beaumont waddled at top speed to reach the others and inform them of the trouble. His first priority was his best friend in the batch, Cheetah Kittens.
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