Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2007 April
2007 January
2006 December
2006 November
2006 October
2006 September
2006 August
2006 July
2006 June
2006 May
2006 April
2006 March
2006 February
2006 January
2005 December
2005 November
2005 October
2005 September
2005 August
2005 July
2005 June
2005 May
2005 April
2005 March
2005 February
2005 January
2004 November
2004 October
2004 September
2004 August
2004 July
2004 June
2004 May
2004 April
2004 March
2004 February
2004 January
2003 December
2003 November
My Links
Bobby Joe
Daft and Demented
AESav - AE's new home
Joolieblog II
Krazedone's Blog
Irishred (aka ApplesnOranges)
Andaloo
Sillygrrl
Crap Pix - Really
Briggsy
Anagamesx's Blog
Susan of Pudlin and the "Puds"
Fotocali on tblog
Fark all day - you know you want to
Lynne (aka ThingsIKnow)
Big Doral
Mark's Life
Flaring and her Fish that were once Fry
Ladyblog
Tenkin - not to be forgotten
Hhunter's Blog
The Original Natblog
Nattoons's Blog
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
|
| Laundromat |
| 05.31.04 (2:51 pm) [edit] |
Today I filled out one of those stupid polls that ask you absurd things like "If you were candy, what would you be?". The first thing that came to mind was "chocolated covered nut". Yeah, sounds about right. I'm in the laundry room at the back of my complex. It's 92 degrees and rising outside. The laundromat, of course, is a fiery 98 degrees according to the thermometer by the door. Nice. I've got three loads of laundry going now and I'm filling out this poll from my junk mail to pass the time between wash and rinse cycles. At the end of the poll, I realize that in order to get any meaning from the results, I will need to mail the form in and pay my own postage. F**k that. I rip up the form and toss it into the garbage. There's 5 minutes of my life I want back. What life? I'm hurrying to get my laundry done so I can rush back to an apartment the size of a large garden shed to a sink full of dishes, a bathtub with moldy tile grout and two DVDs that I have been unable to bring myself to watch since I rented them 10 days ago.
Anne's in London now, I think. Should be in France by the weekend. She will celebrate D-Day with the veterans. Here I am on Memorial Day doing laundry - capping off one of the most mundane and dreary weekends ever. I check washer #1 and realize it's still a few minutes away from needing fabric softener. I step outside onto the relatively cooler veranda of the laundromat. I tilt my head to the right allowing the subtle warm breeze to plant kisses on my neck and left ear. I close my eyes and try to imagine I'm on the North Pole or some place chilly. It's not working. The wind dies and is replaced with what feels like a wall of sweat. It's humid now and my once poofy hair is sticking to my scalp, damp and lifeless. I go back inside, washer # 1 needs fabric softener. I wait for the light to come on for washer #2 and add fabric softener. Washer #3 is retarded and will probably take another 10 minutes to catch up. I can hear it groaning and struggling with the 3 towels and sheet set I placed in it.
I go back outside to see if I can catch some more of that breeze. Instead I am left frozen and speechless by what I see across from me. Across a small grassy area from the laundromat is an apartment building. On the lower back patio, a man sits on a deck chair with his back facing me, cigarette in right hand while his left hand is pulling and shaking something in front of him. He's trembling and convulsing in excitement. There is no doubt in my mind that this apparently grown man is w**king off on his patio in broad daylight in clear view of anyone passing by the laundromat. I turn away in disgust. I wonder if he knew I would be watching. Why do that on your patio and not in your bedroom or livingroom couch? He wanted to be seen but had done one decent thing in turning his back. Was it really for decency, or did he want an observer to feel guilty? I didn't spend another second trying to figure out the Pervert on the Patio. I felt it was too hot and I was too tired to become annoyed or aggravated. I went back inside.
Washer #3 finally needed fabric softner. I empty the first two washers and set the clothes to dry on Permanent Press. My work here is almost done. If only washer #3 would move its lazy ass. The light for the final spin comes on. I pace the laundromat. I'm alone, so I can act like a complete lunatic. I glare at the washer as if that would make it finish faster. I'm tempted to kick it when I notice that someone has removed all the graffiti that had previously been all over the washers. Somewhere in Austin, a wanna-be gangbanger is heartbroken. Future customers will not see his lame-ass symbol and know to fear him. Whatever. Finally, bi-otch! Washer #3 is done. I empty it's contents into the dryers, set them and head off. Pervert on the Patio is nowhere in sight. I head to my little apartment with air conditioning and look forward to a tall glass of pink lemonade.
Next year, may be Memorial Day will be different. May be I'll do laundry for the veterans.
|
|
10 Comments
|
| |
| Sunday Night Fever |
| 05.30.04 (10:06 pm) [edit] |
Inhale.
Sad, bored, anxious.
Restless, burdened, scared.
Numb, confused, detached.
Exhale.
Feelings still there.
Monkey weighs on shoulder.
Albatross strangling neck.
Inhale.
Leave me alone.
No, don't leave me alone.
I want to be alone but not really.
Exhale.
It's too quiet.
I can hear the pounding.
My head and my heart crack open.
Holds breath.
There is no fork in the road.
No choice to be made.
I see a brick wall.
Gasp. Sigh. Sleep.
Dreams to be forgotten.
Escape the cage.
Slay the dragon.
Awake. Sigh.
Disappointment.
|
|
4 Comments
|
| |
| Hush |
| 05.28.04 (1:48 pm) [edit] |
It's 2 am in the morning and I am trying to sleep. I've been awakened by noises outside my apartment. I look out my window and see my neighbor sitting on the front porch chatting to some guy. "Why is this conversation taking place outside? It's f**king 2 AM!!"
I hear whispering and whimpering. I can't hear much of what is being said but the conversation seems animated and unfriendly. I'm sitting at the edge of my bed now. I stretch. I look at myself in the mirror in the dark. I'm only wearing a tank top and I have rollers in my hair (I've just permed it). I am loathe to go outside and say anything. I figure I'll just wait it out.
I lie down on the bed and place a pillow over my head. The whispering has turned into grunting. Apparently my neighbor has had enough of her boyfriend's excuses. I still don't know what is being said but I make out "It's over" and "You have choices. You always have choices. This is your fault."
At this point, I hate both of them for keeping me awake. I hate them for taking what should be a private conversation outside. I mean, they're frickin' sitting down with their legs up as if they have no intention of this being over anytime soon. I could have understood it if she didn't want him to come in because she was worried about his reaction and her safety, but make it snappy WOMAN!! As I am contemplating sticking my rollered up head outside and saying "Shhhh," I hear blubbering and the cracked voice of a man begging.
"I love you."
"Don't do this."
"I'm sorry."
He's crying now. The guy is frickin' crying and getting louder as he pleads his case. I don't know what he's done wrong. Frankly, I don't care. I hate to hear a grown man cry. I retreat from the front door. This would be the worst moment for me to interject. He would be humiliated and I didn't want to see his face full of fresh tears. I go back to bed and lie down and replace the pillow over my head. There's a lull in the blubbering. Suddenly she screams, "You're still married!"
WHAT THE F**K?! I remind myself this is none of my business but it is my business that these inconsiderate people are keeping me awake. I go to the bathroom to take a leak and upon my return I hear him crying again. He sounds absolutely devastated and she sounds cold and determined. Suddenly I have hope that the conversation is over. "This is it," I think to myself.
Wrong. The garbled arguing goes on for another 15 minutes. I get the grand idea of turning all the lights on in my apartment and I slam my bedroom door. It works. The two retreat to her apartment where I assume that they continued to argue.
I'm woken up again at about 3:15 am when he leaves and slams the front door, shaking the entire building. Assholes.
|
|
5 Comments
|
| |
| I Did It |
| 05.27.04 (2:50 pm) [edit] |
Well, actually, I've almost done it. I still have a tiny stack of medical bills to file away and then I am F.I.N.I.S.H.E.D. with my version of "Clean Sweep" (a.k.a "The Life Laundry" for my friends across the pond). I've filled the new storage containers but not to the brim. The self-improvement shows suggest leaving some breathing room. This meant that I had to get rid of about 80% of my papers lying around. I finished shredding at about 9:30pm last night. I went through 12 shoe boxes, 2 Rubbermaid containers and 10 manila folders. My shredder is still smoking.
A dear reader suggested that I should stop buying shoes so that I wouldn't have shoe boxes to stuff which would force me to deal with things as they come in. To that dear reader - terribly sorry but I cannot close down Nat's Shelter for Homeless Designer Shoes. The shelter's doors must always remain open. Who knows when tragedy may befall some poor Nine West Boots or Kate Spade sling-backs, who find themselves on the chopping block at almost 60% off at Nieman Marcus. Must I turn a blind eye in their moment of need and my moment of greed? I think not.
Ummm....on second thought, given my current financial situation, I think yes.
|
|
6 Comments
|
| |
| Clean Sweep |
| 05.26.04 (12:31 pm) [edit] |
Right at this exact moment, my living room looks like the site of a natural disaster. As Mal put it, Hurricane Nat has passed through. Yesterday, after the Fast One and I went furniture shopping we ended up at Bed Bath and Beyond and I picked up a few storage containers. When I tried to decide what to put in the storage containers I realized that I had way too much junk. I'm not a hoarder of precious little trinkets or antiques or porcelain statuettes or Toby Jugs or anything of value. I don't even collect junky-junk like string and paper clips. My problem is that I hold on to receipts, invoices, financial statements, utility bills, post it notes, to-do lists, coupons, airline vouchers, ticket stubs to the cinema, museums or concerts, 5 year old bus schedules, maps, articles, magazine clippings, etc. Basically, I hoard paper.
My intention is always to shred my receipts, old invoices and bills at the end of the week. So I get home and empty my purse and pockets into a box next to the shredder. Thing is I never get around to shredding, so 2 years passes and I have over a dozen shoe boxes worth of stuff to shred under my bed, my couch and my dining table. In these shoe boxes are pieces of paper that could account for every hour of my life for the past 2-3 years. For me, this was a frightening realization. I am all for scrap-booking but this is ridiculous.
Bringing the storage boxes home has forced me to deal with the shoe boxes and decide what I should keep. I found myself laughing at some of the things I have bought or saved. I have several items of clothing with the tags still on them in the closet with the receipt saved in a shoe box with the intent of returning them. Wouldn't be so bad if they were nice pieces of clothing. All but one of them is seriously revolting. Never buy skorts. Never. Never buy skorts in a loud floral print. Never. Never buy skorts in a loud floral print with pleats in the front. Never ever. Also, never by chunky loafers that are tight across the toes figuring you'll wear them in and then never actually wear them in. Never ever.
[image]dangerkitty_197511 934.gif[/image]
|
|
14 Comments
|
| |
| JACK 2004 Update |
| 05.25.04 (5:58 pm) [edit] |
Captain Jack Sparrow, the National Pirate Party Presidential nominee has endorsed Cock-eyed Bugger's Health Care Bill for Seniors - affectionately known as "The Walk the Plank Act". Cock-eyed Bugger's health care bill will be under consideration in the Senate later this week. Captain Jack said that if the bill fails to pass this summer he will re-introduce the bill should he be elected President. The Walk the Plank Act specifically states that doctors, lawyers, insurance agents and hospital workers who exploit, overcharge and mistreat seniors should be made to walk the plank with a large cannon ball strapped to their ankles. Jack said the bill was very personal to him. His foster mother, Cecilia Bucktooth the Old Sea Hag, was humiliated in a nursing home recently when one of the orderlies confiscated her rum and cognac, given to her as a Mother's Day gift by Jack, because of drug interactions. The orderly was later found sharing the liquor with the rest of the staff in the nursing home basement while the residents were screaming for their bed pans to be changed and the TV channel changed to A&E so they could watch Murder She Wrote. "We missed the whole bloody prologue and were completely lost for the remainder of the episode!" complained Ms. Bucktooth. Captain Jack was heard to say that it should be against the law in the first place to produce pharmaceuticals that interact with a person's alcohol consumption. "Nothing should come between a man and his pint o' grog!"
As a result, the American Association of Retired Pirates, AARP (II), has given Captain Jack their official endorsement. Crusty Backside Bobby, AARP president, made the announcement this morning at a press conference held at the Jolly Roger retirement home in Florida. "Do you know the probability of a pirate at age 16 reaching the age of 65? Um...well nobody really knows but I'm sure it's smaller than the probability that Hugh Heffner doesn't take viagra. Pirates live very dangerous and harsh lives and those that live long enough to be retired should be treated with respect and dignity."
![Tired of two-faced candidates? Vote for me. I'm ALL PIRATE!!]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
Scroll over image for a special message from Captain Jack
|
|
2 Comments
|
| |
| It's about Frickin' Time |
| 05.24.04 (11:54 am) [edit] |
In the tradition of Naked Gun, Loaded Weapon, Scary Movie, Austin Powers, Kids in the Hall and South Park comes the latest in the spoof genre - the WB's Superstar USA. Everything under the sun has been spoofed - the spy films, the cop dramas, teen horror films. Now it's Reality TV's turn. I say, "It's about frickin' time!"
The show is an obvious spoof of American/Pop/[insert the name of your country] Idol. Idol selects contestants from all over the [respective] country based on singing talent. So does Superstar. Idol has three judges with music industry connections including one former pop diva and a black guy who likes to say "Dawg" and "Aiiight". So does Superstar. Hundreds of thousands of people audition - even those who should know better. On idol, contestants must have singing talent and star quality and there in lies the difference. On Superstar "only the bad survive." Contestants must not only be untalented, God-awful and tone-deaf, they must also believe that they are absofrickin' fabulous. The judges praise the "William Hungs" and insult and utterly reject anyone with an ounce of talent.
The show is funny and sad all at the same time. It's hard to watch people with obvious talent being rejected and scarred for life while watching individuals who were in the crapper when God handed out vocal skills be told that they are simply awesome. It's a grand hoax and in the end the winner will be crowned as the worst singer in America. One of the contestands, this scrawny guy in a striped sweater danced and wriggled while belting out the worst rendition of cat's f**king I have ever heard. The "Simon Cowell" type judge immediately picked up his cell phone and said, "Call 911. I think ***** has stolen the show." I fell onto the floor laughing and convulsing. Cat f**ker is in for a rude awakening.
Contestants are treated like celebrities and not allowed to hear each other sing in order to keep the hoax a secret. After watching the first two episodes this weekend on the WB, I was hooked. The show re-airs pretty often and the new episodes air on Mondays at 9pm ET.
For those of you who couldn't understand the William Hung phenomenon, this show is revenge.
|
|
24 Comments
|
| |
| You must first walk a mile in another man's boots... |
| 05.24.04 (10:52 am) [edit] |
Just a few weeks before the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, a WWII paratrooper enthusiast prepares for her own invasion of Normandy. AE (a.k.a Ayn Rant) is heading to France for the anniversary. Read her tale of courage and conquest over a particularly uncomfortable pair of Corcoran™ Jump Boots.
Ayn Rant Spends more than $15 on Shoes - The True Story
I have to ask, where are her priorities? $15, God damn! I've spent more on flip flops.
Also, I know I am probably offending some by making comparisons between Anne's "suffering" and that of our awesome GI's in the Second World War. Anybody who knows me, knows that I have a great deal of respect for the men who fought, those who died, and the veterans.
And now for something completely irrelevant:
Apparently this is one of "God's" favorite phrases (Ayn works for "God" and he is always looking over her shoulder, making sure she is not wasting time on the internet while doing "God's" work):
Qui habitant in inferno aquam volunt.
"And people in hell want icewater"
|
|
0 Comments
|
| |
| I just want you to know who I am |
| 05.23.04 (10:54 am) [edit] |
I listen to the chorus from the Goo Goo Doll's Iris and I'm slightly annoyed at the fact that these words will play over and over in my head for at least two weeks, coloring every experience and covering every sunny sky with dark rain clouds. I love the song, but I hate the feeling of longing it leaves me with. It's kind of like the feeling you get after watching The Hours. You only watch it again because you want to cry, you want to force tears that won't come. It's like Dulcolax or stool-softener for the emotionally constipated. Some songs and movies leave me gutted, but then it's so much easier to sleep after a good cry. I'm not one of those who is only happy when it rains. Still, just as I go insane when it rains every day for 2 weeks, I cannot tolerate 2 weeks of brilliant sunshine. What I am trying to say is that I need balance. A world without rain is a barren place, which would explain the barren space between Jessica Simpson's ears.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking God to shower me with baseball/cricket ball-sized hail storms or for a freakin' tornado to come in and rip my family apart. I just think I'd have taken the good times on the beach building sand castles and watching my Dad walk around on his hands when I was little for granted if I hadn't been hospitalized for a bad allergic reaction to penicillin the week before. Just as hunger makes the best sauce, good times are even sweeter after a period of suffering. Not that I'm into that self-inflicted suffering. You'll never catch me placing my hand on the stove burner or cutting myself with a razor. I never understood why people did that until I caught my little cousin burning herself with matches. She said she was feeling so numb and had so much emotion to get out that she felt this was the only way.
This made me realize the importance of being able to cry. Not on cue like some soap opera diva. I mean when you need to release some toxic feelings. Laughing is awesome. I laugh often and easily. They say laughter is the best medicine. Wouldn't be surprised if the same could be said for crying and screaming.
This shameless attempt at evoking emotion is brought to you by:
Mountaint Dew
The Official Softdrink of Natblog
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
Rick drinks Mountain Dew. So should you!
Do the Dew!
|
|
13 Comments
|
| |
| The Official Link of Natblog |
| 05.22.04 (2:43 pm) [edit] |
Thank you KRAZEDONE for making this link image for me. I only wish I looked that hot! MEOW!!! It's just awesome. Thanks also for the little Mountain Dew GIF.
I have such wonderful friends around me that send me images all the time, so I want to tell them how much I appreciate them as well. Mal, thank you for all of the Captain Jack Campaign and Mountain Dew images. Joolie and A-M thank you for the steady supply of Brit-hottie porn, especially Sean Bean and Colin Farrell, and the oh-so-cute pics of kittens. I'm a sucker for cute kittens. AE, you just keep doing what you do - all those crazy images from Fark.com and SomethingAwful.com and the occasional photoshop project that keep me in stitches for days.
|
|
2 Comments
|
| |
| Microwave Head vs. Monkey on Crack |
| 05.22.04 (1:53 pm) [edit] |
AE and I have always shared similar tastes in men's personalities and physical features. We also share a hatred for Tom Cruise (Joolie hates him too). We both think kwurk (a.k.a. crapXpix) has an awesome sense of humor. However, I have noticed that when it comes to the physical appearances of certain men (Microwave Head and Monkey on Crack, for example) we have seriously diverging opinions. One of us thinks that Microwave Head is dead sexy while the other would rather be dead than have sex with him. Similarly, one of us thinks that Monkey on Crack is adorable while the other thinks he looks sad and has a crappy hair cut. I leave you to discover who thinks what.
Much arguing over the merits of these men has taken place over the last few months since we became aware of their existence. Mind you, both men are happily attached to women who are not us and neither of us thinks that we have a chance in hell of meeting them. Still, the debate continues on an almost a daily basis.
"How can you like that freakish-headed Irish actor?"
"What on earth do you see in that whiny film director?"
"His head is not boxy, it's just impressive."
"He's not that whiny!"
"He sounds nasal!"
"He takes weeks to answer an email!"
"He's f**king Norman Dike!"
"He probably weighs 10 lbs less than you do!" (Ok. No one actually said this, but I know she has thought of it!)
Peace was restored recently by our mutual lust for Eric Bana. See, it just takes one irresistably hot man to remind us of why we became friends in the first place (see Rick Warden). Well as a seemingly wise man once wrote to me "opinions are like assholes, everybody's got one."
Now you be the judges. Who do you love?
![Please do not turn on the microwave. Mr. O'Meara's head is in the microwave for illustrative purposes.]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...![Mr. Wright's actual appearance is unknown. He is rumored to have droopy breasts and a small...]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
Please scroll over each photo for a fuller description.
|
|
10 Comments
|
| |
| Welcome Back |
| 05.21.04 (5:01 pm) [edit] |
I missed you. Did you miss me?
Stuck in the Middle with You
Here I am, baby. Come on take me. Take me by the hand. Here I am, baby. Come on take me. Take me as I am.
Weird dream lastnight. Haven't had one of those in a while. I blame the large lump on my head (no, I am not refering to my nose). Before going to bed lastnight I decided to check my email and surf the web for a bit. Tblog was still down so I didn't stay on long. Just as I was logging off I leaned back in my chair. It's one of those office chairs on casters. Well, I leaned back too far and the wheels slipped forward hurling me back into the glass windows of my sliding doors. There was a two second pause where everything seemed to stand still and I thought for a minute I could regain my balance but alas, I hit the back of my head and bruised my legs on the arms on the chair. I was afraid that I would break the glass with my rather large and tough head but I didn't.
Glass door 1 - Nat's head 0.
I had a royal headache and I had to strap an ice-pack on my left thigh to reduce the swelling. I took some vicodin I had left over from the time I fell off a chair changing the batteries in my smoke detector. Yes, I am that clumsy. Anyway, my dream was weird. It started out with me in surgery. There were all these doctors and nurses running about frantically. Then I realized that I was the patient. Someone said, "We can't stop the bleeding." Then someone else said, "She's coding."
I watched in horror as they tried to revive me to no avail. I remember thinking to myself "Oh shit! I forgot to pay the cable bill." Apparently, I wanted to die with a perfect credit rating. I watched as they wheeled me out to the morgue, placed me on a cold metal slab and slid me into the "big fridge". It was dark and I was scared. I began to wonder "Where are the angels? Why am I still here?"
Suddenly, a light appeared by my feet and I had enough space to stand up. The light got bigger and brighter then changed colors. First it was bright yellow, then green, then blue, then purple and finally red. The light swallowed me up and I found myself standing on a gigantic red rose blossom. I was hardly the size of a petal. Then I heard this buzzing noise behind me. When I turned to look, I saw I gigantic bee staring at me. I screamed and crouched down to me knees.
"It's alright, Little One. I'm here to take you home."
I stared at the bee in disbelief. I could see in it's eyes that it wanted me to climb on it's back. I did and just like that it took off into the air. We rushed passed so many plants and flowers and the world just seemed like one big green carpet with the occasional speckle of red, yellow and violet.
I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. In my drugged up state, I half-expected it to be Eric Bana, calling to complain about my characterization of him as a heavy-drinking Australian sexaholic. I wish. Turned out to be bloody AT&T wanting to know if I'd like to switch my local phone service. Would love to have found out where the bee would have taken me.
UGH! My headache is back. Damn vicodin has worn off.
|
|
5 Comments
|
| |
| Open Letter |
| 05.18.04 (1:04 pm) [edit] |
Dear Mountain Dew Marketing Department,
I am a blogger. A blogger like no other. I blog to readers with discerning (weird) tastes. My brand of humor is sour and heavily caffeinated, just like your product. After a midnight phone call from a concerned relative, I discovered that someone like myself who suffers from random but mainly exercise-induced asthma attacks should always keep a steady supply of Mountain Dew in my refridgerator. After careful study and experimentation with your product I decided to become your unofficial spokesperson. You see, Mountain Dew is now the official softdrink of Natblog.
You're probably wondering what the f**k is Natblog and if this letter has been sent you by an overly medicated lunatic. You would be right on the latter matter. Natblog is my blog - the official blog of the Natster, Little B in the City, The D-Kitty from Yonder, the Desert Rose in Prose....I could go on but I think I have convinced you of my insanity successfully.
I must caution you however from comparing me with the likes of Mr. Wendy, the unofficial and much maligned spokesperson for Wendy's. Mr. Wendy is crap. Mr. Wendy could not inspire a dog to pee on a fire hydrant much less inspire people to buy cheese burgers from Wendy's. I on the other hand, inspire thirst. My dry wit has cracked many a throat. I have left many of my readers thirsting for arsenic pills and rat poison - two ingredients rumored to be in your product.
I hope that I have convinced you that an association with Natblog is not only worthwhile but could be extremely profitable for both of us. So please tell your lawyers that there is no need to have me deported.
Sincerely,
the Natster, Little B in the City, The D-Kitty from Yonder, the Desert Rose in Prose...
![MAL - YOU ROCK!!]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
Image provided by Daft and Demented: Mal Uncensored.
|
|
8 Comments
|
| |
| Eric Bana and Sean Bean Interview |
| 05.18.04 (12:52 pm) [edit] |
After enjoying a few rounds of shots at this popular Irish pub on 6th Street, I headed for the restroom to splash some water on my face and to relieve my bladder which had been screaming at me for at least 45 minutes. On my way back from the ladies' room, I bumped into 2 men standing in line infront of the men's room. At first I was shocked that there was a line for the men's room. I mean that never happens. Women will queue up for 4 blocks to get to the restroom but the line for the guys is either unfairly short or the guys just find some space in the alley out back (as was said earlier - the world is their urinal). Then I recognized the two men. Sean Bean was leaning against the wall, his eyes glazed over and he had an impossibly wide grin on his face. Leaning on his shoulder, looking like he was about to pass out was Eric Bana, drunk as a skunk but still incredibly adorable. I told them the ladies' room was uncharacteristically empty, so if they couldn't wait to hurl, they could sneak in. Sean muttered something that sounded like a "thank you" in my direction and Eric lifted his head ever so slightly to look at me. I decided to take the opportunity to ask a few questions and may be get a phone number. They continued to mumble but they might as well have been speaking Latin. Here's what I asked them and the jist of what I think they were trying to say in Latin.
Nat Hi guys. Can I get some honest answers to some honest questions?
Sean In Vino Veritas
Translation: People say what they really mean when they are drunk
Nat Cool. So what are you guys celebrating tonight?
Eric Magister Mundi sum!
Translation: I am the Master of the Universe! ( Eric raised his hands and then slumped back onto Sean's shoulder)
Nat Yes you are. You are my Mr. Universe. Mmm mmm mmm mmm. (I wiped some drool from the corner of my mouth)
Sean Nihil est--in vita priore ego imperator Romanus fui.
Translation: That's nothing--in a previous life I was a Roman Emperor.
Eric Quo signo nata es?
Translation: What's your sign?
Nat Libra. Can I buy you two drinks?
Sean Corripe Cervisiam!
Translation: Seize the beer!
Nat Awesome.
Eric Da mihi sis cerevisiam dilutam.
Translation: I'll have a light beer.
Nat Anything else?
Eric How about a threesome?
Nat Oh my God! Now you can speak English.
Sean Illiud Latine dici non potest! (Sean laughed diabolically)
Translation: You can't say that in Latin!
(At this point Eric grabbed his crotch)
Eric Exegi monumentum aere perennius.
Translation: I have erected a monument more lasting than bronze (Both men erupted in laughter. Even I could not help but smile)
Sean Qui tacet consentit
Translation: Silence implies consent
Eric vademecum!
Translation: Go with me! (Eric grabbed my arm and nodded towards the exit)
Nat Sorry guys, I can't. As much as I'd love to, I'm hear with some friends, plus I've got a thing for this guy in Wales. You understand, don't you?
Eric Te precor dulcissime supplex!
Translation: Pretty please with a cherry on top!
Sean Wales? Fac me cocleario vomere!
Translation: Wales? Gag me with a spoon!
Nat Hey, there's no need to get rude. Please don't take it personally.
Eric Cave ne ante ullas catapultas ambules.
Translation: If I were you, I wouldn't walk in front of any catapults.
With that, I left the pub immediately and headed home looking over my shoulder constantly and looking out for well-hidden catapults. You never know.
|
|
2 Comments
|
| |
| SPAM-O-RAMA |
| 05.17.04 (2:04 pm) [edit] |
DISCLAIMER: The content of this spam message is solely the opinion of the unknown creator and does not reflect the opinions of Natblog and it's writer(s). Any resemblance of this message to that of Al Bundy or Homer Simpson is purely coincidental. Any copying, printing and transmitting of the following is strictly expected.
Why Men Are Just Happier People -
What do you expect from such simple creatures?
Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
Chocolate is just another snack.
You can be president.
You can never be pregnant.
You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
You can wear NO T-shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
The world is your urinal.
You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
Same work, more pay.
Wrinkles add character.
Wedding dress -- $5000. Tux rental -- $100.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them
The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
One mood-all the time.
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all your own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for three-pack.
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
You only have to shave your face and neck.
You can play with toys all your life.
Your belly usually hides your big hips.
One wallet and one pair of shoes one color for all seasons.
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
You can "do" your nails with a pocketknife.
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.
No wonder men are happier
|
|
6 Comments
|
| |
| So you're really gonna marry him? |
| 05.17.04 (12:47 pm) [edit] |
My friend's hen night/bachelorette party was Saturday. I had a good time and for the official record, we behaved ourselves. Honest - we swears! As I told the bride-to-be, what happens on 6th Street stays on 6th Street. This unfortunately means that I have absolutely nothing to blog about. I can't even tell you the list of things we made her do. I can only tell you that we did not ask her to do body shots or "crotch" shots or get her a lap dance or make her do karaoke. At the end of the day a bunch of us decided that from now on we would wear veils the next time we go down to 6th Street. Getting married gets you all sorts of freebies and men seem to have no inhibitions when it comes to fliring with almost-married women. The attitude seems to be "let me get a piece of her now before she's gone off the market forever." Hmmm, not that any of that happened to my friend - we swears!
They say Austin is one of the top cities for singles. Yeah, sure. It's a meat/meet-market, alright. My experience here hasn't been so positive. There's just too much competition and I'm not competitive by nature. I'm not your typical Desperately Seeking Someone and I don't like being aggressively pursued either. Aggressive men turn me off, which is probably why I hate the whole concept of the meet-market. Yeah, that's my excuse for being terminally single and I'm sticking to it.
Saturday, I think I saw both the good and bad of the male species - mostly good. I learned how sweet guys can be when they're head over heels. My married friends shared stories about their hubbies - the good and the bad. There were a lot of awwwwws and "that's so sweet." There were also a lot of "and you still married him?" Still, marriage seems like such a weird thing. So much work is involved on both sides. Yet, so many take the plunge, and thank God, else I wouldn't be here to write this.
|
|
10 Comments
|
| |
| I can't get you out of my head |
| 05.14.04 (5:13 pm) [edit] |
The Song (stuck in my head) of the day is
"Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" by the Police.
Please, Sting, stop singing "EEeeeoooo Oh!"
|
|
4 Comments
|
| |
| The Skinny on Men Who Cheat |
| 05.14.04 (1:11 pm) [edit] |
The results of a survey of cheating spouses suggests that men are more likely to cheat if their spouse is skinny. Sounds counter-intuitive. Hmmm...I have no idea how scientific the study is but it found that 64% of the men surveyed with wives size 12 and below admitted to cheating compared with 20% of men with wives above size 12. How much stock can you put in these articles you find on the internet anyway?
The survey was discussed on Fark.com where one poster said "Maybe it's because the men who are with these fattys can't get anyone else? Usually a man with a woman who is a size 16+ is just as unattractive as she is."
My response: W**KER!!
For more on this survey, click here. For the comments on Fark, click here.
Ever wonder who these guys are on Fark who trash women in the press and post nasty things when they hear that JLo and the like have cellulite on their asses? One brave and luverly Farker posted his photo:
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
|
|
14 Comments
|
| |
| McConvo II |
| 05.14.04 (11:25 am) [edit] |
Nat: Lunch with Giantsfan and Mr. Wonder Woman was weird
AESav: who's Mr. Wonder Woman?
Nat: Remember the photo of that guy from Halloween dressed as Wonder Woman - the red silk teddy and a blue speedo?
Nat: His name is [Mr. Wonder Woman].
AESav: Nope, I don't remember, but okay.
Nat: Anyway, the subject came up about what was best to wear in rainy humid weather - pants or shorts
Nat: then Giantsfan said neither. "Just go naked. Then all you have to do is towel off instead of waiting for your clothes to dry."
Nat: Then it went to "Wouldn't it be great if we could come to the office naked?"
Nat: I said I didn't want to see Giantsfan naked.
Nat: Giantsfan took offense
Nat: I told him it's not just him. I just don't like to see dangling ball sacks.
AESav: hahaha
Nat: Then they told me I was uptight and teased me mercilessly throughout lunch
Nat: Basically because I don't want to see Giantsfan's dangling ball sacks, I must be gay
Nat: Um...no
AESav: You should've really driven the point home that Giantsfan is icky.
AESav: ...and so is his ball sack.
Nat: I'm posting this by the way
Nat: this McConvo
AESav: k
Nat: to get revenge on Giantsfan
Nat: the names will be changed, of course so that Mr. Wonder Woman can keep his identity secret.
Nat: I mean there is a time and a place for naked ball sacks. The office is not one of them.
|
|
0 Comments
|
| |
| What is it with me and unavailable Men? |
| 05.13.04 (3:08 pm) [edit] |
There is only one reason I want to see Troy. Well two since I read Homer's epic in school, but the main reason...
Below: Eric Bana makes Brad Pitt and Orlando Bloom look like p***ies. Even Sean Bean cannot compare (sorry Joolie - Sharpe he is not here).
What was Sean Bean doing to his face in this photo? He's normally an attractive guy.
Photos sent by AE
|
|
10 Comments
|
| |
| Public Service Announcement |
| 05.13.04 (12:41 pm) [edit] |
Those of you who watched CSI recently will remember seeing this featured in an episode. My Aunt sent this email to me and at least 250 other miserable souls that happen to be in her "spam frequently" email folder. As far as I am concerned there is no good Spam, but this comes close. These pictures were taken somewhere in Austin, Texas.
Beware of Dummy ATM Attachments
We live in a world of high-tech thievery. These ingenius bastards have come up with ways to steal your ATM card number and your PIN number with you unknowingly helping them to do it.
In the first photo, the miserable c**t places a dummy card scanner attachment (a.k.a. skimmer) over the real one on the ATM machine. This card, scans your ATM card number, expiration date and the verification number.
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
The second photo demonstrates how difficult it is to recognize the skimmer as it is cleverly disguised to look like normal ATM equipment.
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
The third photo shows the f**king bastard placing a small wireless camera in a pamplet display and positioning to view the ATM display and keypad.
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
![]() =http://img38.photobucket.com/...
The camera records your PIN number as you type it in.
The team sits nearby in a car receiving the information transmitted wirelessly over weekends and evenings from equipment they install on the front of the ATM (see photos). The thieves copy the cards and use the PIN numbers to withdraw thousands from many accounts in a very short time directly from the bank ATM. The limited range of the wireless camera forces the a$$f**kers have to stay within a close range of the ATM. Chances are you are being observed from a distance. If you see an attachment like this, do not use the ATM and report it immediately to the bank using the 800 number or phone on the front of the ATM. Don't try to be a hero.
|
|
6 Comments
|
| |
| Here Comes The Rain Again |
| 05.12.04 (2:12 pm) [edit] |
I've got this song stuck in my head. The shuttle bus driver had it playing at top volume on his little radio. Now the only way to get rid of it is to sing (blog) it out loud. Come on everybody...put your hands together now!
Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion
I want to walk in the open wind
I want to talk like lovers do
I want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you
So baby talk to me
Like lovers do
Walk with me
Like lovers do
Talk to me
Like lovers do
Here comes the rain again
Raining in my head like a tragedy
Tearing me apart like a new emotion
Oooooh
I want to breathe in the open wind
I want to kiss like lovers do
I want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you
So baby talk to me
Like lovers do
Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion
(Here it comes again, here it comes again)
I want to walk in the open wind
I want to talk like lovers do
I want to dive into your ocean
Is it raining with you
Courtesy of the Eurythmics and Tony Baboni, the bus driver.
|
|
7 Comments
|
| |
| Spam |
| 05.12.04 (12:49 pm) [edit] |
Spam is more than just the canned meat of choice in England during World War II. Spam is the bain of my internet existence. Die Spam! Die! Someone please tell Matthew Lesko that I do not need to refinance my mortgage.
Here's another example of a spam email that has bounced around to me several times in the last 4+ years from well-meaning friends and relatives.
This email's history: First sent to me in March of 2000 by my Dad (which is why I remember). Received it again in Fall of 2000, then again in Spring 2001 from the same frickin' person (which is why I remember). Later when I wrote her an email asking not to be spammed in the future, our friendship ended and I have not heard from her since. Then a year past until my Mom got hold of it and sent it to my Aunt and I. My Aunt passed it on to my Uncle and I. I received it yet again from my Uncle later that week. Since then I have received it from my Godfather and my ex-boyfriend. For the record, this infraction is not the reason why he is my ex. There were other infractions which I shall not mention today. For now, let's just say that he does not look good in a skirt.
And now for the email that could not be denied:
If you woke up this morning
with more health than illness,
you are more blessed than the
million who won't survive the week.
If you have never experienced
the danger of battle,
the loneliness of imprisonment,
the agony of torture or
the pangs of starvation,
you are ahead of 20 million people
around the world.
If you attend a church meeting
without fear of harassment,
arrest, torture, or death,
you are more blessed than almost
three billion people in the world.
If you have food in your refrigerator,
clothes on your back, a roof over
your head and a place to sleep,
you are richer than 75% of this world.
If you have money in the bank,
in your wallet, and spare change
in a dish someplace, you are among
the top 8% of the world's wealthy.
If you hold up your head with a smile
on your face and are truly thankful,
you are blessed because the majority can,
but most do not.
If you can read this message,
you are more blessed than over
two billion people in the world
that cannot read anything at all.
You are so blessed in ways
you may never even know.
Now if you have never received this email from a friend or relative then you are one of the blessed 2% of the internet population.
|
|
11 Comments
|
| |
| A Call For Dares |
| 05.11.04 (3:16 pm) [edit] |
Hi all,
I have decided to enlist you gentle readers to help me come up with dares for my friend's wedding shower. We plan to take her to some clubs wearing a veil and make her perform some dares. Unfortunately, I've never been to a wedding shower like this so I have no idea what to dare her to do. May be some of you have some experience with these things.
PLEASE HELP!!!! Thanks.
Nat
"Where do I go to fall from grace?"
|
|
7 Comments
|
| |
| And now, today's episode of As The Blog Turns.... |
| 05.11.04 (2:04 pm) [edit] |
Near-Death Experience
I woke up on Saturday morning feeling rather strange. I went to bed hungry because I was too lazy and depressed to make dinner and I woke up to the sound of my tummy growling "Feed me, you lazy bitch!" I opened the blinds and looked out on the patio and the lawn beyond it. Everything was green and fresh, thanks to 5 consecutive weekends of rain. It would rain later in the day but at that exact moment the sun was out and the clouds were few and far between. The world never seemed lovelier. I felt like I did after a good cry - weightless. I had released all my anxieties about the future. I had decided to just let God deal with the things over which I had no control and just do what I needed to do like watering the plants on my patio (****Do The Dew - Mountain Dew - Official Soft-drink of Natblog****).
I opened the front door and stepped onto the patio. I grabbed the water can and turned to go inside to fill it. That's when it happened. For a moment I was transfixed. My life flashed before my eyes. I even remembered the moment Heather Campbell bloodied my nose and took my lunch money in kindergarten. There was a wasp hovering around my bare left shoulder. It landed and I held my breath. After what felt like an eternity, the wasp left. Finally, able to breathe, I walked slowly towards the door and to my shock and horror realized that several wasps had built a small nest above the knocker on my front door. I began to panick.
I am seriously allergic to wasps and bees. My brother is too and he was the last to be stung. Everytime he has been stung the reaction has been worse than the previous time. I was terrified of what might happen to me. I didn't have an EpiPen or anything. Slowly, I opened the door, hoping not to disturb the 8+ wasps busily building their nest on the door. Once inside, I slammed the door closed and searched furiously to make sure that no wasps had gotten into the apartment. Then I panicked again. I called the apartment management office and there was no answer. They usually had limited hours on weekends and I was scared that they were closed. Then I called Giantsfan. His phone went straight to voicemail. I remember leaving a crazy message to the effect of "These wasps might kill me! I can't leave my freakin' apartment." Then I called AE (who later remarked that she found it weird that I called her in Georgia from Texas to deal with wasps on my front door). She told me I should call a friend and get them to bring over that wasp spray with the long nozzle that foams up on the nest and hardens, leaving the wasps trapped. So I hung up and called the Fast One who lives near by but she is even more allergic to wasps than I am so I couldn't ask her to come over. Then I called Mr. Picky and as usual he did not answer because he has been avoiding me for the past 4 weeks.
After spinning around my apartment for about 20 minutes, I went to the refridgerator and got a can of Mountain Dew (****Do The Dew - Mountain Dew - Official Soft-drink of Natblog****) and began to calm down. I called the management office again and someone answered. I told her my predicament and she told me that I was in luck. On most weekends, the maintenance crew is off-duty except for emergencies. She said that my wasp situation would not have been considered as an emergency worthy of paging the maintenance crew and I would have had to wait till Monday for someone to come by and remove the wasp nest. As she said this my mind began to wonder. The wasps had managed to build a decent-sized wasp nest in the 12 hours since I had arrived home the previous evening. I couldn't imagine the size it would be by Monday. I also couldn't imagine being unable to leave my apartment for fear of being stung for at least 48 hours. Geez, don't do me any favors!
Finally after a long-winded explanation of what was considered an emergency and what was not she told me why I was lucky. She told me that the air-conditioning in one of the units in my building had gone out and that one of the maintenance guys was on-site working on it. Ok, let me see. No air-conditioning is considered an emergency worthy of bringing staff in on the weekend. However, being trapped in your apartment because there are wasps on your front door that may sting you and send you into anaphylactic shock is not so urgent. Understood. She went on to say that after he was finished repairing the air-conditioning unit that he would stop by and deal with the wasps.
Fortunately for me, the maintenance guy is a real sweet guy and came over immediately and took care of the wasps. He even sprayed my patio area to repell wasps from settling there in the future.
Clearly, my situation was not as serious as that of Mrs. Eloise Young from Pearland Texas:
Pearland, Texas-AP -- Police say a Houston-area woman probably owes her life to a set of keys.
The keys deflected a bullet during a robbery.
Relatives say 79-year-old Eloise Young of Pearland suffered a broken arm in yesterday's attack -- but if not for the keys, she might have been shot in the chest.
Her son-in-law says the bullet broke off two keys -- and part of the bullet went into her arm.
Police say it appears two suspects followed Young home after she stopped at a Wal-Mart. Officials are reviewing the store's surveillance tape in an effort to help identify them.
Investigators believe the shot was fired as the gunman struggled with Young in an effort to steal her purse.
All, I can say is wow and that Mrs. Young and I will be headed to Vegas shortly as she is indeed Lady Luck.
|
|
2 Comments
|
| |
| Last Time on As The Blog Turns... |
| 05.11.04 (1:56 pm) [edit] |
Nat was in a craptastic mood filled with the twin monsters of self-pity and self-hatred while simultaneously developing a serious crush on a fellow blogger (wink wink nudge nudge). Meanwhile, Giantsfan was still pissed off about the McComment about his crap Lance Armstrong inspired haircut. Down the corridor, the Fast One had finished her third year paper and was rewarding herself with a double dose of reality shows and romantic comedies. In a city not too far from the Mexican border, Bud stood wrongfully accused of harassment of the fairer sex and tried and failed to keep the news from reaching his girlfriend. Joolie and A-M had attended their long awaited Duran Duran concert while Munky Boy was off trainspotting. Mal found herself away from her PC and internet connection for 10 days and survived the horror of separation by day-dreaming about Captain Jack Sparrow. Finally, AE (a.k.a. Ayn Rant) blogged for the first time in almost a month and managed to avoid getting on her soap box....
Like sands through the hour glass, so are the blogs of our lives....
Nat is back, full-time and has already broken her promise about speaking in the third person. No surprise really when you think about the Reason Why Nat Sucks #3.
|
|
2 Comments
|
| |
| Totally Tubular |
| 05.11.04 (10:50 am) [edit] |
DVDs
'Allo 'Allo Season 1: Listen very carefully, I shall blog this only once. This DVD has the first season of the much loved 80's Britcom set in WWII France. Basic plot: Everyone wants a piece of Rene, the charming and lovable cafe-owner in German-occupied France. The pillaging and looting German officers want him to hide priceless art and artifacts until after the war or else he will be shot. The French Resistance want him to help them sabotage the German supply lines while helping downed British airmen to get home or he will be shot for fraternizing with the Germans. If the Gestapo find out that he is aiding the French Resistance and has a wireless radio hidden under his mother-in-law's bed and chimney pot, he will be shot. If his wife finds out that he is having an affair with both of his waitresses he will be shot. Finally, if either waitress finds out that he is cheating with the other he will be shot. To top it off he has a gay German officer who fancies him hovering around and his wife Edith drives away patrons from the cafe once she opens her mouth to sing. The show relies heavily on national stereotypes and takes every opportunity to offend everyone. I watched it first as a kid at age 8 and loved it. As an adult I enjoy it more now because I understand all the innuendo.
The Triplets of Belleville/Belleville Rendezvous: Not sure why there was a title change for the US market but anyhoo...Brilliant "old-school" animated film with well-drawn characters. This film manages to convey more without dialogue than most films do with a mountain of words and narration. It's just plain cool. Plus the DVD extras go into great detail about the development and production. This film is sure to be a classic.
Other DVDs I would recommend: The Cooler (William H Macy, Alec Baldwin and Ron Livingston), Whale Rider (Kiesha Castle-Hughes), The Office Series 2 (Ricky Gervais, Martin Freeman), Roshomon, Shattered Glass (Hayden Christensen, Peter Sarsgaard), Swimming Pool.
Actually, I have mixed feelings about Swimming Pool. Despite the male frontal nudity (Fotocali is nodding his head knowingly right now) the film left me with a sour taste in my mouth. I had a similar feeling after watching In the Cut with Meg Ryan and Mark Ruffalo. Felt like I needed to take a shower and disinfect my TV and DVD player. I guess I was repulsed. At the same time, I felt like Swimming Pool had something revealing to say about human nature, more so than Ms. Ryan's film.
Don't take my word for it, find out for yourself and let me know what you think of these films.
|
|
6 Comments
|
| |
| The Blogs of Our Lives |
| 05.10.04 (6:43 pm) [edit] |
Like sands through the hour glass, so are the blogs of our lives...
Last time on Natblog...our unworthy heroine found herself in quite a predicament - should she or shouldn't she have Eric Bana's love-child if the opportunity presented itself? It was a difficult decision. Mr. Bana (Black Hawk Down, Hulk, Troy) is a happily married father of two. However, Mr. Bana is also sex-on-legs. In the end, Nat decided to go with her conscience rather than her hormones and the world is now a safer place for it. Should she have reproduced with Mr. Bana they would have produced a child of global-killer contradictions.
Meanwhile in a town far far away, Joolie found herself over-worked and under-appreciated at work. It wasn't enough that they made her completely knackered from lifting boxes but they refused to honor the clause in her contract that requires them to deliver one naked Damian Lewis to her front door whenever Munky Boy is off playing with the choo choos. For this reason and this reason alone, Joolie may have to consider alternative employment. I mean, what kind of heartless people does she work for?
Also in this same town far far away, A-M and Nig were eagerly anticipating the opening of Van Helsing a rare film that provides eye-candy for both sexes (Hugh Jackman and Kate Beckinsale. Meanwhile, Loki was caught stealing food from Valhalla's plate. To get her revenge the clever ginger kitty ripped up a cushion and framed big brother Loki for the crime. More on this at 11pm.
Far East of Natville, Mal, campaign advisor for the Captain Jack Sparrow 2004 campaign, had to deal with yet another scandal. It was discovered that Keith Richards had indeed fathered Captain Jack after a brief but unforgettable encounter with Peppy LePeu. Rumors had been swirling about Jack's paternity since he threw his hat into the Presidential campaign but now Richards has publicly admitted to having a relationship with the overtly amorous and species-confused pole cat. Apparently, Richards had gotten drunk after a gig and fell into a barrel of black paint, stumbled onto a football field where a white stripe was painted on his back by the grounds crew who were equally pissed and bumped into LePeu on a park bench. 9 months later a dread-locked baby with eye-liner, ear-piercings and gold teeth was born.
Finally, AE ranted on about her undying disgust for a certain overly-hyped actor who isn't Tom Cruise. Her main cause of disgust was the disproportionate size of the actors head to his body and no, I am not talking about Bill Mahr or Jay Leno or George Lopez or Jon Favreau or Renee Zellwegger or...I guess Hollywood is not short on big-headed actors.
|
|
7 Comments
|
| |
| Top 10 Reasons Why I Suck |
| 05.07.04 (4:37 pm) [edit] |
I say "Top Ten" because I'm sure there are more than just 10 (minimum 50).
1. I'm lazy.
2. I procrastinate.
3. I have no will-power.
4. I never finish anything I have started and I have started many things. This was supposed to be a Top Twenty list but I lost momentum.
5. I comfort-eat when I am not happy.
6. I'm not happy when I comfort-eat.
7. I am selfish.
8. I love to write things in list-form because of reason #1.
9. I tell lies too easily and too frequently.
10. I spend way too much time hating myself.
Paper's not going too well and I find myself in a foul mood on a Friday afternoon which means the weekend is gonna be a bitch.
Hope you all are in a much better frame of mind. Wouldn't wish these feelings on my worst enemy. Well, may be Tom Cruise, but not my second-worst enemy.
|
|
6 Comments
|
| |
| I say To-may-toe, you say Tuh-mah-toh. |
| 05.07.04 (1:22 pm) [edit] |
Inspired by the prospect of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen turning 18 this June and the apparent obsession with teenaged girls.
Honestly, I just don't get it....ewwwwww
Quote of the Day
"The difference between teenage girls and mature women is the difference between cookies and cookie dough. Cookies are good. Theyre fine. Everybody likes cookies. Theyre easy and safe because everyone generally agrees that cookies are for everyone. There are many different types of cookies, but really they all taste the same. Thank you for the cookies. You brought cookies? That was very nice. You say it to be polite, and you eat them because youre supposed to. But, the bottom farking line is that cookie dough is better. Sure, its raw, wrong, bad, its overly sweet, socially unacceptable, makes you sick, and often more trouble than its worth. But, youre a goddamn liar if you try to argue for a second that you dont love it. If you knew no one would know or care, youd keep a half-gallon bucket of raw cookie dough at your disposal at all times. The cookie dough seems unfinished and strives to be a cookie. But, deep down, isnt it kind of sad to have to cook it? Dont you purposely get extra batter on the beater, just for you. No one has to know."
From some random asshat on Fark.com who hasn't discovered the finer points of using an apostrophe (courtesy of AE - Ms. Farkette 2004).
I will never look at cookie dough the same way again....ewwwwwwww
Rebuttal of the Day
"Actually, much of that is myth propagated by the boomers who rebelled against their parents by marrying "late." Actually, the youngest average age for marriage in the history of the US was during the 1950's, when it was about 19. Before that, going back to before the revolution, it was about 23 for women and 25 for men.
The average age of the onset of menses was between 17 and 20 until the turn of the 20th century: scientists don't really know why, but it's been rapidly falling since.
Also feeding the myth of child marriages before our "enlightened" times are stories of medieval nobility marrying at age 8 and so on. Those marriages were really just property contracts, and they were not consummated until both parties had reached adulthood, usually the late teens.
The cult of children as sexual objects really began in the Victorian period with 1) the so-called "invention of childhood" and 2) the incredible societal infantilization of women, when the "weaker vessel" was expected to be simple, uneducated, petite, subservient and basically completely childlike. Hell, if you're going to lust after child-like women, you might as well go straight to the source. Before the Victorian period, children were seen as highly flawed little beasts: it was during that period that they were elevated to ideal examples of sexual innocent.
Please stop justifying your pedophilia with erroneous "history," and go see a shrink."
Anonymous response to the Random Asshat on Fark.com (courtesy of AE - Fark Around the World).
And in Related News
Ex-Oregon governor admits to nine-month affair with 14 year old girl in the 1970's. The governor was 35 at the time and married. For more details, click here. The governor isn't the only one who likes his "cookie dough raw". Just ask my friend Shagman, who when passing a bunch of girls in kindergarten commented that he would come back and check them out in 10 years. I think he was joking. I mean what man looks at 6 year olds and sees his future girlfriend?
|
|
3 Comments
|
| |
| I'm still not dead... |
| 05.05.04 (5:11 pm) [edit] |
...but I will be if I don't get this paper done on time.
Here is a letter I have been meaning to send:
Dear British Entertainment Industry Insider,
I have a few questions that you might be able to answer.
1. Is Martin Freeman from The Office and Love Actually dead without a funeral (i.e. is he all but legally married to his girlfriend and thus should be considered dead to me)?
2. Is Martine McCutcheon from Love Actually considered fat by British Film Industry standards? If so I think I might take up my cousin's offer to loan me her tape worm for a few months.
3. Why is Robson Green so f**king popular? The man looks like his head got squeezed too much on it's way down the birth canal. Plus his acting is so over the top. I've seen less drama on East-Enders.
4. Is Coupling Series Four going to suck uber-ass now that Richard Coyle is no longer in the cast? I like, sorry, I love Jack Davenport but Steve isn't funny if he's not playing the straight man to Jeff's insanity.
And finally,
5. How on earth did Trini and Susannah (BBC's What Not To Wear) manage to get knocked-up at the same time? I mean one pregnancy between them is enough to call Rome to report a miracle, but two? Shocking.
|
|
3 Comments
|
| |
|
Ayn Rant: AESav.net
Daft and Demented: Mal Uncensored
Captain Jack Sparrow
Shop DangerKitty on Zazzle.com
|
){kind=link}