Killer answering the tough questions
Fringes added a new twist to the rampant interview Meme infecting Blogistan, she paired up complete strangers that read her blog. The person chosen to interview me is Sebastien from Chronically Sick But Still Thinking.
1. As a nurse, do you ever feel weird when you introduce yourself to your patients and they find out your name is Killer?
Well, the one part of my life where Killer is not used, is the hospital. It would probably not go over very well if I walked in and said, "I'm your nurse, my name is Killer, I need to put this up your ass." Luckily, my patients tend to be comatose or heavily sedated, so I don't tell them my name at all. I just shove things up their ass with no foreplay, not even a reach around.
2. Paris Hilton. What does she mean to you? How does she effect your life? Do you love her?
Ms. Hilton disturbs me. She, and her ilk, are an unmentioned sign of the downfall of society. I do not find her attractive in any way. I am hoping she takes up flying, so she can have a proper celebrity ending.
3. What's a more terrible way to die, getting eaten by a shark, or getting eaten by a crocodile? Please explain your choice.
Death by shark would be much more majestic in my opinion. I SCUBA dive, so this is probably how I will go. Crocodiles seem clumsy and stupid to me, and it would be almost offensive to get taken by a Croc. Now that I have said that, I am going to get attacked by a Salt Water Croc while diving in the ocean.
4. You are in a car chase, the police are after you. Here are your questions: what kind of car would you be driving, what kind of weapons would you have in the backseat and trunk, and who would be your co-pilot (and partner in crime)? Oh, and as the chase is taking place, would you still be thoughtful enough to use your turn signals?
I see myself in a post drinking, illegal drive home when the police start their pursuit. My partner in crime would have to be Liz, so we would be in her tiny Toyota. Neither I nor Liz have any serious weapons, so the backseat will be filled with porn or more booze (maybe both). If I was driving, yes, I would be using turn signals, because I do it instinctively. If Liz is driving she would probably not, she is smarter, and hence a better criminal, than me.
5. In a previous blog post, I see that you wrote that you loved living in Missoula. If my memory proves correct, Isn't there a bear that greets visitors at the Missoula airport? Do you find the fact that a bear greets you at the Missoula airport amazingly awesome, or frighteningly dreadful?
Yes, there is a large bear that greets you at the Missoula "International" airport. It is poised in attack mode as well. There are also many, many other dead, taxidermied animals that fill the Missoula airport. I always refer to it as the "airport of death". I really think they should stuff and mount all deceased pilots there to keep with the theme.
Thanks to Sebastien for the questions. I recommend checking out his blog. There is lots of great art work and he was nice enough to ask me some questions.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Musical Mist
Liz loves to dream.
Last night I had one of those great dreams: quirky and non-threatening, funny and slightly nonsensical. In this dream I had been made Ambassador of Culture for the United States. What a perfect job for me! Of course, I don't think this position actually exists, but when Jester, who is running in '08, or Killer, who has also considered throwing his balls into the ring, get elected, I'm sure this job will be created and I know I'm first choice- what with me inventing it and all.
As AoC, my job included such events as waving the flag at motorcycle races and creating a "Made in China" room for the White House. This was a very easy task, as under every piece of furniture in the room there was already a Made In China sticker. I also got to attend a lot of plays and theater shows. Imagine my surprise when I was at a huge production in New York and the closing musical number was a song by "Mist 1"- which is exactly how she was introduced. Mist began singing her own number as the background dancers gyrated excitedly. She wore dark sunglasses and, surprisingly, a drab gray sweater with black slacks. The number was GREAT! The lyrics were clever, the energy was high, and some of the men were wearing wings attached to their leotards. How can you go wrong with men in tights and wings?
I never knew Mist was a redhead.
I think this is the first dream I've had about a blogger. It's odd to start pulling strangers into your dreams. Maybe the Miller High Life has a wonderful side effect I was unaware of. Look out BD and Orthurme! Dmarks and Heather! Churlita and Mel! You guys are well on your way to being part of my next blogger dream- the one where Killer holds you all at gun point and forces you to write poetry about his balls.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Working For the Weekend
Sometimes having a reputation pays off.
Welcome to Liz's refrigerator. In Liz's refrigerator you will find many beers, both domestic and imported. The wine coolers are mine too, but I probably won't ever drink them. They're for girl guests.I had the Red Stripe, the Coors, the Wexford and the Blue Moon. The rest were a gift. A nice surprise on a Friday afternoon.
Unfortunately, Miller High Life is not my beer of choice. I calculate this is over 2 cases of the stuff. I have a series of plans I am considering. Plan 1 is that I will drink the beers I like first and then, when my taste stops working, head for the High Life. Plan 2 involves recruiting some drinkers, but only allowing them to drink the Buds or the High Lifes. Related is Plan 3. This scheme is to have a blow out and rid the fridge of all offending items. Finally, and most likely, I could simply acquire a taste for High Life.
Jester asked how drunk I might be on a weekend night? I think a picture speaks louder than words.
Cheers to all!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Keeping the MEME Theme Alive
Killer blogging the lazy way,
For those lurkers out there who aren't down with all the hip blog lingo, MEME is like a blogging chain letter. One person blogs about a subject and then asks others to do the same.
I don't normally like to participate in MEME's, but I have been exceptionally mentally constipated this week with my writing skills. So, when Wreckless talked about his favorite places to eat in Grand Rapids, and then openly invited others to do the same, I jumped on the availability of a blogging topic.
The trouble is, I move around the country a LOT. So my list of favorite restaurants is going to be very spread out. VERY spread out.
Mackenzie River Pizza, Missoula, MT.
Organic pizza joint with a gourmet menu, an awesome local beer selection, and the world's greatest Caribbean Jerk wings. After I travelled away from Missoula, every time I came back to visit Chad, he knew exactly where I wanted to eat first. I'm not gonna say I would kill for these wings, but I have punched Chad in his junk for trying to snatch the last one.
The Stinking Rose, San Francisco, CA
One word, Garlic. This homage to the magical taste sensation uses it in EVERYTHING. And they use it a lot. I never knew how much I loved garlic until stumbling upon this Little Italy staple in San Fran. They even have garlic ice cream for desert. When people tell me they are going to San Francisco, I tell them two things: Carry a jacket, even in the summer, and eat at the Stinking Rose. Plus, it is surrounded by all the infamous porn shops, and peep shows, and that is the real San Francisco treat.
The Red Piano, Siem Reap, Cambodia
I don't know if it was the low expectations for this tiny town in Northern Cambodia, or if we were just tired of eating rice and mystery meat, but the food here was amazing. It was a strange mixture of Italian, Chinese, and Cajun. I had black pepper shrimp with pasta that was as good as any I've had state side. It was a ritzy place, so that meant a staggering eight dollars for dinner. I love South East Asia.
Kiefers, Jackson, MS
I grew up in Jackson and Kiefers was the only Greek place in town, so I assumed all gyros were this good. Once I ventured out and had other Greek food, I learned that Jackson is blessed with the best damn gyro place in the country. Considering all the downsides to Jackson, Kiefers is a shining beacon of goodness that makes me think, "maybe it ain't so bad."
The Nodding Head Brewpub, Philadelphia, PA
This kick ass brewery is hard to find, unless you know exactly where to look, but once you find it, look out, it is addictive. Awesome hand crafted beers, and they should write a book on perfect pub grub. They have an impressive collection of bobble head dolls, hence the name, and the perfect dank atmosphere that every pub needs. Me and my roommate spent so much time here drinking beer and playing Golden Tee Golf, that they should have charged us rent.
Feel free to swipe this topic for your own lazy blogging glory.
For those lurkers out there who aren't down with all the hip blog lingo, MEME is like a blogging chain letter. One person blogs about a subject and then asks others to do the same.
I don't normally like to participate in MEME's, but I have been exceptionally mentally constipated this week with my writing skills. So, when Wreckless talked about his favorite places to eat in Grand Rapids, and then openly invited others to do the same, I jumped on the availability of a blogging topic.
The trouble is, I move around the country a LOT. So my list of favorite restaurants is going to be very spread out. VERY spread out.
Mackenzie River Pizza, Missoula, MT.
Organic pizza joint with a gourmet menu, an awesome local beer selection, and the world's greatest Caribbean Jerk wings. After I travelled away from Missoula, every time I came back to visit Chad, he knew exactly where I wanted to eat first. I'm not gonna say I would kill for these wings, but I have punched Chad in his junk for trying to snatch the last one.
The Stinking Rose, San Francisco, CA
One word, Garlic. This homage to the magical taste sensation uses it in EVERYTHING. And they use it a lot. I never knew how much I loved garlic until stumbling upon this Little Italy staple in San Fran. They even have garlic ice cream for desert. When people tell me they are going to San Francisco, I tell them two things: Carry a jacket, even in the summer, and eat at the Stinking Rose. Plus, it is surrounded by all the infamous porn shops, and peep shows, and that is the real San Francisco treat.
The Red Piano, Siem Reap, Cambodia
I don't know if it was the low expectations for this tiny town in Northern Cambodia, or if we were just tired of eating rice and mystery meat, but the food here was amazing. It was a strange mixture of Italian, Chinese, and Cajun. I had black pepper shrimp with pasta that was as good as any I've had state side. It was a ritzy place, so that meant a staggering eight dollars for dinner. I love South East Asia.
Kiefers, Jackson, MS
I grew up in Jackson and Kiefers was the only Greek place in town, so I assumed all gyros were this good. Once I ventured out and had other Greek food, I learned that Jackson is blessed with the best damn gyro place in the country. Considering all the downsides to Jackson, Kiefers is a shining beacon of goodness that makes me think, "maybe it ain't so bad."
The Nodding Head Brewpub, Philadelphia, PA
This kick ass brewery is hard to find, unless you know exactly where to look, but once you find it, look out, it is addictive. Awesome hand crafted beers, and they should write a book on perfect pub grub. They have an impressive collection of bobble head dolls, hence the name, and the perfect dank atmosphere that every pub needs. Me and my roommate spent so much time here drinking beer and playing Golden Tee Golf, that they should have charged us rent.
Feel free to swipe this topic for your own lazy blogging glory.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Newlywed Blogwed Game
Jester has come up with a brilliant idea. He gave me and Liz the same questions to answer, without discussing with the other, and posted them. Liz and I have known each other for a long time, so it should have been pretty easy for us.
Check out the results at one of our favorite blogging buddy's place.
Jestertunes
Check out the results at one of our favorite blogging buddy's place.
Jestertunes
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Reason for the Rant
The first time Killer made a demand of me, I had to agree to drop off an unmarked suitcase filled with KY Jelly and Speedos at his door.
Another demand has been made.
Why I Rant
A Report By Liz
At first, I thought I was too old to blog. I thought it was only for college aged kids and junior high girls. We had slam books, they have blogs. The generation gap widens.
Killer had to tell me what a blog was. I immediately fell in love with the word. BLOG. I still like how thick it feels on my tongue. I visited Killer Rants (this is the original template, by the way) and loved Killer's writing and his mom's comments. Back then, it was pretty much just Killer's mom, his brother in law, and me leaving comments. Even when it was only being read by his family and one friend, Killer still talked about his balls in almost every post. Does anyone else find that strange?
After much encouragement from Killer, I started on my own blog but HR found out about it and began speculating who I was "ranting" about. They never said anything directly to me. I'm sure they save all that for the court proceedings. My toes curled, I puked a little in my mouth, and then I called it quits, much to my dismay. That ended my own venture.
By that time, I was enjoying the writing and reading that I found on "the Internets" and knew I was going to miss writing. So Killer concocted this idea that he and I merge our considerable "talents". An invitation was extended.
Killer is the Maverick to my Goose. And much like Goose must have yelled time and time again in the quiet of the barracks while "You've lost that lovin' feeling" played softly in the background, I screamed out, "I'm all in!"
Now, I read, and practically write, every day. I like the community that has formed here at Killer Rants and, even though the title of this blog suggests that Killer is in charge, I like imagining he is my personal blogging bitch. Only writing to entertain me. I like my own writing too. I'm not patting myself on the back here, I'm just saying that I really enjoy going back through the archives and finding things I've written. Things that otherwise would be lost.
But instead, stay here, just waiting for HR to stumble across them again.
Another demand has been made.
Why I Rant
A Report By Liz
At first, I thought I was too old to blog. I thought it was only for college aged kids and junior high girls. We had slam books, they have blogs. The generation gap widens.
Killer had to tell me what a blog was. I immediately fell in love with the word. BLOG. I still like how thick it feels on my tongue. I visited Killer Rants (this is the original template, by the way) and loved Killer's writing and his mom's comments. Back then, it was pretty much just Killer's mom, his brother in law, and me leaving comments. Even when it was only being read by his family and one friend, Killer still talked about his balls in almost every post. Does anyone else find that strange?
After much encouragement from Killer, I started on my own blog but HR found out about it and began speculating who I was "ranting" about. They never said anything directly to me. I'm sure they save all that for the court proceedings. My toes curled, I puked a little in my mouth, and then I called it quits, much to my dismay. That ended my own venture.
By that time, I was enjoying the writing and reading that I found on "the Internets" and knew I was going to miss writing. So Killer concocted this idea that he and I merge our considerable "talents". An invitation was extended.
Killer is the Maverick to my Goose. And much like Goose must have yelled time and time again in the quiet of the barracks while "You've lost that lovin' feeling" played softly in the background, I screamed out, "I'm all in!"
Now, I read, and practically write, every day. I like the community that has formed here at Killer Rants and, even though the title of this blog suggests that Killer is in charge, I like imagining he is my personal blogging bitch. Only writing to entertain me. I like my own writing too. I'm not patting myself on the back here, I'm just saying that I really enjoy going back through the archives and finding things I've written. Things that otherwise would be lost.
But instead, stay here, just waiting for HR to stumble across them again.
Why Killer Rants.
An old friend, Farley, who is my only old friend, besides Liz, to have a blog, MEME'd me. I don't normally cotton to MEMEs. They have always seemed forced and too much like a chain letter. Now, however, I have done two back to back.
Farley stumbled into her blog by answering an ad for free lance writers, it turns out the writing gig was a wine blog. She is perfect for this due to her passion for wine and her passion for writing.
I don't read Farley's blog as often as I should. I don't like wine. So, out of love for Farley, and in memory of the charred remains of the Iron Horse Grill, where we worked, lived and drank together, I am answering the MEME call.
Seeking to find out why people take the time, effort and agony to write a blog, Farley's question, "Why does Killer rant?"
I, Killer, rant to serve notice to all the world that monotony and serious thinking will not be tolerated. I rant so some poor schlep trapped in an office building, who spends all of his days staring at the same neutral gray cubicle walls, might chance upon my pointless ravings whilst aimlessly scrolling the Internet on the company's dime.
Killer rants so that worker bee's humorless day might be brightened. After the initial post is read, the worker might think to itself, "Why the hell am supposed to care about this guys balls?" But, after reading a few more entries, hopefully the frown turns into a smirk, which then develops into a slight guffaw, and before too long the worker will find itself saying aloud, "I do, I do care about that fat, hairy bastards balls."
Making a few dozen people laugh each day, combined with the personal satisfaction of knowing those few dozen people are also subconsciously picturing me naked, is why I, Killer, rant.
This is a completely open ended MEME. I would love to hear from each and every fellow blogger about why you blog. It is not however open ended to my BBB (best blogging buddy), Liz. She MUST answer.
Farley stumbled into her blog by answering an ad for free lance writers, it turns out the writing gig was a wine blog. She is perfect for this due to her passion for wine and her passion for writing.
I don't read Farley's blog as often as I should. I don't like wine. So, out of love for Farley, and in memory of the charred remains of the Iron Horse Grill, where we worked, lived and drank together, I am answering the MEME call.
Seeking to find out why people take the time, effort and agony to write a blog, Farley's question, "Why does Killer rant?"
I, Killer, rant to serve notice to all the world that monotony and serious thinking will not be tolerated. I rant so some poor schlep trapped in an office building, who spends all of his days staring at the same neutral gray cubicle walls, might chance upon my pointless ravings whilst aimlessly scrolling the Internet on the company's dime.
Killer rants so that worker bee's humorless day might be brightened. After the initial post is read, the worker might think to itself, "Why the hell am supposed to care about this guys balls?" But, after reading a few more entries, hopefully the frown turns into a smirk, which then develops into a slight guffaw, and before too long the worker will find itself saying aloud, "I do, I do care about that fat, hairy bastards balls."
Making a few dozen people laugh each day, combined with the personal satisfaction of knowing those few dozen people are also subconsciously picturing me naked, is why I, Killer, rant.
This is a completely open ended MEME. I would love to hear from each and every fellow blogger about why you blog. It is not however open ended to my BBB (best blogging buddy), Liz. She MUST answer.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Quiet, please
Liz, brain dead and weary:
I am simultaneously relieved and hurt. This weekend I had to finish the final project for my Graduate class (only 2 more classes to go!). I told a couple of people that I was planning on putting around 18 hours of hard-core prep time into completing a notebook for class. A couple of people. How come then my phone didn't ring all weekend? I did not get a single phone call. From anybody. Granted, I couldn't have done anything and I likely wouldn't have even answered the phone, but still! It's the weekend! I feel so alone. So terribly, terribly alone.
Ok. Not reallly, but you get the point.
Friday night I did manage to find time to help coach my BFF's girl's softball team (I told you she'd be the man). It was a lot of fun. The girls are all 1st and 2nd graders. They are hilarious to watch but frustrating as Hell to try and coach. The parents are even worse. They'll interrupt practice to had off snack money. Come on, people! Snacks don't win games! Being in ready position wins games!
Speaking of ready position, I had to email Killer some pictures for our work-in-progress new blog, to be announced soon. He commented that I look like a blow up doll. I think I look like someone from PETA just threw red paint on my fur. What do you think?
Finally, after the practice, I went to a friend's and watched Borat. Oh my god. That is some funny shit. Nasty, nasty, nasty, but funny.
Five Questions (From Jester)
Our good friend Jester was asked five questions, so he was kind enough to ask us five as well.
1. What is your favorite body part and why? Difficulty: Can NOT be a part normally covered by underwear.
This could have been such an easy and obvious answer, especially since I don't wear underwear. But, since I know where Jester was intending with that last part, I will honor the intent.
I am going to have say my "man-boobs". Most men would say this is a bad body part, but I enjoy their squishy, loving warmth. I like to imagine that one day, if I try really hard, they can be as big as Liz's woman-boobs.
2. Describe the circumstances surrounding your first sexual experience. Bonus points for a homosexual experience.
My first sexual experience was not homosexual, but in retrospect, I guess she did kind of look a bit mannish. My first experience was with a younger, but much more experienced lass. She made the first move, then the second and pretty much did all the work. For all the effort she put into it, the pay off must have been dismal. She was dating someone else at the time, and I was actually a friend of that guy. Many years later we would repeat our tryst, and ironically, after having spent several years apart from that original boyfriend, she was now engaged to him. I think karma would allow him a good swift kick to my nards.
3. If you could choose one living celebrity to become friends with, who would you choose and why?
Jack Black. I think he is really funny, and he is really into music. I bet he could get us backstage at all the best concerts. I think it is always a good idea to hang out with someone who is equal, or worse than, your own physical conditioning.
4. If you were told you could only listen to three albums on repeat from your collection for the next two years, what albums are less likely to drive you insane?
Tenacious D (tenacious d). The last question really put me into a Jack Black mood. This is a hilarious album, plus it rocks.
Weezer (the blue album). Rivers Cuomo was a close second to Jack Black. This is probably one of my favorite albums of all time.
Nirvana (nevermind). After being thoroughly disillusioned with Glam Rock. This album made me realize that music was more than just noise and hair spray.
5. You've lived many places.... Which city is your favorite? Which is your least favorite? Write a short paragraph (as if for a travel magazine) selling or dissuading others from moving there.
Missoula, Montana is ,by far, one of the greatest places to live in America, nay, the world. I moved there, for no real reason, after nursing school. It is a college town, an artsy town, and a party town. The University of Montana pumps out a large number of graduates who refuse to leave this small town, this creates a service industry that is second to none. Where else in the world can you walk into a convenience store at 3am and have 2 hour debate with the clerk about existentialism? A beautiful mountain range rings Missoula, offering it a much milder winter than the rest of Montana, as well as, offering a spectacular view.
Tupelo, Mississippi is, hands down, the worst place I have ever lived. "The birth place of Elvis" is their claim to fame, and since that one monumental event so long ago, nothing has ever happened in this town again. If the United States has a butt crack, Tupelo is the dingleberry clinging tenaciously to it's butt hair. I spent six slow, agonizing months working here, it seemed like six years. It is the town that keeps mullets thriving and George W. Bush in office. Yeah, Elvis was born there, but he got the hell out of town as soon as he could walk.
You too can get in on the fun of the FIVE QUESTIONS
Here are the Interview Meme rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
On a side note, I tried to track this meme back through all the links to so where it started. I managed to get back through TWELVE friggin other blogs, before I realized, I did not want to go any further. It took me longer to track back than it did to answer these questions. I was going to link back through them all, but I am too damn lazy.
1. What is your favorite body part and why? Difficulty: Can NOT be a part normally covered by underwear.
This could have been such an easy and obvious answer, especially since I don't wear underwear. But, since I know where Jester was intending with that last part, I will honor the intent.
I am going to have say my "man-boobs". Most men would say this is a bad body part, but I enjoy their squishy, loving warmth. I like to imagine that one day, if I try really hard, they can be as big as Liz's woman-boobs.
2. Describe the circumstances surrounding your first sexual experience. Bonus points for a homosexual experience.
My first sexual experience was not homosexual, but in retrospect, I guess she did kind of look a bit mannish. My first experience was with a younger, but much more experienced lass. She made the first move, then the second and pretty much did all the work. For all the effort she put into it, the pay off must have been dismal. She was dating someone else at the time, and I was actually a friend of that guy. Many years later we would repeat our tryst, and ironically, after having spent several years apart from that original boyfriend, she was now engaged to him. I think karma would allow him a good swift kick to my nards.
3. If you could choose one living celebrity to become friends with, who would you choose and why?
Jack Black. I think he is really funny, and he is really into music. I bet he could get us backstage at all the best concerts. I think it is always a good idea to hang out with someone who is equal, or worse than, your own physical conditioning.
4. If you were told you could only listen to three albums on repeat from your collection for the next two years, what albums are less likely to drive you insane?
Tenacious D (tenacious d). The last question really put me into a Jack Black mood. This is a hilarious album, plus it rocks.
Weezer (the blue album). Rivers Cuomo was a close second to Jack Black. This is probably one of my favorite albums of all time.
Nirvana (nevermind). After being thoroughly disillusioned with Glam Rock. This album made me realize that music was more than just noise and hair spray.
5. You've lived many places.... Which city is your favorite? Which is your least favorite? Write a short paragraph (as if for a travel magazine) selling or dissuading others from moving there.
Missoula, Montana is ,by far, one of the greatest places to live in America, nay, the world. I moved there, for no real reason, after nursing school. It is a college town, an artsy town, and a party town. The University of Montana pumps out a large number of graduates who refuse to leave this small town, this creates a service industry that is second to none. Where else in the world can you walk into a convenience store at 3am and have 2 hour debate with the clerk about existentialism? A beautiful mountain range rings Missoula, offering it a much milder winter than the rest of Montana, as well as, offering a spectacular view.
Tupelo, Mississippi is, hands down, the worst place I have ever lived. "The birth place of Elvis" is their claim to fame, and since that one monumental event so long ago, nothing has ever happened in this town again. If the United States has a butt crack, Tupelo is the dingleberry clinging tenaciously to it's butt hair. I spent six slow, agonizing months working here, it seemed like six years. It is the town that keeps mullets thriving and George W. Bush in office. Yeah, Elvis was born there, but he got the hell out of town as soon as he could walk.
You too can get in on the fun of the FIVE QUESTIONS
Here are the Interview Meme rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
On a side note, I tried to track this meme back through all the links to so where it started. I managed to get back through TWELVE friggin other blogs, before I realized, I did not want to go any further. It took me longer to track back than it did to answer these questions. I was going to link back through them all, but I am too damn lazy.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Questions.... and answers
Liz replies to Jester's Inquisition.
I like Jester. A lot. Just when I think he's all about social activism, he drops a tid bit where he tells us that he paid to see the movie Wild Hogs. Nice balance.
He recently sent the following questions for me to answer. I'm hoping Killer has received some questions too. If not, I'm going to ask him my own set of questions.
1. What makes a good boyfriend?
Respectful, employed, and with good manners, the ideal boyfriend has lived on his own. I can't stand men who don't know how to do anything for themselves. He is self-sufficient and trusting, with a good humor and an appreciation for a woman who has her own quirks and own flair for life. He travels quit a bit so he's not around me too much, but when he's on the road, even though he is one handsome devil, he keeps his dick under lock and key. No screwing around. No exceptions.
If he wants kids, he already has them. Don't look at me. I'm no breeder.
I like Jester. A lot. Just when I think he's all about social activism, he drops a tid bit where he tells us that he paid to see the movie Wild Hogs. Nice balance.
He recently sent the following questions for me to answer. I'm hoping Killer has received some questions too. If not, I'm going to ask him my own set of questions.
1. What makes a good boyfriend?
Respectful, employed, and with good manners, the ideal boyfriend has lived on his own. I can't stand men who don't know how to do anything for themselves. He is self-sufficient and trusting, with a good humor and an appreciation for a woman who has her own quirks and own flair for life. He travels quit a bit so he's not around me too much, but when he's on the road, even though he is one handsome devil, he keeps his dick under lock and key. No screwing around. No exceptions.
If he wants kids, he already has them. Don't look at me. I'm no breeder.
He likes animals and good music and is smart. I'm smart enough, and he would respect that in some areas, I've got him beat. But when it comes to things like financial planning or mapping out our trip to Ireland, he delights in taking care of the details.
I am affectionate and giving to those that I love. I can't imagine spending my time with someone who isn't the same. However, public displays of affection are not allowed. It creeps me out to see couples making out. Save it for the privacy of your own home or the backseat.
He knows that if he ever buys me a teddy bear, our relationship is over. I'm not 13.
2. You're throwing a party and want to invite the five funniest people you know plus ONE living celebrity. Who's on the invitation list?
VERY hard question. Most of my friends are funny. Very funny. My BFF is the funniest person I know, so she is a given. As far as celebrities, I struggle with this too. I think Will Ferrel is hilarious, but I hear that it's his skits and movies that are funny, his true persona is much more serious. I guess I've got to go with Steve Corell (misspelled), from The Office, Dave Chappel, or Ellen DeGeneres.
3. What is your number one beauty secret?
I have no secrets. Unfortunately.
4. Describe the circumstances of your most recent episode of phone sex.
I'm not really into this, but if phone flirting counts... well..... I'd rather not say. It's been a while, he's now married, and it makes me blush. Answering this question feels too much like a public display of horniness.
5. Your job is to pick three albums from your collection that will be played on a non-stop repeating loop for the next two years. What three albums do you pick that will drive you the most insane?
I like this question. It's not what I want to listen to, it's what would make me go crazy. Almost any 3 albums played repeatedly for two years would make me bonkers, but, from my actual collection, here is my honest reply:
Primus, Pork Soda
Blues Traveler, Save His Soul
The Brady Bunch Kids Sing!
If you'd like me to ask YOU five questions, here are the Interview Meme rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by putting five questions for you in the comments section. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
1st Round Pick in the Wife Draft
Killer mulling his options.
I received an excellent offer tonight. My little old Filipina patient asked me if I was married. When I replied no, she immediately smiled and said, "You have to marry my Granddaughter." I hear this from Filipinos quite frequently so I kinda blew it off, but she persisted. "My Granddaughters live in the Philippines still, and I want them to come here, so if they marry an American citizen they can come here to live."
How Romantic! I have always suspected my best feature was my citizenship.
I laughed and said, "What does she do in the Philippines?"
"She is in nursing school."
This surprised me, "She doesn't need me, she can get a permanent work visa the day she graduates."
To which she quickly replied, with a stern look, "I have to find her a good American man, or she will marry a free loading Filipino and bring him here with her."
Self loathing racists always amuse me.
Still she persisted, "give me your name and address so I can contact you."
At this point I realized she was very serious, so like any American, I decided to keep leading her on. "What does you Granddaughter look like?"
"She is beautiful, of course."
I was intrigued, but wary of her objectivity. "Would you say I was beautiful?" I asked.
"Oh yes, very beautiful, and strong." She enthusiastically replied.
I gave her a stern look, "I don't trust you now, but flattery will get you everywhere."
"I am going to call my Daughter and she will bring photographs of all my Granddaughters, and you can pick whichever one you want."
I laughed, but she picked up the phone, so I left the room.
I made a straight line to my Filipino co-workers, who are always bunched together. I told them about the offer on the table, and they laughed, but all said I should do it. Then the one male Filipino co-worker said, "Pick the hottest one, but tell them you want first pick of all the Great Grand Children later."
Kind of like baseball, First Round Draft Pick, plus, a Minor League pick to be named at a later date.
I was starting to see why this lady does not like Filipino guys.
I received an excellent offer tonight. My little old Filipina patient asked me if I was married. When I replied no, she immediately smiled and said, "You have to marry my Granddaughter." I hear this from Filipinos quite frequently so I kinda blew it off, but she persisted. "My Granddaughters live in the Philippines still, and I want them to come here, so if they marry an American citizen they can come here to live."
How Romantic! I have always suspected my best feature was my citizenship.
I laughed and said, "What does she do in the Philippines?"
"She is in nursing school."
This surprised me, "She doesn't need me, she can get a permanent work visa the day she graduates."
To which she quickly replied, with a stern look, "I have to find her a good American man, or she will marry a free loading Filipino and bring him here with her."
Self loathing racists always amuse me.
Still she persisted, "give me your name and address so I can contact you."
At this point I realized she was very serious, so like any American, I decided to keep leading her on. "What does you Granddaughter look like?"
"She is beautiful, of course."
I was intrigued, but wary of her objectivity. "Would you say I was beautiful?" I asked.
"Oh yes, very beautiful, and strong." She enthusiastically replied.
I gave her a stern look, "I don't trust you now, but flattery will get you everywhere."
"I am going to call my Daughter and she will bring photographs of all my Granddaughters, and you can pick whichever one you want."
I laughed, but she picked up the phone, so I left the room.
I made a straight line to my Filipino co-workers, who are always bunched together. I told them about the offer on the table, and they laughed, but all said I should do it. Then the one male Filipino co-worker said, "Pick the hottest one, but tell them you want first pick of all the Great Grand Children later."
Kind of like baseball, First Round Draft Pick, plus, a Minor League pick to be named at a later date.
I was starting to see why this lady does not like Filipino guys.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Forgasim
Liz swoons:
Oh my god. Ben and Jerry are my heroes. I just had the most tantalizing taste explosion I think I've ever experienced. Creme Brulee ice cream. That's right- two of the most delicious things in the world have mated and their offspring is amazing. It's like if Brad Pitt and George Clooney had a son- tasty, beyond doubt.I don't know if you like ice cream. And I'm not sure you enjoy the sugary crunch of creme brulee, but if you do, then I advise you get to the nearest supermarket within 24 hours and treat yourself to this most amazing treat. My favorite part is when the sugar nestles on your back teeth and CRUNCH.... ahhhhh.... tremble. That's a damn good ice cream.
I didn't think I liked reality shows that much, but Bravo! has me hooked. With Top Chef, Top Design, Project Runway and now Sheer Genius, I am at their mercy. Tonight I watched some of Top Chef finale while eating Creme Brulee ice cream. I think I had a forgasim. I'm still weak in the knees. And exceptionally satisfied.
Fringe Benefits to Being Mentally Challenged
I think my gym has started offering a special discount for the mentally challenged. My suspicion in this matter is fueled by a recent increase of strange people. Not necessarily wear-a-special-helmet, drool-on-the-floor strange, but definitely off kilter.
The first example arrived a few weeks ago. He is a male, possibly in his fifties, possibly Asian, but definitely no more than five feet tall, and sporting the Three Stooges, Moe, hair cut. That alone would make me giggle, but it would not lead me to question his mental cognition. What raised my curiosity was the fact that he always pulls a dolly that carries five plastic containers, all about 4 feet by 2 feet and 1 foot deep. The whole get up is secured by an intricate arrangement of bungee cords.
I always see him maneuvering this wheeled tower, which is much bigger than he is, around the locker room. When I enter the locker room he is often naked and arranging his boxes. He will unstack them all carefully, open the bottom one, take out one washcloth, re-stack them, but then unstack them again to remove a comb from number two. He can repeat this process several times. I often catch myself watching him for a length of time that is totally inappropriate for a room full of naked guys. I often wish I had a camouflaged blind, like the wildlife experts, so I can hide and watch him more closely. Possibly the strangest observation is that, although he will be naked in the locker for hours, I have never seen him out on the gym floor.
The second example I wish to present is also male, possibly in his forties, and although he does not appear challenged, something is askew. This fella will work his way through every nautilus machine, in an exact order. He meticulously adjusts the seat level, consults a small notebook, adjusts the weights, and then will proceed to give it all he's got. Huffing, puffing, straining as if he has been constipated for a year. This will continue for approximately one minute, but the weights NEVER budge. After his one minute is up, he stands, stretches, makes a quick entry into his notebook and then moves to the next machine. Once he has finished the circuit, he will stand in front of the mirror for a spell and talk to himself, pick up his notebook and leave.
I asked one of the trainers about him and he said, "Oh that guy, he comes in four times a day, everyday, and does that exact same routine."
There are many more suspicious people, the lady who dresses like Olivia Newton John from the "Let's Get Physical" video, the obese lady who walks slowly on the treadmill while eating a 1 pound bag of M&Ms, and the dude who keeps trying to talk to me in the locker room naked. "No, I did not watch the O'Reilly factor today. And, I have a very strict policy of NO FOREIGN BALLS WITHING FIVE FEET OF ME, unless I am at work."
I don't know if maybe my gym is advertising at an assisted living facility, the short bus stops right out front, or maybe they are adjusting the membership fees by IQ score. I am concerned about the last one, because when I joined up they asked me some questions, told me I qualified for a discount, and then I had to sign my contract in crayon. Not a good sign.
I just know that it is increasingly difficult to work out properly when the guy on the machine next to me is straining so hard he is either going to shit himself, or his asshole will invert, creating the world's largest hemorrhoid. There is no way I am pushing it back in. I'm off duty.
The first example arrived a few weeks ago. He is a male, possibly in his fifties, possibly Asian, but definitely no more than five feet tall, and sporting the Three Stooges, Moe, hair cut. That alone would make me giggle, but it would not lead me to question his mental cognition. What raised my curiosity was the fact that he always pulls a dolly that carries five plastic containers, all about 4 feet by 2 feet and 1 foot deep. The whole get up is secured by an intricate arrangement of bungee cords.
I always see him maneuvering this wheeled tower, which is much bigger than he is, around the locker room. When I enter the locker room he is often naked and arranging his boxes. He will unstack them all carefully, open the bottom one, take out one washcloth, re-stack them, but then unstack them again to remove a comb from number two. He can repeat this process several times. I often catch myself watching him for a length of time that is totally inappropriate for a room full of naked guys. I often wish I had a camouflaged blind, like the wildlife experts, so I can hide and watch him more closely. Possibly the strangest observation is that, although he will be naked in the locker for hours, I have never seen him out on the gym floor.
The second example I wish to present is also male, possibly in his forties, and although he does not appear challenged, something is askew. This fella will work his way through every nautilus machine, in an exact order. He meticulously adjusts the seat level, consults a small notebook, adjusts the weights, and then will proceed to give it all he's got. Huffing, puffing, straining as if he has been constipated for a year. This will continue for approximately one minute, but the weights NEVER budge. After his one minute is up, he stands, stretches, makes a quick entry into his notebook and then moves to the next machine. Once he has finished the circuit, he will stand in front of the mirror for a spell and talk to himself, pick up his notebook and leave.
I asked one of the trainers about him and he said, "Oh that guy, he comes in four times a day, everyday, and does that exact same routine."
There are many more suspicious people, the lady who dresses like Olivia Newton John from the "Let's Get Physical" video, the obese lady who walks slowly on the treadmill while eating a 1 pound bag of M&Ms, and the dude who keeps trying to talk to me in the locker room naked. "No, I did not watch the O'Reilly factor today. And, I have a very strict policy of NO FOREIGN BALLS WITHING FIVE FEET OF ME, unless I am at work."
I don't know if maybe my gym is advertising at an assisted living facility, the short bus stops right out front, or maybe they are adjusting the membership fees by IQ score. I am concerned about the last one, because when I joined up they asked me some questions, told me I qualified for a discount, and then I had to sign my contract in crayon. Not a good sign.
I just know that it is increasingly difficult to work out properly when the guy on the machine next to me is straining so hard he is either going to shit himself, or his asshole will invert, creating the world's largest hemorrhoid. There is no way I am pushing it back in. I'm off duty.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
First Class Blogging
Killer offers greetings from the Upper crust of society
I was bumped from my original flight out of Atlanta along with many, many other people. Not surprisingly the powers that be recognized my regal inner beauty and re-booked me with First Class accommodations. There is an unspoken code that those of us lucky enough to experience the First Class lifestyle, do not let the secrets out to the proletariat wallowing away in coach. I, however, am a rebel, and am going to give you a peak. At the beginning of every flight they give a short instructional talk about what to do in case of an emergency, what do to if the oxygen comes down, and also what to do if you crash into the ocean. I never knew that the First class instructions were different. This is they.
Thank You for flying with us today. I would like everyone to take a moment and find the exit at the front of First Class. Do NOT go to the exit in coach. It will clogged with panicked cattle, those doors don’t really open very well anyhow. The exits will not be needed since if we should begin to crash, First Class will break away and a parachute will deploy, lowering you back to Earth in a slow and pleasing manner.
If we should lose cabin pressure, oxygen masks will fall from the ceiling. Please pull down on your mask, place over your face, and tighten the cords. You will notice a lovely aroma of fresh lilac, this is to make your leisurely float back to Earth more enjoyable. The bag WILL inflate, we just tell Coach passengers it may not, because they don’t actually receive any oxygen through their masks. We had to cut costs someplace, please enjoy another complimentary glass of champagne.
In the unlikely event of a water landing, Coach passengers have been given life vests. First Class passengers should swim to the nearest group of Coach passengers, alive or dead, and use the special cords on those life vests to attach them together to form a lifeboat. It is recommended that you choose the more obese Coach passengers, since they tend to float better and are much more comfortable to lounge upon while awaiting your rescue. Don’t worry your flight crew is specially trained to continue beverage service for the First Class passengers after a crash landing.
Thank You for flying First Class, and as an added bonus on tonight's flight, at your convenience, feel free to meander into Coach, pick any low class passenger, and shit upon them.
I was bumped from my original flight out of Atlanta along with many, many other people. Not surprisingly the powers that be recognized my regal inner beauty and re-booked me with First Class accommodations. There is an unspoken code that those of us lucky enough to experience the First Class lifestyle, do not let the secrets out to the proletariat wallowing away in coach. I, however, am a rebel, and am going to give you a peak. At the beginning of every flight they give a short instructional talk about what to do in case of an emergency, what do to if the oxygen comes down, and also what to do if you crash into the ocean. I never knew that the First class instructions were different. This is they.
Thank You for flying with us today. I would like everyone to take a moment and find the exit at the front of First Class. Do NOT go to the exit in coach. It will clogged with panicked cattle, those doors don’t really open very well anyhow. The exits will not be needed since if we should begin to crash, First Class will break away and a parachute will deploy, lowering you back to Earth in a slow and pleasing manner.
If we should lose cabin pressure, oxygen masks will fall from the ceiling. Please pull down on your mask, place over your face, and tighten the cords. You will notice a lovely aroma of fresh lilac, this is to make your leisurely float back to Earth more enjoyable. The bag WILL inflate, we just tell Coach passengers it may not, because they don’t actually receive any oxygen through their masks. We had to cut costs someplace, please enjoy another complimentary glass of champagne.
In the unlikely event of a water landing, Coach passengers have been given life vests. First Class passengers should swim to the nearest group of Coach passengers, alive or dead, and use the special cords on those life vests to attach them together to form a lifeboat. It is recommended that you choose the more obese Coach passengers, since they tend to float better and are much more comfortable to lounge upon while awaiting your rescue. Don’t worry your flight crew is specially trained to continue beverage service for the First Class passengers after a crash landing.
Thank You for flying First Class, and as an added bonus on tonight's flight, at your convenience, feel free to meander into Coach, pick any low class passenger, and shit upon them.
Monday, April 16, 2007
The Note
Liz, back in business:
I hate when a co-worker leaves me a sticky note that has an air of snideness to it. I got one such note today and it ruined my whole morning.
I take exceptional care when crafting a Post-It note. I have a variety of colors and styles, including sticky notes with thought clouds and nature scenes. Some of my Post-Its are serious but most are either very colorful or funny.
I deliberately choose a sticky that I think the receiver will enjoy. Then, I like to complete the project by matching the theme with an appropriate color of ink. That is more than office etiquette. That is caring.
Not only was today's note written with sloppy penmanship in red ink (the color of scolding) but it was written on an awkwardly cut scrap of trash paper. I'm insulted. Really. The words were idiotic enough but to dis me by using your TRASH to leave me a message? Go to Hell.
I love office supplies and I love using them in creative ways. I found this picture on the web and decided to make it my "happy thought" of the day. I hope you can tell that written on the Post-It is the name "Jade". Hilarious.
What do co-workers do with office supplies that annoys you?
Trapped in Hotlanta
Killer trapped in Atlanta, and wondering how to get hold of Mist1.
My flight out of Memphis was delayed. This travesty caused me to miss my connection in Atlanta. I was given the option of waiting 28 hours, getting a free 4 star hotel room and a first class ticket to Sacramento, OR I could sit in the airport for the next 24 hours and attempt to get a standby ticket on every flight that sails to Sac town.
I quickly called in sick for work, canceled my Monday appointment with my personal trainer, and headed to Ruby Tuesday before checking in at the Sheraton. After having my first three days off in a month, I figured one more would not kill me.
Apparently there is a "Nor'easter" storm hitting the East Coast, combine that with an apparent strike with European airlines, and there is an abundance of people stranded for several days. This has created some great stories for Killer Rants.
I was waiting in line to rebook my flight. It was a long and winding line, but luckily, I enjoy lines. I love watching people get upset and angered at the innocent ticket agent for events that are obviously out of their control. Everyone is irrational and think if they act upset enough they will get placed on the extra-secret flight that is leaving in ten minutes for their home town. I am a firm believer that Karma is watching and casting judgement for this as needed. Allow me to give you the greatest example EVER: There was a man three people ahead of me, in the monstrosity of a line, he was great to be around in line, he would monitor the line ahead, and behind, and whenever anyone was attempting to butt, he would call them out, loudly and proficiently. "Hey, Hey, Hey, You see all those people? They are not standing in such an orderly fashion for their health. You need to go the end." I was loving this guy, and loving the confrontations in which I was not involved, but secretly hoping for a violent escalation. Once he managed to get in front of the ticket agent it was on. He was shouting, waving his hands and quoting scripture as to why he HAD to be in Philly TONIGHT. After about fifteen minutes he finally realized that NO flight was getting to Philly tonight and he was outraged that he could not get his luggage. "I have very important pills in my luggage!" he shouted. The ticket agent said, "You should not check you medications." He flipped his shit. I was loving it, not just because of his reaction, but because me and Chad had heard this exact same exchange once in Detroit after being stranded there for a night. The best, most AWESOME thing about this whole exchange was mid-way through his tirade I realized that he had one of those paper toilet seat covers sticking out of the back of his pants. It was hanging down perfectly framing his ass. Once I realized this, I was frantic trying to find someone cool around me to point it out to. I was so spastically excited about it, I did not think of taking a picture with my phone until he was walking away. At that time, I whipped my phone out in such a hurry I flung it about five feet away and hit an Asian lady in the tit. Her face at this was so awesomely aghast, I did not apologize, but instead dove down for my phone to take a picture of her expression. I think the high level of excitement made me lose control of my dexterity because I could not pick the phone up and then the line moved along. I was stuck looking at everyone around me with a big stupid grin on my face and no one had seemed to notice any of this. I spent the next couple of hours laughing to myself about the whole ordeal.
The second event that made this night incredibly awesome was on the shuttle bus to the Sheraton. There were a couple of super country old men who were way over stimulated by the airport and the big city. One was 59. I know this because he proudly told everyone that he turns 60 on his next birthday in a couple of weeks, he said this with a proud grin on his face that highlighted both of his teeth. He informed everyone on the bus that he, and his travel companion, were supposed to be going to Ireland to take apart a "machine". The next contribution made to race relations was a question posted to an Asian man sitting across from him, "Are you Chinese or Japanese?" He asked without a hint of malice, it seemed he was genuinely curious. The Asian guy, who was on the phone on the time, speaking with a perfect, non-regional American dialect smiled and replied, "I don't know, what do you think?" The old country guy guffawed, "I don't know, my sister in law used to be Korear." (I don't know exactly what Korear is.) The Asian guy didn't miss a beat, "what is she now?" But, the old country guy had already turned his attention to a couple from London at the back of the bus. "Are ya'll from Ireland?" "No, we are from London." responded the English guy. "Hell, we're supposed to be in Ireland right now, taking apart a 'machine'." At this point I was getting over excited from this exchange. I could not believe me luck, two insane interactions in a one hour period. It was quiet for a second and then the old country guy suddenly asked, "Do you have computers in Ireland?" "We live in London." said the London girl. "Do you have computer's in London?" The London couple exchanged a exasperated glance, "Yes, we have a computer in London." Then the old country guy said, "Well, our church is on the computer every Sunday." He then reached in his pocket and pulled out stack of cards with his church name, email address and website. It listed the live web cast times, and he proceeded to give one to everyone on the bus. I LOVED this guy. I wanted to put him in a big mayonnaise jar, poke some air holes in the top, and take him home with me. There is nothing this couple has experienced in America that will top this exchange on the bus in Atlanta.
This has only affirmed my belief in never travelling alone. Everyone else around me was too wrapped up in their own little worlds to enjoy this stuff. If only I could keep it together long enough to get some pictures of these people. I also can't quit wondering if that Asian lady has a bruise on her tit.
My flight out of Memphis was delayed. This travesty caused me to miss my connection in Atlanta. I was given the option of waiting 28 hours, getting a free 4 star hotel room and a first class ticket to Sacramento, OR I could sit in the airport for the next 24 hours and attempt to get a standby ticket on every flight that sails to Sac town.
I quickly called in sick for work, canceled my Monday appointment with my personal trainer, and headed to Ruby Tuesday before checking in at the Sheraton. After having my first three days off in a month, I figured one more would not kill me.
Apparently there is a "Nor'easter" storm hitting the East Coast, combine that with an apparent strike with European airlines, and there is an abundance of people stranded for several days. This has created some great stories for Killer Rants.
I was waiting in line to rebook my flight. It was a long and winding line, but luckily, I enjoy lines. I love watching people get upset and angered at the innocent ticket agent for events that are obviously out of their control. Everyone is irrational and think if they act upset enough they will get placed on the extra-secret flight that is leaving in ten minutes for their home town. I am a firm believer that Karma is watching and casting judgement for this as needed. Allow me to give you the greatest example EVER: There was a man three people ahead of me, in the monstrosity of a line, he was great to be around in line, he would monitor the line ahead, and behind, and whenever anyone was attempting to butt, he would call them out, loudly and proficiently. "Hey, Hey, Hey, You see all those people? They are not standing in such an orderly fashion for their health. You need to go the end." I was loving this guy, and loving the confrontations in which I was not involved, but secretly hoping for a violent escalation. Once he managed to get in front of the ticket agent it was on. He was shouting, waving his hands and quoting scripture as to why he HAD to be in Philly TONIGHT. After about fifteen minutes he finally realized that NO flight was getting to Philly tonight and he was outraged that he could not get his luggage. "I have very important pills in my luggage!" he shouted. The ticket agent said, "You should not check you medications." He flipped his shit. I was loving it, not just because of his reaction, but because me and Chad had heard this exact same exchange once in Detroit after being stranded there for a night. The best, most AWESOME thing about this whole exchange was mid-way through his tirade I realized that he had one of those paper toilet seat covers sticking out of the back of his pants. It was hanging down perfectly framing his ass. Once I realized this, I was frantic trying to find someone cool around me to point it out to. I was so spastically excited about it, I did not think of taking a picture with my phone until he was walking away. At that time, I whipped my phone out in such a hurry I flung it about five feet away and hit an Asian lady in the tit. Her face at this was so awesomely aghast, I did not apologize, but instead dove down for my phone to take a picture of her expression. I think the high level of excitement made me lose control of my dexterity because I could not pick the phone up and then the line moved along. I was stuck looking at everyone around me with a big stupid grin on my face and no one had seemed to notice any of this. I spent the next couple of hours laughing to myself about the whole ordeal.
The second event that made this night incredibly awesome was on the shuttle bus to the Sheraton. There were a couple of super country old men who were way over stimulated by the airport and the big city. One was 59. I know this because he proudly told everyone that he turns 60 on his next birthday in a couple of weeks, he said this with a proud grin on his face that highlighted both of his teeth. He informed everyone on the bus that he, and his travel companion, were supposed to be going to Ireland to take apart a "machine". The next contribution made to race relations was a question posted to an Asian man sitting across from him, "Are you Chinese or Japanese?" He asked without a hint of malice, it seemed he was genuinely curious. The Asian guy, who was on the phone on the time, speaking with a perfect, non-regional American dialect smiled and replied, "I don't know, what do you think?" The old country guy guffawed, "I don't know, my sister in law used to be Korear." (I don't know exactly what Korear is.) The Asian guy didn't miss a beat, "what is she now?" But, the old country guy had already turned his attention to a couple from London at the back of the bus. "Are ya'll from Ireland?" "No, we are from London." responded the English guy. "Hell, we're supposed to be in Ireland right now, taking apart a 'machine'." At this point I was getting over excited from this exchange. I could not believe me luck, two insane interactions in a one hour period. It was quiet for a second and then the old country guy suddenly asked, "Do you have computers in Ireland?" "We live in London." said the London girl. "Do you have computer's in London?" The London couple exchanged a exasperated glance, "Yes, we have a computer in London." Then the old country guy said, "Well, our church is on the computer every Sunday." He then reached in his pocket and pulled out stack of cards with his church name, email address and website. It listed the live web cast times, and he proceeded to give one to everyone on the bus. I LOVED this guy. I wanted to put him in a big mayonnaise jar, poke some air holes in the top, and take him home with me. There is nothing this couple has experienced in America that will top this exchange on the bus in Atlanta.
This has only affirmed my belief in never travelling alone. Everyone else around me was too wrapped up in their own little worlds to enjoy this stuff. If only I could keep it together long enough to get some pictures of these people. I also can't quit wondering if that Asian lady has a bruise on her tit.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Fun With Photo Booth
Another reason to dump your PC in the garbage, Apple Computers have Photo Booth. It is a program that uses the built in web cam and modifies the picture. I have been slacking on the blogging for a few days, because I have been in Mississippi for Clib's art show. It was an awesome show, plus, I got to meet Mel from Mel O Drama.
Mel did an awesome job holding her own with my outspoken and loud group of family and friends. Her and FishDog did not disappoint. They have made me eager to meet other bloggers.
Nothing too exciting other than that really happened this trip. Disco and I ate a lot of cheese squares and decided to have a shit off. The idea was to eat as much cheese as possible and see who could shit soonest. Disco won with a Saturday shit at 10:30am. I did not get on the clock until Saturday night around 11:00pm. Disco beat me hands down, or I should say, "Disco beat me pants down."
This is me as a Klingon.
This is what Clib looks like without any modification to his pictures.
I have a lovely smile.
Mongoloid Clib.
This is my Pete Townshend Impersonation.
Clib looks extremely surprised to be this pretty.
Chipmunk Killer.
I just gave Clib the "cup of soup"
If there are any single ladies out there, this is what I look like pretty much all the time.
Friday, April 13, 2007
The No Jive Zone
Liz experiments:
This, I promise, is my third and final post of the day.
Not long ago someone suggested that Killer begin an advice column. I'm so jealous. I'm the one who loves telling people what to do!
I am experimenting with the idea of having my own advice blog. I don't know how it will go or if I'll even enjoy it enough to keep it running, but you are invited to be part of the test.
Click this if you'd like to get some pearls of wisdom from Liz:
www.nojivezone.blogspot.com
Killer, for you I suggest Talcum Powder.
This, I promise, is my third and final post of the day.
Not long ago someone suggested that Killer begin an advice column. I'm so jealous. I'm the one who loves telling people what to do!
I am experimenting with the idea of having my own advice blog. I don't know how it will go or if I'll even enjoy it enough to keep it running, but you are invited to be part of the test.
Click this if you'd like to get some pearls of wisdom from Liz:
www.nojivezone.blogspot.com
Killer, for you I suggest Talcum Powder.
I Would Burn It, But It May Take The City With It
Unlike our favorite Killer is apt to do, I'm not going to discuss my genitalia as even the WORD genitalia makes me blush and giggle. But I will discuss this contraption know as a BRA. Over the shoulder boulder holder. Flopper stopper. 18 hours of torture.
Here is my bra, unleashed on the city:
As you can see, my bra is the answer to the global warming issue. Who needs ozone when Liz has a Bali we can use for protection?
Here is my bra, unleashed on the city:
As you can see, my bra is the answer to the global warming issue. Who needs ozone when Liz has a Bali we can use for protection?
We at Killer Rants love boobs. Killer like boobs to look at and think about touching but I like boobs for better reasons. I can store all sorts of shit inside my bra. Back in my college days, boobs as a storage receptacle made me the hit of any concert. I could sneak anything past security by putting it in my brazier. Anything. I once smuggled a friend into the movie Batman by placing him inside my bra. Granted, he was short, but still.
I don't like carrying things around in my bra except in an emergency. It might amaze you to know how many emergencies there are that actually do require boob storage. I got a pint of Wild Turkey into a baseball game by positioning the bottle just right. Of course, I simply could have used my purse, but where is the challenge in that?
I would make a great terrorist as the amount of under wire used in my bra always sets off the metal detector at the airport. They don't hassle me too much. They see what I'm packing and know that it takes a great amount of raw materials to construct the contraption to hold these girls up. Not sure if I'm exaggerating? Ponder this: Without my bra I would eventually have to get knee surgery from all of the pounding.
Last year I decided I would start playing golf. I quickly learned I have a major handicap, as swinging a club to full extension is nearly impossible. As I was complaining about my titties getting in the way of my swing, the custodian at work offered to hold them for me. That's not the kind of support I'm looking for.
Before you start thinking that I'm happy or proud, consider the multiple downsides of enormity. There is no body part that it better huge. Wait. Let me rephrase that. Women with HUGE knockers, like speciality bra-wearing, back hurting knockers, usually end up working in the school lunch line or elementary library. There is something matronly, not sexy, about 18 pounds of breasts. In no time, you start to look more like a National Geographic picture than a Playboy Playmate. This is why I avoid large hoop earrings and sarongs. I don't want any misconceptions. Plus, I always look like I'm nursing a litter of children.
I sometimes encounter men who stare at my breasts. I would find this offensive, but I can't be offended because I understand. I don't think it's staring in a lustful way, I think it's like staring at a one-legged dog- you are mildly repulsed, yet fascinated. My 23 year old cousin walked into the house and saw my bra hanging on a door knob. He kept looking at it, like he was trying to figure out what it was. My brother was over and said, "You've never seen one like that have you?" and, with a look of terror and confusion, he simply shook his head "no", never blinking or taking his eyes off the brazier. Or, if he weren't my cousin I would say, "never taking his eyes off the prize."
I like to think of myself as a free spirit. But it's hard to be free when you have spandex and metal surrounding your chest. I would burn it, but it may take the city with it.
Friends
Thirsty Liz:
Rarely do I come straight home from work craving a beer. Stopping off at the bar on the way home usually takes care of that. Today I sat in my garage for an extra minute letting the end of "Ain't No Other Man" go off the radio and thinking about a frosty mug of goodness. I darted into the house and before I even put my purse down, flung open the refrigerator door to grab a cold one.
You never know what kind of beer I'll have in stock and after a couple of days I forget what's in there. Opening my fridge is usually a beer adventure. Except for today. Today I opened the refrigerator to find ONE Coors Light. How could this be? I had some German beer, some Irish beer, a couple of Bud Lights and I had just bought a 12-pack of Coors less than a week ago. When did the beer fairy move into my kitchen and start stealing precious nectar of the gods from me?
Oh. It happened Sunday morning.
I remember now. Friends. Drinks. Music. Dice. Cigarettes. Bumming. Laughing. Depletion.
This has me thinking. I know all the reasons we love our friends, but what about all those reasons we don't?
Rarely do I come straight home from work craving a beer. Stopping off at the bar on the way home usually takes care of that. Today I sat in my garage for an extra minute letting the end of "Ain't No Other Man" go off the radio and thinking about a frosty mug of goodness. I darted into the house and before I even put my purse down, flung open the refrigerator door to grab a cold one.
You never know what kind of beer I'll have in stock and after a couple of days I forget what's in there. Opening my fridge is usually a beer adventure. Except for today. Today I opened the refrigerator to find ONE Coors Light. How could this be? I had some German beer, some Irish beer, a couple of Bud Lights and I had just bought a 12-pack of Coors less than a week ago. When did the beer fairy move into my kitchen and start stealing precious nectar of the gods from me?
Oh. It happened Sunday morning.
I remember now. Friends. Drinks. Music. Dice. Cigarettes. Bumming. Laughing. Depletion.
This has me thinking. I know all the reasons we love our friends, but what about all those reasons we don't?
- Friends WILL drink your beer
- Friends will have sex at your house
- Friends will want to the leave the party before you do
- Friends will let you drive when you're hammered because they are more hammered
- Friends expect you to like their pets and children
- Friends won't always call before stopping by
- Friends don't mop for you, even though they track in the dirt
- Friends will let you go out in a sleeveless top, only to learn when the pictures come back that your arms look like glowing white huge mutant pork loins
- Friends will try and involve you in their doomed money making schemes
- Friends will mock your love of Magnum, PI and obsession with MacGyver
- Friends won't leave comments on your blog
Before you think I'm being critical, remember that I am a friend too. I'm guilty of 8 of the above. Good luck figuring those out. And if I were to generate a list of all the wonderful things friends will do, well, you would be disgusted and quit reading rather quickly. Besides, it's already been explained by Dion Warwick.
Tonight Killer is in Oxford at Chris's art show, meeting Mel and Fishdog. I am excited about the post that is sure to come. I am also disappointed. Why haven't Jester and Orthur Me hooked up with the K-Man since he's out that way? I think that meeting would signal the Apocalypse, yet I'd love for it to happen. And I'd love to be right up in the middle of it all, drinking Jester's beer and bumming Orther Me's smokes.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
You Can Call Me "Ho". Just Call Me.
Be prepared to be shocked:
I couldn't figure out why I had Baby's Got Back planted firmly in my brain. I was stuck on this line (and then the sound of a cracking whip like you hear in the song):
Knock-kneed bimbos walkin' like hos.
Then I associated that it must be because of the controversy surrounding radio host Don Imus.
I'm sure you've heard that Mr. Imus referred to the women's basketball team of Rutgers as "nappy headed hos". Not a very nice thing to say. But now I have learned that as a woman, I am supposed to be offended by this. And if I were a black woman, I am supposed to be outraged. I'm really glad that blogs, news sites, and television have told me how to feel because had they not instructed me, I might not have realized how pissed off I am.
Don Imus's show DOES go too far. I hate when one of his sidekicks does a very derogatory impression of Maya Angelou. I detest how he stereotypes Southerners as idiots. I loathe how he and his wife talk to each other. But... I like the show. I like how there is a man on TV who doesn't have every word he says scripted, who brings intelligent guests on his show and discusses relevant issues and who does say things that others won't. Some times they are not the things I would say, but I still find it interesting and entertaining. I find Larry the Cable Guy offensive, but strangely, I don't really feel offended by Don Imus, or Howard Stern, who makes a killing off of degrading women.
Much like Bill Maher, who once hosted Politically Incorrect on a network station, Imus has killed himself with his own poison tongue. I have really mixed emotions about this. No one should have the nerve to insult a group of college basketball players who did nothing, but should the public have the right to demand that the show be taken off the air? He said it. He has apologized numerous times. He deserves some sort of punishment. But these 3 words have outraged a nation. I've called people much worse and the difference between what Imus did and what I have done is that I said it to their faces and I meant it.
I wonder if the nation has a right to get mad or if this issues is between Imus and those ball players. I've listened to Imus for several years and although I sometimes find his comments tasteless, I honestly don't think that he's racists or a member of the He Male Women Haters Club. He was trying to be funny but was instead insulting. I do this quite a bit myself and am just glad no one has yet caught it on tape.
Wondering. I don't know the right answer.
I have a couple of gay guy friends. One of these guys is especially quirky and I love spending time with him. He gets my humor and I get his. We like a lot of the same things. He's thoughtful but tough, sensible but free spirited. His being gay is just part of his world and, thus, part of mine. Sometimes I'll say something like, "That messenger bag you're carrying is gay." Would someone overhearing that assume that I'm homophobic because I used the word in a "derogatory" way? His boyfriend finds those kinds of remarks offensive, but I will sometimes say them anyway. Get over it. I don't have a problem with you being gay but I do have a problem with you being hyper sensitive.
As a nation, are we acting like the boyfriend over this Imus issue? Again, I'm wondering because I'm conflicted. That's an unusual feeling for me. I usually have a stance but this time, I'm not so sure how to react or if reacting is even my responsibility.
Women are referred to as bitches and hos all the time. These words are insults in certain contexts and terms of endearment or simply terms at other times. I just don't know what to think.
I guess I'll watch HardBall with Chris Matthews tonight to find out exactly how I should feel. In the meantime, I have some planning to do. I'm long overdue for a "Bitches Night Out" and need to make some phone calls.
I couldn't figure out why I had Baby's Got Back planted firmly in my brain. I was stuck on this line (and then the sound of a cracking whip like you hear in the song):
Knock-kneed bimbos walkin' like hos.
Then I associated that it must be because of the controversy surrounding radio host Don Imus.
I'm sure you've heard that Mr. Imus referred to the women's basketball team of Rutgers as "nappy headed hos". Not a very nice thing to say. But now I have learned that as a woman, I am supposed to be offended by this. And if I were a black woman, I am supposed to be outraged. I'm really glad that blogs, news sites, and television have told me how to feel because had they not instructed me, I might not have realized how pissed off I am.
Don Imus's show DOES go too far. I hate when one of his sidekicks does a very derogatory impression of Maya Angelou. I detest how he stereotypes Southerners as idiots. I loathe how he and his wife talk to each other. But... I like the show. I like how there is a man on TV who doesn't have every word he says scripted, who brings intelligent guests on his show and discusses relevant issues and who does say things that others won't. Some times they are not the things I would say, but I still find it interesting and entertaining. I find Larry the Cable Guy offensive, but strangely, I don't really feel offended by Don Imus, or Howard Stern, who makes a killing off of degrading women.
Much like Bill Maher, who once hosted Politically Incorrect on a network station, Imus has killed himself with his own poison tongue. I have really mixed emotions about this. No one should have the nerve to insult a group of college basketball players who did nothing, but should the public have the right to demand that the show be taken off the air? He said it. He has apologized numerous times. He deserves some sort of punishment. But these 3 words have outraged a nation. I've called people much worse and the difference between what Imus did and what I have done is that I said it to their faces and I meant it.
I wonder if the nation has a right to get mad or if this issues is between Imus and those ball players. I've listened to Imus for several years and although I sometimes find his comments tasteless, I honestly don't think that he's racists or a member of the He Male Women Haters Club. He was trying to be funny but was instead insulting. I do this quite a bit myself and am just glad no one has yet caught it on tape.
Wondering. I don't know the right answer.
I have a couple of gay guy friends. One of these guys is especially quirky and I love spending time with him. He gets my humor and I get his. We like a lot of the same things. He's thoughtful but tough, sensible but free spirited. His being gay is just part of his world and, thus, part of mine. Sometimes I'll say something like, "That messenger bag you're carrying is gay." Would someone overhearing that assume that I'm homophobic because I used the word in a "derogatory" way? His boyfriend finds those kinds of remarks offensive, but I will sometimes say them anyway. Get over it. I don't have a problem with you being gay but I do have a problem with you being hyper sensitive.
As a nation, are we acting like the boyfriend over this Imus issue? Again, I'm wondering because I'm conflicted. That's an unusual feeling for me. I usually have a stance but this time, I'm not so sure how to react or if reacting is even my responsibility.
Women are referred to as bitches and hos all the time. These words are insults in certain contexts and terms of endearment or simply terms at other times. I just don't know what to think.
I guess I'll watch HardBall with Chris Matthews tonight to find out exactly how I should feel. In the meantime, I have some planning to do. I'm long overdue for a "Bitches Night Out" and need to make some phone calls.
Everyone I Meet is a Business Genius
I should say, A Business Anius.
I have not really mentioned it much, but one of my cohorts and I are in the development stages of opening a business. A coffee/crepes joint.
There are some early concerns, primarily, neither I nor Bam have traditionally been coffee drinkers. So why open a coffee shop? Well, my original idea of Suppository Insertion Technician doesn't really look well on a business card, and Bam's recommendation of Stink Finger Specialist did not test very well with the early marketing groups.
Bam is a very proficient business person, and currently owns and operates a Shit Tank Business. Oh sure, he likes to call them Waste Treatment Systems, but I believe in calling a spade a spade, and a shit tank a shit tank.
Considering I am really good at putting things INTO the ass, and Bam is very good at managing what comes OUT of them, I believe we are the perfect match. But, Bam is the business expert, and he says to diversify, so a Coffee/Crepes Shop is born.
I am in charge of learning about the coffee side. This is a task well suited for me since I am a beer expert. All I need to do is put the same energy into learning the nuances of coffee as I did beer. In the last two months I have read four books on coffee. Where it comes from, how it grows, how it is roasted, how to cup it, how to slurp it, and so on, and so forth. I read two books on, "How to open and run a successful coffee shop." I even read an enjoyable book about unorthodox marketing strategies. I am confident that I am taking all the necessary steps to enter this venture.
All this valuable information is being trampled upon however, by the continuous influx of unsolicited business advice I receive whenever someone else learns of my future plans. Apparently some people are born with the genetic ability to run a coffee shop, and these people are all around me.
I am going to list some of my favorite suggestions I have received thus far. Several have been offered multiple times by several people.
-You will need cups.
-You will need cups, but don't put your company name on them. This way, if you go out of business you can sell them to a different coffee shop.
-You should have more than one type of coffee.
-Make sure the coffee is hot, but not too hot.
-(RN1): Make sure you have a bathroom, and a drive through.
(Me): Or, a drive through bathroom.
(RN1): I've never seen that before, but I guess someone has to be #1.
(Me): Yeah, and some people can even go #2.
-Sell Decaf
-Don't sell Decaf
-You should grow your own coffee. (This one is better appreciated after reading four books on where coffee can grow.)
-(Me): I'm going to open a Coffee and Crepes Shop.
(Xray Tech): You should sell food also.
(Me): Crepes are food.
(Xray Tech): Oh, I thought you meant creeps.
(Me): Why would I sell creeps?
(Xray Tech): I don't know, I'm no business expert. You want some advice.
(Me): Very much so.
(Xray Tech): Sell food people have heard of.
I have not really mentioned it much, but one of my cohorts and I are in the development stages of opening a business. A coffee/crepes joint.
There are some early concerns, primarily, neither I nor Bam have traditionally been coffee drinkers. So why open a coffee shop? Well, my original idea of Suppository Insertion Technician doesn't really look well on a business card, and Bam's recommendation of Stink Finger Specialist did not test very well with the early marketing groups.
Bam is a very proficient business person, and currently owns and operates a Shit Tank Business. Oh sure, he likes to call them Waste Treatment Systems, but I believe in calling a spade a spade, and a shit tank a shit tank.
Considering I am really good at putting things INTO the ass, and Bam is very good at managing what comes OUT of them, I believe we are the perfect match. But, Bam is the business expert, and he says to diversify, so a Coffee/Crepes Shop is born.
I am in charge of learning about the coffee side. This is a task well suited for me since I am a beer expert. All I need to do is put the same energy into learning the nuances of coffee as I did beer. In the last two months I have read four books on coffee. Where it comes from, how it grows, how it is roasted, how to cup it, how to slurp it, and so on, and so forth. I read two books on, "How to open and run a successful coffee shop." I even read an enjoyable book about unorthodox marketing strategies. I am confident that I am taking all the necessary steps to enter this venture.
All this valuable information is being trampled upon however, by the continuous influx of unsolicited business advice I receive whenever someone else learns of my future plans. Apparently some people are born with the genetic ability to run a coffee shop, and these people are all around me.
I am going to list some of my favorite suggestions I have received thus far. Several have been offered multiple times by several people.
-You will need cups.
-You will need cups, but don't put your company name on them. This way, if you go out of business you can sell them to a different coffee shop.
-You should have more than one type of coffee.
-Make sure the coffee is hot, but not too hot.
-(RN1): Make sure you have a bathroom, and a drive through.
(Me): Or, a drive through bathroom.
(RN1): I've never seen that before, but I guess someone has to be #1.
(Me): Yeah, and some people can even go #2.
-Sell Decaf
-Don't sell Decaf
-You should grow your own coffee. (This one is better appreciated after reading four books on where coffee can grow.)
-(Me): I'm going to open a Coffee and Crepes Shop.
(Xray Tech): You should sell food also.
(Me): Crepes are food.
(Xray Tech): Oh, I thought you meant creeps.
(Me): Why would I sell creeps?
(Xray Tech): I don't know, I'm no business expert. You want some advice.
(Me): Very much so.
(Xray Tech): Sell food people have heard of.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
2007 State of the Blog Address
The Scene opens on the Grand Congressional Hall. A room steep with tradition. A room that has seen much debate and grandstanding since it's start two plus years ago. It is a very small room, since it only needs to accommodate both members of Killer Rants' Congressional Body. Liz, the Jr. Representative from the XX contingency, and Killer, the stalwart XY representative, and self proclaimed Dictator for Life.
Killer announces in a deep, officious, baritone voice, "Please rise for the benevolent Dictator for Life of the People's Democratic Republic of Killer Rants, Killer."
Both doors fling open and Killer strides in regally as a small 80's era jam box screeches "Hail to the Chief" from it's tinny speakers.
Killer flows down the short aisle to the stage. Liz has chosen not to stand, a serious breach of political etiquette, but Killer stoically ignores this slight, assuming Liz is too drunk to stand up.
He approaches the the podium, pauses for dramatic effect, looks over Liz's shoulder and offers a slight smile and a knowing nod of the head to an esteemed colleague (as the Idiot's Guide to Public Speaking recommended), and Liz peers around the empty room in confusion as Killer begins to speak.
Killer announces in a deep, officious, baritone voice, "Please rise for the benevolent Dictator for Life of the People's Democratic Republic of Killer Rants, Killer."
Both doors fling open and Killer strides in regally as a small 80's era jam box screeches "Hail to the Chief" from it's tinny speakers.
Killer flows down the short aisle to the stage. Liz has chosen not to stand, a serious breach of political etiquette, but Killer stoically ignores this slight, assuming Liz is too drunk to stand up.
He approaches the the podium, pauses for dramatic effect, looks over Liz's shoulder and offers a slight smile and a knowing nod of the head to an esteemed colleague (as the Idiot's Guide to Public Speaking recommended), and Liz peers around the empty room in confusion as Killer begins to speak.
My fellow bloggers, it warms my cockles to stand and share with you the State of Killer Rants. To lay before you the rich tapestry of our past mistakes, our future dreams, and our current plans to set it all in order.
There has never been a greater time to be a part of Killer Rants. Unemployment is at a record setting zero percent, we are experiencing a financial boom, and foreign relations are improving significantly. Through the hard work of this administration our borders are secure and the open dialogue surrounding my balls is at an all time high.
My opponents would like to focus on the negative events of my reign; the lack of sex scandals within our government and the fact that we are still using the exact same outdated template and design that we began with so many years ago. I implore you, our loyal citizens, to not get blinded by the mud slinging, and listen as I present you with my dreams for Killer Rants.
I dream of a Killer Rants in which future generations can seek out humor on the World Wide Web. A place offering refuge against the tyranny and oppression of political opinion blogs. A sanctuary to protect against the smothering self gloating of the Mommy blogs. Most importantly, Killer Rants will be a rallying cry for all those seeking to join the fight against the rampant spread of the cute and cuddly Tweener blogs. No Hello Kitty clip art here. No butterfly pointer. Just words.
Words that will encourage raucous laughter. Words that will elicit thought provoking dialogue. If all else fails we will replace those words with a few naked photos of me. Tasteful and artsy photos, yet butt-ass naked.
So don't lose faith in Killer Rants. We are not only going to continue what has worked in the past, but Liz and I are going to strive for more sexual scandals in the upcoming term, and we promise that someday soon, we might even leave the comfort and security of this ancient blog template and take the good fight to the people.
Thank You, and God Bless Killer Rants.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Weekend Update: Mississippi Edition
This weekend I am flying back home to Mississippi. It is a momentous occasion for numerous reasons.
-It will be the first time I've had more than twelve consecutive hours off work in over a month.
-I will be attending my Best Friends (Clib's) MFA graduate thesis art show. His final art work, for higher education's sake, and will also be inducted into the Guinness Book of World Records for the World's Longest Print. (Just under 100 yards) Here is the Newspaper Coverage. If anyone is in the vicinity of Oxford, MS, here are the details for Friday night.
-I get to see the World's Greatest Nephew (claim under review by Guinness Book of World Records). For those keeping track here is the latest photo. Check out those guns. He is going to be a hoss like his Uncle Killer.
-I am going to meet someone from the blogging world for the first time. Mel, from Mel O Drama, one of our ardent supporters, lives in Oxford, and is coming to the show.
I've never met a blog buddy before. What if real Killer is not up to expectations created by blog Killer? Will Mel expect all witty banter and ball talk. I am tingling with anticipation. Either from the excitement of meeting Mel or from too much Gold Bond Medicated Powder on the testes. Regardless, I am really enjoying the sensation.
So, as you can see, I have an action packed weekend planned, and my life is void of adventure right now I am posting about my weekend plans on Monday.
What are you doing this weekend?
Have you ever met any blog buddies, or other Internet acquaintances?
-It will be the first time I've had more than twelve consecutive hours off work in over a month.
-I will be attending my Best Friends (Clib's) MFA graduate thesis art show. His final art work, for higher education's sake, and will also be inducted into the Guinness Book of World Records for the World's Longest Print. (Just under 100 yards) Here is the Newspaper Coverage. If anyone is in the vicinity of Oxford, MS, here are the details for Friday night.
-I get to see the World's Greatest Nephew (claim under review by Guinness Book of World Records). For those keeping track here is the latest photo. Check out those guns. He is going to be a hoss like his Uncle Killer.
-I am going to meet someone from the blogging world for the first time. Mel, from Mel O Drama, one of our ardent supporters, lives in Oxford, and is coming to the show. I've never met a blog buddy before. What if real Killer is not up to expectations created by blog Killer? Will Mel expect all witty banter and ball talk. I am tingling with anticipation. Either from the excitement of meeting Mel or from too much Gold Bond Medicated Powder on the testes. Regardless, I am really enjoying the sensation.
So, as you can see, I have an action packed weekend planned, and my life is void of adventure right now I am posting about my weekend plans on Monday.
What are you doing this weekend?
Have you ever met any blog buddies, or other Internet acquaintances?
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Someone's Been Sleeping In My Bed
Liz is an advocate for slumber parties:
I am a girl and therefore like my stuff and my space. I prefer my toilet, my hairbrush, my chair and my bed. I have MY make up remover, MY washcloths that I don't feel guilty about staining when I take my makeup off and MY Vanilla Caramel CoffeeMate that I like to put in MY coffee cup. But if I was a guy I think I wouldn't even pay rent. I'd just crash at people's houses for a couple of nights at a time, rotating back around every three weeks to a month. After 6 months of doing this I would have about $5,500. That would make a great down payment on a house.
I support overnight guests. Most all of my friends drink, often with the end goal being intoxication. I have a guest room and a couch and I sincerely want them to use it. DUIs and car wrecks are awful things and, when avoidable, steps should be taken to prevent these nasties from happening. As Killer has noted in a previous post, I try to make my guests feel welcomed and comfortable. I attempt to keep the extra room clean with fresh sheets and TWO mattress pads so that when you lay in that bed it gives you a gentle, yet supportive hug. Kind of like Killer's underwear does for his boyz.
There is one downside to staying in my guest room. It's all of those obnoxious throw pillows that I have in there. Seriously. It's out of control. Some are in there on purpose and some by default and there are a shit load of them. I had an overnight guest last night and I thought I'd show you how he arranged my pillows:
I am a girl and therefore like my stuff and my space. I prefer my toilet, my hairbrush, my chair and my bed. I have MY make up remover, MY washcloths that I don't feel guilty about staining when I take my makeup off and MY Vanilla Caramel CoffeeMate that I like to put in MY coffee cup. But if I was a guy I think I wouldn't even pay rent. I'd just crash at people's houses for a couple of nights at a time, rotating back around every three weeks to a month. After 6 months of doing this I would have about $5,500. That would make a great down payment on a house.
I support overnight guests. Most all of my friends drink, often with the end goal being intoxication. I have a guest room and a couch and I sincerely want them to use it. DUIs and car wrecks are awful things and, when avoidable, steps should be taken to prevent these nasties from happening. As Killer has noted in a previous post, I try to make my guests feel welcomed and comfortable. I attempt to keep the extra room clean with fresh sheets and TWO mattress pads so that when you lay in that bed it gives you a gentle, yet supportive hug. Kind of like Killer's underwear does for his boyz.
There is one downside to staying in my guest room. It's all of those obnoxious throw pillows that I have in there. Seriously. It's out of control. Some are in there on purpose and some by default and there are a shit load of them. I had an overnight guest last night and I thought I'd show you how he arranged my pillows:
And then how they SHOULD look:
Hilarious to me. He tried, bless his heart, but look at that! The special touch only a man can give to a room.
Now that I have uploaded those photos, I think the room looks cheesy. It looks better in person, I swear. You're welcome to come see for yourself, but you're obligated to bring the hostess a bottle of wine AND straighten the pillows before you leave.
By the way, I wrote a post titled "Confidence" and fully expected several comments on crazies you have encountered in your lifetime. Did you miss it or was it not the prize-winning post I thought it was?
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Taxing
Liz is kinda sorta happy to contribute:
When you study ancient civilizations you learn about the tributes that the common people paid to the king and the king's guards. You find out that taxes have been around even longer Larry King, which seems impossible but is true. I try to mark all historical events as "pre" and "post" Larry.
Wasn't it Franklin who said, "There are two certain things in life. Death and taxes."? He left out asshole, but that's a whole other rant.
Taxes serve obvious purposes, but what I'm getting taxed seems extreme because there appears to be little accountability on how the money is spent. The IRS has a clever way of disguising this shafting. They call it a refund.
I did my taxes yesterday and had a severe case of Intaxication; Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize that it was your money to start with. Once I saw that a cool $1500 was coming my way, I made all sorts of plans, including a real vacation and a shiny new dishwasher. Then I thought about it and a stream of profanity came from my pure lips.
I get to spend about 70% of my money the way I want to, with around 30% going to taxes. Even though I'm doing 100% of the work. I am the government's sugar daddy. This pisses me off. Do sugar daddies have a say in how their money gets spent or do they simply give an allowance? I need to know in order to best maintain my role. If Congress is my bitch, I need the protocol on how to treat 'em. And I think I should get to stay in any congressional office I want to when I visit Washington. I'm paying for it. A couch will do. And a foot rub.
Unrelated but always relevant, I have noticed that as I age my standards of good looking have dramatically dropped. When I was a kid I found the following people disgusting looking: Luke Duke, Bea Aurthur, Alan Alda, and Rhoda. Now 35, these people aren't mutants. Hell, Luke Duke is HOT and Rhoda is actually pretty. What is the lowering of standards called? Hotollerance? Poor vision? I now also think Stephen Colbert is fine, when I know that at 9 I would have simply thought he looked like someones dad. Yes. I said FINE.
How about you? Was there any one you thought horribly ugly as a child that you now think, "You know, with enough drinks in me I might..."?
When you study ancient civilizations you learn about the tributes that the common people paid to the king and the king's guards. You find out that taxes have been around even longer Larry King, which seems impossible but is true. I try to mark all historical events as "pre" and "post" Larry.
Wasn't it Franklin who said, "There are two certain things in life. Death and taxes."? He left out asshole, but that's a whole other rant.
Taxes serve obvious purposes, but what I'm getting taxed seems extreme because there appears to be little accountability on how the money is spent. The IRS has a clever way of disguising this shafting. They call it a refund.
I did my taxes yesterday and had a severe case of Intaxication; Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize that it was your money to start with. Once I saw that a cool $1500 was coming my way, I made all sorts of plans, including a real vacation and a shiny new dishwasher. Then I thought about it and a stream of profanity came from my pure lips.
I get to spend about 70% of my money the way I want to, with around 30% going to taxes. Even though I'm doing 100% of the work. I am the government's sugar daddy. This pisses me off. Do sugar daddies have a say in how their money gets spent or do they simply give an allowance? I need to know in order to best maintain my role. If Congress is my bitch, I need the protocol on how to treat 'em. And I think I should get to stay in any congressional office I want to when I visit Washington. I'm paying for it. A couch will do. And a foot rub.
Unrelated but always relevant, I have noticed that as I age my standards of good looking have dramatically dropped. When I was a kid I found the following people disgusting looking: Luke Duke, Bea Aurthur, Alan Alda, and Rhoda. Now 35, these people aren't mutants. Hell, Luke Duke is HOT and Rhoda is actually pretty. What is the lowering of standards called? Hotollerance? Poor vision? I now also think Stephen Colbert is fine, when I know that at 9 I would have simply thought he looked like someones dad. Yes. I said FINE.
How about you? Was there any one you thought horribly ugly as a child that you now think, "You know, with enough drinks in me I might..."?
Friday, April 06, 2007
Answers to Pop Culture Trivia
You guys did awesome. As of the time I typed up this answer key, the only one not guessed correctly was, "The dead only know one thing: It is better to be alive." I was very impressed on a few. I did not really expect anyone, other than Disco, to know, "I'm gonna put my baaallls in it." Well, without further ado, here are the answers.
1. "You got to get busy living, or get busy dying."
Morgan Freeman, The Shawshank Redemption
2. "I'm gonna put my baalllls in it."
MTV television show, The State
3. "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold or bought, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed, as a career, I don't want that."
John Cusack, Say Anything
4. "But you hate people."
"But I love gatherings, isn't it ironic?"
Jeff Anderson, Clerks
5. "I want my cigarettes Nurse Ratched. My cigarettes!"
Danny Devito, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest
6. "Are these those balloons that blow up into funny shapes?"
"Only if you think round is funny."
William Forsythe and Store Clerk, Raising Arizona
7. "Me fail English, that's unpossible."
Ralph Wiggums, The Simpsons
8. "You're small. Small, S-M-All."
Dean Martin to Sammy Davis Jr., Cannon Ball Run
9. "You're menu says I can have breakfast anytime. I would like two eggs over easy in the Age of Enlightenment."
John Favreau, Swingers
10. "I'm a Dapper Dan Man."
George Clooney, O Brother Where Art Thou
11. "We're going to need a bigger boat."
Richard Dreyfus, Jaws
12. "The dead know only one thing: It is better to be alive."
Mathew Modine, Full Metal Jacket
13. "Surely, you can't be serious."
"I am serious and don't call me Shirley."
Peter Graves, Airplane
14. "There's a lot of things about me you don't know anything about, Dottie. Things you wouldn't understand, things you couldn't understand, things you shouldn't understand. You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie, a rebel."
Paul Reubens, Pee Wee's Big Adventure
15. "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."
Anthony Hopkins, Silence of the Lambs
16. "You covet my ice cream bar!"
Ren, Ren and Stimpy
17. "He always said, 'I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of him.' Well I believe in God, and the only thing that scares me is Keyser Soze."
Kevin Spacey, The Usual Suspects
Thanks to everyone who guessed.
1. "You got to get busy living, or get busy dying."
Morgan Freeman, The Shawshank Redemption
2. "I'm gonna put my baalllls in it."
MTV television show, The State
3. "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold or bought, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed, as a career, I don't want that."
John Cusack, Say Anything
4. "But you hate people."
"But I love gatherings, isn't it ironic?"
Jeff Anderson, Clerks
5. "I want my cigarettes Nurse Ratched. My cigarettes!"
Danny Devito, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest
6. "Are these those balloons that blow up into funny shapes?"
"Only if you think round is funny."
William Forsythe and Store Clerk, Raising Arizona
7. "Me fail English, that's unpossible."
Ralph Wiggums, The Simpsons
8. "You're small. Small, S-M-All."
Dean Martin to Sammy Davis Jr., Cannon Ball Run
9. "You're menu says I can have breakfast anytime. I would like two eggs over easy in the Age of Enlightenment."
John Favreau, Swingers
10. "I'm a Dapper Dan Man."
George Clooney, O Brother Where Art Thou
11. "We're going to need a bigger boat."
Richard Dreyfus, Jaws
12. "The dead know only one thing: It is better to be alive."
Mathew Modine, Full Metal Jacket
13. "Surely, you can't be serious."
"I am serious and don't call me Shirley."
Peter Graves, Airplane
14. "There's a lot of things about me you don't know anything about, Dottie. Things you wouldn't understand, things you couldn't understand, things you shouldn't understand. You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie, a rebel."
Paul Reubens, Pee Wee's Big Adventure
15. "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."
Anthony Hopkins, Silence of the Lambs
16. "You covet my ice cream bar!"
Ren, Ren and Stimpy
17. "He always said, 'I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of him.' Well I believe in God, and the only thing that scares me is Keyser Soze."
Kevin Spacey, The Usual Suspects
Thanks to everyone who guessed.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Confidence
Liz doesn't even flinch:
I always end up paying too much for a haircut. I got one yesterday along with some pizazz in the form of highlights. It sort of looks like a bird, after eating a hearty helping of gold, had diarrhea on top of my head. Stunning. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.
While processing, my new hairdresser was telling me about a woman who left their shop. She didn't make it long at her new job either. My hairdresser said, "You know, it's really sad. She lost her confidence and just couldn't cut any more."
Rarely does a line hit me like that. I INSTANTLY had the entire screen play download into my head. I mean, you're fucking telling me that a hairdresser can become incapacitated because she loses her confidence? To cut? Hair? I was cutting hair when I was six. You can tell because my first grade school picture has a giant chunk of bangs missing. Even after that awful mishap, I didn't lose my confidence. I continued cutting my hair and will still trim it up myself on humid days when I just can't take it any more.
I imagine the hairdresser explaining to the disabilities commission why she qualifies for a check. When the clerk opens a drawer to get a pen the hairdresser sees a pair of scissors and frantically runs out of the office. Many days of wandering the street in her dirty frock later, frightened and now a crack addict, she turns to prostitution. I mean, what other life can she have? She's lost her confidence.
To cut. Hair.
Today I had lunch at a home-cooking joint where the owner's mom is kind of a token local personality. She used to work the register but now that they've moved into a new and giant facility, she mostly just wanders around with that really blank stare that the mentally unstable often have. She's the "greeter"- that person that comes by your table and asks if everything is OK and if you're enjoying your meal.
I was lunching with my friend, V, and Lamar, the most adorable redneck you'll ever meet. He did not disappoint today. He was wearing his American Flag print button-down with snaps and the obligatory cap and cowboy boots. He's 60 years old and speaks with a southern drawl that is hard for even me to understand. He's a story teller, a character, and dirty as they come. I love him.
Momma came wondering by. You always move your purse and make sure your chair is pulled up because she's around 70 herself and does not appear to know where she is or that there is furniture around her. She's hobbling on, pausing at tables and having conversations that don't make a lot sense. She gets to us and, upon laying eyes on Lamar, her face was washed with a new expression. It was one of joy one of... connection.
Momma is a widow. We know this. Momma sometimes has a tierra on, just for fun. I've seen Momma several times and I don't recall ever seeing her so overjoyed to make eye contact as I saw her today with Lamar.
She took his hand, started straight into his eyes and said, "I'm IN LOVE!"
Lamar smiled and replied, "Why, thank you ma'am!"
To which momma loudly pronounced, "WITH JESUS CHRIST!"
Then she turned and stumbled away to the next table.
Now THAT'S confidence.
I always end up paying too much for a haircut. I got one yesterday along with some pizazz in the form of highlights. It sort of looks like a bird, after eating a hearty helping of gold, had diarrhea on top of my head. Stunning. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.
While processing, my new hairdresser was telling me about a woman who left their shop. She didn't make it long at her new job either. My hairdresser said, "You know, it's really sad. She lost her confidence and just couldn't cut any more."
Rarely does a line hit me like that. I INSTANTLY had the entire screen play download into my head. I mean, you're fucking telling me that a hairdresser can become incapacitated because she loses her confidence? To cut? Hair? I was cutting hair when I was six. You can tell because my first grade school picture has a giant chunk of bangs missing. Even after that awful mishap, I didn't lose my confidence. I continued cutting my hair and will still trim it up myself on humid days when I just can't take it any more.
I imagine the hairdresser explaining to the disabilities commission why she qualifies for a check. When the clerk opens a drawer to get a pen the hairdresser sees a pair of scissors and frantically runs out of the office. Many days of wandering the street in her dirty frock later, frightened and now a crack addict, she turns to prostitution. I mean, what other life can she have? She's lost her confidence.
To cut. Hair.
Today I had lunch at a home-cooking joint where the owner's mom is kind of a token local personality. She used to work the register but now that they've moved into a new and giant facility, she mostly just wanders around with that really blank stare that the mentally unstable often have. She's the "greeter"- that person that comes by your table and asks if everything is OK and if you're enjoying your meal.
I was lunching with my friend, V, and Lamar, the most adorable redneck you'll ever meet. He did not disappoint today. He was wearing his American Flag print button-down with snaps and the obligatory cap and cowboy boots. He's 60 years old and speaks with a southern drawl that is hard for even me to understand. He's a story teller, a character, and dirty as they come. I love him.
Momma came wondering by. You always move your purse and make sure your chair is pulled up because she's around 70 herself and does not appear to know where she is or that there is furniture around her. She's hobbling on, pausing at tables and having conversations that don't make a lot sense. She gets to us and, upon laying eyes on Lamar, her face was washed with a new expression. It was one of joy one of... connection.
Momma is a widow. We know this. Momma sometimes has a tierra on, just for fun. I've seen Momma several times and I don't recall ever seeing her so overjoyed to make eye contact as I saw her today with Lamar.
She took his hand, started straight into his eyes and said, "I'm IN LOVE!"
Lamar smiled and replied, "Why, thank you ma'am!"
To which momma loudly pronounced, "WITH JESUS CHRIST!"
Then she turned and stumbled away to the next table.
Now THAT'S confidence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)