Chronicles of a Pseudo-Sane Individual

My biz.

2008-05-04T11:45:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, check it out!!!! My macrophotography biz is finally up and running! Check out my sweeeeet cards (and prints). It has taken me a year to put this together. I hope you like it!! (Oh yeah--and buy some cards!! You'll love 'em, I promise....)

www.heatherbydesigns.com

Evidence.

2008-05-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

Blueberry smoothie? What blueberry smoothie?

Moon-chasing.

2008-04-17T09:35:00.001-07:00

So my little one has been learning about the moon lately. I point it out to him in books, and he recognizes it on Sesame Street and other such places. "Moooo!" he says, pointing a little finger when he sees it, and looking quite proud of himself.

The other day it was nice out, so we went across the street to the park (his favorite thing). It was about 3 o'clock, and I looked up and the moon was out! So I pointed it out to him. WELL.

That was just about the MOST EXCITING THING HE'S EVER SEEN. "MOOO! MOOOOO!!" he squealed. He began shrieking and dancing around like it was Christmas morning.

And then--he took off running. He held his little hands out in front of him and away he went across the park, yelling, "Mooo! Moooo!!" He was going to get that moon! He figured all he had to do was chase it down to get ahold of it. It was so stinking cute, I hardly even knew what to do. I let him run after it for a while to see what would happen.

In the end, he ran the length of a football field, maybe more (which for him is a lot, as he is, after all, only a year and a half old) before I stopped him and tried to explain that the moon was "pretty far away" and he wasn't "likely to get it by running toward it."

He accepted defeat and was content to beam at it for a while, and point and laugh.

Man oh man, part of me wishes this age would last forever...when everything is new and full of possibilities and you think you can chase the moon and hold it in your tiny little hands for a while.

Sniff.

The Toddler Years: 1st Installment.

2008-02-21T08:01:00.001-08:00

Oh sure, he LOOKS all cute and innocent. But don't be fooled--this child is a veritable cyclone of trouble. I would like to relate my experience making breakfast this morning.

Background info: I buy the JUMBO box of Cheerios at Costco. They are served up to him with every meal, an "aperitif" if you will.

Also. If this little boy is quiet, he is either asleep, or INTO SOMETHING. Period.

Ahem.

After serving up his traditional bowl of Cheerios, banana, and oatmeal, it was time for me to make my own breakfast. I left him to his own devices in the living room (as per usual) while I disappeared into the kitchen for FIVE MINUTES.

After about three minutes, I started to notice that the living room was completely silent. No jibber-jabbering or toys clanking around. I grew suspicious.

As I rounded the corner, the first thing I saw was a sea of Cheerios spilling out in a wide arc around the couch. "Oh no," I heard myself moan.

As I rounded the couch, I discovered a Cheerio waterfall cascading onto the floor. He was standing at the mouth of the bag, helping to scoop the cereal out in a continuous "stream". He was simultaneously stomping on the cereal, pulverizing it into dust with his little house-boots. "Oh no!" I heard myself shout, as if it was coming from another person entirely.

The first thing I did was to pluck him out of the mess and chuck him into the playpen where he couldn't get into any more trouble. Then I attempted to stop the flow of Cheerios from the JUMBO-sized bag, and ran for the vacuum. Meanwhile the dog is going nuts, eating cereal as fast as he can. I considered just letting him just eat it all, but there was waaay too much and I figured it would make him sick (just what I need).

The vacuum quickly became full and wouldn't suck anymore. So I had to stop and empty it before I could keep going. The dog was fighting me for the cereal. But finally I got it all. That's when I heard it---rip, rip, rip. I turned around.

Standing in the playpen, he was busy ripping all the diaper wipes out of the box one by one, and chirping with glee. I had not heard him because of the vacuum cleaner running. "Oh no!" I exclaimed.

He began to laugh. I descended upon him and retrieved the now-3/4-empty box of wipes and began to scoop all the loose ones out of the playpen. As I was doing that, he whipped the tube of Vaseline out of nowhere, showed me that the cap was off, laughed, and proceeded to shove it into his mouth. Arrrgh!!!

Fast forward ten minutes, when I finally had the situation under control. At long last I sat down to enjoy my breakfast, and he was looking at me from across the room, trying to conceal something he had in his mouth. Upon investigation, I discovered the little plastic clip from my bag of raisin bread, which I must have dropped when I saw what he was doing with the Cheerios.

There is nothing like the grin a toddler gives you when they are in the middle of stirring up trouble. You can't even be mad about any of it, because they think it's SO FUNNY. Consequently, it's awfully quiet in the other room. Gotta run.....

Me and my buddy.

2008-01-16T08:54:00.000-08:00

In Texas! Enjoying all the barbecue we can eat, and having a ball.

14 months, here we come!

2007-11-28T10:01:00.001-08:00

I shot these myself, I swear.

Vocabulary now includes "Duck," "Bubble," "Moo," "Gus," "Dada," and "Ball." (Note "Mama" is still conspicuously absent.) (Thanks, Stan, for helping a girl out on that one.)

Persimmons: Fruits of the Devil

2007-11-03T13:26:00.000-07:00

Today I would like to talk about my new nemesis, persimmons.

I had never had a persimmon. I know (knew) nothing about persimmons. However, I receive a box of organic produce every week, whatever is in season, and this week it happened to include persimmons. (I only knew what they were because they came with a label.)

Now, bear in mind that I enjoy many foods most people would consider off-the-beaten-path. I eat fennel and kale and barley and leeks and stuff like that. So, I would like to think that I have a nice, wide palate for such things.

Well, I read online that you have to peel the persimmons first, which I did. It seemed kind of fleshy, like a mango. I took a small bite. Mmm! Very sweet and juicy. At first.

Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere---WHAM this PUTRID aftertaste bowls you over and gets worse with every passing second. Blech!!! Worse and worse. Awfuler and awfuler. Ack!!! Like pouring bleach all over your tongue.

So I was faced with a quandary---Do I just throw the persimmons out, or attempt to 'fix them up' so they can at least be imbibed without tossing one's cookies?

I searched and searched, and found no appealing persimmon recipes. I also noted warnings not to eat "too many persimmons, as they may induce diarrhea." "Unpalatable" was also a word I ran across a couple of times. Hmm. Not promising. Alas, I blew past all the warnings and fixed them up anyway. (My first mistake.)

I decided to stew them. You can stew just about any fruit, and by adding butter, brown sugar, and lemon juice, enjoy a savory fruity dessert. Which is exactly what I did.

I stewed them and stewed them. And stewed them some more. They just weren't softening. I stewed them for over an hour and finally took them off the stove, as they weren't looking any different. I attempted to mash them up with a potato masher. Finally, I took a small bite.

ACK!!!! There wasn't even any tempting deliciousness this time---just butt-puckering aftertaste, magnified times about ten. I spit it into the sink, washed my mouth out, and dumped the whole pot down the drain. So much for conquering persimmons!! Absolutely awful. You can't even IMAGINE how awful they were. Chug a bottle of Windex and that might get you about half-way there.

I chewed a stick of gum in an attempt to get rid of the taste. It took me OVER AN HOUR to get rid of it, it lingered and lingered.

Also, we woke up this morning and the whole kitchen sink was broken, with dirty water and bits of persimmon everywhere. They clogged up my sink!!! Those little sons of bitches!!!! We can't use the sink or the disposal or anything, it's all a big mess. Unbelievable!

So, the moral of the story is: Avoid Persimmons. They are the fruit of the devil. I hope I never see one again as long as I live! They look like revolting little tomatoes, except they're pure evil.

Or, ignore my warnings and try them for yourself. Just have plenty of toilet paper on hand. And gum. And a good plumber. And one of those big laundry pins for your nose. I'll stop now.

Awesomest Professional Pics

2007-10-18T08:14:00.001-07:00

My friend Hadi is a phenomenal photographer...

Dada, Gus, and Poop

2007-10-08T09:11:00.000-07:00

So the sprout is beginning to say real, bonified "words" for the first time. (Or at least attempt them.) The first thing he said was Da-da (pronounced "Da-ta"), for 'Daddy.' Then came Gus (pronounced "Guh,") for the dog. Whom he loves. Totally understandable.

I have been repeating "Ma-ma, MA-MA" OVER AND OVER AND OVER again for MONTHS. (And months and months and months.) "Ma-ma! Can you say MA-MA???" He laughs, and shakes his head 'no.'

So what BRAND NEW WORD does he say yesterday? After 12 months of hope and eager anticipation???

"POOP."

Arghhhh!

So now his repertoire consists of three words: Dada, Gus, and Poop. It just figures. Who's the ONE person who feeds him and changes him and puts him to bed every night and bathes him and reads to him and takes care of him ALL DAY???? And what do I get??? Nada!! Zip. Zilch.

Oh, wait. I get "Poop."

So, from now on, please call me "Poop." Cause that's the only way he's ever gonna say my name!!!

Sigh.

Good Stuff.

2007-09-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am in the middle of the most fantastic book I have ever read. It is called, "You Can Heal Your Life," by Louise Hay. If you liked the movie, The Secret, you should pick up this book. It was published in 1984 originally, but as I was 7 then, it wouldn't have meant much to me at the time!

Also, I watched a reeeeally good movie last night, called "Peaceful Warrior." It is based on a book called "The Way of the Peaceful Warrior," written by an Olympic gymnast. I am interested to read the book next. If you have the opportunity to see the movie, I urge you to! It's out on video.

Laters!

Infante avec Leek.

2007-09-24T10:57:00.001-07:00

The funniest part about this was that I didn't give him this leek. He absconded with it all by himself.

A problem I never thought I'd have.

2007-09-17T11:32:00.001-07:00

Ever had your house bombarded by a constant barrage of golf balls? Me neither. Until I made the ill-fated decision to build my house under a giant walnut tree.

In case you didn't know, walnuts grow on trees in these big ball-casing things that make them much bigger, somewhere in between golf and tennis balls and every bit as dense as a baseball.

This time of year, there are HUNDREDS of walnuts hanging from the tree, and the only way they can fall is down. Right on top of my house.

Day and night, they bounce off of the roof and echo throughout the house, it's so loud. It's like living smack-dab in the middle of a driving range. (Now I know why people don't build houses on driving ranges.)

Even better is that the baby's room is on the top floor, so you can imagine how many consecutive hours of sleep we're getting right now. What was I thinking?!

Who else has this problem? Nobody that I know of. Does this make me officially retarded? (Don't answer that.)

Sometimes you feel like a nut.....sometimes you DON'T.

Ack!!!

Our trip to Madison!

2007-09-01T09:56:00.000-07:00

We went to Madison, Wisconsin last week for a little R&R. (For those of you who aren't geographically savvy, Madison is the capitol!)

It is a charming town, which would be further enhanced if there weren't grizzly bears and alligators hiding in the water everywhere you look.

Highlights included eating dinner at an Afghani restaurant, which the sprout COULDN'T GET ENOUGH OF. I think I might have to learn how to make some Afghani dishes to appease him at home.

If you don't give him what he wants, you are susceptible to the baby strangle-hold of death:

Pictures!!!

2007-09-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry it's been so long, I've FINALLY got my new setup together here.

And, so, without further ado---I give you.....the sprout! In all of his toothy glory.

He is almost 11 months old now, and crawling around like greased lightning. I had to get one of those fancy cameras that take extremely high-speed images, just to capture these. (OK, not really, but I actually managed to catch him sitting (pretty) still a couple of times, which is HIGHLY IRREGULAR.) He keeps you on your toes! I feel like the paparazzi, stalking my own infant in an attempt to snap a couple of decent photos for posterity. Most of the time he gives me the slip, darting out the door in a ball cap and dark sunglasses. As you can plainly see, he'll do whatever it takes to avoid having his picture taken.

To Market, to Market, to Buy a Fat Pig.

2007-08-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

Home again, home again, jiggety jig!

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE staying home with my offspring all day, but I am getting SO TIRED of reading THE SAME BOOKS and playing with THE SAME TOYS EVERY SINGLE DAY.

I could recite "Stomp your feet, clap your hands, everybody ready for A BARNYARD DANCE" in my sleep. (Which is troublesome.) I keep buying more books and bringing home more toys to appease my own boredom, and The Sprout will reject the books because they're not "his old favorites" and will play with the toys for a half hour and then never again. His favorite toys right now include Anything Dangerous, and nothing at all in the Approved-For-Baby category. He doesn't want HIS toys. He wants EVERYTHING ELSE. Which makes for plenty of lower-back pain and fatigue, as you have to pick him up and carry him to the opposite, "baby-safe" end of the room approximately once every ten seconds for about 11 hours straight.

I am having to come up with New Uses For Old Toys just to entertain myself in between the times he is bolting for the stairs and/or electric outlets. He has this plastic egg, it's green, and today I was putting it in my mouth and blowing it out as hard as I could, hitting him in the stomach. Which he found hilarious, so I had to do it approximately 365 times until he stopped giggling and scampered off to rip the surrounding power cords out of the wall. At which point I was dizzy from blowing it out of my mouth so many times in a row and could barely get up off the floor to clamber after him.

Remember those books where you could choose your own twists in the story? If you chose this thing, the book took you this way. If you chose something else, it turned out differently. I could sure use some of those in the picture-book variety.

To market to market, to buy a fat hog. Home again, home again, jiggety jog!

Sigh...

Back on Track.

2007-08-02T07:13:00.001-07:00

Hey, long time no blog!

I have been offline for 3 LOOOONG months now. I officially have the most retarded computer guy there is. He sold me this piece-of-shit computer which broke immediately and he has been unable to repair it. Yadda yadda yadda, I shipped it off to the manufacturer for repairs and bought a Mac in its absence. Anybody want to buy a brand-new crappy Acer laptop? I'm selling it for dirt cheap. Cheaper than dirt, actually.

So, I intend to get back to blogging on a somewhat regular basis.

On the homefront, my sprout is 9 months old now and has NO FEAR. You know that piece of your brain that tells you NOT to tumble off the couch/bed/porch swing headfirst onto your face? Yeah, he seems to be missing that all-important lobe. I am terrified because there's a skate park across the street and I can totally see him darting across the street in traffic to learn how to break every bone in his body via skateboard. If it's dangerous, that's what he wants. Yesterday he tried to lose the tips of his fingers in a box fan. (Unsuccessfully, thank heaven.) You can't take your eyes off that kid for a SECOND! He knows EXACTLY what he's not supposed to have...and he appears to have a small sensor that alerts him the moment you shift your gaze elsewhere. Then he makes his dash for the outlet/stairs/toilet/power cords/dust buster/alarm clock/lamp/dog/cell phone/etc. I live in a constant state of vigilance. (If you're a Harry Potter fanatic as I am--I often hear the auror Mad-Eye Moody barking "Constant Vigilance!" in my head. Is that weird?)

And now...breakfast. Hopefully I'll be chatting with you again soon!

Hildeeee

Warning: Beware of Baby Tooth.

2007-05-26T21:42:00.001-07:00

It's deceptively cute, n'est pas? Don't be fooled. It will take your finger clean off, leaving only a bloody nub.

I don't know why this cracks me up, but it does.....

The Prime Minister, himself.

2007-05-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

In no mood for picture taking, I was granted one brief snapshot, to appease me, before he made it clear that I would receive no other.

He had far more pressing matters to attend to, such as sucking on his binky, and falling asleep in his stroller. One mustn't interfere with such important matters of official state business.

The Radioactive Diaper Brigade

2007-04-19T11:20:00.001-07:00

Friends, I would like to post today about a phenomenon I like to call 'The Radioactive Diaper'. I was wholly unfamiliar with this concept up until yesterday, and I feel a responsibility to pass a sort of warning on to other new, unsuspecting parents like myself.

My baby is six months old. His poops have been altogether inoffensive (albeit profuse) thus far, which has been a rather pleasant surprise, seeing as how I'm the one in charge of poopy diaper removal.

Three weeks ago he started eating baby cereal, which changed things slightly, but no biggie, as the cereal is mixed with milk. He's USED to drinking milk, so nothing dramatic happened as a result.

Then, however, came the sweet potatoes.

Three nights ago I gave him sweet potatoes for the very first time, which constitutes the first entree he has ever eaten which is non-milk based. To my surprise, he ate the whole bowl.

People had warned me that the "really smelly poops" were soon to follow, after starting solid foods. I waited. Nothing happened.

Twenty-four hours passed. Still nothing.

Thirty-six hours later, at approximately 8:36 am, the sweet potatoes came out. And DEAR GOD I don't know what happened in there, but there was no longer (any SEMBLANCE of) anything "sweet" about them.

Upon opening the diaper, the stench reached up and slapped me across the face. It made my eyes water. I have never smelled anything that offensive in my entire LIFE. I liken the experience to dangling your nostrils over a bottle of ammonia and breathing deeply. It literally SINGED MY NOSTRILS. It was THAT potent. I'm not even exaggerating! I began to feel woozy.

Interestingly, it still retained a sweet-potato color and texture, but any semblance of "sweet potato fragrance" was loooong gone. I worked fast, but my eyes and nose weren't quite right for the better part of an hour. I'm not sure what sorts of hazardous gases and substances I was exposed to, but I'm pretty sure I experienced some sort of radioactive poisoning.

I know the Department of Defense likes to experiment with alternate forms of weaponry. I would like to know if they've ever analyzed what comes out of a baby's butt after he eats sweet potatoes for the first time, and/or what ill effects the end result might have on a person's eyeballs and olfactories.

I hereby suggest a new form of top-secret artillery, 'fresh' sweet-potato baby poop. (I use the term 'fresh' in an ironic sense, of course.)

It could be The Radioactive Diaper Brigade. It would be an unstoppable force, driving fear into the hearts of our enemies!

I am still awaiting the second sweet-potato-pooping. And I'm afraid, VERY afraid. It should be anytime now, as it's been a whole day since the first one.

Help...me....

Thoughts from the cold-cuts aisle.

2007-03-12T23:26:00.000-07:00

I was at the grocery store tonight, and I caught some dude checking me out. His wife was looking down at some lunchmeat, pretending she didn't see it.

I thought to myself how many times I've done the same thing---pretended not to notice that whomever I was with was ogling somebody else. Sadly, it's happened hundreds of times.

And then I thought, what I really love is when a man has the balls not to look at me at all. Any old schmuck can goggle at every woman that walks by. But it takes a real man, in my opinion, not to look (and what's more, not to CARE). THAT'S when you know when you've landed a great guy---he's out in public with you, and he's not looking at anyone BUT you, because he just doesn't care who else is around. It's a pity more men aren't like that.

And THEN I stopped and thought about the deteriorating state of marriage nowadays. Does it matter that so many people are checking out OTHER people when they're out with someone supposedly special? What does that say to your spouse, when your eyes are glued to somebody across the room?

(I, for one, immediately felt sorry for the lunchmeat lady with the bonehead husband.)

The past few years, it seems the emphasis has moved away from nurturing the most important people in our lives---our loved ones---to everything else imaginable. We're inundated by work, by celebrity "news," by TV shows we just can't miss, by whatever sport we're obsessed with, etcetera, etcetera---and we spend countless hours dwelling on such pointless pursuits.

I wonder, if we focused a little less on the above distractions, and put a little more effort into making our spouses feel good, and feel wanted (starting with NOT eyeballing random girls at the supermarket)---would things would be any different?

Eee!

2007-03-12T13:58:00.000-07:00

A (Unfortunately for everyone involved) true story.

2007-03-10T20:14:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a wiley beagle who came down with stomach troubles.

He threw up all over the bed and the floor.

The next day, he threw up (massive quantities) again.

His stomach gurgled as though an angry bobcat was attempting to claw its way out.

He threw up YET AGAIN on the third day, which was mistaken for poo because it was brown and--how you say--NOT QUITE SOLID BUT ALMOST. (He hid behind the bed when it was discovered, as he seemed to understand its poo-like resemblance.)

Later that third day, the beagle was taken for a walk, as it was nice out.

He stopped along the way to do his business, and....

A PINE BRANCH CAME OUT OF HIS BUTT.

The end.

Wasn't that a heart-warming story? You're welcome.

Chubbins!

2007-02-20T16:53:00.000-08:00

One plucky baby with mouthful of enormous left hand, coming right up.....

We predict he will be palming a basketball by the ripe old age of three. Get a load of those mitts!

Exciting developments this month include an insane amount of pooping and drooling. His official title these days is "PMPP," or "Prime Minister of Pudding Production." As he typically has a diaper-ful of "pudding" at any given time. Only not the kind you want to eat.

Thoughts on fast "food."

2007-01-29T14:54:00.000-08:00

I read today that McDonald's has "selected a frying oil without trans fats" in it. Eureka, right? Now their "food" isn't bad for you anymore...right? McDonalds has finally opted NOT to serve products that will send you to an early grave...right?

We'll come back to that.

If you know me, you know I'm a pretty health-conscious eater. We cook dinner every night at my house (well, almost every night---we go out about once a week). We only eat all-natural foods, as nature intended. Whole grains, vegetables and even (fresh) meat....nothing out of a box except maybe brown rice and whole-wheat couscous, both of which are natural grains. What I find strange--is that I'm in the minority for eating this way!

(Granted, when I was pregnant, I succumbed to a few less-than-optimal temptations, but I bought all-natural products when I had to have the hot dogs or the potato chips. No chemicals or preservatives, thank you!)

That said, I've been thinking about a friend of mine lately that eats fast food, a lot. Even though she KNOWS it's bad for her. She's overweight, she has cholesterol issues, and still she eats it. She's a mother of small children....and yet she frequents the drive-through like it's going out of style. She also drinks a lot of soda, even though she knows she shouldn't. Worse, she takes her kids with her to eat fast food all the time. Kids need vitamins, protein, fiber---building blocks on which to grow up healthy and strong. None of which you can get from a Happy Meal.

Today, I looked up the definition of "poison" in the dictionary.

Poison: (n) a substance with an inherent property that tends to destroy life or impair health; something harmful or pernicious, as to happiness or well-being.

So, poison impairs health and causes harm to the body. Everybody knows that. Well, guess what---fast food has been PROVEN to impair health and cause harm to the body. Ergo....

FAST FOOD = POISON.

And there you have it.

You would never knowingly eat rat poison or drink Drano unless you were INTENDING to injure yourself. Why would you continue to binge on cheeseburgers and french fries, knowing full well it's bad for you? Just to clarify: It ain't harmless. It ain't good for you. It IS detrimental to your body to eat it. (And just because you tell yourself otherwise to justify eating it, that doesn't make it so. I don't care what it tastes like!)

I feel really strongly about this, especially now that I have a youngster of my own. I don't intend to "run him through the drive-through," EVER. I care about him too much to do that.

What I don't understand is how our society is riddled with cancer and heart disease and diabetes and even freaking "ED" (and the list goes on), and yet we don't look more closely at what we're giving our bodies to live on. If you don't give it the nutritious foods and fuel it needs, is it any wonder it can't function properly?

Wake up and smell the instant coffee, everybody. Fast food ain't food at all....

It's poison.

Eliminating trans-fats from the deep-frying oil is just a drop in a big fat empty bucket, my friends.

The upshot is that the pendulum is finally starting to swing back the other way....I'm seeing more organic, natural foods more and more wherever I go. Do yourself a favor...don't make the quick choice...make the natural one. Take five extra minutes and fix your food yourself...Your body will reward you a hundred different ways.

More later!

Eee!

2007-01-18T12:52:00.000-08:00

New computer has arrived = now I can post.

2007-01-13T16:26:00.000-08:00

Hello my dearies, it has been ever so long since I've been able to post! My 'new' computer 'got really hot' and 'the keyboard started melting' and 'almost burned me' not to mention 'could have burned my house down.'

So I sent it back and got a new-er one, which hopefully doesn't have that tricky meltdown problem my other one had. How irritating!

I hope you are all swell, I am doing just swimmingly, enjoying the infant I made. He is super fun and super cute, which helps. Here is an action shot I snapped just the other night:

Just to clarify, he's the one on the right. The hairier one on the left was actually asleep in this position, as well, which defies all bounds of gravity and logic. He reminds me of my mother, who is infamous for being able to sleep any time, anywhere. I am told she once fell asleep standing up, with her hands in the dish water. Now that takes talent.

More soon!

Mi Amore.

2006-12-06T11:34:00.000-08:00

Christmas came early for me this year....

Coming soon: chargrilled beagle.

2006-12-03T14:21:00.000-08:00

Hey everybuddy. C'est moi, Baby-Wrangler extraordinaire!

I have treated myself to a new laptop that I can cart around the house with me, so now I can blog at the drop of the hat. Should be a big improvement over my older (slower than Methusalah) laptop.

The beagle is totally smoking me out right now. He's lying next to me on the couch (as lying on the floor would be completely unacceptable). BTW, his new nickname is "Dead Last." He used to be "First," and now that the baby has arrived, he has subsequently been re-shuffled in the pecking order (not only is he "last"....he's "dead last").

Indeed, the couch, chairs, and bed are the only surfaces suitable for Dead Last to lounge upon. His buns are simply too good to rest against the scratchy carpet fibers.

He has been so irritating lately, it's unbelievable. Primarily because he's afraid of the furnace. Which kicks on every half-hour in the wintertime. Which means that every 30 minutes, he freaks OUT and runs around the house shivering and whining. In the middle of the night, he leaps on and off the bed six dozen times to freak out accordingly whenever the heat comes on. And when I only have a couple of hours between feedings to sleep, I CANNOT EVEN HANDLE IT.

We visited the grandparents over Thanksgiving, and he treated me to a completely sleepless night. It was fantastic. He was on the bed, off the bed. On the bed, off the bed. (Tags jangling all the while.) Since he is too good to sleep on the floor, he was trying to curl up on the baby's dirty laundry, which happened to be in a plastic shopping bag on the floor. So now toss in periodic loud crinkling from him romping around on the plastic in the dark.

Deciding that simply wouldn't do, he attempted to curl up IN MY DUFFLE BAG, which was lying next to the bed. So rotate on the bed, off the bed, on the plastic bag, off the plastic bag, rustling around in the duffle bag, abandonment of the duffle bag, and back the bed. Keep rotating and repeat, overlay with massive amounts of jangling, and extend the whole affair out to about 6 HOURS worth of festivities ALL NIGHT LONG.

Um yeah, we very nearly had Roast Beagle the next day. That or I had half a mind to open the window and chuck him right out of it.

Oops, the baby's up. Gotta run!

I miss sleep.

2006-11-11T13:51:00.000-08:00

SOMEday I hope to be able to post again. In the meantime.....

Look---I made a baby!

2006-10-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

And a darn good one, too.

Here he is with his daddy, his number one fan (who carries baby's picture with him proudly, everywhere he goes....)

Sniff.

Fox News RULES.

2006-10-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

At this time, I'd like to give a shout out to Fox News, who reported that Representative Foley, a homosexual Republican alcoholic pedophile, was actually a DEMOCRAT.

Umm, nice try, guys---but he's one of YOURS, not one of OURS.

This just goes to prove, once again, that Fox News is fair. AND unbiased. AND accurate!

And these ignorami are the people we get our "News" from? Who lets these people hold press credentials, anyway???

I need a stiff drink.

I love the media.

2006-10-05T12:06:00.000-07:00

I would like to praise the media, once again, for their superb up-to-the-minute coverage of the crucial events going on in the world today.

Just yesterday I was reading a fascinating headlined story about how Eric Clapton has “begun playing the song ‘Cocaine’ again,” after “choosing not to perform it after he went through drug rehab.”

Oh really? That’s interesting, since I saw him perform the song “Cocaine,” in person, NINE YEARS AGO...APPROXIMATELY 2 1/2 DECADES after he overcame his drug habit. I don’t know about you, but that’s what I call breaking news!!! Way to go, guys!!!

Consequently, my Favorite Headline Of The Day, which has been deemed one of the Most Popular Stories on Yahoo! News this afternoon, IS: (drum roll crescendo here)

“Fungus Causes Pumpkins to Develop Mold”

No shit! I thought it was the Evil Pumpkin Fairy that swooped down and put a Rot Hex on the pumpkins. Boy was I wrong!

Thank you Associated Press, for this incredible revelation. You sure do know news. I feel so informed. Where would we all be without you there to explain things to us?

I am also enjoying the 2nd full day of the “Madonna adopted an African boy/Madonna DIDN’T adopt an African boy” debate going on between “reputable” news sources. Because this is what the news media do best...post a story before everybody else does, regardless of WHETHER IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED OR NOT.

Silly me, I was under the mistaken impression that reporters were supposed to tell us FACTS. Wrong again! Man, I’m just 0 for 2 here.

It’s a good thing journalists are around to set me straight. I’d be so confused otherwise, as would the rest of the American public. Which might lead to wild leaps in presidential approval ratings from one week to the next, for example. Thank heavens there’s no danger of THAT.

So, to all you media types that like to weigh in on issues (a) that any person with two intact brain cells already knows or (b) without stopping to check those pesky facts first---bang-up job!! And I know you’ll keep up the good work.

A Little Ray of Sunshine.

2006-10-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was a “gloomy,” cloudy day, the kind I love but everybody else hates. It seems like 95% of people get up and decide to be cranky on stormy days. I don’t understand it, but I don’t buy it, either. I love storms and see no reason why they should affect my mood adversely--how boring would it be if it was sunny and 80 degrees every single day?

So last night I was shopping at Target amid all the gloomy people. I was standing at the checkout, when this little old black lady in a motorized wheelchair pulled up behind me and started putting her items on the conveyer belt. The cashier was busy scanning my stuff, and I was just standing there, waiting patiently.

Then, out of the blue, the unthinkable happened--the little old lady began singing to herself! She had the sweetest little voice, and was just humming away as if there was nobody else around. Don’t ask me why, but it TOTALLY made my day. How many able-bodied people were stomping around yesterday for no reason, and here was this crippled old lady in a wheelchair that found a reason to sing. In the checkout line at Target, no less.

I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back and nodded, and kept right on singing. And it totally made my night.

People. Come ON.

2006-09-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

I am sad to report the following two news items, which I read about today.

The first is that 7 Eleven will no longer carry Citgo-brand gas, which comes from Venezuela. Apparently 7 Eleven is afraid that consumers won’t want to buy Citgo gas anymore, because the Venezuelan president had the audacity to call Bush “The Devil.”

Well,

(a) SOMEBODY had to say it. Although I’m personally more inclined to call our esteemed VP the devil, and the president merely his fiendish imp, and

(b) This is too damn bad, as Citgo is the only brand of gas I buy if I can, because they are supposedly environmentally friendly. I have heard Jane Goodall speak about them...she says that when Citgo extracts oil from the rain forest, they drop their materials in by helicopter, and when they leave, you never know they were there.

To drop a longstanding business relationship with a trusted company because the president of their home country says something “scandalous” (albeit true) is ABSOLUTELY RETARDED. I hereby announce that I will never again patronize a 7 Eleven, just based on principle alone. You have GOT to be kidding me.

I shall not support such waffling. 7 Eleven, you are dead to me.

Second: A prominent opera house in Berlin has decided not to perform one of Mozart’s operas, because it features the severed head of the prophet Mohammed. Thus, they reportedly “don’t want to offend Muslims and put the opera house at risk,” so they’ve cancelled the production altogether.

Well if THAT STATEMENT ALONE DOESN’T SPEAK VOLUMES.

By saying what they said, they are ADMITTING that they are afraid of Muslim retaliation, for a paltry segment in a 200-year-old opera, which has been performed COUNTLESS numbers of times. Yet they don’t want to “offend” Muslims. What the hell!!!!!!! Their very avoidance of offense is offensive! What could BE more offensive to a Muslim than to say, “Please don’t hurt us!”

I am so sick of the “appearance” of political correctness, when the true sentiment behind the act is precisely the opposite.

And even more dismayed to see that it’s not just Americans anymore that fall prey to this ridiculous trend.

Now I am weary and in need of chocolatey fortification. I can't even handle it...

The party is OVER.

2006-09-21T10:20:00.000-07:00

I am officially a sandbag with legs.

A complete dead weight. I have reached a point where I can barely move, and I’m not even exaggerating. My muscles no longer do what I tell them. I say “sit up,” and they say, “FORGET IT.” I say, “let’s roll over,” and they say, “YOU MUST BE JOKING.” I say, “pee,” and my bladder says, “THANKS, BUT I DON’T FEEL LIKE IT RIGHT NOW. EVEN THOUGH I’M PERPETUALLY TRICKING YOU INTO THINKING YOU’VE REALLY REALLY REALLY GOTTA GO.”

I am so screwed.

Alas, I must find a way to turn off the alarm clock every morning without torquing my back. I must actually heave myself out of bed. I must find a way to bend forward 45 degrees to wash my face. And somehow get my support hose over my toes in the morning without tearing a gigantic hole in them whilst yanking them up my legs.

As for the belly, imagine what it would feel like to stuff a large raccoon into a watermelon skin and then wear it. The raccoon doesn’t want to be in the watermelon. The watermelon is not meant to hold a large raccoon. And yet that’s the situation, whether the raccoon (or the watermelon) likes it or not.

And yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about now. If I could take zoo tranquilizers, I would. If only I could down a bottle of Cap’n Morgan to drown my sorrows. Or just have one measly day off from wearing this baby-suit so I could come back fresh. I think I know what it must have been like to be a medieval knight and have to lug around 50 pounds of armor every damn day. Well, sort of. Speaking of which, how did they relieve themselves when they were all suited up? Maybe they could stick their willy out. But what if they had to poo?

Stay tuned for next week’s installment, “I thought I was miserable LAST week.” (Somebody SHOOT ME NOW) (PRETTY PLEASE)

Cornered Polygamyst Nervously Begins Eating Salad

2006-08-30T08:43:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if you caught the news story this morning about the “Wanted” polygamist Warren Jeffs, who has reportedly been on the lamb for arranging marriages between underage girls and older men.

If you missed it, it was a beaut.

Apparently Jeffs was traveling through Nevada with “one of his wives” and his brother, when they were pulled over by a Highway Patrolman for having a suspicious paper license plate. Jeffs grew uncomfortable as the patrolman began asking them questions, and responded by whipping out a salad, and nervously beginning to eat it.

The patrolman said that he knew something was amiss as he watched Jeffs eat the salad with his “carotid artery pumping.”

This has GOT to be one of the stranger things I’ve heard lately. First, that his dude’s fight-or-flight response indicated to him that he should begin EATING SALAD IMMEDIATELY. Was this supposed to make him seem nonchalant? Because I can guarantee that the LAST thing on my mind, if pulled over by a highway trooper, would be to EAT SALAD. I mean, come on.

Second, I am surprised that the patrolman had the presence of mind to hone in on Jeff’s carotid artery, of all things. Admittedly, the situation is strange enough to begin with, what with the rapid imbibement of leafy greens upon conducting a routine traffic stop. But to notice the activities of his CAROTID ARTERY....well, that to me is a pretty observant patrolman.

I found the story incredibly amusing. And now Jeffs has landed himself in a whole mess of trouble because of it. Can I just say, what an IDIOT. For my money, he might as well have lit up a crack pipe in front of the patrolman, and pretended everything was fine.

I hereby declare Warren Jeffs the Biggest Bozo On the Road This Week. Trailed closely by the Chinese woman who attempted to teach her DOG how to drive and consequently wound up in a head-on collision with oncoming traffic. Paraphrased quote: “I thought he could drive because he’s watched me do it so many times before.”

And now my head hurts, and I must retire.

Everything I learned in school was a crock of sh*t.

2006-08-24T06:55:00.000-07:00

I'm so glad I sat through 12 years of public schooling so that I could be taught all sorts of things that are untrue. The latest and greatest is that Pluto--oops!--isn't *actually* a planet. Ahaha! Sorry, everybody! It seems the basic fundamentals about our own solar system that have been hammered into our heads since we were knee-high were largely based on conjecture. We just "assumed" Pluto was a planet, because we saw it from a distance, and it looked like one. Sorry for the mix-up!

Kind of like we were taught from fourth grade on up that each atom has one electron spinning in orbit around it, like a little moon. Wrong again! Oops! Guess the basic fundamentals of physics we were taught were also sort of "best guesses" that didn't necessarily pan out as time went by. Oh well!

Oh, remember the brontosaurus? Yeah, there's no such thing. That's practically all I learned about in first and second grades---the behemoth brontosaurus that lived around water and had a big long neck and tail. It was supposedly the biggest of all the dinosaurs. Guess again! It had already been discovered years before and named something else. Oops! So sorry to mislead you kids. Just try to forget everything you learned in grades 1-8, and you should pretty much be up-to-speed on what we are NOW accepting as fact about the world around us.

So basically, I'm not sure what the hell they were teaching us in school in the 1980s, but what a load of CRAP it's all turning out to be. The earth IS still round, right? Not lemon-shaped? We are still breathing a substance called OXYGEN, correct? Holy moly...

Also, does anybody else find it REALLY strange that NASA "misplaced" the original tapes of the moon landing back in the 60s? Riiiight. Because those little gems certainly wouldn't have been placed in some top-secret vault at NASA for safe keeping. Oh no, they were probably just "left around" and thrown out by the janitor on accident.

Consequently, if we really DID make it to the moon 40 years ago, doesn't anybody wonder why we haven't been back to study it?? And I mean---not ANYBODY. Not even from Russia or China or Japan. NOBODY. I'm highly suspicious of the whole affair. From the "waving flag" they set up on the moon's surface that day (there's WIND on the moon? Really?? Odd that that fine layer of "moon dust" was just sitting there, perfectly flat and undisturbed, no little moon-dust sand-dunes or anything) to the complete disinterest we've shown toward it, our closest celestial pal, ever since.

I don't suppose the whole thing was an elegantly-executed power play staged for the world to see in the midst of a heated round of Cold-War Chicken. Certainly not. We could probably go back if we WANTED to....we just don't want to. Right? We're sending remote multi-million dollar probes to Saturn but we can't be bothered to "return" to study our own moon. Been there, done that, I guess. Or so we're told. (We just 'can't find' the original tapes to prove it, that's all.)

But I digress.

Webster's defines "science" as "the state of knowing; knowledge as distinguished from ignorance or misunderstanding."

Oh, really? Hmm. The funny thing is, it's not the "science" that has let us down---it's people. The world is the way it is---it's our mistaken interpretations of it that have led us astray time and time again. Remember when the world was flat, and you could be persecuted for speculating otherwise? Um, yeah.

Makes you wonder what else we've been fed over the years, that will one day be revealed as a complete load of bull.

I can hardly wait.

Shower pics.

2006-08-23T06:28:00.000-07:00

Here are a couple of pics from the shower my work pals threw me last week. Note: The belly somehow feels twice this size already.....ack!!

I thought we were there for a meeting! The joke was on me...

It's a Nonstop Fiesta.

2006-08-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

Howdy folks,

Well, it’s just been go-go-gadget in Hildyville lately. Where O where to begin...

The PGA tour is in town right now, and the golf pros are working out at my gym, which of course has turned the place on its ear. I have pumped iron next to Phil Mickelson (a.k.a. Man-Boobs) twice now, and have narrowly missed Tiger two days in a row. Dang it!! They are paired up together in the tournament, but from the looks of it they have no interest in breaking a sweat together off the golf course. I have since been reading about the details of their reported ‘icy’ relationship. All very interesting to be witnessing such dynamics on my home turf.

In any case, our local radio celebs were trying to get info on golf pro sightings around town, and my friend Andrea made me call in to the show. They actually put me on the air! It was a pretty freaky experience. To quote Hugh Grant in “Notting Hill”--‘Surreal but nice.’ And, as it turns out, a couple of people from my office heard the segment, in which I informed the host that I thought I could bench more than Phil, even though I am 7 months pregnant. Ha!!!

In other news, my super-awesome work pals threw me a surprise baby shower, so now I actually HAVE a place for the little guy to sleep, and something for him to wear. Thanks, amigos! I have attempted to post a couple of pics from the event, here, but they aren't showing up, so I shall have to add them later.

I thought I was going into some sort of lunch meeting, but they had me fooled! In any case, it was tons ‘o fun, and I have been through all the loot at least 3 times so far, poring over it in eager anticipation. The whole situation is finally starting to seem REAL. It’s sooo strange!!!

Other developments: In addition to barely being able to put on my own socks at this point, I am now officially unable to get out of bed in the morning. I have to sort of roll onto my side and over the edge, hopefully landing on my feet. My abdominal muscles are simply incapable of pulling me up from a supine position anymore. It’s fantastic.

As a matter of fact, I was at the doctor the other day, and she had laid me back to measure the belly and whatnot. When she was done, I was physically unable to get up, so I just sort of laid there with my pants down, awkwardly, while she walked around the room talking to me about this and that. After a few minutes, she finally realized that I could not get up, and she thankfully lent me a hand so that I could cover up. How humiliating!

All in all, it’s full-steam ahead, and I am getting good ‘n ready to get this show on the road! I want my body back, dammit!!!

Anyway, those are the highlights. I would like to get into the skunk vs. ground-squirrel match-up that went down outside my (open) bedroom window at 3 o’clock in the morning the other night, but I simply must eat something right away. Perhaps that happy scenario will be fodder for my next post.

Ta!

We've come a long way, baby!

2006-08-07T11:21:00.000-07:00

Here I am at 12 weeks pregnant, when I thought I was really fat.

Boy was I in for a rude awakening! Ahaha, this has been a fun trip down memory lane. Not.

Pictures!

2006-08-07T11:13:00.000-07:00

These are from a few weeks ago, so imagine if you will a l'il extra belly, and that's about where we are now. Here I am in Rhode Island. This is the better pic of the two, if you ask me (for obvious reasons).

Here I am, standing in Queens. (On a really warm and muggy day.)

T minus two mos........

2006-08-07T06:53:00.000-07:00

OK, sorry for the delay, folks, I've been meaning to post for a while---I have been waiting on photos of my unwieldy belly that have not arrived.

We took a trip to New York recently, and some belly photos were acquired. However, Stan has not sent them to me, and now they're probably not an accurate depiction of the BEACH BALL I'm walking around with, anyway, so I need to get new ones. Except that anytime Stan is home to take them, I am not photo-ready. It's a vicious cycle!

Let's just say that being 7 1/2 months pregnant in August is a "new" experience. I don't want to say bad, because it really hasn't been. But the heat, my God, the heat! Last night was yet another ice-pack-clutching adventure in trying to go to sleep without the air conditioning on, because our window unit is typically more trouble than it's worth. And trying to eat anything is becoming increasingly undo-able, as baby has decided that the new place to "hang out" is right on top of my stomach, with all his spare parts WEDGED up underneath my ribcage.

So yeah, I'm basically living on Tums these days, and trying to find a comfortable position to be in. The end.

I've gotta say, though, it's been kinda fun lately, because he is getting so big that I can feel exactly where he is at all times. He definitely has his favorite spots to be in, so I suppose there's not a lot of guesswork involved....but all the same, it's fun to be able to feel a little shoulder poking out, or a leg or whatever. He's almost cooked to perfection! And man oh man am I ready to be out of the kitchen!!!!

And that....is that. Hopefully I will be able to fanagle some photos soon! Even if I have to attempt to take them myself.....

World Cup Pretty Cool.

2006-06-26T12:57:00.000-07:00

So despite practically everyone I know badmouthing soccer/the World Cup, I ran across it whilst flipping channels over the weekend and opted to check it out. It happened to be England vs Equador, so I got to see David Beckham in action. And you know what? It was actually pretty exciting!

First of all, from what I can tell, it’s a balls-out sport. Those guys run nonstop for like, 90 minutes, and there’s actually a good bit of (aggressive) contact between opposing players. Secondly, the whole crowd was singing songs in unison (half of them bald and shirtless), creating a unique and spirited atmosphere. Third, when someone finally does score, it’s electrifying. Beckham happened to be the hero of the day. He scored the only goal of the game and immediately began throwing up afterwards because he was so hot, dehydrated, and tired. And sport just isn’t sport until the players start throwing their guts up repeatedly during play! (Something you miss out on if you keep up with the Bulls, or for instance, the golf channel.)

Anyhoo, I would definitely watch it again. I think Americans tend to be of the more ‘instant gratification’ variety, what with basketball and football being so popular here, where teams score all the time. But, I think there’s something to be said for a sport with heightened suspense, where every single point is hard-won.

Plus, it’s kind of cool to see an entire country rally behind their team. It seems to be a real source of national pride for everyone but us. We don’t really have that here....except maybe periodically for the Olympics. But, it’s not like we follow those people all year or anything. They show up on-site at the Olympics, and we root for them by default.

So, at least I won’t be so quick to dismiss the World Cup, even if soccer isn't so popular here and even if the American team sucked. I think it’s kind of neat, from time to time, to allow ourselves to get carried away by something outside our comfort zones.

And tossing one’s cookies on the field doesn’t hurt, either.

So Chelsea will get off my back already.

2006-06-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

Here I am enjoying a cuppa joe, in the air conditioning, in Texas. The belly is currently the approximate size and shape of a soccer ball. (Note: My timing to coincide with the World Cup is impressive.)

I think we all agreed that this was a fantastic idea.

2006-06-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

That's my boy!

2006-06-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

So we trekked to the doctor this morning for our 6-month check-up (baby and me). All is progressing as it should, thank heavens.

My favorite part of the exam---that would be the part where we DON’T have to step on the scale---is when the doctor produces the little Doppler unit, which she uses to listen to the baby’s heart. It’s basically a little miniature ultrasound machine with a wand that she applies to the belly to locate the heartbeat.

So, out came the little machine, and a squirt of ultrasound jelly later, away we went. Except the little dude didn’t want to give it up today. “Well, aren’t YOU being a little booger!” she exclaimed, after several fruitless attempts.

After probing for a while longer, she finally managed to pinpoint the heartbeat so we could have a listen. At which point, the baby reared back and delivered a swift (and accurate) kick to the ultrasound wand. “WELL. Isn’t THAT a fine how-do-you-do!” hollered the doctor.

She pronounced him to be just fine, and put the machine away.

That’s my boy! Uncooperative, as usual....

Anyway, it made me laugh.

In other news, we put the high chair together last night to give it a test run, and deposited the beagle in it to make sure it would hold him okay. He was none too pleased. Fortunately nobody came away scratched or bleeding from the encounter. I did manage to get a picture of it, though, which I would post here if I could figure out how to do such a thing.

And, that’s about it for today! Tune in next time for exciting new developments. Like how we have absolutely no idea what to name this kid, and the fabulous suggestions we have been getting from friends and family, including my favorite, contributed by my uncle, who apparently dug ditches once upon a time in Arkansas with an unfortunate fellow by the name of “Weefus.”

Thanks to everyone for their 'helpful' contributions.

Traumatization.

2006-05-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

For the very first time in my life today, I ran (literally) out of the bathroom without washing my hands.

It all started out innocently enough. I was in a stall in the bathroom at work, happily slathering lotion on my preggo belly, when I heard a sound not unlike a stampeding rhinoceros explode into the restroom and lock itself into the stall next to me. And that, my friends, is the point at which VERY BAD THINGS transpired next door. All of a sudden, my fight-or-flight response kicked in, and I realized I could NOT stick around for the grand finale. I yanked up my pants mid-slather and bolted outta there faster than you can say irritable bowels!

Due to the volume and timbre of the grunting and wheezing, I immediately knew PRECISELY who I was up against. And you don’t wanna mess with that beast. She is a notorious repeat restroom offender, a most dreaded lavatory foe. She is large and in charge. And trust me, my friends, you don’t want to be within a country mile of her when she gets going. We all have signals for each other to detour our fellow comrades when she’s been spotted in the area. I’m not even joking.

This time, however, I got caught unawares. There was nobody to warn me, I was all alone. And she came barreling through like a freight train. There was simply not enough time to evacuate!

I think I might be all right, in time. With each passing day, you begin to forget. And then—only then—there might come some glimmer of hope that I can move forward with my life and put such horrors behind me.

I did manage to find my way to the kitchen in my harried state and wash up there. It was too late, however. I’m afraid the damage is done.

Although I am badly shaken, I must continue on. After all, there is work to be done. So I shall sally forth and attempt to sing a happy song. As soon as I can remember one.

Mommy....

Maggie the Elephant Not Interested in Using Treadmill

2006-05-17T07:33:00.000-07:00

So what happens when you shell out $100,000 for a custom treadmill for an elephant that refuses to use it?

I knew elephants were smart animals. If I weighed 8,000 pounds, I wouldn’t be interested in letting a couple of stupid humans tell ME what to do, either. Much less heft my carcass up onto an f---ing treadmill!!!

I say ‘Bravo’ to Maggie the African elephant, who is too big to be bossed around. You tell ‘em, sister!

Apparently they’ve been trying to bribe Maggie with food to get up on the treadmill and do workouts, but she’s not having it. She’s lazy, and she likes it that way!! And I can’t say that I blame her.

If I had Maggie’s figure, I would probably lie around under a tree all day and sleep until somebody brought me something to eat. No wonder all the animals in the zoo are so lethargic! They don’t have to lift a claw, and they get 3 square meals and plenty of naptime! Those animals have got it right.

Especially the baboons, who occupy themselves by having sex with each other all the live long day. If reincarnation is real, they must let the really good people come back as baboons.

Except there’s the whole big-red-butt thing. That wouldn’t be so nice.

I need a twelve-step program.

2006-05-15T13:35:00.000-07:00

My name is Hildy, and I have a problem. I am positively addicted to the Food Network.

Granted, I hardly watch any television at all, but when I do, you can bet it’s Food TV. It’s so addictive! Don't talk to me about 'Lost' or 'Gray's Anatomy' or whatever other crappy shows are hot at the moment. Give me Bobby Flay anyday!!!! Filet mignon, salt-encrusted flounder, homemade popovers---you name it! And I can't walk away. After waking up to my favorite shows on Sunday morning, I went on a rampage and whipped up homemade crepes for breakfast, French onion soup FROM SCRATCH for lunch, and beef fajitas with all the fixin’s for dinner. And I loved every friggin’ minute of it!!!!!

This is not normal. People should not be this happy about slaving over a hot stove all day. But, then again, I certainly never claimed to be even remotely average, so there you go....

On a related note, Martha Stewart, fresh out of prison, has a new “cooking show” whereupon she invites celebrities onstage to ‘cook together’ and proceeds to suck up to them for a half hour. How very cozy. It’s really weird watching her try to pass off this new fake ‘fun-loving’ personality as if its her own. Sorry, Martha, I’ve seen all your old pre-big-house programming, and I know EXACTLY what a stuck-up prima donna you are. You can’t fool me! Hey, Martha, I think you have a bit of chocolate ganache on your nose there. Oh wait, that’s no ganache!

Anyho. Enough about that. I am happy to report that I am once again BACK ON CHOCOLATE. Hallelujah! It’s been a loooong 3 months or so. I’m back, baby!!!!!!!! Nevermind the acid reflux it brung along with it.....we won't talk about that.......

If you’ll excuse me, all this ganache-talk has given me ideas.....

I am still alive.

2006-04-28T12:53:00.000-07:00

Hello, my chickadees. I realize it has been a fortnight since my last posting, but I have been a very busy Hildy indeed. Do forgive me for my inattentions. I’m back, baby!

I have sold my home to a very large Indian family and have moved into someone else’s house, which has been more than a minute adjustment, to say the least. All of my worldly possessions are crammed into storage, and I am trying to cope with being in someone’s else’s space, surrounded by someone else’s belongings, all the damn time. I still haven’t quite located my equilibrium. However, the rent is a lot cheaper this way so I’ll make do. :)

The whole pregnancy thing does not help matters! Suddenly you don’t look, act, or feel like yourself. All the comfort foods you used to call home no longer want anything to do with you. Your clothes don’t fit anymore. Everybody has a comment about your appearance, one way or the other (I find the women have been much more gracious than the men). Everything is all topsy-turvy! It’s been a pretty crazy ride thus far.

Everybody asks me if I have picked out a name yet. I have no intention of letting that cat out of the bag ANYTIME soon, so I tell them ‘no.’ Which then immediately turns into a diatribe about names THEY like. Guaranteed. I now know what every last individual in my office building intends to name the children they have no actual intentions of having. You think I’m kidding.

No, but seriously, it’s interesting being pregnant because everybody wants to know how you are ‘feeling,’ ALL THE TIME. I’m not complaining or anything, it’s nice to be asked. I just think it’s funny. Ordinarily, most people could care less how you feel from one day to the next, but you get a bun in the oven and suddenly it’s all they can think about when they see you! It amuses me.

I will try to be more vigilant about posting from here on out, I have just been all over the map lately and I’m still trying to get a grip on which end is up and which is down.

And dammit, I’m going to get back to eating chocolate if it’s the last thing I do. I haven’t been able to eat it in months and months. If you had asked me a year ago if I thought THAT was possible, I would have scoffed in your face!

My how things change.....

Having a good laugh at another poor sap's expense.

2006-04-07T13:45:00.000-07:00

So I enjoyed quite the ballyhoo last night over someone else’s misfortune. Sure it sounds cruel, but just wait--there’s more!

What happened was, someone was relaying a story to me about a friend he’s known for YEARS. They grew up together, lived together in college, and have stayed pretty tight over the years as they’ve gotten married, had kids, and the like.

Well, apparently this friend of his, just yesterday, let him in on a horrifying little secret he’s kept to himself all these years: Are you ready for it? (drum roll.........)

The dude was born without an asshole!!!

I’m not EVEN kidding. He was born with no hole! His parents had to cough up TWELVE THOUSAND dollars, which they did not have, to make him one. And this was like, forty-some-odd years ago!! When surgery was not exactly the precise technological paragon it is today!

So basically, of ALL THE THINGS you would like to do with twelve grand, his parents had to spend it on an asshole for their son! I wasn’t even aware this was possible! What kind of cruel cruel world do we live in where a baby is born with NO ASSHOLE???

It gets worse. You’d think that if you had to pay $12,000 for a hole, you would want to take extra special care of it, right? Think again. Apparently, in college, he earned the nickname “bacon stripe” because that’s the sort of “imprint” he left on his underwear--a one-inch bacon-length strip of goodness on the inside. Isn’t this turning out to be a delightful story?

Oh also, instead of eating lots of fiber and whatnot to take care of his expensive new orifice, he allegedly ate a lot of crap and gave himself diverticulitis. Hah!!! I mean, it’s really not funny I guess, but it SO is.

So I will admit to laughing hard and long over this little confession. Like, minutes. Doubled-over. It just kept on getting better and better. And I actually KNOW the guy, which makes it 10 times worse. I can never divulge that I know his ‘dirty’ little secret! But I do know it, and the next time I see him face-to-face is certainly going to be a challenge.

Better yet, my friend has known him practically all his life, and never found out about it till now. You think you know a guy...

Happy Friday!

Oh, P.S. There are two personal trainers at my gym that only use baby wipes on their butts when they poo. AHAHA! These two big burly dudes! Baby wipes! I love it....

Meat headwear is SO in this spring.

2006-03-30T12:52:00.000-08:00

Hullo ladies and gents,

I have just run across a Web site that takes the proverbial cake. You simply must visit if you get the time:

http://hatsofmeat.com/

I was not aware you could make a hat out of meat. Or, even if you could---why you would want to. However, I stand corrected on both counts! Now I'm sort of longing for a meat-hat of my own.

I especially enjoyed the ball cap fashioned out of ground beef and the 'Canadian bacon helmet.'

I was just about to say, "Suddenly I'm craving sausage," but that didn't sound so good so I changed it to, "Suddenly I'm craving a hot dog," but that sounded even worse, so I switched gears entirely and went with, "Suddenly I'm craving pork," and then I just gave up.

I've raised a baby killer.

2006-03-20T09:44:00.000-08:00

It’s a sad day back at the Hildy ranch. An ill-advised mama bunny made her nest in my back yard, with disastrous results. I’m afraid the beagle dug it up yesterday, and mayhem ensued.

With two dead babies and a couple less handfuls of fur to show for it, I would hope that the mother bunny would choose more wisely next time she is ready to make her nest. She KNOWS that is the beagle’s backyard--he has been terrorizing those poor rabbits for years. But still, they come back for more. I guess bunny rabbits aren’t the best and brightest of nature’s offerings...

So, the beagle was strutting around all day yesterday, swollen with pride. I, having had the task of cleaning up the site of the massacre, was not so keen. I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the afternoon/evening, and that sure knocked him down a couple of notches. He moped around the rest of the night, since he just couldn’t figure out what I was mad about. Sorry, but I just can’t condone baby killing. Even if you ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.

Sigh.......this parenting stuff is for the birds......

Strange Bedfellows.

2006-03-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

So I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. It took me a few minutes to realize that I wasn’t clinging to the edge of the bed, like I USUALLY am when I wake up. I actually had plenty of room to move around. What’s up with that? There is ALWAYS someone hogging the bed, and practically shoving me off onto the floor every night. I can’t figure it out--there’s this whole entire bed for the taking but everybody wants to sleep on MY side.

So I sat up and looked around. Lo and behold, what should appear before mine waking eyes but my boyfriend curled up on the other side of the bed, SPOONING THE BEAGLE.

Hmm! Well THIS was an interesting little arrangement. They were all curled up, one inside the other like a little bean plant tucked inside its casing. I must admit they looked very peaceful, completely zonked out together. I do believe they each had a slightest hint of a grin on their faces. Had I not been in such a fluster to get everybody up and moving, I would have whipped out the camera as proof. It was truly a golden opportunity, and I wasted it!! (Remind me to kick myself later.)

So then I woke everybody up and inquired as to “who was spooning whom” this morning. There was denial all round. Crap! I knew I should have taken a picture! Oh, it happened, my little furry friends. You were spooning each other all right. And I was cut out of the deal! (Not that I could complain too too much, as I admit I was happy to have a little breathing room. The night before last, the beagle had completely sprawled out across 93.6% of the bed and left me with approximately 3 1/8 inches on which to teeter in the cold [as he also managed to commandeer almost all of the blankets. Little turd!!!]).

So. I see I’ve already been tossed by the wayside. I guess I can’t blame him, the beagle IS like a little furnace at night, and also the size of a small, cuddly teddy bear. Although his morning-breath leaves something to be desired. But that’s just me.

Good, maybe this means I’ll get my side of the bed back....

Not a big fan of the lava lamp.

2006-02-24T10:50:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-20T13:28:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-15T10:41:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-10T09:27:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-08T13:52:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-06T10:45:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-01T18:55:00.000-08:00

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.

The Tragedy of the Little Lost Pork Chop.

2006-01-25T09:36:00.000-08:00

At this time, join me for a moment of silence in honor of Nat's pork chop, who he had high aspirations for but who he left unwittingly at the supermarket yesterday evening. After a long and arduous journey home, he could not bring himself to return for his beloved meaty one. All was lost. He settled for a meager helping of eggs and Triscuits, instead. Nat, we're all very sorry for your loss. Please allow me to deliver the eulogy!

Part of me wants to make flyers, with a sketch-artist mock-up and everything.

Lost: One delicious pork chop. If found, please contact Nat, via chroniclesofhildy.blogspot.com.

Ahem.

The Pork Chop of Woe

Woe is the pork chop
that got left behind
my plump, delicious one

Who’s eating you now?
I wonder as I drown my sorrows
in my cornflakes*

You would have been so juicy
but I wasn’t even man enough
to save you, there was still time

Now I languish
in my cold, dark apartment
all hope of your tender meatiness gone

I feel so empty inside
know that I’ll never forget you
my stomach will remember

Damn the curséd chop-monger who took you!
and enjoyed you for his very own
my beloved pork chop of woe

*[stale Triscuits] - The poem was already completed before I found out about the Triscuits. And, I think cornflakes just works well here for some reason. So I kept it. However, for historical accuracy, "stale Triscuits" should technically be noted.

ONLY the best thing ever.

2006-01-24T10:25:00.000-08:00

My friends, I have had a revelation. I will never look at the world the same way again.

I have discovered chocolate vanilla soy milk.

Don't believe me? Fine---try it yourself, and you be the judge. It's like a delacious milkshake in non-milkshake form. ie, It's not as cold so you can drink it faster, with the added benefit of being buttock-friendly. Trust me, you will find yourself returning to the refrigerator multiple times per day in hot pursuit of it. Not that I do that, myself. Especially not in the middle of the night or anything, for a little "cold toddy" before heading to bed. No sirree Bob...

As for me, the marriage of Hershey's chocolate syrup and organic vanilla soy is the only form of matrimony I'll be needing for a good long time.

Oh, and you're welcome!!

The funniest thing I have EVER SEEN.

2006-01-20T10:22:00.000-08:00

So last night, Stan came over and was horsing around with the beagle in the other room. I could hear scuffling and clapping and whatnot--the usual.

A minute later, it got really quiet. All of a sudden I hear, "Oh God, he's stuck inside my coat."

"What??" I said, and ran into the room.

Sure enough, in the midst of their collective running amok, Stan had taken off his coat and thrown it on top of the beagle. The beagle panicked, and bolted---straight up the coat sleeve!

He wedged himself in there SO TIGHT that the sleeve looked like a sausage casing, with only the tip of his snout and some whiskers sticking out the end-hole.

Oh my God, I literally fell on the floor, I was laughing so hard. Although there was no time to waste (ie, no time to run and get my camera), the poor little guy was frightened stiff and completely immobile inside the sleeve. (Any attempt we made to pull him back out the other end made him scramble farther in, until he literally could not move.)

What wound up happening was that Stan grabbed onto his tail, and I held onto the end of the sleeve, and on the count of three, we both pulled and the beagle popped out. I was laughing SO HARD at this point that he totally glared at me before running upstairs in humiliation.

I must have guffawed for a solid 10 minutes. O what I would have given for a picture! So, I drew myself a diagram instead. Which I can't post because I've never figured out how to. So sorry!!

At this time, I would like to answer any questions you might have about the incident.

Yes, my beagle is small enough to fit up a coat sleeve. He is runty, what can I say.

Yes, he is extremely long and coat-sleeve-shaped, so it was a perfect fit.

No, we don't intend to do it again so that I can get a picture (much as I'd like to). It frightened the poor thing out of his wits, so even I'm not cruel enough to put him through that again.

Any further questions? You know what to do.....

Weenie Jingles

2006-01-18T18:41:00.000-08:00

Yo ho, everybody, and a bottle of rum. I just kicked the beagle off the bed for licking his butthole next to my head. DIsgusting!!

I had quite an afternoon today, discussing the imminent purchase of a weiner dog by my work colleague, the "elusive Mr. J." I'm told he has his eye on a T-shirt that says "I love my weiner." And he wants the dog to go with.

There are so many snide comments a-brewing, I don't even know what to do with myself. In an attempt to restrain myself, I will say only that you KNOW EVERY MAN ON THE PLANET WANTS THIS SHIRT. You KNOW it. I know it, you know it, WE ALL KNOW IT.

In any case, at this time I would like to direct you to the following site, provided by "Mr. J," entitled "Jingles for Meat and Cheese Products". (I am not making this up.) Here, you will find the time-tested Oscar Meyer jingle that has delighted children and adults alike for eons.

http://www.geocities.com/foodedge/jingles4.html

In addition to the sound clips, they have also helpfully spelled out the lyrics for you. This is quite a resource, I must say. The musical stylings are simply fantastic.

I give you the following, from the Armour HotDogs jingle:

"What kinds of kids love Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks,
tough kids, sissy kids, even kids with chicken pox love hotdogs."

Hmm, so basically, rock-climbers aside, you either need to have (a) a weight problem (b) emotional issues (c) contracted a disease or (d) been repeatedly beaten to a pulp on the playground to enjoy Armour brand HotDogs. Sign me up!

I also enjoyed this little diddy about tuna:

"Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna. I love Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna. Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee tuna, I love a sandwich made with Bumblebee."

Does that make you want to snarf down a tuna-salad sammy, or WHAT?!

They've got a little something for everybody, whether it be pork, or cheese, or "Kraft," which happens to be neither but does offer a snazzy little jingle to put a spring in your step and a song in your heart.

So, love your little weiners. And your hot dogs, too. If you are a sickly little pipsqueak with ADHD, that is.

Erring on the side of caution

2006-01-18T08:45:00.000-08:00

Hello, everyone.

There was a much more juicy entry here before, about a recent scandal that occurred at work, but I thought better of it and removed it, so sorry to disappoint. One never knows who reads these damn things. Even though I use a monicker and all, and am selective about who I give my url to at work, the nature of the scandal is such that I think it's better kept under my hat!

That said, I recommend not using your OWN NAME to post scandalous things on the internet. Case closed, end of story.

In other news, for those of you that remember Pumpkin, the unfortunate roasted-chicken-looking woman at my gym that suffered a mental breakdown on the premises awhile back and subsequently got the proverbial “boot”—well, she’s back. She’s put on about 30 pounds (she needed at LEAST 10 of those, by my estimations) and now has a nice layer of cellulite slathered over her entire body.

I would know, as I was treated to her strutting around the locker room buck-naked 2 days ago, whereupon I ran outside and looked directly at the sun until my retinas were so scorched the image was all but erased from my brain. Good times.

To work! To work!

Hildy B's Weekend Misadventures

2006-01-09T12:39:00.000-08:00

Happy Monday, everybody! I hope everyone had as delightful a weekend as I did.

Excepting, of course, the parts where the beagle yakked/shat on my FRESHLY SHAMPOOED CARPET, after which I snorted hot tea out of my nose (although the two events were unrelated), and managed to chemically burn my hands with lemon juice, as I squoze approximately 18 lemons with my bare fingers in an attempt to make lemon bars. Whoo! Good times....good times.

But seriously, it was a great weekend in total. The items I listed above, I could have certainly done without. I definitely don’t recommend the hot-tea thing, it was not my plan. I always kind of slurp my hot tea as a means of cooling it before I take a big gulp and singe my tonsils. Stan thought it would be “funny” to start slurping loudly to mock me as I was right in the middle of a big slurp, and the *hot* tea managed to traverse its way UP my nose and then out, which was momentarily not funny but then it became funny again.

Don’t try this one at home, kids! Or if you do, at least get yourself some iced tea.

Ah yes, and then I spent the greater part of Saturday lugging a big heavy steam-cleaner around my house in an attempt to revive my carpeting, which has suffered great losses since the beagle was introduced, and as I’m right in the middle of straining my back to shuttle that damn thing across the house, I notice that the beagle has SHAT ON MY LIVING ROOM CARPET, AS I WAS BUSY CLEANING IN THE FAMILY ROOM. Well, I nearly came unglued. The whole REASON I had to RENT THE F---ING THING IN THE FIRST PLACE is because of HIM. That furry little brat!!!!!

Oh yes, and then first thing this morning he yakked all over my bedroom carpeting, which I had somehow managed to steam clean as fresh as the newfallen snow. I had the pleasure of getting down and dirty with a scrub brush and a bottle of carpet cleaner at approximately 6:25 AM today. It was a treat.

In other news, I finally saw “Meet the Fockers” and especially enjoyed the part where the little rat-dog gets ahold of the squeaky Albert Einstein hand-puppet and humps it. So all you see is this little rat-thing bouncing up and down, going “squeak! squeak! squeak! squeak! squeak!” in rapid succession. Ahahaha! Comedic genius, I tell you!!

And that....is that.

HB out-y!!

Bing Bong---The Witch is Dead!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-01-06T08:14:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah and praise the Lord! One of my colleagues, who is consequently one of the most vile and evil creatures to ever roam this earth, has turned in her resignation! Eureka!! Free at last! FREE AT LAST!!

I have endured almost six long years of her taught, puckered expression and her repugnant disposition, sour as rancid milk. I have spent the better part of my time avoiding her at all costs. She has been a cancerous tumor on the face of my department for as long as I can remember. And now she’s been removed! Like a troublesome wart frozen off an otherwise lovely finger! Our office has been exorcised! Goodness and light can return to our people!!

I feel like the end of Lord of the Rings, where the big evil eye has been punctured (or whatever) and the sun comes out and all the little hobbits start dancing around. It is a joyous occasion, indeed!!!!

This calls for a celebration. I don’t know how or when, but perhaps it may presently have something to do with those delacious doughnut holes that are calling to me from a nearby table and that I have, as of yet, been avoiding. Come to me, my lovelies, and let us kick up our heels in a raucous display of unbridled giddiness and careless festivity!!

Ahhh yes, I intend to savor this moment. The witch is dead!! THE WITCH IS DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!

Smashing!

2006-01-04T19:06:00.000-08:00

Bonjour! Cheers, mate! Hildy's back! After a rip-roaring, SMASHING time on the continent. I turned that place inside OUT! And loved every last minute of it!!!

Not only did I consume approximately 64 pastries in 16 days (I think that in itself may be some kind of record), but I knocked back somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 cappucinos, as well. And came away with a shoe-box-sized haul of delectable Belgian/Swiss/French/Genoan chocolate. Oh YEAH!!!!

And, I somehow managed to retain my girlish figure (praise the Lord), thanks to the 12-hour marathons we embarked upon each and every day. I was so tired at the end of a full day in Paris, that I fell asleep SITTING UP (sort of) at the dinner table all slouched over with my head between my knees. I'm not EVEN joking!!

I had the time of my life, and the Europeans are absolutely lovely people. And their pastries are to DIE FOR!!! If you have never experienced an authentic European pastry, get your butt on a plane and for the love of GOD get yourself a brioche suisse or a croissant almonde in Paris. You will thank me later!!

Here are some of the fun British words I learned from the cheerful English types:

"prezzies" = presents
"tatties" = potatoes (not boobs, get your minds out of the gutter.)
"lorrie" = truck
"tog roll" = toilet paper roll (I think.)
"Bob's your uncle" = "No problem"
"toastie" = grilled cheese sandwich

There are many more where this came from, but too many to post here. I wrote down lots so as not to forget them. Brilliant!

I have never seen more enormous old churches in my life, or more pastry---but I digress (Hmm, I somehow seem to keep veering back to the pastry...).

Scotland was absolutely beautiful, with lots of fluffy/hungry sheeps running around everywhere (from what I could tell, all the sheeps do all day is EAT. Not that I have room to talk...). The Scots were very hard to understand but patient with me.

Friendly Scottish waiter: "Woo ya lae coostar or ice creem wi da?"
Me: "Huh??"

Translation: "Would you like custard or ice cream with that?"
Me: "Did somebody say 'pastry?'"

The French were also quite personable and seemed to enjoy staring at me (not sure if it was because of the blonde hair floating around in a sea of brunettes or possibly the sheer quantities of pastry I was consuming) and swapping jokes at my expense. I saw the Mona Lisa at the Louvre and marveled at the Tour d'Eiffel. And ate a few pastries. Oh, did I mention that already?

England was very welcoming and had excellent chocolate selections everywhere we went (I have the credit card bills to prove it). I love the way they talk (they call everybody "mate" or "love") and drive (FAST!). They also eat a lot of "biscuits" (tea cookies) there and get piss-drunk on a regular basis. And they have billboards everywhere with advertisements bearing slogans such as the following (for some brand of alcohol, if memory serves): "[alcohol brand name]: It's better than a kick in the baubles."

I'm sold!

So, I had a great time with some great folks and I can't WAIT to go back. Perhaps to a non-French-speaking country next time, where they won't look at me like I must be retarded while attempting to regurgitate broken bits of high-school French. Here's a free tip: Just point at what you want and nod. They're used to it! And most of the time if you just hold out your hand with all your money in it, they'll take what they need because otherwise it will take you an hour to pick out the right coins to complete the transaction.

So, pip pip! Cheerio! Bon soir! Au revoir! I'll regale you with more stories next time, when I am not falling asleep at my computer from lingering jetlag.

Ta!!

T-R-A-U-M-A T-I-Z-E-D.

2005-12-13T07:35:00.000-08:00

My friends, I am sad to report that I suffered cruelly this morning, as did the little mouse who moved into my house recently while I was away on business.

I discovered him as soon as I got back, as "someone" had munched little holes in all my instant rice packets. Apparently he was living behind my refrigerator and eating out of my pantry, quite a nice little set-up. I despise mousetraps, but what other choice did I have? I set them out. And for more than two weeks, that little bugger has been carefully licking the peanut butter off the traps at night, and running away unscathed. No doubt growing quite a bit fatter in the process!!

So, I am down to a mere 2 days before I embark on my trip to Europa, and growing quite desperate to catch him before I leave so he can’t run amok and breed in my house!!! So last night I set out glue traps before I went to bed. I put a little dot of peanut butter in the middle--his favorite.

So what did I awake to today? Only to the cute little mouse-y ALIVE AND WRIGGLING in the glue trap. His furry little belly was stuck in the glue, and he couldn’t move his little legs to run away from me. It was so completely traumatizing (for both of us)!!! I didn’t want him to die this way! Why did he force me to be so cruel!!!

So, I had to get a bag and PICK UP the glue trap with HIM ON IT and stick him in the bag and throw him away! OMG I felt JUST AWFUL! But what am I supposed to do!!!

He was so cute and fuzzy. WHY MUST THEY BE SO CUTE AND FUZZY?????

Sigh. I would like to note that the beagle was of absolutely no use to me on this one, whatsoever. How can he be so obsessed with bunny rabbits but not even notice the mouse living in my house?

The beagle DID attempt to lick the peanut butter off the trap one night after I told him not to, and the trap went off and sent him running for the hills. Now THAT, I admit, amused me...

RIP, little mouse. I hope you're dead by now in the stinky trash can in my cold cold garage....

Lessons in Beagle Logic

2005-12-09T09:56:00.000-08:00

Problem: You find yourself standing on the edge of your deck after a snowstorm, trying to figure out how deep the snow is below you, so you can jump off and go pee.

Solution: After visually assessing the situation for a couple of minutes, simply latch on to the deck with your toenails and plunge your whole head down into the snowdrift until you hit bottom. This way, you'll be able to discern how deep it really is.

The next task, of course, is to sniff out a shallow enough spot to piss, so that your weiner isn't actually touching anything cold while you are going. (The same goes for pooing.)

This brought to you, courtesy of Beagle Logic 101. Tune in next time for "Lessons in Sniffing Your Butt in Front of an Audience, During a Dinner Party."

Ta!

Waaaaah!

2005-12-07T06:59:00.000-08:00

Hello, everybody. I am officially sick today. And I feel like a big pile of crap! And my mother isn't here to fix me jell-O or fetch me a 7-up. This sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have decided that it's NO FUN being sick when there's nobody around to take care of you. Or, to put it another way, being sick sucks the big one when your LOUSY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BEAGLE just LIES THERE LIKE A BUMP ON A LOG, doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to make you feel better. Free-loader!!!!

He hasn't even so much as come over to say 'hello' this morning. I think he's staying away from me!

Oh well, I guess I would, too. I sound like a gravelly old witch when I talk and every time I sneeze, I think my head is gonna pop off due to the sheer force alone. Ack!!!

I want some movies or something. And for somebody to make me a grilled cheese. Waaah!

In other news, I'll be leaving for Europe in one short week! So I guess it's better to be sick NOW than later. I just need to make sure I'm well by then. And me without any chicken soup!! Crap. Do I have to do everything around here?

Well, I'm off to go lie in the fetal position and dream about the good old days of dry toast and orange juice served up to me on a little platter when I was feeling bad.

Sniff.

Annoying German Shouts Into Cell Phone

2005-11-28T15:36:00.000-08:00

So I was riding the bus downtown earlier today, and a couple of German dudes were sitting behind me. The louder one kept answering his cell phone, into which he would shout a series of unintelligible phrases and then hang up. And then it would ring again, and he would answer it, and shout some more, etc etc. How irritating!!!

The interesting thing was that every so often, he would interject the (English) phrase “Fish and chips”. So it would go like this: “Muchen daten delfta aften FISH AND CHIPS buchen zalza ahm!!”

I was SO confused.

AND seriously annoyed and hoping he wasn’t spitting in my hair or anything like that. There were a lot of phlemmy, hacking-type syllables being thrown around back there. And me without any headwear!

Anyhoo, I was under the impression that it was primarily idiot Americans doing that sort of thing, but I was wrong. Even worse, as I couldn’t understand what he was yelling about, I didn’t see how the fried seafood reference fit in at all with whatever else he was worked up over.

Also, why wouldn’t he just use the German word for it? Why shout everything in German but that???

"FISH AND CHIPS!!!! FISH AND CHIPS!!!!!!!!!!!"

Gah!

Man oh man these blog entries are getting worse and worse, aren’t they? I need some new material…..

Long Time No Blog.

2005-11-22T12:28:00.000-08:00

Hello, my dears. I am so sorry to have neglected you for so long. I have been a busy PR weasel at work, with a side-job of getting my house ready to sell. It is exhausting work, fixing all the things around the house that have been broken for 2 years. It never bothered me any! But I suspect potential buyers will care about such things much more than I do. The place is now squeaky clean and looking sharp. Somebody better buy it!!!!

Which brings me to my next point, there’s only a couple of months left before Hildy will be rendered completely homeless! A weary blonde vagabond with scrappy beagle in tow, with nowhere to hang our proverbial hats. I’m hoping to find a new house soon, but one never knows when the right house will become available. Thankfully I have been offered a place to stay so I will not be encamped on a street corner, waiting for my realtor to call. Thank you, Stanny!

That said, I would like to announce that those protesters in France had better pack it in and behave themselves while I’m in town. I’ve waited my entire life to see Paris with mine own eyes, and I don’t intend to let anything stand in my way! Don’t force me to whip out a can of whoop-ass, people! This is your only warning!

Stay tuned for important updates regarding my Europe trip, which is rocking up in less than 3 weeks. Such as the fact that I have decided to wear ONLY TURTLENECKS while I'm there. That's right---it's going to be an all-turtleneck policy, all the time. I'll be damned if some Scotsman thinks he's going to catch a glimpse of MY neck!! I don't think so, pal!!!!

Consequently, there is supposed to be some "Deep Freeze" while I'm there, hence the all-turtleneck line-up. It's not ONLY because I'm half-crazy.

And now it is time for chocolate imbibing. Ta!!!!

Thanks, I’ll pass on the pig brains.

2005-11-01T10:03:00.000-08:00

Hello my lovelies. I am pleased to announce that the countdown for my inaugural trip to Europa is well underway. Only six weeks left! I can’t even believe it. I received my passport a couple of weeks ago, prompting me to dance around my kitchen with glee. (At which point the beagle attempted to bite me. He doesn’t like it when I dance and/or sing.)

(Keep your snide comments to yourselves!)

So I’ve been researching various activities and foodstuffs to be had in the various regions in which we’ll be cavorting. All was going well, until I began looking into French cuisine.

Let me be the first to say that I would like nothing better than to saturate myself in the local Parisian atmosphere and cuisine. After all, that is what I’m paying good money to experience.

However.

It will be a cold day in Hades when I eat pig brains.

I am a big fan of the movie Amelie. I own it, I have seen it many times, and I watched it again recently as I am stoked about running amok amid the Frenchies.

I was floored to find out that I will be staying directly across from the cafe where Amelie was filmed in Paris. Eureka! How very cool to have lunch in the very place where it all went down.

However.

I looked up the menu of the cafe, and my hopes were dashed to smithereens. Featured menu item? PIG BRAINS. Umm, no thank you!!

And what followed was a wholly unsavory list of things that I was not aware people *actually* ate.

Sigh. The upshot was that I found a handful of other cafes that serve what I recognize to be *actual* food. And I guess I can still visit the cafe, I’ll just be having coffee....

So, now I’m a little afraid. I mean, I had 4 years of French in high school, but I’m more than a little rusty. And I don’t think I ever learned the word for “brains.”

Excuse me, I have some homework to do...

The dude peed on me.

2005-10-18T21:06:00.000-07:00

Dude = beagle. Does that make it any better?

Our relationship has sunk to new lows, I'm afraid. I went to get him out of bed this morning (he doesn't like to rise in the early morning chill of autumn) (!!), but he was hell-bent on staying put. For all my coaxing and prodding and feigning to run down the stairs without him, he remained coiled tightly on his blanky, shooting me an assortment of dirty looks.

Finally, I was running out of time for his little charades, so I went over and put my hands around him to physically pick him up off his blanky and take him downstairs to the back door. It happened so fast, it barely registered. He looked up at me as if to say, "Leave me alone, biatch!" And then squirt! My hand was doused. His aim could not have been any better if he tried! That little f---er!!!!

At which point I yelped and ran to the sink to wash my hand(s) profusely. Man oh man did he get me good.

So then I was stuck with an entirely new predicament. If I attemped to pick him up again, he would undoubtedly pee on me again. Instead, I chose to tap him on the head with my foot and poke him on all sides randomly with my toes until it drove him crazy enough to get up.

Well, it just so happens that it worked. Finally! We were up and running. He scampered off to poop and then (no doubt) turn around and eat it, while I ran down to the kitchen to fix something to eat, also. Though I'm relieved to report that I chose something NOT containing excrement for my own breakfast selection.

Which brings me to my next topic: Do you think you could pee on somebody, if you really had to? Like if they had a snake bite or something and you needed to pee on them to save their lives. I dunno! It could happen! Aren't you supposed to do that for people that have been stung by a jellyfish?

Well, my point is that I don't think I could. Even if it was a matter of life or death, I don't think I could do it. A friend of mine, who I was discussing this matter with earlier (?!) (HE brought it up), informed me that he could probably pee on my leg or something if necessary. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or bad. I mean I realize that some people allegedly do this for...their own "personal reasons"...but that's not what I'm getting at. Do you think you could pee on your best friend to save his or her life? What about an acquaintance? A co-worker? It's an interesting question.

Whoops, look at the time! Well, I'd better get going (before this one-sided conversation goes ANY further).

What lessons have I learned today? Umm, let's see...that the little dude that I PAY GOOD MONEY TO FEED AND HOUSE certainly has no problems peeing on me. He is such a sweet boy. Truly.

PS He's eating right now, and barking at the same time. It's hysterical. "Chomp chomp chomp, woooooo. Chomp chomp, woooooo." All the burglars lurking outside are surely quaking in their boots!

PSS If you break into my house, you are likely to get pissed on. And not by me!!

Confessions of a Dentally Challenged Blonde.

2005-10-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. And it's not pretty.

This morning our Human Resources folks issued a company-wide e-mail stating that someone had found a blue toothbrush by the elevator and turned it into the receptionist. I thought to myself, "Hahaha, who would be careless enough to lose their TOOTHBRUSH at work? What an IDIOT!"

I subsequently received an e-mail from a co-worker who jokingly accused me of having misplaced my toothbrush, and I should go down and claim it. Haha. He then proceeded to comment "Who on earth would re-claim a lost toothbrush?" I e-mailed him back and stated that I would have to go purchase a new one now that it has been manhandled by X amount of people, etc, etc (being that I am a germophobe and all).

Ha ha.

Um, yeah---it turns out that WAS my toothbrush.

I say WAS because (a) I have NO intention of re-claiming it whatsoEVER, (b) I would be TOO HUMILIATED to walk up to the desk and ask for my toothbrush back, and (c) I would have no use for it anyway. Like I said, it's been molested by God-only-knows-whose-hands by now.

As it is, I didn't use it for brushing my teeth. It came in handy for make-up application, and I guess it fell out of my cosmetics bag this morning as I stepped off the elevator. So to make it worse, it was a DIRTY toothbrush. Not DIRTY, per se, but I'm sure it had make-up on it, so it's not like it was pristine white or anything.

"Attention everyone: Someone lost their DIRTY toothbrush by the elevator. Please come claim it."

Yeah, RIGHT.

Yes, ladies and gents, I am a BIMBO. And I LOST MY TOOTHBRUSH. AT WORK. HA-HA.

*sigh.....*

Random question. (Brace yourself.)

2005-10-07T01:45:00.000-07:00

Do pineapples float in water? Like, a whole pineapple? They would sink, wouldn’t they?

I was discussing the matter of SpongeBob Squarepants’ residence with a co-worker. It happens to be a pineapple at the bottom of the sea.

Obviously he couldn’t live in a coconut, because coconuts float. As do apples. And very small rocks.

But what about pineapples? Pineapple rings don’t float in pineapple juice. But presumably, pineapple juice would have different buoyancy properties than water. Wouldn’t it?

I’m afraid I may be inclined to obtain a pineapple this weekend and chuck it in my bathtub. At which time I will be forced to admit to myself that I am LEGALLY INSANE.

If you happen to know the answer to this question, please help a girl out and let me know so I can put this baby to bed and move on to other perplexing life matters....

Such as who keeps squeezing my poor bananas? When I leave them sitting out on my desk at night. Vexing, I tell you! I suspect the non-cleaning cleaning people. Underhanded banana squeezers!

Now Hiring Oompa-Loompas To Make Sandwiches.

2005-10-06T12:47:00.000-07:00

So I was sitting in the cafe at my gym yesterday, enjoying a brief respite before I headed home for the night, when what to mine horrified eyes should appear but an OOMPA-LOOMPA standing behind the sandwich counter, making sandwiches!

I swear to God. It was an oompa-loompa!

Formerly known as a perfectly nice-looking young girl who clearly should have been working in a chocolate factory instead of a deli.

I don’t know what happened. One day she was perfectly normal-looking, with light skin and dark hair. The next, I’m literally aghast, gaping at her in horrified bewilderment over the unnatural color of her skin and hair! The poor thing looked like a big sun-dried tomato!

Why, WHY do people do this to themselves. YOU LOOK LIKE A TANGELO WITH HAIR. Which, coincidentally, she dyed this weird dark reddish orange color to match her freakish new-fangled skin color.

It was unbearable to me to watch her making a public appearance in that unnatural state! Somebody should tell her! Grab her by her carrot-colored shoulders and shout, “My little lamb, what have you DONE to yourself?! Willie Wonka called, and said to return to the factory, at once!!”

Since you clearly won't listen to reason, my little pumpkin, I have put together the following, which I hope to God will get through to you.

Oompa, loompa doom-pa-de doo
I have a lit-tle nugget for you

Oompa, loompa, doom-pa-de dee
If you are wise you’ll listen to me

What do you get when you dye your hair red?
Snick-ering, stares and tangelo head

Looks like it smeared all down on your face
Shoe polish rubbed all over the place

I don’t like the look of it

Oompa, loompa doom-pa-dee dah
Wash off the tan and you will go far

You will live in hap-piness too

Like the oompa loompa doom-pa-dee do!

Oh, honey. Honestly.

Bagels: High in Carbohydrates AND Physically Abusive.

2005-10-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

So in the land of freakish events that is my life, I am astounded to report that something even more absurd and tragic than usual has happened so someone besides myself! If you can EVEN believe it.

I am sorry to say that a woman I know, who happens to be the wife of mine co-worker, was tragically knocked out this morning by A FALLING 25-POUND BOX OF FROZEN BAGELS.

Yes, my dear friends, ‘tis completely true! The falling box of frosty breakfast staples took her out on its way down, whacking her on the back of the head and knocking her out cold! Pun intended!

She was ushered to the hospital immediately, whereupon it was deemed that she has no less than a concussion. They are currently awaiting additional imaging results to ensure that is the extent of it.

What kind of crazy world do we live in where a beloved wife and mother of four gets taken out in such a brutal yet ridiculous manner?

So, folks, I guess I’m not the only one. Get well soon, Martha. And as I so helpfully noted to your husband, you may want to switch to waffles. (Although they do require refrigeration. Scratch that. Perhaps pop-tarts are your best bet?)

I do not have any details yet as to the where and the how. I inquired as to *who* could be so careless as to drop a 25-pound box of food on a woman’s head, and also *where* this incident might have occurred (so I can avoid it accordingly, before I incur the same fate).

I will keep you posted when I have more details to report.

Yowsuh!

Complete and utter mortification.

2005-09-29T10:20:00.000-07:00

It's always something, boys and girls. But you know that by now. Let's just get right to it, shall we?

I had intended to regale the epic tale of renting a pickup truck and hauling my brand new mattress home in a torrential thunderstorm over the weekend, but I've pretty much just told you everything you need to know. We haven't had rain for MONTHS. On the ONE night I decide to buy a new mattress and have already paid to rent a truck to get it home, the sky cracks open and it pours like that time Noah summoned all of the animals two-by-two onto his brand new f---ing ark. And me without any plastic covering to throw on top of it!

Good GOD why does this ALWAYS happen to me!! Thank heaven for hair dryers, that's all I have to say.....

SO. The ACTUAL focus of my post today will be yet another run-in with the personal trainer at my gym who so thoughtfully attempted to swipe his credit card down my ass crack not so long ago. I know you can hardly wait! To laugh it up at my complete humiliation (yet again).

So the trainer dude bought a new sportscar, which I have seen him in around the parking lot. It is sleek, silver, and looks like a big penis. And I relayed this observation to one of the other personal trainers when we were talking about his new car one day. Mistake numero uno.

So yesterday, as I was treadmilling, said trainer gets one of his clients all set up on the treadmill next to me. She is a woman approximately 50 years of age. A little plump. She looked nice.

HE is standing on the other side of her, with his client treadmilling in between us. I looked over at him to say hello.

"So what's with the observation that my car looks like a BIG SILVER PENIS?" He shouts at me, (to my utter and complete horror!!!) IN FRONT OF HIS CLIENT.

"WHAT?" I gasped.

I couldn't BELIEVE he yelled that in front of her! This sweet older lady! What the hell was he thinking!!!!

I was just standing there with my mouth open. I didn't dare respond.

His client turns to look at me. I sort of giggle nervously and divert my eyes. Then she catches my eye and says, in complete earnesty (I swear to GOD I'm not making this up): "What, you mean it looks like a BIG DILDO?"

ACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do not have to tell you that I just about choked on my own tongue. Not ONLY did she seem unfazed by this line of conversation, but THE WOMAN LOOKED AT ME AND SAID THE WORDS "BIG DILDO."

"Ahahahaha," I twittered. I had absolutely no idea what to do or say. The very next thing that came to mind was the NICKNAME I have for the dude's car, which is "Cockmobile." But I thought better of bringing THAT up, so I just kind of stood there with a blank smile wondering if this could *actually* be happening to me. I was so mortified! Oh my God! What do you DO in that situation???

So I'm not sure what color of pink I was at this point, but I looked over at the trainer again and he was laughing heartily. He seemed to think this WHOLE scenario was GREAT FUN. I waited another couple of minutes before clambering off the treadmill and scuttling off to the other end of the gym. Ohmygod!

So, there you have it. I've pretty much decided that working out is for the birds.

Ugh...

Oopsie.

2005-09-14T13:25:00.000-07:00

So the next time I go to let the beagle out, I should probably check to make sure the back gate ISN'T propped WIDE OPEN from my lawnmowing endeavors.

I am such a bimbo. I mowed the lawn ALL BY MYSELF for the first time over the weekend (woohoo!!!) and then proceeded to leave the gate open. A while later I let the crazy beagle out, and was then treated to my neighbor returning him to me about a half hour after that and consequently pointing out my gate. Thanks, neighbor! So sorry you're living next to a COMPLETE IDIOT!!

I guess it would have been better for all of us had the beagle had made it far, far away and never looked back. I was wondering what all the commotion in the front yard was about. I heard him barking frantically, but I didn't realize (a) it was coming from the front yard and (b) he was trying to get my attention to let him back in the house. Usually people just ring the doorbell! If he was smart, he would have just done that.

But seriously, I usually surmise that everything happens for a reason, so I guess the beagle and I were meant to be. Dammit! Our one collective chance at happiness GONE in a poof of smoke...lousy do-gooding well-intentioned neighbor...

I would like to take this opportunity to DAMN the people at the M&M Mars corporation for making such delicious candies and the GOD-FORSAKEN M&M dispenser that someone conveniently set up approximately three steps from my cube. DAMN YOU, DELICIOUS M&M-MAKING PEOPLE! DAMN YOU AND YOUR CONVENIENT AND FUN M&M DISPENSER AND THE DELECTABLE LITTLE CANDIES ON DISPLAY WITHIN!

Also, a hex on the person that brought it to work, and an even bigger hex on the individual who so thoughtlessly set it up next to MY cube. This is SO unfair! Nobody else has to sit next to the candy dispenser and stare at the chocolate pieces waiting to be had within it all the live long day!!

Sigh. This spells more treadmill time for Hildy B. I'm weary.

Gross.

2005-09-07T18:05:00.000-07:00

Um yeah, so I went outside to grill a hamburger over Labor Day weekend, and as I was poking the little lighter-dealy down into the gas grill to light it, I couldn't get it to light so I put my face down in there to see what was going on, and all of a sudden I saw something MOVE down in the bottom of the grill. What the crap!

I jumped back and leaned forward tentatively, peeking down inside. That, my friends, was the point when a MOUSE leapt out and started RUNNING FRANTICALLY AROUND THE INSIDE OF MY GRILL. Consequently, that was also the point that I began squealing like a little sissy girl, dropped the lid of the grill, turned on my heels and bolted into my house, burger in tow, and slammed the back door behind me. Then I stood there for a minute, my face mooshed up against the glass, watching for the mouse to come after me or something. I dunno, it could have!!

When I was pretty sure it wasn't going to give chase, the hamburger went RIGHT back into the fridge, as my appetite was GONE. How completely revolting!!!!

As many of you know, I am a total germophobe, so the thought of a VILE DISEASE-RIDDEN RODENT LICKING AND/OR POOPING IN THE PLACE WHERE I COOK MY FOOD is more than a little disconcerting. I am surprised I was able to sleep that night. GAH!!

Horsefeathers. Foul little whiskery beast!! Be careful of the meat served up at my house, folks. You never know what you're going to get. Burger, anyone? No? Can I interest you in char-grilled mouse? (Which is ALMOST what I had on my hands, which I suppose would have been worse? If that is possible?)

Euuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to go disinfect something now. I hope this doesn't give me a total complex like that Howard Hughes. If I start peeing in weird places, somebody give me some pills or something.

Mischievious Beagle

2005-08-31T11:14:00.000-07:00

I made the dreadful mistake of falling asleep early last night.

Apparently, the beagle was indignant that I allowed this to happen, as I had not yet run him around properly or fed him.

He woke me up around midnight, rambunctious as all get out, and when I finally rolled out of bed, he scratched my legs from mid-thigh to ankle to show his displeasure. Then he demanded food and a trip outside, which I took care of, toute suite. When I let him back in, he was running around and leaping at me in a crazed fashion. Normally I would have taken the bait, but I was tired. I shuffled back to bed and went back to sleep.

When I woke up this morning, refreshed and thoroughly rested, I bounded along to the top of the stairs, only to be caught short by the first signs of beagle mischief. He had dragged out a (large) roll of twine that I had in a closet, and proceeded to pull HALF THE ROLL off of the spool and gnarl it into a huge stringy mess. He left it for me at the top of the stairs. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Now I get the esteemed job of untangling and re-wrapping it around the spool, and/or just snipping it off altogether and throwing half a spool of twine away, as I fear it might take me approximately twelve years to undo it all.

Then, having made it through the first booby trap he left for me, I made it safely to the bottom of the stairs, where yet another surprise awaited. (No, it didn’t come from his butt, thankfully. Although he’s not above leaving a gift or two of that nature for me from time to time.)

As I sauntered into the kitchen, I started to notice bits of something strewn all over the carpet. I couldn’t tell what it was, though. I bent down to get a better look. What the----I turned around to find the pantry door open, as I feared. Son of a----THE DUDE OPENED A BOX OF JUMBO PASTA SHELLS, PULLED THEM OUT ONE BY ONE WITH HIS SNOUT, AND PROCEEDED TO CRUNCH THEM UP ALL OVER MY CARPET.

Behind me the pantry door was gaping open, and the box of pasta shells was turned sideways on the shelf, open and (by this point) mostly empty. Arrrgh!

So I spent the morning scooping up handfuls of crushed pasta shells, using curse words that are not meant for that early hour. This was the way I got to start my day. What a treat!

For Sale: One smallish beagle. Loves eating own poop if given half a chance. Is very cute when he’s not eating poop and/or destroying perfectly good carpeting. Will deliver.

Do you find that Rolaids or TUMS are more effective? Just wondering...

I hate you, stupid F---ing bank robber.

2005-08-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

I no longer fear going to hell.

I've been there, folks, I've seen what there is to see, and I really don't recommend it. By 'hell,' I am referring, of course, to CHICAGO RUSH-HOUR TRAFFIC.

It took me TWO AND HALF HOURS to get home from work yesterday. Two and a half precious hours that I will never get back because some RETARD BANK ROBBER held up a bank and then fled into a residential area on my way home. The police proceeded to shut down EVERYTHING WITHIN A 10-MILE RADIUS (well maybe not ACTUALLY 10 miles, but it sure felt like it), blocked the entrance ramps to all highways in the vicinity (is that REALLY NECESSARY), and were re-routing us anywhere BUT the direction I needed to go. I wound up COMPLETELY lost in the wrong part of town, frustrated, alone, and close to tears because I had to PEE WORSE THAN I THINK I'VE EVER HAD TO PEE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE (and I’ve had some close calls)!

After 2 HOURS of being trapped in gridlock, banging my proverbial head against the wheel, I could not take it anymore, I was about to pee all over myself. I was desperate for a McDonald's or some such place to get out, but alas, I was stuck smack in the middle of some forest preserve. On a whim, I turned off the (jam-packed) street, headed INTO the forest preserve, and started looking around for a place to pee (ie, pretty much wherever there was room to squat between two trees). I really didn't care at that point! I was having to talk to my bladder, OUT LOUD, to let it know that relief was coming!

As luck would have it, I spotted a port-o-potty in the distance! It was like mecca! I sped toward it and practically lunged for it while my car was still moving!

In my haste to leap out of my car, however, which had come to an abrupt stop diagonally across 3 parking spots, I COMPLETELY forgot that I had undone my pants while I was sitting in traffic. (I had to go THAT bad! Wearing pants was too much strain on my bursting little bladder, so I had undone them altogether!) So I jumped out of the car, only to find that my pants were coming down and my belt was flapping around everywhere (how humiliating!), and as I hurriedly grabbed at the front of them to cinch them up, I looked up to find a woman standing in front of the port-o-potty, glaring at me! Holding onto her little bicycle, without a care in the world.

Screw her! I went running across the parking lot toward her with one handful of my pants and my keys in the other, and I practically knocked the port-o-potty down, I ran into it so fast. I don’t have to tell you that it was the longest (and best) pee of my entire life. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE from having to pee so bad. Sweet, sweet relief!!! I love you, port-o-potty! (I never thought I would be in a position to say THAT.)

So when I was done I came out, looking much more composed, and the lady was still standing there with her bike, practically burning a hole in the back of my head, she was glaring at me so. I attempted to look as dignified as possible as I walked back to my car, but who was I kidding? So she caught me in a frenzied pants-down scramble for the toilet. Oh well!

I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason. But I don’t see any reason for 2 and a half HOURS of sitting there suffering in TOTAL HELL, I mean traffic. How irritating!! And self-deprecating, on top of it. Although I suppose it would have been far more embarrassing to have to pee in my insulated lunch bag.

Ugh....

Chronicles of Home Ownership: Lawn Maintenance

2005-08-23T14:50:00.000-07:00

Attention everyone: My lawn looks like the scalp of a balding middle-aged man.

Thin and patchy, there is nothing good I can say about the state of my lawn except that it hasn't required mowing for several months. I wish I could provide a picture of it, but I would be embarrassed to.

Plus, I’m not sure how to post pictures online, I’ve never quite been able to figure it out, so oh well. Use your little imaginations. Like Skippy peanut butter---crunchy and brown. With sparse little tufts of green here and there, like some sort of fungal disease. It’s not pretty, people.

So it rained a couple of weeks ago, to the point where the teeny grassy patches have grown just enough to make it look REALLY awkward. I didn’t trouble myself with watering it all summer, as my neighbors did, so I’m pretty sure they hate me at this point. Their lawns are lush and green, and mine is a patchy blemish on the face of the neighborhood. So sue me, I’m not as adept at these sorts of things as everybody else.

With a spring in my step and hope in my little heart, I set out to mow it for the very first time over the weekend. By “very first time,” I mean I’ve never operated a lawn mower before in my LIFE. Excepting the one time I took the family mower for a spin when I was 15, and my mother, after surveying the fruits of my labors, shouted something about how I was not to go near it ever again.

So I haven’t. Until this weekend, when I just couldn’t stand looking at my ill-kept lawn anymore. So I had a buddy of mine show me how to work the lawn mower, and away I went! Hee hee!

That is, until my neighbor, who happened to be sitting outside at the time, came running over and intercepted me. He pointed backward. I looked back. Oopsie! Apparently the lawn mower was set “too low” to the ground, so I was cutting big bald patches in it (even worse than before). Whoops! So he helped me set it properly, and I was off to the races. Approximately 30 seconds after that, however, my friend retrieved the lawn mower from me and gave me the boot. Oh well! You can’t fault me for trying....

So then I thought fertilizer would help, and it looked like rain. I happily filled the little bucket with fertilizer and sprayed it all over the yard. Then I went inside and waited for the rain, which never came. I fear I may have chemically burned whatever was left of my lawn. It is not supposed to rain for another four days, at least. Dang!!

This yardwork business may take a little time to get sorted out. I apologized to my neighbor for cutting additional (really horrid looking) bald patches into my lawn. He looked at me and smiled, and said that it would “be all right.” He didn’t look as though he hated me when he said it, at least. So that’s something.

I guess it's good I have a desk job. I should stick to that.

Barbecue Woes

2005-08-16T19:50:00.000-07:00

Attention everyone: I am having barbecue ISSUES today. Ohmygod.

So this is so weird. I went to let the beagle in from the backyard this morning before I left for work. He always spends, like, an hour out there while I'm getting ready. As he streaked through the door, I nabbed him and picked him up to give him a hug and plant a kiss on his little beagle head. As I did so, I put my mouth on his head and was immediately overpowered by a strong, smoky barbecue odor. And I'm not talking like, maybe a little bit. HIS BEAGLE HEAD SMELLED LIKE A HICKORY-SMOKED BARBECUE PIT. I have absolutely no idea what is up with that!! I wondered if he had perchance been up to some kind of mischief with the barbecue grill outside. I poked my head out the door and looked over at it, and everything appeared to be in order. Somebody explain this to me please?! I have no explanations anymore. All I know is, he smelled so good that I decided right then and there to fire up the grill for dinner (no, not to cook the beagle [YET]).

So then, I got home from work later and went to grill up some chicken, as I was starving to death and was ready to eat just about anything in sight. In my excitement to season the chicken before slapping it on the grill, I DROPPED IT. Great. So I picked it up, ran inside and washed it, brought it back out, and cooked it up till it was perfectly golden brown. It had perfect grill marks and everything! I stuck it on a plate to bring it inside, whereupon I DROPPED IT AGAIN. It slid right off the plate onto the floor! What the hell!! Am I officially retardando, or what? I swear to God. So after shouting a few choice expletives, I kind of stood there looking at the chicken, glistening on my carpet, and decided to eat it anyway. It had only been on the floor for like, 8 seconds. And I couldn't really rinse it off in that situation, could I?? It's grilled meat, for crying out loud. It's not like dropping a piece of fruit or something. So I put it back on the plate and ate it. I consequently spent the whole of my dinner inspecting each bite for little beagle hairs before eating it. How humiliating.

So I've decided my life is like that improv show, Who's Line Is It, Anyway?---specifically', I am a living version of the skit they call "Party Quirks," where they give 3 "partygoers" really weird quirks that the "party host" has to figure out. So it'll be like, "Ding dong, oh hey there, welcome to my party," and then the "partygoer" will start leaping around and screeching like a crack-smoking babboon, as the "party host" watches in bewilderment and is supposed to guess, in under 2 minutes, that the "partygoer" is, actually, a babboon that's been smoking crack.

This, in a nutshell, is my life. "Oh, wait, wait---you're a girl with barbecue-smelling-beagle head that subsequently eats chicken off the floor because you're too clumsy to keep it on the plate!" Ding, ding!! I swear to God, people. If it's not driving around with a car full of BEES, it's something else. It's not EVEN funny.

Well, actually, it is. Some of it, not all. Like the time lightning struck my apartment while I was eating out of an aluminum pie pan in an electrical storm, and the firefighters found the scorchmarks less than 6 feet from my head. That wasn't too funny.

Well at the time it wasn't, anyway...

An Ode To My Beagle

2005-08-09T15:20:00.000-07:00

I love the way you run away from me when I call you
And how you dig out of the yard on Thursday mornings
Forcing me to chase after you in my black skirt and mules
And re-twisting my knee, thank you ever so

I know it is such a horrible existence living with me,
What with all of the treats and the profuse affection I bestow onto you
It must really suck
Which is why you get your revenge by waking me up at 6:15 am on SATURDAYS

You thoughtfully tear gigantic holes in my window screens
Because I don't get to the back door fast enough for your liking to let you in
It was so much fun replacing them
I can hardly wait for you to do it again, next time I don't hear you SITTING BY THE BACK DOOR

It's great how you disappear under the bed when it's time to go in your crate
And now you crawl to the other side of the bed when I attempt to drag you out
This morning I had to grab hold of two of your back toes and pull
It was so much fun, how you tried to bite me

When I lean down to put my face next to yours
You belch in it---what a special moment shared between us
The only thing better is when you drag your claws down my bare legs
It feels so great

Thank you, beagle for making my life A LIVING HELL
This is my ode to you
My little headache
But you are so fuzzy and cute I can't bring myself to donate you for scientific experiments

My beagle

Fixing a Bad Haircut

2005-07-25T12:42:00.000-07:00

Hello, folks! Today it's another gem from my Worst Case Scenario desk calendar. I will have to remember these tips, in case I ever scrap writing/editing and decide to become a barber. Enjoy!

How to Cover Your Mistakes: Fix a Bad Haircut

1. Offer to make good.

Explain to the customer that you can fix the haircut.

2. Keep cutting.

Unless you plan to offer the customer extensions or a hair weave, going shorter is the only way to even out the hair. Make sure you tell the client what you are doing.

3. Maintain a sense of humor.

Say, "Didn't I tell you I specialize in asymmetrical haircuts?" If the client is still angry, try compliments: "You know, your hair looks great at this length. We should have cut it shorter a long time ago." Avoid getting defensive.

4. Use camoflage.

Hide the uneven cut by slicking back all the hair with a heavy, wet-look gel.

5. Use the ears.

An uneven section of hair can often be hidden behind one ear.

6. Accessorize.

Place a large hair clip on the shorter side to obscure your mistake. If the accessory will not cover the short section, put it on the longer side to attract the eye and draw attention away.

I'm guessing the last step is for women only.

Ayayaye...

2005-07-21T07:30:00.000-07:00

So would you like to hear about my day yesterday?

Of course you would.

I had intended to make fajitas last night, but my propane tank was empty on my gas grill. So yesterday morning I had to load the empty tank into my car to trade it in for a full one. The plan was to take it with me to work, and then run to the hardware store over my lunch hour.

So as I was loading it into the back seat, which is no easy task because it is big and heavy, I figured I should lay it on its side so it wouldn't roll around back there. As I went to tilt it over, however, I heard a weird buzzing sound coming from the bottom. I sat it back upright, and the sound stopped. Weird. I tilted it over again, and heard the buzzing. I sat it back upright, no buzz.

OK, well, I thought, it's got to be one of two things. It's either air leaking out somewhere at the bottom, or it's BEES. Neither is *really* something I want to be dealing with on my drive to work, so I'll just wrap up the tank with this towel here, nice and tight, and leave it sitting upright, and that should contain whatever the problem is until I can investigate later.

Fast forward to lunchtime. Out I go to remove the tank from my backseat. I grabbed it and had to tilt it over slightly to get it out, and WHAM! All these BEES flew out!! Ack! I knocked it over and looked on the bottom, and there was a BEE HIVE sitting on the bottom of it. Hello! Would this EVER happen to anybody else? Of course not!! Yes folks, Hildy drove to work today with a nest full of BEES riding right behind her in the back seat. It is fortunate that I had the foresight to wrap the thing up in the towel, otherwise that could have spelled trouble for Hildy on the expressway! Ayayaye! I'm telling you.

So then I had to leave my windows down for the rest of the afternoon to get all the bees out before I had to go home. They seem to be gone now, but what if there's still one or two in there? Making a new bee hive or something? Plotting revenge? Ack!!! I can hardly bear to think of it.

In other news, last night I retreated to my swing outside to read some Harry Potter after a hectic day, and simultaneously managed to LOCK MYSELF OUT OF THE HOUSE. I kid you not!! I drove to work with a car full of BEES and managed to lock myself out on the SAME FREAKIN' DAY. UnBELIEVEable! So I'm standing there in the back yard, freshly locked out, racking my brains for how to get back in. The front door was locked. The garage door was closed. The back door was now locked up tight (dammit). I would have to check all the windows and hope that I was careless enough to leave one open!!

I looked down at my beagle for help, as he was locked outside with me. He looked up at me with his lip tucked into his teeth in a kind of quizzical sneer. Nice.

So, I started marching around the house searching for unlocked windows with the beagle trailing close behind me, thinking how embarrassing it would be to have to bang on my neighbors' door at this hour if I couldn't find one (it was after 8 at this point). As luck would have it, I found one unlocked, which I realize is by no means safe but there you have it. Hallelujah. So then I went about trying to remove the screen, which was a whole different proposition. Long story short, no dice---it was wedged in there so tight, there was no WAY I was getting it off. Augh!!! How completely irritating!!!

So after a few minutes of picking at the screen I gave up, looked around, and just dug my fingers into it. I tore it open and ripped the entire thing out of the frame (I'm sure the neighbors were enjoying a great show by this point. They probably had popcorn and Raisinets and everything. Feh.)

Once I ripped the screen out, I managed to force the window open and clamber inside. The beagle was all ready to leap in behind me, but I slammed the window shut and went back around to unlock the back door for him instead.

Jumpin' Jehosephat, it was a rough day for Hildy yesterday. But, I have prevailed. And I'm happy to report that my fajitas were absolutely delacious, as expected. Yes ma'am!

So that's it for me. That's enough strife for one day. I can hardly wait to see what excitement today will bring...I'm afraid....

My man Harry P!!!

2005-07-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

OK. So it has been a while since I have posted, and I DO apologize. I don't have any good reasons, so I shan't bore you with any lame attempts.

For all two of you who may not have heard, the new Harry Potter is being released this week! Eeeee! I am sooo excited. I have a tradition of re-reading the last book before the new one hits the shelves, so that I can remember everything that happens and I am fresh for the new volume. I am in the midst of it as we speak. It is a thick one, to be sure!

As is Kelly Osbourne, but that is neither here nor there. I am waiting for her to go on one of those super-waify celebrity diets and lose, like, 100 pounds. It will happen, when she gets desperate enough, as it happens to so many other lost souls.

But I digress!

The release of a new Harry Potter book is a rare treat. Can I just express for a moment how sad I will be when there are no more? This book will be the sixth in the series. There is only one more: volume 7. And that is it! At which point I shall cry openly, like a little girl. I have not had this much fun reading since I was a kid, pouring over Ramona Quimby approximately 9 bazillion times.

It will be like when Gary Larson quit The Far Side. A travesty! Which shall live down in infamy in Hildy B history.

In any case, I cannot wait to delve into Harry's latest adventures. Do not be worried if you are unable to make contact with me for a week or two. I am fine. I am BETTER than fine. I have escaped to the land of ancient castles and sorcery and trickery around every turn!

PS I think they actually make those every-flavor jelly beans that she introduces in the books, including flavors such as ear wax and vomit. Somebody that I work with actually ate some, because she bought them for her kids and didn't realize they were *actually* going to taste like that. Blech!

See you in a couple of weeks.....

Hildeeeeee!!!

Hildy B, Author??

2005-06-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

Yes! Yes, my dearest friends, I have amazing news. An incredibly savvy publishing house has contacted me about publishing my drivel! I mean, my writings! Isn't that fantastic?

The truth of the matter is that I have written a children's book and submitted it for publication. And eureka! There was a bite on my little line! How about it!! I shall be joining the ranks of Madonna and Jamie Lee Curtis, both of whom have bared their breasts in public for money. Don't we have so much in common? Excepting the fact that now they are demure little housewives living the wholesome family life. I have no such plans of my own. MY breasts simply won't be tied down.

You think I'm joking! Haha, the joke is on you, my friends.

I am overjoyed, as expected. If all goes to plan, they would like to publish my book this fall. Wowie! And then I may begin tormenting small children by the thousands with my ill brand of humour (spelled the "Eeenglish" way for Chelsea's benefit, as she is a full-blown Brit now).

My beagle is also elated about this most recent turn of events. He scratched me profusely when I got home, and then attempted to bite me.

Such a sweet boy.

But seriously, soon I hope to be paired with an illustrator, with whom I shall collaborate for my little book. Isn't that wild??? I shall have an illustrator. How fabulous!

Stay tuned, my lovelies!!!!! It's about to get a little crazy 'round here.

Hildy B, Author Extraordinaire!!

Lions, Tigers, and Bears---Oh my!

2005-06-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

So I thought I would share with everyone the most recent entry on my Worst Place Scenario Work Calendar. It could be extremely useful in a pinch, I think.

Well, you be the judge.

HOW TO SURVIVE WORPLACE EMERGENCIES: TRAPPED IN A LION'S CAGE.

1. Do not run. (I thought "trapped" implied that you "couldn't" run, even if you wanted to, which I imagine you probably would. ?? Little confused by this step.)

2. Watch for signs of an attack. A low, staccato growl, combined with eye contact and a lashing tail, usually indicates that an attack is likely. (Hmm, you think? Plus, am I REALLY going to stand there trying to figure out if his growl is "staccato" or not? Doubtful!)

3. Find a defensive tool. Moving very slowly, pick up anything within reach: a water bowl, bench, or anything else that may be used to fend off a charge. (Something tells me a 'water bowl' probably isn't going to make much of a difference in this situation. But, I guess it's better than attempting to stave him off with your own bare hands.)

4. Back away slowly. (No shit!)

5. Watch for mock charges. A lion may make several "mock" charges before actually attacking. It will run forward, then stop. Stand your ground. (So are we backing away or standing our ground here? And are we screaming bloody murder at this point?)

6. Yell for help. Yelling may discourage further charges. (That's better. I see that "evacuate your bowels" doesn't appear on this list. But you never know---what's the next step?)

7. Fend off attack. Push its paws and head away. (RIGHT. I'll just gently push its paws and head away, as it's MAULING me with its 6-INCH CLAWS AND RAZOR-SHARP TEETH. EXCUSE ME, MR LION, I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND IF I PUSH YOUR PAWS AND HEAD AWAY AS YOU PROCEED TO RIP ME LIMB FROM LIMB AND EAT ME ALIVE.)

Ah well, just in case, I thought I'd better pass this along. You'll thank me later. Of note, these steps might also come in handy for certain friends of mine whose husbands attempt to have sex with them all the live long day and night. I'm just saying.

Run your credit card WHERE?

2005-05-22T22:18:00.000-07:00

So as many of you know, I have a slight problem with "pant height."

I cannot really say why I seem to have this problem while others don't, being that my pants aren't near as low as some other people's. Like, those skater dudes who wear them around their knee regions, for example. Have you ever seen their butt cracks, despite their low pant-age?

No, you haven't.

Scenario: So I'm at the gym yesterday (I know I know, SHOCKER) and I'm busy doing my stretches. The ones where you're on a mat, leaning forward to touch your toes.

So I'm stretching away, and I see a pair of tennis shoes approaching me. I continue stretching.

"Ahem."

I look up. Huh? It's the trainer-who-shall-not-be-named! Having to do with a certain "Pumpkin"!!

"Yes?" I say, sweetly.

He points to the back of my pants. "You might want to---" (he lifts his eyebrows and points.)

I have no idea what he is talking about. "What?" I'm certain I'm looking somewhat bewildered.

"YOUR ASS CRACK IS SHOWING," he says.

WHA!!! I reached back and felt around. Damn these low cut pants!!!!!!!!!! I tugged at them to pull them up higher. The trainer dude begins laughing. "You might want to keep an eye on that," he says. Well obviously I can't help it!!! "Well why don't you stop looking!" I retorted. "Well I really couldn't avoid it," he says. "I just happened to be walking by and looked over, and WHAM! There it was."

How embarrassing for myself. I mean, really. But I was able to laugh about it, thankfully, as I generally do about absolutely everything, until he started---pulling out his wallet?

He began fishing around and pulled out one of his credit cards. Huh?

He leans down and starts waving card the around. "Unless you'd like me to swipe my card for you," he says, and then makes a "swiping" motion toward my ass, as at the credit card machine at the grocery store, complete with a little "swoop!" sound.

Well at this, as you could imagine I just totally lost it. Ahahaha! Again, this would ONLY happen to me. Some guy I barely know lightening up a completely embarrassing situation by attempting to swipe his credit card down my ass crack. I swear to God, people, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Yes indeedy, this is my life.

So I guess this explains why middle-aged men keep approaching me at the gym, eh? Hildy B apparently has plumber butt when she's stretching out after a workout. It's OK, though. I can poke fun at myself with the best of 'em. Everybody else does. See? It's not so bad.

All the same, I think I'll stay away from the gym for a week or so, and perhaps change my haircolor before I make an appearance there again. Which happens often, according to SOME of you hilariously funny people out there. I wave my lovely sun-kissed locks in your general direction.

Time for me to rub down my beagle. Until next time...

Special Report: Hildy On the Road!

2005-05-06T07:44:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Nawlins, everybody! Here I am. I am happy to report that I have enjoyed much good food and a refreshing drink or two, and I've met some really nice people.

I would also like to note that I have yet to meet a single person that pronounces it "Nawlins." Everybody here is from someplace else. I haven't really been able to put in much face time with the locals. I am exceptionally disappointed. BUT, I have yet to meet a crawfish I didn't like, and the andouille sausage is damn good, too.

Speaking of crawfish, those little suckers are TAS-TEE. Messy, but delacious. Basically, you have to grab the crawfish in one hand and twist the tail off with the other. Then you have to peel away the outer layer of shell and put your mouth around the meat and suck it out as you squeeze it. And then the juices are running everywhere. Oh my. Doesn't this sound dirty???

I did suck the head, by the way, but I didn't really like it. Next time I'll just stick to the tail meat. And by next time, I mean tonight. O yes, I WILL be dining on my little friends again this very evening!!! I am counting the minutes...

In other news, there are hundreds of quaint little shops lining the streets of the French Quarter, which ironically sell the EXACT same crap as all of the OTHER shops. Feather boas, party masks, beads (some with boobs and other unspeakables adorning them), and beignet mix. And T-shirts. Dirty T-shirts. So dirty I cannot tell you what they say in this post. After all, this is a family place.

Haha! I had you there for a minute, didn't I? I'm such a kidder.

Of note, I was walking around the other day with the guy I'm here with, who I'm learning is a pretty strange individual (so as you can imagine, we are getting along swimmingly), and he points to a T-shirt in one of the shops and says that he has that shirt at home. His wife bought it for him. I went in for a closer look. It was three stick figures standing around a campfire with roasting sticks. Two of them were happy, and one of them was sad.

"It's all fun and games until somebody loses a weiner," it said.

O yes the snickering fits wore on well into the night. I am having a grand old time!!!!

Hope you're having as much fun as I am! But I doubt that's possible. After all--you are there, and I am here. And I am just the life of the frickin' party.

Or at least that's what I tell myself when I am the only one laughing. Which happens all too often. I'm going to stop while I'm ahead.

I'm off to The Big Easy....

2005-05-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

"Stella! My baby doll's left me!...I want my baby!...Stella!...Stella!"
--A Streetcar Named Desire

Yes, ladies and gents, I'm off to the land of crawfish and andouille sausages. Voo-doo and wild gaters. Cheap plastic beads and bare boobies. (Not that I'll be baring mine. Well, I might, you never know. I guess it all depends on who's asking.)

New Orleans here I come! Like it or not. For 6 whole days. Woo-hoo! Bourbon street, look out. I'm armed and dangerous with my digital camera, ready to see the sights and pick up a couple of unsuspecting sailors. Last time I was in New Orleans, I was 16 and I kept running into this one French-speaking seaman who repeatedly asked me for directions to the discotheque. I'm not sure why he was asking ME, I was merely a spry young gal running around a strange city. Crazy Frenchies.

I have received a bounty of suggestions for things to do while I'm there, ranging from fried oyster po-boys to swamp tours. I DO intend to sit myself down with a heaping bowl of steaming crawfish, that's for damn sure. I've never eaten them the good old-fashioned way, where you eat the tail and suck the head. Oh my. That sounded REALLY dirty. Tee hee!

All joking aside, I LOVE me some crawfish, and I think it's high time I learned to eat them as the Cajuns do. Wish me luck. You don't have to bash them with a hammer, do you?

I'll be seeing you, my lovelies. I will be sure to fill you in on my wacky adventures as soon as I return! I know you can hardly wait....

Ask, and ye shall receive

2005-04-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

So my boss sent me to a 2-day seminar to "enhance" my professional skills. It was pretty cool, for about the first 10 hours. After that, I kinda started to zone out. After all, there's only so much career enhancement one can take before it all just starts blending together into blabbidy blabbidy blah blah BLAH.

As I was busy zoning out, I started thinking about potential topics for my next blog entry. And frankly, I was coming up short on ideas---nothing was really jumping out at me.

Suddenly---wallah! Before mine very eyes, the solution presented itself:

A woman with a big fat ass was trying to squeeze past my table, and she managed to knock a hot cup of coffee ALL over the papers of the guy next to me. Haha! It was truly a sight to behold.

The best part was, he wasn't even there to start mopping it up and/or clear his belongings away. He'd excused himself only moments before. And her ass was SO big, she wasn't even AWARE she had done it. Someone exclaimed, "Oh, my God!" and ran over and started pulling all of his things out of the steaming hot puddle of coffee (which was running ALL over the white tablecloth). The fat woman swung around and looked down. "Oh no, did I do that?" she asked. (Note: Even though she was witnessing FIRST HAND what her ass had just done, she could not be bothered to get in there and help clean up.)

What made it so funny was that she had had a number of close calls with our table prior to the coffee incident. All of the tables had pitchers of water dispersed here and there for people to use ad libitum. Every time she had to squeeze past our table to get to or from her seat, one of us always had to put a protective hand over our water pitcher and/or glasses because her (enormous) ass almost knocked them over each and every time she swung by. It was usually the guy next to me who was holding onto the pitcher to make sure she didn't knock it all over the two of us.

Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

Unfortunately, I wasn't within reach of the coffee mug when it happened. And she seemed so unconcerned about it, which was what I found especially perplexing. If MY ginormous ass had knocked over somebody else's beverage, especially if it was rapidly saturating into their personal belongings, I would be sure to get in there and clean it up to avoid as much permanent damage (and further embarrassment) as possible. Which brings me to my next point: if I had been in this situation, I would have been HIGHLY embarrassed. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, she didn't seem to share that inclincation. Not only did she just stand there looking at the mess her ass had made, but she didn't even seem the least bit embarrassed by it. Unreal!

The timing was impeccable, I must admit. I thought to myself, "Cha-CHING! It's GOLD, Jerry! GOLD!"

So then the REAL highlight of the seminar came when the chick on the other side of me started piping up and contributing all sorts of helpful statistics. The speaker who was running the seminar announced her comments to the rest of the room and thanked her profusely for her contributions. Ten seconds later she slipped me a note, which said, "I TOTALLY just made that up. I had ABSOLUTELY no idea what I was talking about."

I could not BELIEVE her audacity. This seminar cost each of us $800!! And she did it in front of like, 100 people! And they were actually taking NOTES on what she had just said!!

"I DARE you to bullshit him again before he wraps it up," I wrote back.

Thirty seconds later, she raised her hand and offered up a few more tidbits of more helpful information concerning all the press releases she writes. She sounded very authoritative, and extremely convincing. I guessed I would have to wait for the bullshit comments, if she was actually going to have the huevos to do it again.

I promptly received a note back from her, which said (I swear to GOD I'm not making this up): "BOOYA. I've never written a press release in my LIFE."

The girl had SKILLS.

So it just goes to show you, career building can be fun! AND helpful. And sometimes, it provides you with a little reality check on how much ass-age you are carrying around. I consider myself warned....

Apparently I am a fat hog.

2005-04-16T19:04:00.000-07:00

It was a bright and beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. All was beauteous and good.

And then I allowed a member of the male sex to attempt to guess my weight. At which point, I experienced a sensation not unlike TOTAL DESPERATION AND DESPAIR. And the rest was kind of a muddy haze after that. Somehow it is 6 hours later and I find myself slumped over in front of my computer, scraping out the last remnants of a half-gallon of oreo cookie ice cream.

Apparently, I look as though I weigh a whopping ELEVEN POUNDS more than I do. Which by my estimations is AN F---ING LOT. As a matter of fact, I spend 6 days week at the F---ING gym attempting NOT to look like I weigh ELEVEN POUNDS more than my current weight. Fat lot of good THAT has been doing me (pun intended).

The upshot is that I raced home from hearing the horrible news and leaped onto my scale to discover that I actually weigh TWO POUNDS LESS than I THOUGHT I weighed. Which helps a little, I suppose. However, the BAD news is that now I have a complete complex about it. I was not aware that I was husky. Curvaceous, sure. (BTW, when I looked this word up in the dictionary to make sure I spelled it correctly, it indicated a "well-proportioned" female. Hmph. It seems I'm a little bit more than THAT.)

Good thing there is another half-gallon of ice cream awaiting me. As long as I LOOK like I weigh ELEVEN POUNDS MORE THAN I DO, I MIGHT AS WELL FILL THE BILL.

Sigh.

Later fellow taters,
Fatty McGee.

PS. STAN, I'M GOING TO SHAVE YOUR HEAD WHILE YOU SLEEP.

The Human what?

2005-04-15T14:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been under so much stress, you thought you would snap in two like a dry little twig?

Allow me to introduce myself---Mrs. Twig.

I've had a REALLY tough couple of weeks at work. Probably the most stressful (and LONGEST) couple of weeks of my career yet, for myriad reasons. It's been rough. So today, any guesses what happened?

Surprise surprise, I just completely started cracking up, of my own volition. I was in my office pondering the wretched state of things, and suddenly the funniest thing just popped into my head out of nowhere, and that did it--I just started hootin' and hollerin', and 5 minutes later, as I wiped the tears from mine eyes, the stress had completely melted away.

There is somebody that I work with, who shall remain nameless, who is a GIANT brown-noser. Probably the biggest kiss-ass I've ever met in my life. And she's really been pissing me off lately, among other people.

So it occurred to me all of a sudden that she's pretty much one big greased-up suppository. The HUMAN SUPPOSITORY. And I basically pictured her flying up into the air and shooting right up somebody's ass like a rocket. That or doing a full-on swan-dive into the asshole of someone who is higher up the chain of command than she is. And for some reason, that was just what I needed. It's catchy, isn't it? The Human Suppository. And now I am happy to report that I am feeling much better!

I suppose it is a good thing that I have an office, with a door that I can close. Otherwise, this might have been a mighty embarrassing situation for myself, had I been sitting in a cubicle at the time.

However, I highly recommend this method. Just lock yourself in a room and crack yourself up into sweet sweet oblivion. Ahhh. Much better.

And, I thought I'd share because I'm certain everybody knows somebody like my colleague, who brown-noses their way onto everybody else's shit list. She's certainly crawling up mine. Kind of like the way she's been crawling up my ass lately. Or rocketing, more like....

Hee hee! Happy Friday to all! And to all a good night!