Are You Addicted to Workahol?

June 13, 2006

You know what's kind of dumb?  The fact that people say they're a "chocolaholic," a "shopaholic," a "workaholic," or a whateveraholic.  The reason we say "alcoholic" is because people are addicted to "alcohol."  If we said it right, we'd say we were a "chocolate-ic" or a "work-ic" or a "shop-ic."  I'm not saying you're dumb if you've ever described yourself as a something-aholic, I'm just saying it's an expression that has worked its way into our language, and it's dumb. So dumb it's, like, dumbaholic.


The Runyan Debaucle, and the Aftermath

June 9, 2006

I'm just going to come clean.  I can be a jerk sometimes.  If I'm ever a jerk to you, though, just know that I will beat myself up about it for days, weeks, months, or years, depending on the severity of the jerkiness.

My most recent incident of jerkiness happened a couple weekends ago.  I was setting out on a hike at Runyan Canyon with Rebecca, and while walking up a residential street on the way to the park, a guy up ahead let his dog poop right on the sidewalk and didn't pick it up.  This is a common problem on that street, and you always have to watch where you step, and the street stinks at all times.  Anyway, I saw the dog poop, and I saw the guy not pick it up, and without warning, out of my mouth came, "Nice. Thanks."  It was kind of at a shout, since he was a good 20 feet ahead of us, and it surprised him, Rebecca, and me.  What?!  I don't shout at strangers, unless I'm in the car and they've just committed an extra rude traffic faux-pas.  It just came out of my mouth, and I couldn't believe it.  Anyway, so he turned around and got befuddled, and tried to explain that he didn't have a bag, and then he just stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to answer, but I didn't, because I was just as surprised and befuddled as he was, and we just kept walking toward him, and then he turned around and kept going ahead of us, and we walked in silence for several seconds until I turned to Rebecca and whispered, "This is going to be an awkward hike," at which point my hair began to fall in my eyes, and I was only too happy to have an excuse to stop and fix it while letting the guy get farther up ahead of us. 

So I fixed my hair, slowly, and then we proceeded on our way, and as the shock of my behaviour subsided, in rushed the guilt and remorse at having spoken so harshly to someone who, yes, was doing something annoying, but who may have had a good excuse.  I don't know, maybe he had two bags but the dog pooped three times and he was out of bags.  Or maybe he had just run out of the house with the dog after a bad fight with his girlfriend and had been too upset to remember to bring a bag and hell if he was going back in there now, or maybe she had even locked him out.  The point is, I didn't know, and he seemed like a nice guy, and I could tell he was embarrassed, and I felt like a big, fat jerk.  Combine that with the fact that I was nigh on PMS, and for much of the hike I was trying not to cry because I felt so bad, and I looked and looked for him so I could apologize, but he was nowhere to be found.  I have no idea where he disappeared to, but he was gone.  So, I did the only thing I could do in this situation: I put an add on Craigslist Missed Connections.  Here's what I posted:

I Fussed at you at Runyan today (Sat.) – w4m – 27

I saw your dog poop on the sidewalk, and you didn't pick it up, so I yelled, "Nice. Thanks." You seemed befuddled and tried to explain that you didn't have a bag with you. A few seconds later I felt really bad. I decided I wanted to apologize, but you disappeared. I'm so sorry! That was really rude and unlike me, and you seem like a really nice guy. I hope I didn't completely ruin your hike, or your walk with your dog.

I got 3 replies to the post, but unfortunately not from the guy — although all of them made me feel a little better.  Here they are:

Number One: The inevitable Craigslist pickup attempt, complete with photo of him and his dog:

I'm not the guy….but at Ruyan all the time…..I like that you took the time to apologize!!  If you see me..say "hi!"  I promise, I'll have a bag.

(Don't worry, Jeff, I didn't reply)!

Number Two:

hi, i'm not your missed connection, but i wanted to say that i'm glad you yelled at that guy. don't apologize for that. people like that are always trying to get away with it, and they need to be scolded publicly.


fellow dog poop hater
los angeles, ca

And My favorite:

I live in that neighborhood. You had every right to give that guy "shit" pun intended. He knew he didn't have a bag when he took out his dog. But rather than have his dog crap on his carpet, he crapped on my sidewalk.  Don't feel bad about criticizing that guy, I probably stepped in it on Sunday.  When you take your dog on a walk you should have a leash and a plastic bag… no excuse.

So there you have it.  I still think I was a jerk, but if three strangers think otherwise, I guess maybe I'm being a little hard on myself.  Lessons learned: Never speak to strangers while having PMS, Craigslist can be relied upon to ease one's conscience, and Always carry a poop bag for your dog, or face the unleashed wrath of the Minton.

Conspiracy Theory

June 7, 2006

So… today I got an email forward.  I know that it was forwarded with the best of intentions.  I never send these on, but sometimes feel guilty for not, because maybe I should participate in "warning" people.  But part of me thinks this type of thing is fake, and the reason for sending them is to scare women.  Why?  If we're scared, we're immobilized.  If it's not safe to go to the gas station or the grocery store or the mall parking lot, or drive on roads, or whatever the latest forward is warning us about, what are we supposed to do?  I'll tell you. Just go home and sit.  And rot.  It makes me want to scream and cry and claw at my skin. It makes me angry.  A lot of times if we get angry about things like this, women are called "angry feminists."  Well… yeah.  Wouldn't you be mad? 

I know it really is pretty damn unsafe for women to be out and about at night, and frankly, even during the day.  I can tell you some really sketchy things that have happened to me personally, and to women I know.  But part of me wants to call bullshit on these "warning" forwards.  And whether they're true or not, the whole racket still royally pisses me off.  Because either way we have to constantly be on guard.  It's exhausting. 

Anyway, here's the forward.  

A friend stopped at a pay-at-the-pump gas station to get gas. Once she filled her gas tank and after paying at the pump and starting to leave, the voice of the attendant inside came over the speaker. He told her that something happened with her card and that she needed to come inside to pay. The lady was confused because the transaction showed complete and approved. She relayed that to him and was getting ready to leave but the attendant, once again, urged her to come in to pay or there'd be trouble. She proceeded to go inside and started arguing with the attendant about his threat. He told her to calm down and listen carefully:
He said that while she was pumping gas, a guy slipped into the back seat of her car on the other side and the attendant had already called the police.
She became frightened and looked out in time to see her car door open and the guy slip out. The report is that the new gang initiation thing is to bring back a woman and/or her car.. One way they are doing this is crawling under women's cars while they're pumping gas or at grocery stores in the nighttime. The other way is slipping into unattended cars and kidnapping the women.
Please pass this on to other women, young and old alike. Be extra careful going to and from your car at night. If at all possible, don't go alone! This is real!!
The message:
1. ALWAYS lock your car doors, even if you're gone for just a second!
2. Check underneath your car when approaching it for reentry, and check in the back before getting in.
3. Always be aware of your surroundings and of other individuals in your general vicinity, particularly at night!
Send this to everyone so your friends can take precaution.
Barbara Baker, Secretary Directorate of Training U.S. Army Military Police School

I get this type of thing ALL THE TIME.  And I'm always like, THIS FUCKING SUCKS.  Maybe this is happening; probably not.  In any case, it's really hard to go through life always looking over your shoulder.  Always fearing you'll be one of those "one out of three" women who gets raped.  It's so fucking inconvenient to be a woman, because sometimes I might want to go runing through my neighborhood at dusk, or ride my bike somewhere, or go pick up some groceries at 11PM, or maybe I'm about to run out of gas, but it's dark outside.  And I can't do any of those things, and if I do, I have to be nervous the whole time, so I can't enjoy it anyway.

Are these things made up to keep us at home? To make us depend on men?  To depend on men but also fear men? How are we supposed to know what to do, where to go, who to trust?  Call me what you will, but it makes me angry, and I won't apologize for that.

06/06/06, and “The Hills”

June 6, 2006

Today is 6-6-6, or 06/06/06, or June 6, 2006, depending how you like to write your dates.  I usually do it the second way, in case you're interested.

So I guess today is not only Satan's birthday or whatever, but it's also National Day of Slayer, and most importantly, National Emo Kid Beatdown Day.

Jeff and his roommates wanted to get up at 6AM to pound beers and blast Slayer, and I slept over there last night. I had to get up at 6 anyway so I could go home and get ready for work, and when my alarm went off I said, "Aren't you going downstairs to blast Slayer?" But Jeff said, "Fuck that," and immediatly went back to sleep. And I totally knew where he was coming from, because if I had to choose between pounding a beer and blasting loud music at 6 AM or sleeping an extra hour it wouldn't be a hard decision.  Because sleep always wins.  But really, sleep had a clear advantage in that match.  They really probably shouldn't have even been in the same bracket, you know what I mean?

In other news, I feel totally gypped!  Remember "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County," and how it was my favorite show last year?  Well, I had an argument with a co-worker a couple days ago.  He said he thought it was totally fake and scripted, whereas I thought it was real, though a little encouraged.  Like, I thought the director was probably like, "OK, you're all going to get pedicures together.  While you're there, you should make sure you talk about Stephen and L.C.  Oh, and Alex H., at some point you should ask Kristin if she saw Alex M. hook up with Jason in Cabo."  But Bill thought it was totally, totally fake and all the situations, like the exciting love triangle between L.C., Steven and Kristin was all made up.  But I was all, NO WAY, it had to be real because no one could fake Jessica's desperation for Jason.  She had such classic low self esteem you just knew all that drama there was real.  And if Wikipedia's description is correct, I'm right.

Well: The other night I watched the season premier of the spinoff, "The Hills," which follows L.C. on her adventures to L.A., and from the get-go it was so fake it might as well have had a "Made in China" label.  L.C. clearly lives in Park LaBrea, which is near my house, and is recognizable to anyone who lives in this city, and is NOT in the Hollywood Hills.  But since the show is called "The Hills," they have to pretend it's called "Hillside Villas."  Gross.  Anyway.  So from Day One, L.C. has all these "good friends," who are all gorgeous actor-model types.  Where did these "friends" come from?  I don't remember seeing or hearing about a single one of them on Laguna Beach.  And the events are so clearly planned and scripted — every little thing.  I don't know how real or fake Laguna Beach was, but whatever they did worked.  This, though, is just an insult to my intelligence.  Stupid "reality" TV!  BAH!

Blout-Out to My Car!

June 6, 2006

So yesterday I was driving down the street in my neighborhood and out of nowhere zoomed a kid on his scooter. Right in front of my car. Like, right in front. I saw the kid on the sidewalk for an instant, and with no warning whatsoever, he just shot into the street. He was on one of those little electric scooters, and was just ZOOM, out in the street. I slammed on the brakes but could tell it was no use — he was literally like 4-6 feet in front of me. So I jerked the wheel to the left, and he stopped, and I missed him. And I kept driving, and I was thinking, "I'm really calm right now. I don't feel at all rattled. I really feel fine. I wonder if that adrenaline rush is going to kick in. I would think I would feel it by now. This is weird, I feel so ca — and — here it is." The adrenaline hit, with the requisite shaking and heart pounding, and suddenly I became so angry at that kid and his parents that I wanted to turn around and go scream at them. Because he was at least ten, probably older because kids seem so much tinier than we were, and I always think they're younger than they are, but in any case he was plenty old enough to KNOW THAT HE IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK BEFORE CROSSING THE STREET, whether on foot or on a bike or scooter or WHATEVER. In an instant, he could have ruined his life, his family's lives, and my life.

Once I got a little past the initial anger, the best part set in: the thankfulness. And the first thing I thought was, "Well Done, Car!" I had slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel hard, turning like 80 degrees to the left, and my car handled it like a pro. As though this was small potatoes compared to all the test courses it used to play on when it was a young punk. My car was all, "What, that?  That was nothing! I got tricks you ain't seen, Woman!" Man, those tires gripped the road, and that car knew what it needed to do. It knew what had to be done, and it did it like it was nothing. And no lives were ruined.  So thanks, Car. I owe you one.


May 31, 2006

Dumbledore says, “I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment, but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness.”  


Who out there is suffering from Harry Potter withdrawal?  Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? 

Well, I know I’m not alone.  Do you know what’s the quickest fix for the ol’ “When in Fawkes’ name is the seventh book coming out already?”  blues? That’s right!  A delicious glass of butterbeer!  I have created a recipe that combines the mystery and excitement of Hogwarts with the comfort and cameraderie of the Three Broomsticks — yet contains neither butter nor beer.  Here it is:

One part vanilla vodka

One part ginger ale

Pour over ice in a martini shaker

Hold tightly and shake gently over the sink until the fizziness causes the shaker lid to pop

Strain into frosty martini glasses

Garnish with a thin twist of lemon.

If you don’t have a shaker or martini glasses, you can serve on the rocks, in barrel-shaped beer mugs, of course. 


“And now Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.”  — Albus Dumbledore

Sun and Fun

May 30, 2006

Yay! It finally feels like Southern California.  Jeff and I ushered in the gorgeous weather by spending Memorial Day weekend with his family, along with lots of friends, in Laguna Beach for their annual wine-tasting party.  The weather was perfect, and good times were had by all.  Click on my Flickr badge over on the left side of this page for a photo diary of fun!

P.S.  Eric is sending me photos from his camera, many of which I took after my battery died.  They are pure awesomeness, so be sure to check the photo album later for some new additions.

Update: Check out Eric's blog to see his photo diary of the weekend, and go visit his Flickr page for "deleted scenes." Just be warned, some of the pictures of me in both locales will give you a good laugh at my expense!  


May 24, 2006

I have discovered the best blog on the internet:  I am openly jealous and angry that I didn't think of this first!  The women who write this are geniuses and deserve major awards and lots of money.

Loving and Hating — May Edition

May 24, 2006


That I get Friday and Monday off for Memorial Day, and my friends Dan and Rachel will be in town for the weekend, and we're all going to Laguna for sun and fun! 


I forgot to get tickets to the Fiona Apple / Damien Rice show when they went on sale, and of course they're sold out!  I've never seen Fiona Apple, but I really, really want to!  How could I have done that!?


I did NOT forget to get tickets to the Flaming Lips at the Hollywood Bowl, and can't WAIT for that show!


That my movie star next-door neighbor Tim Olyphant moved away, and the whole time he lived next door I wanted to strike up a conversation about his work, which is great, but I had only seen him on Sex and the City and Scream 2 and felt dumb being like, "Oh, I saw you on an old rerun of Sex and the City from 1998, you were great," when meanwhile he had done tons of other stuff I hadn't seen, and I couldn't watch Deadwood b/c we didn't get HBO.  Now he's on the radio every day calling in and doing the sports report, and I wish I could say, "Hey, I listen to you on 103.1 on my way to work. You're hilarious!" But I can't, because he has moved away.


That (fingers crossed and knocking on wood) Spring seems to have finally arrived, and the chilly, gray weather is giving way to sunshine.  About time!

Why Did I Do That?

May 23, 2006

Why did I buy only one set of curtains from Ikea? I have two windows. Now I have one window with adorable red curtains and one with ugly white blinds. I think when I bought the curtains and they came in a pack of two, I was thinking, "Oh, two curtains. One for each window!" Wrong.

I recently went back to Ikea and decided I had better get a second set for the other window. But I couldn't, because they didn't have them! They've discontinued them! NOW what am I supposed to do!?

As Annie would say, "Well, Shoot a Monkey."

Here is my cute window:


And Here is the ugly one:


Notice how the ugly one is so ugly that day becomes night!  Next time I'll be sure to get two sets of curtains.

P.S. That calendar in the first picture is a miniature pinscher calendar I got at the 99-cent store.  It's a 2005 calendar.  The fact that it will probably hang there through 2006 and possibly well into 2007 is further evidence of my olympic-level procrastination skills.  Yesss!

P.P.S. I do not live deep in a forest, despite photographic evidence to the contrary.

In Which She Threw Her Judgements Out the Window and Enjoyed the Ride

May 19, 2006

Shortly after Jeff and I started dating, we were driving down the road and spotted a guy in a Porsche.  "What do you think of those?" asked Jeff.

"What, the Porsche? Gross."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, I don't know, I just always think of guys in Porsches as old dudes having midlife crises, or cheesy guys trying to compensate for something."

"Like what?"

"Um, you know, short man's complex, small penis, whatever."

"Really?  What if I drove one?  Would you be embarrassed to ride with me?"

"Um, Yes!  They're so cheesy and lame!  They're so cliched, it's ridiculous!  Whenever I see a guy in a Porsche I assume he's an arrogant asshole who's trying to cover up some insecurity!"

"Well, what about the older ones, like the 80s ones?"

"Gross, those are the worst of all!  It's a guy in a white leisure suit and wrap-around shades, with some dumb vanity plate that says 'Smokin'' or 'So cool.'"

Do you see how he led me into this trap?  How he asked me those loaded questions, so that three weeks later when I visited his parents' house for the first time and saw in the driveway not one but two, yes: two Porsches, one shiny new one and one that was smack dab out of the mid-80s, can you see how I could feel a little bit like sticking my foot in my mouth? 

Evil. Just evil. 

I was reminded of this lovely milestone in our relationship the other night when he, Eric, Mike, and I piled into the 80s Porsche to go get some dinner.  He's borrowing it while his car is getting some routine maintenance. And I have to admit.  It was fun, DESPITE that while in the front seat my life continuously flashed before my eyes the whole time, since Jeff was pealing around on the street like a cheetah out of hell, and on the return trip I sat in the back seat with Eric, a seat that was so tiny even my tiny butt didn't fit all the way back in it, and my head now rests at a permanent ninety-degree angle on my neck. But anyway, no, I have to admit: it's really, really, cute, yet also masculine, just like Jeff — heehee!  And riding in it is fun, especially when we blast 80s tunes and wear sunglasses at night. 


So I can change my mind, and admit when I'm wrong and have wrongly judged a person, place, or car.  See?  Live and learn, my friends. Live and learn.

Oh, and P.S. Now they have three.


May 17, 2006

Yesterday I was wishing they made hybrid Subarus, because I really want a Subaru, and gas prices ain't gettin' any cheaper.  $3.49 a gallon I paid last time, people. $3.49! 

You may think it's dorky that I really, really badly want a Subaru, that it is in fact my dream car, but I've got news for you: I'm a dork.  And once you drive one, you might want one, too.  I've rented two of them on two separate occasions, and both were unbelievably zippy and fun to drive, and the second one was an Outback, which Jeff and I drove up to Big Bear for some skiing, and that one was the most amazing piece of machinery ever created.  Not only was it zippy, as expected, it was roomy without being huge, perfect for our ski/snowboard equipment, its all-wheel drive hugged the road so completely that we didn't even notice there was snow and a thick layer of ice on the road, AND IT HAD HEATED SEATS!  And yes, I just shouted that, because it needed to be heard.  I had never experienced heated seats before then, but boy, oh boy, I don't think I can ever drive in cold weather again without them.  It was just amazing to come in from the snow, sit down, and almost immediately have a warm butt! 

A couple years ago in Raleigh, North Carolina, where my sister April and brother-in-law Steve live, they had a ridiculous snowstorm, and both of them got stranded on their way home from work, cars stuck in snow up to here.  Steve was able to walk home, but April was wearing a skirt and heels, and kept slipping and sliding all cartoon-style, arms flailing about, complete with the sound effects like in Scooby Doo, where they run in place a couple seconds before taking off, like, "Blupety blupety blupe!"  OK, I kind of made that last part up, but I imagine that's close to what it looked like.  I didn't get the details, so it could be true.  Anyway, she clearly was in no position to hike it the mile or so home, so what could she do, but accept a ride from a huge black dude in a pimped out Escalade?  So she did, except that although she was quite close to her house, he said, "Well, I have to go pick up my son from school first," and proceeded in the opposite direction, at which point she began to hyperventilate. Because any time you're in a large, male stranger's car, and it's a somewhat rural area, definitely not urban, certainly not a lot of people around, and it's a snowstorm, and you can't run because you're wearing a skirt and heels and already experienced the cartoon pratfalls, as we discussed — Any time you're in that situation, and the large, male stranger starts to drive in the opposite direction of where you thought you were going — well, you start to panic.  And panic she did, in the form of hyperventilation. He was like, "Um, Are you OK?" And she was like, "Ehhhhhh…"  but as it happened, he indeed picked up his son and then drove her home, safe and sound, and because he drove a 4-wheel drive vehicle had no trouble gliding over the icy, snowy mess.

Immediately the very next week, as soon as Steve was able to dig his truck (which did not have 4-wheel drive, which, if you ask me, is so dumb for trucks to come in 2-wheel drive) out of the snow, he traded it in for a blue Subaru Impreza Outback, affectionately called the "Blubaru." This is not to be confused with my usual blingo, which takes the "bl" from the word "blog."  No, there is no such thing as a "blog Subaru," although I can only imagine how amazing that would be.  This time it refers to "Blue Subaru."  What's cute is that Steve drives the Blubaru, and April drives Rhonda, the Red Honda.  Yes, my sister is a genius.  It runs in the family, in fact.

Coincidentally, both Subarus I have rented have also been blubarus, leading me to the only logical conclusion: I am destined to own one, and it must be blue.

And last night, after wishing for a hybrid Subaru, I had a dream that one already existed, and I was about to buy it.  I was test driving my own Hyblubaru, or Blubarybrid (take your pick).  And life was good.

Is It Opposite Day?

May 16, 2006

I saw this sign in the cafe downstairs in my office building.  "Mmmm," I thought. "I would like some hot, fresh soup!" 


Then I looked at the soup.



Babies vs. Puppies

May 12, 2006

This is it.  The most pressing question of all time:  Which is cuter: Babies or Puppies? Personally, I tend to go back and forth, but have historically leaned toward puppies.  When I see an extra cute puppy, for example, my voice involuntarily rises approximately two octaves, and squeaking sounds emit from my throat that are so high-pitched, only said puppy can hear them.  This does not usually happen with babies to such an extent.  However, as soon as I'm confident about puppies' spot in first place, along comes an extra-cute baby to make me re-think things.  So, I've decided to let you, the Internet, help me decide.  I present here several pieces of evidence, from both sides of the argument. 

 First, I present to you Exhibit A:  Willie.  Willie is Jeff's little sister Sage's dog, and… well, I think the evidence speaks for itself:


OK. Pretty cute, right?  That's one for the puppies.  But… and I have to say, this next picture is going to put babies in a clear lead.  Here it comes… May I present: Gareth!

 LittleTiger 005_small.jpg

On cue now: "Awwwwwwww!" Gareth is my co-workers Julie & Cliff's baby — the one I bought an adorable dress for when I thought he was going to be a girl.  Julie brings him around every morning when she leaves work and Cliff arrives, and each day I try to trick her into leaving without him so I can play with him all day. "Quick! Julie, Fire Alarm! Save yourself; I'll take the baby.  You don't hear anything?  Weird.  Anyway, RUN! RUN!" or "Gareth?  Um, Nooooo, this is my baby.  I brought him today.  What's that?  Looks a lot like Gareth?  Yes, that is quite a coincidence, isn't it?  Oh, I think I may have seen your baby out in your car, or at your house.  Maybe you should go look there.  You really shouldn't leave a baby alone — you should know that, Julie.  Hurry up, now, Go!"

It has yet to work, but I am far from giving up.

So: It's one to one.  Puppies and babies are neck and neck. 

Ladies and Gentlemen: Professor Chips. 


P. Chips is the English Bulldog puppy Jeff had for two days before the breeder called crying, wanting him back because she had fallen in love with him.  Because he is the cutest creature ever to have walked the earth.  Damn.  Looking back, I realize it was probably a good thing Jeff gave him back, for both of us.  Not only was Prof. Chips the biggest cock-blocker ever ("Jeff who?  GIIIIVVE MEEEEE PUUUPPPPYYYYYYY"), he was so soft and cute he literally gave me a headache.  So… Puppies again take the lead.  But…. wait until you get a load of this:


Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!  My ovaries are exploding!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I must begin procreating NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  The world needs more cute things like this!  I must gobble her up!  I must consume this baby at once, with butter and a glass of milk! 

Ah… pant, pant, leaning against wall for support, catching breath…. ahem… OK, this is Elanor, the daughter of my lovely friend Joanna.  Elanor is one baby who can give Professor Chips a damn good run for his money.  Can you even picture this baby and that puppy in the same room together?  I can't.  I think Earth would be sucked into a black hole, there would be such a concentration of cuteness in one area, and the imbalance would cause the end of the universe and all matter.  So basically we have concluded… nothing.  Babies and puppies are still tied.  They're two for two. 


It looks as though for the time being, at least, babies outshine puppies.  Click on this link here and crank up the sound.  And don't say I didn't warn you.

Case closed…. for now.

Aw, Man

May 10, 2006

I just re-read that post about Bankruptcy Barry and got really embarrassed.  I can’t believe I even dreamed that!  It’s so dumb!  Man!  Then, since I feel the need to prove my retardation to any and all who may not already be convinced, I have to go and tell the internet.  Can you believe I dreamed something so dumb? And not only did I just dream it and leave it at that, I wrote it down — well, actually, recorded it on my phone — I wish you could hear it because it sounds even worse in my half-asleep voice, and I actually raised my voice up a half octave or so to do the voice of Barry.  See, there I go again, wanting to show the internet my most embarrassing characteristics.  Good thing I’m not looking for a boyfriend.