Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Dummy Gladhands
This name brought to you courtesy of the semi I was following yesterday during my commute. The full sign I read might actually be the title of my auto-biography:
Caution: Use Dummy Gladhands When Airlines are Disconnected.
If you stop and think about it, that is really a metapho for my entire life. Nobody take my idea, or I will cut you.
As I know this is a sore point with BM I take pride is poking her in the stomach.
This chair, magnificent display of manhood is yours for the low price of 1299. If you order today you get pre-soaked beer stains for absolutely no cost! Make your hubby happy and spoil him, go on you know it goes with the decor of the house!
Monday, April 23, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Bloody Munchkin: Fighting Nun, come here for a second.
Fighting Nun, sitting at computer, sullenly: Why?
Bloody Munchkin, somewhat anxiously: Because I need you to check my eye for a gnat?
Fighting Nun: You need me to check your eye for a what?
Bloody Munchkin, more exacerbated: While I was walking the dog, a gnat dive-bombed my eye and now I have gnat body parts commingling with my eyeball juice.
Fighting Nun: Heh.
Bloody Munchkin: Would you stop laughing and look AT MY EYE for a GNAT body.
Fighting Nun: Yep. There's a gnat carcass in your eyeball alright, go upstairs and flush it out.
Bloody Munchkin: O.k.
Fighting Nun: Oh and Bloody Munchkin?
Bloody Munchkin: Yeah?
Fighting Nun: Try not to get any more gnats in your eye on the way up there (Insert an eight-year-old's chuckle here).
Bloody Munchkin, with anger rising: Grrrrr.
Not a conversation someone has everyday, I'm guessing. Also, not one I ever want to have again. So yeah, I had a gnat carcass tucked in between my eyeball and my lower eyelid for the better part of fifteen minutes last night. The ten minutes or so it took to flush out the little body? Apparently that was enough time for Fighting Nun to put together a whole ream of jokes about said incident in his head. From that point on it became "Try not to get any more gnats stuck In Your Eye." and "Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Blink." Gee thanks. So helpful. Remind me to write that on your gravestone.
You know who I feel the worst for in this little anecdote, well besides me, the gnat-in-the-eye recipient? The gnat. Poor little Garry McGnatersons, just flying around, minding his own business, signalling to make a right hand turn with his teeny-tiny appendages-as-turn-signals, when all the sudden his being squished between an eyeball and lower lid. I mean, out of the many ways a creature can die, getting one's self sandwiched in between an eyeball and an eyelid is not a way Mother Earth intended for her creatures to go I'm guessing. You think Mr. McGnaterson had an interesting conversation with the Gnat version of St. Peter (who I shall lovingly call St. Gnatter from here on in)?Picture it, he got to little gnat heaven and St. Gnatter was all "And how'd you die?" and poor Mr. McGnaterson looked down at the cloud floor and was all like "I accidently divebombed myself into a human's eye." and St. Gnatter, and all the other gnats who had died by being froggy food start snickering. And then poor Mr. McGnaterson would have to explain before the heavenly gnat gates that as his little gnat soul left his little gnat body, he watched me wash his carcass down the faucet and down the drain. *Sniff*. Man, if I'd only known how much this would effect me, I would have given the McGnaterson a proper send off. I didn't realize how much I'd get involved until now.
And now I've snapped myself out of it because.... I had a GNAT! In my EYE!!!! And more fodder for Fighting Nun to MAKE FUN OF ME!!! Like he needed any!!! I'm not sure what my point was with this diatribe other than... I HAD A GNAT!!! IN MY EYE!!!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
I have issues with my hair. Actually, I think my hair has issues with me, deep-seated issues that not even couples therapy can solve. And I know where it started too. It's my mother's fault really (Hi Mom! It's really not. You didn't over crisp my hair and burn my ear that time. That was all a bad dream. Really! I don't need any guilt trips! Really). For whatever reason, my mother had no actual experience with managing and taming a child's hair, so up to the age of eleven or so it ran wild, like a feral cat (and probably looked much the same). At about that time, I committed the heinous act of forcing the spiked mullet on my hair. My hair stopped talking to me after that. After committing further atrocities against my hair, totaling three perms and a shag hair cut, during my mispent youth, it's pretty much declared all out war. I can't say I blame it much.
But we've tried to come to terms with each other, not an all out truce mind you, but a cease-fire. I provide it with frequent brushings, frequent washings, and decent enough stylings, and it repays me by trying to keep the tangling to a minimum. I take it to see Sabrina every 10 weeks (which it LOVES! I don't know if Sabrina lulls it, or beats it into submission or subconciously bonds with it. but it does fabulous things for her that it would snarl at doing for me. I swear, the last time I went in for a cut and a style, I head it purring. Scout's Honor.). If it doesn't hate me too much in a given month, I don't threaten it with 'The Sinead' (It knows I'll never do that and I know I'll never do that, but it's a last resort tactic). I don't force it into any ridculous coifs and it has provided me with three modes at which it comfortably agrees to. These are the terms of our cease-fire.
But I'm finding the three modes a little less agreeable as of late. I don't know if it's because my hair is getting longer and therefore less willing to agree to said modes or if I'm finally no longer under the dillusion that said modes are 'stylish', 'retro' or otherwise. Maybe It would help if I explained my hair's three modes:
The issue with that do now is that my hair is getting long, and I'm keeping it in the bi-layer cut, and so the hair in the front comes out of the clip or ponytail and just kind of lingers there on the sides of my face, being a general nuissance. It's less Hot For Teacher and more frazzled school marm, which blech. Fighting Nun kinda likes the messy hair coming out of the bun, but it kinda drives me nuts. Operative word: Kinda.
Now that it's getting longer, it's sadly decided that it's less Molly and more Ally Sheady, which I absolutely have no idea how to compute. If I wanted to look like a frizzy wierdo with a lieing compulsion who likes to use her dandruff as art, I'd make that happen on my own. Thanks but no thanks.
I couldn't have lost my male readership (as if I had any, heh.) any harder if I'd tried, could I? Even Fighting Nun tuned out paragraphs ago all "Oh Gawd, she's talking about her hair again. I'm Doug and I'm out of here." What's the point you ask? You should know better than to ask that question, becuase the question, much like this diatribe is pointless and fruitless, much like any attempts to work on a treaty with my hair. Just so you know.
Monday, April 16, 2007
So chin hairs, I'm begging you. I'm pleading with you. Please for the love of God stop feeling all pin prickly, stop showing how black and stick-outy you are in comparison to the rest of my face and please, please, please stop growing entirely. Your presence in my life is starting to freak me out.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
I like you. You really seem like a decent kid. You've balanced your c.v. with decent box office fluff and fun art-house things. I liked you a lot in Constantine, although I'm not totally sure I understood your character or his purpose all that much. And as much as I am loathe to admit this, I even liked you in Holes. You seem like a pretty decent kid with a good head on your shoulders, which is why I have to question your motivations for making a movie like Disturbia. You realize that the trailer for this movie makes it look like you're in a schlocked up version of Rear Window don't you? I gotta say, kid, you're no Jimmy Stewart. What do you do for an encore, remake It's a Wonderful Life?
Listen, I'm totally willing to forgive and forget if the Transformers Movie totally kicks butt, which, based on the trailer, it just might. But please note that based on all the hype and stuff I've read, my expectations are exceptionally low on that one. I'm gonna reserve all judgements until I see the movie though. But that's besides the point. The point is... Disturbia? Shame on you. Go sit in a corner and think about what you've done!
The Bloody Munchkin
P.S. Would you please tell David Morse pretty much the same thing I told you, but insert a line about how the guy is legend in my mind not only for St. Elsewhere, but also for Contact and for just generally for radness and that he can do so much better. Thanks.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Because, if doom is gonna reign down on us, I'd like said doom to be brought upon us by monster burritos. Am I the only one who thinks this band could be the next Aquabats, wearing giant burrito costumes and singing songs like "Chewy Housecats of the Sea" and being generally rad???
Thanks to "Mia", my co-worker, for the awesome band name.
Monday, April 02, 2007
And it's not that I don't get the whole squinty Christian Slater thing, because I do, well I did. Part of the reason I still sit through the crapulesence of Gleaming the Cube is nostalgia for those bygone days before Christian pulled a Tyson on his girlfriends ear. Well that and the Perlick (Yabo!!!). Oh, and Tony Hawk's hair. Tony Hawk's hair is worth the price of admission, plus some. I mean, the hair plus the visor. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the ninth wonder of the world.