Just when you thought it was safe!

I picked up my cell at work and it was Crazy Neighbor. Gosh, I was excited. She wanted me to go out to the street and see if her car is still parked there- otherwise it is _dum dum dum_ stolen!!

“Didn’t you move out?”

“Yes, but I went on vacation shortly after and left my car.”

“Ok, I’ll check when I get home from work.”

So I’ve got some good news, bad news. I don’t think that her car is there- but the good news is that when she calls back later to discover that her car has been stolen (Zoinks!) we’ll get down to the bottom of the mystery! It wasn’t a ghost panda after all, but my nefarious apartment manager who has been after her from the first- who would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for us no-good kids!

Then I will shuffle together a stack of Baconator sandwiches and eat them in one bite!

The Real Reason I Believe in John McCain

To quote Stephen Dubner: "If there were an Olympic event for Candor, I think McCain would win it every time."

Is it wrong of me to just desire truthfulness or at least effective lies based on things believed to be the truth?

Interestingly I see this same quality in John Edwards.

Questions for Senator John McCain
Race to the Finish
Interview by DEBORAH SOLOMON
Published: July 29, 2007

Now that your presidential campaign is falling apart and approaching bankruptcy, the consensus is that you’re finished. But some of us have faith in your ability to reinvent yourself. Well, thank you. I appreciate that.

Especially since the other Republican candidates don’t exactly stand out. Don’t put words in my mouth, darling. Listen, I’m sure that in the fall, when people are focused, I’ll out-campaign them. I can do the town-hall meetings, the kind of campaign that wins elections.

Might you consider borrowing, say, $5 million from your wife, Cindy, an heiress to an Arizona beer-distribution fortune? I would never do such a thing. I don’t think it’s the appropriate thing to do.

Why not? You’d consider it an insult to your masculine pride? No, it really isn’t masculine pride. It’s more that I think getting small donations is part of campaigning. It’s part of whether you can succeed or fail. I think that’s going to be the key to our success in the future, whether we can get the small-donor base.

I’m sure you’re aware that your rival Mitt Romney just tapped into his personal savings to self-finance his campaign. Yeah, $9 or $10 million or whatever. I am not criticizing anyone else’s decisions, but I should be able to raise my own money from contributors or take matching funds according to the law, not dip into my wife’s assets.

Did she ask you to sign a prenuptial agreement when you married her? Yes, yes. That was 27 years ago. We were married in 1980.

Well, maybe you will strike it rich with your coming book, “Hard Call: Great Decisions and the Extraordinary People Who Made Them.” How did you have time to write a 450-page look at history? Mark Salter, my co-writer, did it. What we usually do is use a tape recorder and we talk back and forth, and then 90 percent of the hard work is done by him.

Why bother to bring out a book if you’re not going to write it yourself? Well, we had an editor, Jonathan Karp, and it was his suggestion and idea.

He probably didn’t realize how apt the phrase “hard call” would turn out to be for you this summer, not least because of your support for the surge in Iraq. Obviously, it’s an unpopular stand. But General Petraeus ought to be given a chance to succeed. We confirmed him in the Senate knowing what he was going to do.

Do you ever look back and think, God, was I dumb to support the surge? No. You got to do what’s right.

Your youngest son, Jimmy, who is 19, joined the Marines last year. Has he been deployed to Iraq? Marines either go to Iraq or to Afghanistan, and they go back more than once, as you know, because that’s just the nature of the Marine Corps.

So where is he now? We don’t really talk about his schedule. Cindy and I think it’s a private family situation.

As a retired Navy captain, are you decisive in everyday matters, like choosing what to have for dinner? I usually ask Cindy what’s for dinner and then comply with her.

What if you’re buying a shirt? Can you make a decision without deliberating in a department store? I rely on Cindy. She has good taste. I admit freely that I do not.

You don’t have taste? In clothes, no. I think it’s got to do with my military background.

Why? Uniforms are very handsome. Yeah, but you don’t have much of a choice.

Sometimes the most difficult choice a person can make is to quit. I would agree.

Will you cut your losses anytime soon and quit the presidential race? No, no. That’s not a hard call. We’re staying in. I’ve had a lot tougher days than these.

101 Things in 1001 Days: Plastic Sundae Cup Edition

I am looking for these cups by Deka in any color. Have any of you guys seen these? Let me know!

Funny things my Grammy says: even funnier when taken out of context

Grammy: I’m cancelling my HBO; there is nothing good on it anymore.

Me: Well what about Big Love? That show is great!

Grammy: I’m sick of those Mormons and their weird ways!

Going back to Cali

So I leave for California at the crack of dawn tomorrow for a week-long 3 prong vacation (during which you will likely be update-less).

My cousin and I are starting in Lake Tahoe at her parent's lake house, then spending a bit of time at their ranch outside of Sacramento to ride horses and visit relatives, then to San Francisco to see my cousin's new apartment and do the museum thing.

I am very interested in the Cartoon Art Museum... which happens to be located quite close to Beard Papa's Creme Puffs (though I hear one is opening soon here in Seattle). I also hope to cross a few things off of my 101 List while I'm down there, so that should be a good time.

I would be remiss, however, if I failed to mention that I am utterly stressed out about this trip because I have to fly.

I'm not scared of plane crashes or anything- I just hate the whole rush to get there, then wait, getting checked in, dealing with getting luggage into bins I can't reach using 1 working arm and 1 with no sensation and limited strength, sitting by strangers, and getting out of the airport. I'm terrified of not packing the right things, sitting next to a smelly or a chatty, missing my flight, or getting bumped.

Worst of all is the pitifully ineffective but incredibly inconvenient security. Inevitably I am searched. I must be on some list or perhaps I'm just traveling alone while looking vaguely ethnic-ish. I always get hand searched and my luggage always gets turned before it gets on the plane because when I arrive my stuff is always all mangled and occasionally missing.

The second I am out of the airport, luggage in hand, I will be zen- until the day before I have to return.

Sweet Sweet Nelson Fan Club News Action

New band finds representation:

SCRAP METAL, a who’s who of multi-platinum lead singers and front men, include Kelly Keagy of NIGHT RANGER whose number one rock hits include “Sister Christian”, “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me”, and “You Can Still Rock In America”; Eric Martin of MR. BIG whose number one hits include “To Be With You” and “Just Take My Heart”; Gunnar Nelson and Matthew Nelson the twin sons of Rock’n’Roll Legend Ricky Nelson, of rock group NELSON whose pop/rock number one hits include “(Can’t Live Without Your) Love and Affection”, “After the Rain”, and “More Than Ever”; and Mark Slaughter of SLAUGHTER whose penned number one hits include “Up All Night Sleep All Day” and “Fly to the Angels”.

Don't judge me.

Thought of the Day: Aligator Lizards in the Air Edition

Lately I've been wondering if I am a complete idiot. For the last month or so I have been completely forgetting to take my birth control and not even noticing. I promise that I am usually a very smart (and more pertinently extremely paranoid) person. Is my subconscious mind attempting to get me knocked up, or merely cranky and bloated?

Excellent theme song for next week's Cali trip (to be detailed shortly): Ventura Highway. I swear to you, America is a FANTASTIC band. Sadly I shall not be toting America with my as my ever-sucky iPod is broken, again. And Apple has the WORST customer service ever. Instead of 'Genius Bar' it should be called 'Smug Bastard Who Can't Actually Fix Apple Products With Anymore Skill Than Quiana Bar' although I understand that that is somewhat verbose. Anyone have an MP3 player that isn't part of the Apple conspiracy to sell an attractive but crummy product? (Incidentally, this description of Apple products also aptly describes every guy I dated in college.)

My birthday is stretching to an endless (and baseless) celebration of my awesomeness. Parties (Friday & today), cocktails (Tuesday), lunches (Tuesday & 2 weeks from now), dinners (previous Tuesday and tonight) with presents and mail pouring in from God knows where since last week. If this continues I am likely to get very stuck on me. Yet, I can't help but ponder why I'm getting all this good treatment, is this karmic make-up for my crappy past few weeks?

I've started watching the show Men in Trees and I really (ashamedly) like it a lot. On the surface it is a romantic comedy- under the surface it is a romantic comedy too. But it has fascinating things to say about human nature and gender. Leave it to a Bryn Mawr Girl to obsess of the portrayal of gender in a second string prime-time comedy.
But let me explain the plot! She is a dating coach who writes books about finding love, only to find out that her perfect life isn't what she thought it was. On a business trip to Alaska she finds out that her fiance is cheating on her and suddenly realizes that everything that she taught about dating and gender was probably completely wrong. After years of trying to teach women how to analyze and manipulate men, she finds she knows nothing about them- or about herself. A romance about learning to love yourself and about learning to love and understand instead of manipulate; this show is the anti-Sex in the City.

Last night I watched Mostly Martha, a German film (now remade by Catherine Zeta-Jones) about a chef whose life is dramatically changed by the presence of her orphaned niece. Now I know you are going to say that this has been done- but never so charmingly. I love movies about second chances and change. It had a tone for me like Dear Frankie or Schultze Gets the Blues. Watch it.
5 Monkeys. It was either tear inducingly awesome, OR I am being influenced by my out of control improperly pill-regulated lady hormones.

Getting Off the Bike to Nowhere

It has taken me 690 days, BUT I have finally completed writing my 101 list (to the right under labels). (Per project set forth here.)
In my defense, I am a person who gets an idea and does not need a list, but rather says, "Hey self, now is as good a time as any." (This thinking did not apparently pertain to the writing of the list, however.)
Of course another part of the issue is that I am super-boring person with super-boring goals, which I really did try to keep to a minimum.
Additionally, as the writing process stretched seemingly forever a new problem arose in that I was taking so long to write the list that things were being crossed off of it before I could complete it.
Anyway, it is here now and you can see the list over yon if you care. I hope to post pictures of me completing items on the list as I go, assuming I don't completely forget about its very existence (a thing I am known to do from time to time).

Other People’s Stories: Grandma of the Nine Fingers

One day Steve and his mother visited his grandmother only to find that she was hiding her pointer finger, which was swollen to the size (and general appearance) of a polish hotdog. Being a kindly woman, she hadn’t wanted to bother them with such trivial injuries as woefully misshapen extremities.

At the hospital the doctors couldn’t figure out how this had happened until they tested all the longest of long shots. It appears that when Steve gave his grandmother a betta fish for Mother’s Day he thought her had given her just the right gift. But what he had actually given her was a repository of rare Thai fish bacteria, Mycobacterium Marinum.

The bacteria, getting into her finger through a small wound while she cleaned the fish bowl had quickly infected her finger. Unfortunately, the hospital had no capacity to deal with rare Thai fish bacteria and in any case, it was too late; the doctors amputated her finger.

Steve could never look upon her again, waving her four remaining fingers at them from the porch as they drove away, without feeling a twinge of guilt.

KiKi knows best.

This weekend, I somehow I ended up in custody (weekend-long) of my dead uncle’s 8 year old daughter. (The discussion of who would be taking the kid for an unknown increment of time went from child staying with Granny, to my driving child to other uncle’s house, to me harboring child in my minute Green Lake studio apartment. I am unclear on how this occurred)

This is very awkward for me, because while I like children, I like them in two states: prior to linguistic ability and when they actually have interesting things to say. So, essentially under 2 and over 11.

Anyway, those who know me will understand that I am not super child-oriented, so this was somewhat uncomfortable for me. Picture, “Now honey, don’t touch KiKi’s comics…” [thought … Or I will fuck you up- adorable blond moppet or not].

Unfortunately the discomfort wouldn’t end as she poured out her tiny little heart.
My uncle was a troubled man. He was constantly struggling with his own demons, and was deeply resentful, extremely sensitive; a hard man to be around. I loved my uncle, but I didn’t always like him very much.

As I showed her how to bake a coffee cake and properly cook bacon she asked, “KiKi, did daddy go to jail?”

“Uhm, why?”

“Because he told me he didn’t, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think so…. It doesn’t matter, your daddy loved you very much- that’s what is important.”

“Would he lie about it?”

“Your father was a troubled person, life was very hard for him. I don’t think that what happened before is as important as remembering your dad the way you knew him.”

Later, when we were going to meet up with other relatives to take a ferry ride and get ice-cream she asked, “Will Mommy die too?”

“Your Mommy isn’t going to die for a long time. What happened to your father was a surprise. People don’t usually die like that.”

“But he did.”

“Yes he did. But your Mom won’t.”

“But what if she does? Or what if she leaves?”

“If something happened either Grandma or Uncle would take you. You don’t need to worry.”

“Is Mommy really coming back for me?”

“I promise.”

Today I found out that that woman left my little cousin with some friend for a month and a half- mere months after her father died. If that woman doesn’t come back for this kid I will go down there and kick her ass.

To avenge my cousin's neglect I let her go to a PG13 movie, stay up till midnight, have a breakfast of cake and bacon, and ice cream for lunch. I know that this is an excellent display of terrible parenting skills, and this is why I don’t have kids.

Déjà vu

Rebecca Romijn is the most utterly bewildering person in the universe.

Rebecca Romijn Weds Jerry O'Connell

Plug your ears and hum.

I am continually frustrated by people's desire to bury awkward mementos of the past like a cat hides its shit.

There is apparently a huge controversy in London about Borders shelving a Tintin book, published in 1931 that has very obvious racist commentary.
The article quotes a lawyer stating that: "The material suggests to (children) that Africans are subhuman, that they are imbeciles, that they're half savage."
Fair enough, I think that the book isn't necessarily appropriate for children; but it should serve to demonstrate ways in which the powerful stay powerful through propaganda. That people will say, do, and believe the wrong thing if it is more beneficial for themselves to do so.

We can't re-write history. Breaking Mammy cookie jars doesn't make it all unhappen, it just wrecks cookie jars. Pretending that there wasn't a problem does not erase past mistakes- but it does make it impossible to learn from them. Let people collect Nazi silverware, maybe it will remind how close we came to speaking German.

Acknowledging our past errors and understanding them is how we prevent them in the future. Does this mean that I want to chow down in a Sambo's? No, but we can't go around burning old copies of books, TV shows, or movies because they make us uncomfortable. They SHOULD make us uncomfortable.

I know I shouldn't get all Godwin (again) and bring up this issue (although I don't believe that this should count) but if you look at the way that Germany acknowledges its war crimes and how seriously people there take racism and then look at Japan's constant denials of wrong doing and look at how ethnic Koreans and the country of Korea are treated, both at the official governmental level and at the average Joe level, you will see a huge difference.

Furthermore I would like to point out something a little more disturbing; according to the article, "In [the book], Belgian cartoonist Georges Remi depicts the white hero's adventures in the Congo against the backdrop of an idiotic, chimpanzee-like native population that eventually comes to worship Tintin — and his dog — as gods."
That reminds of something... what could it be? Oh yea, Pirates of the Caribbean 2. Burn the movie! Keel-haul Orlando Bloom!!!!! Rip out Johnny Depp's deadlocks! Oh my gosh, he's a white guy in dreads and he acts kind of gay- and he's a womanizer! O my precious poopkins will watch this and get all confused! Let's sue!

Or what about Will & Grace, surely that is a forward thinking show. Wait, you mean all single straight women need a "gay friend"- that's stereotyping! Let's storm the studio and burn the film.

If everyone wants to look for racism, sexism, and any other 'ism' one doesn't have to go back as far 1931. It isn't Civil War memorabilia that we should be worried about, it's what is on TV right now, what we teach our kids and confirm to ourselves. That liberated feminist women crave meaningless sex 24 hours a day and should chase it in the same way that men are perceived to, but still be incomplete without a man (Sex & The City). That torture is sometimes good (24). Being pretty and stupid is cute and funny in real life (Simple Life).

Paris Hilton being a role-model is what keeps me up at night, not nearly 80 year old books.

SUC’s Helpful Hints: Beat the Heat

1. Move to Seattle Norway.

2. Craigslist Casual Encounters
"Petite brunette seeking… anyone with air conditioning.”

3. Build nest made out of Otter Pops… in the freezer section at Safeway.

4. Stay at work. Watch movies on Netflix online, snack on pop-tarts from vending machine. Sleep under desk in cubical on a luxurious bed of TPS reports.

5. Make arrangements to meet your friends at a nice air-conditioned pool hall, then spend an hour in your air-conditioned car driving there and circling 3 parking garages looking for parking and then giving up, stopping at 7-11 for Ben & Jerry’s, and eating it alone. In the basement. Watching reruns of Scrubs.

Victory is Mine!

Last night I broke all the rules: fatty food, milky food, martinis, sweets. I was lawless at the Stumbling Goat for Czarina and Czabrina’s birthday dinner. But early this morning I woke to a smell so bad that I immediately cast about for the dog, intent on ordering him from the room… only to find he was sleeping in the cool basement. Yes, I had produced a smell that was so terrible, so absolutely raunchy, that I am just a tiny bit proud.
“Ha!” I cry on behalf of every woman who has ever been laying in bed with her boyfriend or husband and has been compelled to say, “My God, what have you been eating?!”

Tales of Minature Quiana: DOOMED

I remember being curled up in a tight ball, my knees tucked up to my chin. My little fingers covering my eyes as I fearfully cowered in my scratchy theater seat.
Upon the screen hundreds of life-size furry tree dwellers were being annihilated by the forces of the Empire. Their little teddy-bear like faces scrunched up with tiny little Ewok tears as huge tree trunks and AT-ST's fell upon their fuzzy bodies.
My cousin David (a whole 6 months older) leaned over from the seat next to me and clumsily patted my back saying, "It's ok KiKi. It's only make believe."

This is my earliest memory; seeing Return of the Jedi in the theater in 1983. ( I would have been... 3.)
This is the exact moment that I believe I became damned; cursed to forever walk this planet a complete and utter geek.

Sometimes Craigslist isn't enough

I put the following add up on Craigslist last week and thus far nothing. Somebody end my suffering!

Did you finish Donna Tarrt's "The Little Friend"?

---

Reply to: sale-365855349@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-03, 11:37AM PDT



Congratulations, you are far more patient than I.

Want to tell me how it ends? I'm about half-way through and I can't handle any more of this book- it is as though it is growing longer as I read. I feel very dirty about asking this, but one more page of this book and I will actually die.

Earn some good karma and send me an email with a brief synopsis of the end of the book if you can spare a moment.

I have read up to where Harriet has just arrived at camp following the snake/overpass incident.

More than meets the eye.

Steve, Addy & I saw Transformers on Sunday and I was blown away. I had assumed that Michael Bay would create a bloated romance with appalling writing and a pitiful plot.

Yes, there were some tedious romantic elements, bad lines, and pathetically juvenile instances. And there were some plot-holes, but nothing on the order of other films designed for the same audience *Fantastic Four 1 cough cough.* But over all I found it to be charming and exciting. To my immense surprise the movie was also quite funny. And unlike other lengthy movies, *Pirates 2 cough cough* I didn’t even think to look at my watch. The acting was overall very good, even with the wooden performances of the ricockulously perfect looking women. This Labeouf kid gave a quite endearing performance. The character development was excellent- another surprise. And, of course, the effects were fantastic.

People keep accusing this movie of ruining their cherished childhood memories, but I wonder if any of these people have watched the original cartoon as adults…. I’m just saying that this was a cartoon created to sell toys.

So, for a film, made by Michael bay, based on a cartoon, based on toys, I was surprised and pleased. 5 monkeys.

Spoiler in Orange below (with non-spoiler to follow):

So I only had two serious problems with Transformers:

No seriously, spoiler.

1. Dude, they made a jive talking robot. Then they killed him. To clarify: they made a black robot and then they killed it. They killed the black one. What greater compliment can we give to a minority than to show him sacrificing himself to protect a couple of white kids and some (ostensibly) white robots?

2. That whole chasing the giant cube premise upon which the entire movie was built was some super lazy writing. “Yes, and they’ll be chasing a cube. Like a Rubik’s cube crossed with a Borg ship. Yes, brilliant!”

End of Spoiler!

Also five monkeys for the trailer to the untitled JJ Abrams film, (which is rumored to be called Cloverfield) which looked awesome. However, if this turns out to be a terrorist movie or a remake of Godzilla I will be super-pissed.

Quiana Prediction: The first half will be mysterious and engaging. The second half will be a muddled up mess of red-herrings and unanswered questions, culminating in a finish almost nobody is interested in. But this is all just a predication based upon, you know, empirical evidence.

In the nooze.

Katie Couric: Crazy, Bitch
Blogger says, "Hey Katie, SPUTUM!"

Clay Aiken: Crazy, Bitch
Blogger says, "Hey Aiken, you are a talentless ass-clown! Also you look like a chipmunk, but don't sing as well as other chipmunks I could mention."

Iraqi FM warns against U.S. withdrawal
Democrats say, "Shit, we need a platform and it's either this or global warming! Which is more important to American voters, brown people or polar bears?" HINT: Polar bears are white....

Afghan girls traded, sold to settle debt.
"He gave me nine sheep," Ahmad said, describing his family's woes since taking the loan. "Because of nine sheep, I gave away my daughter."
Honestly, I'm surprised that a girl is considered to be worth 9 sheep. See, and you said that there hasn't been any progress in Afghanistan!

"Unsafe" Canada prostitution law to be challenged
Canadian officials: "prostitution is dangerous- let's make it legal!" Brilliant!
Incidentally, I have never seen so many prostitutes anywhere as I have in broad daylight in Vancouver.... I'm just saying. See everyone, a semi-socialistic state is the way to go. Just ask Michael Moore.

For the health conscious undead.

Zombie Nutritionist Recommends All-Brain Diet

Excerpt:
Added Rossum: "Braaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnns!"

I'm so mean, that even when I'm nice I'm mean.

Saturday evening I was watering the flowers and talking to a friend when a small fluffy dog slowly trudged past the house. First in one direction then in the other before unceremoniously flopping into the gutter. I got off the phone and approached the puffball. He was wearing a new collar with no tags and was obviously someone's beloved pet. We sat together for a few minutes (I didn't want him to wander into the road) when a neighbor emerged and inquired as to why I was sitting in the gutter with some strange dog. I explained and he ran inside and brought back his wife who thought she knew to whom the dog belonged. She gathered the dog up and carried him up the street. Having done my good deed for the day I got back to watering the plants.

A few minutes later she returned and announced that the dog was not theirs and set him down. He waddled out to the gutter and flopped down. I ran inside and brought back a leash and a bowl of water. He lapped up the water and proceeded to follow me around as I watered the various plants. I had now had this dog in my possession for a good 30 minutes.

I finished watering and put the hoses away, little dog in tow. Then I wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, his owner was probably driving around looking for him, but on the other hand, the animal shelter is closed Sunday and Monday and if I didn't get him there in a reasonable time the owners wouldn't be able to pick him up until Tuesday morning. I resolved to sit with him for one more half hour. It was a fluffy and companionable silence, there in the gutter.

People in the suburbs are different than Seattle people. Seattle people are very nice and would have smiled at us, but out in the suburbs as we would look hopefully at passing cars they would wave energetically. "Oh Frank," I imagine they said, "Look at that adorable little dog! Hello little dog!! Oh she's out with her dog; isn't that just sweet?"

Finally I decided that we were approaching closing time at the shelter and if he had a microchip, he could be home right away. I tied the pile of fur to the porch and ran in to get the phone.

Here is another example of why people in the suburbs are different. I called the police and explained the situation. The woman asked if it was a friendly dog. I said "Oh yes, he's a very friendly little puff-ball." And she explained that she would send a patrol car instead of animal control; this way the dog could go to the shelter and not the pound. Small dog, as I had taken to calling him, and I went back to out spot in the gutter and plopped down to wait for the police.

We had sat there less then 10 minutes when the dog's little ears twitched and he jumped to his feet. A small black sedan cruised around the corner and screeched to a stop. The driver hopped out and ran towards me, the little dog ran to him as I let him off the leash. He explained that he lived quite a ways away and had almost given up, believing that the little dog could not possibly have walked this far.

As he was loading small dog into the car a patrol car pulled up behind him and the officer stepped out. I explained the situation as he scribbled in his little notebook. After I had briefed him he said, "Well miss, that was very nice of you, but I'm still going to give that man a ticket."

Well, I tried.

Nature, going for the cheap shot.

A 5 year old tackled and pinned a rabid fox to prevent it injuring other children at a family BBQ outside Charlotte. Apparently a completely different rabid fox attacked a little girl nearby the same day.

Excerpt from Article:
Rayshun's stepfather, Ryan Thompson, pulled the boy off the animal and kicked it. A neighbor fired a handgun three times but the fox continued to advance.... Thompson, wearing a cast because of a broken leg, said he used a stick and his crutch to beat the fox to death.

Note: this is the second time a rabid animal has been beaten to death with a crutch in recent news. Now I wonder:

Crutch : Nature :: Chainsaw : Zombies

(I believe this to be the correct notation of Crutch is to Nature as Chainsaw is to Zombies, is this true?)

Our plans are coming to fruition, Chairman Meow

Have you seen this craziness yet?
Cats That Look Like Hilter

I am extremely amused by this site.
Particularly amusing portion from the FAQ:

I think I may have a Kitler. My cat has a 'tache, and he keeps on annexing my next door neighbour's garden while making a noise that sounds suspiciously like "Lebensraum". How do I put him on the website?

Other thoughts:

-Hitler would probably not enjoy this ridicule.

-Your cats are plotting against you while you sleep.

One Degree from Warren G.

So I was channel surfing and all the sudden there was this dude that I new in high school next to Maureen McCormick. This was quite surreal.

I used to compete against Ross Mathews, Ross the Intern of The Tonight Show, in high school debate. He was closer friends with my cousin Jess and our friend Jenna, but I would see him at tournaments and occasionally socially. Apparently he is a real commentator now and has done extensive work; which I suppose explains why I saw him chatting with Dustin Diamond on Celebrity Fit Club.

Anyway, I thought that it was weird. So I Googled him today and apparently he is co-hosting The View on July 17 (my birthday). Weird.

I know this is a lame ‘I know a celeb story,’ but it was bizarre to find Ross lurking on VH1 in the middle of the night.

Let's talk about me.

Ack, I’ve been tagged I have been tagged by From The Back Nine.

Tagged players post eight random facts/habits about themselves. At the end of your post, you tag eight more victims suckers people; they then write their list of eight in their own blogs and post the rules.

Let’s see….

1. I’d be a Republican if it didn’t mean surrendering the control of my uterus. Don’t look at me like that, I believe in fiscal responsibility.

2. I am the only living person who hated Friends, Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond, and King of Queens. This is because I am frosty, humorless bitch.

3. I honestly believe that Nelson’s After the Rain is hands down the best pop-rock album ever. Seriously.

4. I hate tapioca so very much. Its texture offends my tongue.

5. When Jim Henson died I was so depressed that I was kept home from school the next day.

6. I am highly marriageable. I have been proposed to 4 times (and broke with someone when I caught him shopping for an engagement ring, so I think that should count as 4.25).

7. I am not a good girlfriend.

8. I have many irrational fears, squirrels, bats, spiders, etc., but most amusingly I am terrified of squid.

Now for tagging part- I tag YOU. You put 8 facts about yourself on your blog and leave me a comment with your blog address so I can stalk you.

Run Don’t Walk, Fat Ass

Angry squirrels and I are in agreement that Fridays are the new days not to trust. Saturdays are also no good.

Last Friday I picked up my cousin Jessica and we drove down for my great grandmother’s funeral in Lakewood. We sat directly behind the relatives we are most familiar with, my uncle James (who is more or less my age), his girlfriend, and his sister Meghan and her children. As we installed ourselves in the pew James turned and looked around shiftily. He placed his hand in his jacket pocket and showed us a small blue container. Jess and I stared at it blankly. It felt like the 40’s, that he was trying to sell us prophylactics or porn. [Blogger’s note: I totally did not know how to spell ‘prophylactic’- in the future I should write ‘rubbers’ instead.] This was not a prophylactic, it was a grandma. My grandma. Well, part of her anyway. [Blogger's note: this could be the hip new toy this season: Pocket Grandmas or Pokegrama. Imagine Pikachu, but instead of saying “pika pika,” she could say “eat more eat more!”] Our eyes got big, and James was wondering what to do with his bottle of grandma. All I could think was to throw it in the ocean. No, my granny wasn’t into the ocean, but she was probably much less into hanging out in a random assortment of pockets simultaneously.

Now, I would like this to be understood before God and people who accidentally find my site whilst searching for porn, that when I die and am cremated (as this seems the most sanitary) I do not want small pieces of me to be sent home like morbid party favors.

Then the procession started and the priest came in. He was an older gentleman with a deep and droning voice like a cross between Ben Stein and Dr. Zoidberg from Futurama. He did all his priest-y things and then started the eulogy-esque section with the following: “People have mixed feelings about death. It’s like the story about your mother-in-law who drove over a cliff… in your brand new Mercedes.” Pause for chuckles… chuckles that never came. This would be a good point to mention that my grandma was a mother-in-law to three people sitting in that room to honor her memory. My great grandma was the kindest person that I have ever met, the nicest person ever. The sort of person you would be lucky to bring into your family and life. James turned and looked at me, shock written across his face. My eyes were wide as saucers and Jessica gave me the raised eyebrow stare from behind her hands. The priest’s voice betrayed no traces of humor and his attempt at a joke reverberated through the room before two sympathy guffaws broke the suddenly stagnant air.

The rest of the funeral passed without incident and Jessica and I raced back to her house for vegi-lasagna and Grey’s Anatomy reruns. Eventually I trudged to an office party at my boss’s house. I spent about 45 minutes and started to say my goodbyes. I went to my car and turned the ignition and pulled the lever to put my car in gear, to no avail. There was something amiss somewhere between my gear shifty thingy and my transmission. I returned to the party and my wonderful boss offered to call AAA for me. (This is a great place to mention that I had JUST cancelled my AAA membership after 3 YEARS of not using it.)

I was aware that I require a car between Friday and whenever the hell my car gets done and had to find a vehicle somewhere. I attempted to call my Auntie (who like every other living relative had JUST left for a camping trip), and eventually gave up and called my 12 year old cousin Sean. He skate boarded back to the campsite and Auntie told me that their spare car is in use, but I can take their 4 month old pimped out, crazy expensive mini-van until my car is repaired. Which is great, except that I can’t drive a van for shit, but as I have TWO airport runs to be made, I have to just suck it up.

Finally the AAA guy showed up and tells me it’s my transmission cable, but he can rig it so I can drive to the shop and does so. My very lovely boss’s excellent son offered to ferry me from the auto shop to my uncle’s house. We were half way there and on an extremely curvy road with no shoulder when my car began to rev up to RPMs that it has never before seen whilst simultaneously slowing down. I pulled over into the gated driveway of the local post office and my boss’s son (who no doubt has better things to do on a Friday night) attempted to reach his mother. No cell reception. After wandering around a bit he contorted himself into a strange position half-way on top of his car and called his mom. He explained the situation and we stood there for a few minutes while I apologized profusely (because I am obviously cursed). Unexpectedly the AAA guy showed up and explained that he got worried driving away and turned around to check on us. Nice. He clamped something in place and followed us to the garage, where I abandoned my car (which I later realized was full of things that I needed including my laundry, recent gas receipts (just wait for that section of my suckage), and grad school materials for my Sunday morning meeting.

I arrived at my uncle’s house and sat down to drink a glass of water and regain my shaken composure. After a few minutes I got up and went to the key drawer. And inside said drawer, no keys. This can be noted as the point at which I almost started crying. Instead I called Auntie and after a few moments of thinking she realized that she put them in some other drawer. I grabbed the keys and drove the van home. (2 days later I determined how to turn off the climate control. The button was marked ‘off’ and void of any symbols indicating what it turned off.) If you ever want a good time, watch me attempt to parallel park a van in my neighborhood.

Later that night Addy, Steve and I took a nice relaxing walk around the lake, during which, a car load of teenagers yelled, “Run, don’t walk, Fat Ass.” Surely my ass had had enough abuse for one day.

The next morning I drove my friends to the airport and right about at Boeing Field the gas light came on. After dropping them off I exited the airport to Burien and found a gas station (and dropped about $60 on gas) only to realize that I had no idea of how to find the highway. Luckily my Auntie and uncle sprang for that GPS directory business and I hit the ‘take me home’ button. A calm voice directed me back to the interstate and I cruised up to Cap Hill for a very fun barbeque followed by a viewing of The Night Listener, which I may add actually had me freaking out and saying such things to the TV as “Oh God, don’t go in there!” and “Oh Disaster!” (4 monkeys.)

Yesterday I was so caught up in the film Anatomy of a Murder (3 monkeys and p.s. they used the word ‘bitch’ in this 1960 film, starring Jimmy Stewart.) that I was late to let the dog out to pee and then the cat got out, which resulted in me hysterically searching for it, which resulted in a sweaty, nearly tearful Quiana hustling down to drop some friends off at the airport TWENTY minutes late. 20 minutes is probably greater than the cumulative number of minutes that I have been late to anywhere in the last year. This resulted in neigh on constant apologies to same said friends. On the return trip the gas light of HER car came on as I was just about reaching Boeing Field (hereafter to be known as the Land of the Auto Damned). I made it to the James St. exit and up the hill as the car was having seizures from lack of gas. I put in $10 of gas and consider myself now absolved of all lateness.

Last night I set my alarm for PM instead of AM and if the cat (recently returned from an exciting vacation/man hunt) hadn’t jumped onto my bladder, I would still be asleep at this very moment.

Today I heard from the auto shop which notified me that I am looking at about $900 in repairs (for the cable and for anchors to prevent my engine from oh say, falling out of my car/ busting my cable AGAIN). This is approximately $899 more than I have. Loyal SUCkers will recall that in February I dropped $1182.11 on repairs on my car of Eternal Damnation and Torment. Where is the point at which I should resign myself to new and exciting $300 a month car payments for 4 years and just bag this car? Any advice?

This new information prompted me to make sure that I had plenty of space on my credit card- which I KNEW I did already, but which enabled me to find that some gas station last week charged me $95 on my credit card. And because my car is in the shop, I can’t correct it until Tuesday or Thursday because I keep my gas receipts in my car to track my increasingly poor gas mileage (of doom).

Fucking Ricockulous Attempt at a Silver Lining on the Cloud of the Shit Storm of my Life:
1. My car didn’t break down on the way to my granny’s funeral.
2. My engine didn’t fall out.
3. The cat came back (prior to the very next day).
4. I’m going to very seriously violate the gas station who is trying to rip me off.
5. Last night I had fro-yo.
6. Wendy’s has released a burger called The Baconator- the bad news being that they have 830 calories and now I can’t afford one.
7. The 7-11 at 362 Denny Way has been remodeled into a Kwik-E-Mart. Yes, I would like a squishy.

Nature: Up to no good, as usual.