Not a big fan of the lava lamp.

What’s up, party people. I am currently transfixed on my lava lamp. Well, it’s not MY lava lamp. I’m merely babysitting it for someone. It’s a big responsibility. Like when they give you the egg in school and make you take care of it like a parent for a week. And if you break it, you get an F. Kinda like that.

I’ve never had a lava lamp before, and I’ve decided that after I give this one back, I think I’m through with them. They might be a ravelrousing conversation piece, but I happen to have a couple of problems with them. Ahem.

1. When it warms up first thing in the morning, the gunk in there is all squiggly and curly, and it looks just like a big white colon.

2. Once it gets going and breaks up into balls, it looks like disgusting squishy turtle eggs all bouncing around. Not that I have anything against turtles, but I've seen them lay their eggs before on TV, and it's more than a tad revolting.

3. It makes me dizzy to watch. Perhaps I’m slightly retarded, but it does. Like seasickness or something. So I basically can’t even look at it without getting grossed out about colons and turtle butts while I’m eating my breakfast, or without getting queasy the rest of the time! Peh, who needs it.

In other news, I got up this morning and couldn’t find my beagle to let him out. I was looking all around. Then, a suspicious-looking lump on the bed moved. The little turd had crawled underneath the covers and was fast asleep! I peeled back the covers and he stuck his little beagle-head out, all squinty-like. Man oh man, what a life....

Not much else to report today......just a bit of drivel, I’m afraid. Sorry.

Livin' la Vida Loca.

There is nothing better than the pleasure of driving along when someone throws up in the car next to you.

More specifically, there’s nothing better than driving along when your carsick beagle positions himself over (a) the nice, clean upholstery of the seat he’s sitting on, as well as (b) the most narrow, hard-to-reach crags of the seat/floor/door to puke on/in, (simultaneously), and you’re helpless to do anything about it. I love that!

What I would REALLY like, like if I had just one wish, is to have him hang his beagle-head over my lap, and puke there. Like, on my way to a very important meeting or something. That is the only way it could possibly get any better!

But seriously. If I did have just one wish, just one teeny, tiny wish--the smallest of wishes--I would wish that he could find it in his itty, bitty, black little beagle heart to yak on THE FLOOR, just the plain-old floor of the car, on the floor mats. They would be so easy to remove and clean!

But no. That would simplify my life and cause me less mental/emotional anguish, as well as allow me to kak less when I’m wrist-deep in beagle vomit, so why on earth would he want THAT??

Then, what’s EXTRA fun, is when it’s -7 degrees outside when this whole scenario plays out, so when you get home and spray everything with carpet cleaner, it FREEZES solid. I love that! So then you’re hacking away at it with a scrub brush and a fistful of frozen fingers, and it’s merely breaking off in large chunks and flying everywhere. Even better!

The grand finale comes when you get a bucket of water and attempt to wet the brush before scrubbing the pile of puke--and the water freezes the bristles together before you even get to scrub anything! It’s SO much fun!

I adore owning my own beagle. Each new day brings a whole host of previously unknown joys, let me tell you. Life before my beagle just wasn’t living!

I need alcohol.

I'm here to help.

So the next time you maim your automobile and need to come up with a good excuse quickly, perhaps the following could be of use.

On NPR the other night, I listened diligently to a segment about the top 10 *actual* explanations people put on their insurance claim forms when they attempted to collect car insurance for damages.

Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I was only privy to two of the ten. But they were GOLD, Jerry, GOLD! I simply cannot wait to use them myself--and I am certain you will feel the same.

EXCUSE NUMERO UNO.

So a motorist wound up with a sizeable hole in his (or her) windshield, and instead of going with the old “baseball-through-the window” approach, he used the following (I am not making this up):

“A frozen squirrel fell out of a tree and crashed through my winshield, landing on the passenger’s seat.”

Oh, really? Was the squirrel by any chance baseball-shaped and traveling at approximately 30 miles per hour when it collided with your windshield, through no fault of your own?

Interesting. It could be my shoddy math skills, but somehow I don’t think a 4-oz falling squirrel (frozen or not) would pick up enough velocity to do that. That bushy tail doesn’t fool me--they’re all fur and teeth. But wait--there’s more!

EXCUSE DEUXIEME

A man was accused of damaging another man’s car. Apparently, it resulted in a “sizeable dent”. To explain, the accused provided the following account. (Once again, even I couldn’t make this sh*t up if I tried):

“I was traveling around a curve at a high speed. As I passed the other car, my passenger-side door fell open, and a meat kebab flew out and hit the other car.”

Hmm. A meat kebab, you say? I don’t suppose the meat happened to be 3 feet long and baseball-bat shaped. Wow, that’s one powerful kebab! One that sounds big and mean enough to EAT BABIES. I’m sorry, I’ve had chicken satay plenty of times, and there’s just not enough meat on there to get the job done. That goes double for smashing up automobiles.

So what have we learned here today? That automobiles and baseball equipment DO NOT MIX. Next time you catch Sammy Sosa sneaking around your garage at night, call the police immediately! And be prepared to fill out one hell of a claim form.

Food vs. Candy.

At long last, I reign triumphant in the ongoing “food vs. candy” debate I’ve been having with a certain friend of mine who shall remain nameless (STAN) (OK I lied), regarding a most important staple of my diet: chocolate.

I say chocolate is food, and a very important one, at that. It has all kinds of health benefits, including potent antioxidants. I eat it absolutely every day, without fail. (I really have to choke it down, let me tell ya! Like brussels sprouts!)

He argues that chocolate is only candy, which disappoints me greatly because he's a personal trainer and should know these sorts of things. We butt heads often on this point, as I am a vehement proponent of good, dark chocolate being a regular part of your diet.

Well I win! According to researchers at Harvard University, who have been working with the people at Mars to investigate the health properties of chocolate. They have discovered that cocoa is extremely high in flavanols, a compound that helps the body ward off such ailments as cancer and heart disease. South American people that ingest unprocessed cocoa on a regular basis were found to be MUCH healthier than other people in the region who didn’t imbibe the glorious stuff (what are they, crazy??).

I win! I win I win I win! I win!!!!!!!!!!

I just polished off an 86% cacao bar today as a matter of fact. WOW was it stout! Kinda made you pucker, it was so strong.

In any case, I feel the need to gloat, publicly, that I was right all along. In moderation, chocolate provides excellent health benefits that the body needs to stay strong and healthy. So there! STAN!!! Suck it!!!!!!!!

OK, perhaps that was a little much.

Naah. You’re goin’ DOWN, Stanny boy. I’ll take you down to CHINATOWN!!!!!!!!!!

And now, I shall celebrate this sweet sweet victory with a delectable Belgian chocolate bar I picked up on the continent.

Love those Belgians.....

Chicken Tidbits.

So thanks to “Mr. J” (oops--sorry--“Dr. J”) for bringing the following matter to light, which has somehow managed to escape my astute attention until now: that CHICKENS ARE MADE TO WEAR CONTACT LENSES, REGARDLESS OF THEIR INDIVIDUAL OPTICAL REQUIREMENTS.

Was anybody else aware of this?? Or was I the only one left in the dark??

Apparently, requiring chickens to wear red-tinted contact lenses makes them less prone to “cockfighting.” I am not even making this up. Somehow, seeing red actually makes them LESS aggressive and liable to kill each other prematurely, thereby securing chicken farmers’ profits. How about it!

It also, for some unknown reason, makes them lay more eggs, which makes the chicken farmers EXTRY HAPPY.

However, you could not pay me enough to want to poke a bunch of chickens in the eyeballs all the live-long day. My lifelong aspirations do not involve being pecked to death by agitated poultry.

In any case, I can think of a few people around the workplace that could stand to be outfitted with a nice pair of ruby contacts. Without naming any names, of course.

So, to recap: What have we learned here today?

1. Our best pal George “W” (and his sidekick Dicky, of course) should be made to wear scarlet contacts. Not only are they sure to be visually appealing, but as an additional bonus, maybe his testosterone levels will be knocked back a couple of levels and he will stop picking cockfights in areas of the globe he shouldn’t be messing around in. Eureka! Why hasn’t somebody thought of this before?!

2. My “least likely job list” just got a little longer. Right behind operating the forklift in a beef processing plant and cleaning port-o-potties.

3. Are there opthamologists that actually specialize in chicken eyewear??? There must be, right??? And as a bonified opthamologist, is that a job that you're "really" OK with????

OK, I think this has gone far enough.

Crap.

As usual, I find myself in "quite" the pickle.

In preparations for getting rid of my old house and finding a new one, I asked my old realtor to work with me. I never really liked her that much, but she did help me find my current house in a timely fashion, so I decided to go with her again.

However, when I told her that I wasn't going to be using her to SELL my house, she bristled. When she looks at me, I see dollar signs gleaming in her beady little eyes. I am simply unwilling to shell over the (ample) dough she wants to sell it, so I had to go with somebody else. She did not take the news very well.

More specifically, she has not spoken to me for over a month.

Then today, I get a "cheerful e-mail" to "check in" and "find out where we are in terms of selling my house and looking to buy again."

OK, well, when she stopped calling me, I thought she had dropped me for good! So I sort of asked the realtor who is helping me SELL my house to also help me BUY.

And then I get this e-mail today. Crap! CRAP!!

So now I have to formally "ditch" my old realtor, who is none too happy with me to begin with. Ack!! I absolutely loathe this sort of encounter. What on earth do I say to break the news gently?

The upshot is that I get to take the weenie's way out and do it via e-mail, since she e-mailed me first. But still, now I have to snuff out the greedy little light in her eyes once again. Like attempting to pry The Ring from Gollum's repugnant fingers. I'm sort of expecting the same reaction, spittle strands and all.

Ugh. I suppose I should just do it quickly and get it overwith, like a band-aid. Still, she's kind of like that creepy monster that lives in your closet that you can feel breathing down your neck in the dark. Come to think of it, WHY did I ever agree to go with her again????

Why me....

The art of negotiation.

Sup, my peeps!

I am somewhat happy to announce that I have received an offer on my house, which has been for sale for not even two weeks now. I wish I could be happi-ER about it, but to anyone who's had to do this before, you will understand that I now find myself in the midst of NEGOTIATIONS, which is a not-entirely-pleasant place to be.

What happens is, the "potential buyer" comes in with an offer that is way too low. Then, I counter with an offer that is "a little less than the asking price" but "nowhere near the same ridiculous sub-par ballpark that he is in." Then the buyer feigns "disappointment" that my counteroffer is "higher than we expected, we will have to think about this."

Hmm, well if my asking price doesn't happen to fall in your price range, buddy, then what the hell are you doing attempting to buy my house???

Good Lord.

In other news, the beagle was kind enough to throw up on my freshly shampooed carpet YET AGAIN over the weekend, which I love when I am busy showing my house to potential buyers. Can't get enough of it!!

So, now I sit back and play the waiting game. Soon, I get to find out if we may proceed with the super-fun ritual of "haggling." Can't wait!!

Do you think it's gross to drink hot chocolate out of the same mug you drank tomato soup out of earlier? I'm just wondering.

On the Juice.

I have a question. If you are a dude, and you take steroids and your weenie shrinks, does it ever go back to the way it was?

Dudes presumably take steroids to look good to females, so that they can get laid by more (and hotter) chicks. Right?

But if you don't have what it takes to "hold up your end of the bargain," so to speak, that's really not going to get you anywhere, is it?

Also, pumping all that weight seems like an awful lot of work for not alotta payoff in the end, once the "catch 'o the day" finds out about your Little Smokie.

Vanity, vanity. I am simply amazed at the boob jobs, horrendously fake tans, and unnatural musculature that struts past me every day at the gym. Do these people REALLY think they look good??? Seems to me they'd be better off without all the surgery, drugs, and imminent melanoma.

There's this one dude I know that is CLEARLY taking steroids. He used to be thin and normal. Now he is ENORMOUS and a highly erroneous shade of burnt sienna.

I said to him, "Man, you're really beefing up."

"Thanks," he said, and grinned. "I want to look disgusting," he added. (I am not making this up.)

Well congratulations, pal, let me be the first to say you've succeeded, with flying colors. I hereby crown you "Beefy King of the Oompa Loompas."

Not to be confused with the "Burger King King." Although your head is almost as large as his these days. Except that you're bald.

The end.