Pits and Bieces

The GM1 recently accused me of having a bloggy eye.
We were driving to one of the less-frequented, poorly-organized malls, when I noticed that the mental health halfway house was directly across the street. I pointed it out to him and noted that this probably explained the randomized customer service at most shops in there, and he paused and said "You're blogging this already, aren't you?"
And I was.
It's all fodder, all of you, out there going about your lives with your quirks and your nose-picking and your poor traffic skills. You with your bus-babbling and your trolley-taunting and your mall-mangling. You there issuing incoherent memos, you there posting ambigous signage, you there leaving a raw turkey on the sidewalk in front of my apartment....
I've got my bloggy eye on you.

By the way, adorable visitor Xade commented on a post a bit down the page that he devoutly hopes in my new job I will have access to the "fairy floss" machine. I kind of doubt they'll allow someone like me to run machinery, particularly the fun stuff like that, but I have to tell you.... I freekin' LOVE the phrase "fairy floss."
So today's linky lovin' goes to Xade, because he's enriched my vocab.

An editorial clarification for those who missed the intended satirical tone because you are taking things a bit too freekin' seriously and I don't mean you, Pixy, because you are the epitome of coolness, but I've gotten mail on this so I feel I need to say something humor point in one of my innumerable recent meme/listy things..... I don't truly hate France. They make excellent cheese. The Eiffel Tower is kind of pretty. The accent, with the right words, is hot. But that's basically all I care for.
On the other hand, I really like the Japanese despite that horrid public toilet I once had to make use of at the train station. Ick.

Did we ever, really, truly and once and for all determine who let the dogs out?
I didn't think so.

Photons and Englishmen Go Out In The Noonday Sun

Watching "Deadwood" got me in this all-Western, all-the-time mood, so I'm watching "Paint Your Wagon" while waiting for the caffeince to kick in. It is absolutely the best Western musical ever, if you fast forward past the parts where Clint Eastwood tries to sing, because that's just wrong.

"Farmers don't got time for fun They got to plant them turnips, talk about the weather."- Ben Rumson, a real man with real priorities and turnips ain't one of 'em.

An Egg In My Sock Drawer, You Say?

There comes a time in every blogger's life when the big burden becomes too much to bear. When at that crucial moment, the mind droops and imaginations flags and the thought of that particular task just sucks the vitality out of the fingertips.
I'm talking about coming up with a witty, succinct, attention-snatching title for each and every post.
And I'm going to take the road less traveled on this problem. I'm not going to go all minimalist and leave it blank. I'm not going to go matter-of-factual and pre-sum-up.
I'm going non sequitor.
That's pretty much the way I cook too, come to think of it.
Is that my eye-of-newt?

I Have A Cowboy Hat

I'm a big fan of HBO, what with "Carnivale" and "Sex and the City" and "Oz" and "Six Feet Under" and of course the uber-obsession, "The Sopranos". And now they've hooked up my Sundays anew.
"Deadwood" is set right after the massacres at Little Big Horn, but that's not important right now. The important thing is Deadwood is not yet a federally-organized territory, it's gold country and it's every man for himself.
Of course there are the good guys, and the fictionalized-a-little famous guys, and the bigass mean spider in the center of the web- a sociopathic psycho dust-covered Donald-Trumpish saloon owner who also owns.... well, pretty much everyone in town's souls in one way or another.
I love a genuinely good Bad Man.

"Nobody's drinkin', nobody's gamblin', nobody's chasin' tail. I have to deal with that!" - bigass mean spider/saloon owner Al, after learning that word is spreading of a supposed Indian massacre of settlers on a road near town

Blog-Whipped

Things I Has Learnt Today

It was educational, if nothing else.
Today I went to mandatory "Food Handlers Class", despite the fact that the comestibles I'll be peddling bear little resemblance to actual food and more closer to crack-for-kiddies pure-sugar-rush whacko fuel.
Here is what I learned, during the moments I was awake.
1. Everything you eat will kill you. Dead. Within minutes.
2. Employees get food at half price.
3. A federal health survery determined that it is impossible to go to the bathroom without pissing on your hands, even if you just went in to fix your hair.
4. None of my coworkers know what "Celsius" means.
5. However, a full one-half of the class have a probation officer of their very own.
6. The other half have restraining orders out against violent kin and/or significant others.
7. Except me. I have totally screwed up the curve as far as aberant behavior.
8. This is quite unlike me, because usually I am the deviant.
9. I had to join the union to have this job.
10. Current math informs me I will be working the first 4 hours of every month solely to pay union dues to be protected in ways that I have just learned do not apply to me as I am part-time.
11. I feel so used.
12. Hold me.
13. However, there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
14. I will be "serving my fellow fun-seekers in their quest for adventure and affordable snacks."
15. Bruce, the trainer, told us so.
16. I hate Bruce.
17. Bruce smelled of Hai Karate and spoiled milk.
18. I suspect Bruce is a wanker.
19. I also suspect Bruce pisses on his hands.
20. I did not shake hands with Bruce.
21. But I did have a lovely pretzel at the break.
22. Half off.
23. It was stale, but I don't feel as bad as if I'd paid the full $5.75 for it.
24. How can they charge so much, you ask? Can you say "captive audience"?
25. I knew you could.
26. You think this is a list? Wait until I actually have access to the public.

Unwelcome

I must be a very poor hostess.
Why else would the veggieburger I ate last night be so insistent upon leaving, and leaving rapidly?
To be fair, the veggieburger was a bad guest. He had no taste and while departing, tried to take everything he could with him.
Or perhaps it is as the GM1 claims, that the veggieburger was an exorcist.
Holy crap, indeed.

It's My First Time, Be Gentle

How is it I have never done a Cheddar X before? Surely The Cheese and Cheddar X would be like Starsky and Hutch, eggs and bacon, Anna Nicole Smith and superstructure bras?

When I say:
Olympics, you say? = Philippe Candelero
Politics = suck
John Kerry = wanna-be terrorist
George Bush = my vote
Osama = camel ballsack mildew
Same-sex marriage = fine
Todd Bertuzzi = who?
Barry Bonds = who?
The Passion of the Christ = claptrap... oh, and sucks
Beach = walk
Britney Spears = five years off my life to look like that
Paris Hilton = overrated but funny
Microsoft = sometime necessary evil
France = waste of real estate
Hans Blix = who?
Linux = and his blanket
MTV = sucks
Outsource = telemarketers with thick Hindi accents
Hummer H2 = want one
Honor = must be earned
Love = the GM1
Courteney Love = uber skank

Upon Consideration

Re: this: Nah.

Me and My Nancy Boy Hair Gel

Old school punk! You just say what you have to say
regardless of what everyone else thinks!
You're one of my most favourite types of
music... You're raw and uncut! You're
surrounded by hype...just don't let it make you
go insane...

What genre of rock are you?
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(ripped kicking and screaming while making rude gestures at the Queen from Mamageek)

Useless Query

I wonder if I'm posting a bit too much today?

One Thing I Never Thought Of

This is a phrase I never really thought I'd have to ever ever use.... "sperm in the cheese." Yet there are times that exactitude is necessary.

An Addendum De Dum Dum

Lest ye who have become complacent and relaxed with the current color scheme fail to continue to maintain your less-than-watchful ways (like it does any good huh? I'm still a colorchart hummingbird), despite my added crap I have to do while upright and breathing, completely cutting into my real life, i.e. blogging duties as Churro Chick (see post below for complete and compelling details... go on, it's Sunday, it's not like you have anything pressing to do like mow the damn lawn or wash the dog or take the car out before it piddles on the good rug again)...
Oh hell, lost in my own syntax...
Um, well, I'm going to change the color scheme again.
That is all.
Carry on.

I'll Be Your Canary In A Coal Mine

Yep, my number came up.
I got a job.
I know, I know... a long long time ago I posted about going to orientation for a seasonal holiday gig, but that never came to fruition. I had to take a pass on it when I discovered they defined "flex part-time" as "ridiculously divided split shift".
So for the past seventy or eighty years little while, I've been sending out resume after resume, filling out application after application.
Good practice for that upcoming arthritis, but that was about it.
Last week (on a Sunday morning, wtf?) I had an interview, which I totally aced by sheer force of charm and a strategically unbuttoned blouse) went well because yesterday I went in to do some paperwork and sometime next week I will be:
*insert dramatic drum roll here*
A food service cashier at an amusement park.
I'll wait while you change your panties, because I know that makes you just as wet as it does me.
Seriously, at this point I just want a freekin' job. I want a paycheck. I want to be able to answer the phone without an accent. ("Nooo, Meessus eess no livee here. You no call no mas.")
Now, I've learned some things from blogging, and one of those things is Don't Talk In Detail About Work Unless You Are Absotively Sure You Can't Get Fired For It, Especially If You Have Idiots For Coworkers and Whackjobs For Supervisors. Not having actually begun the job yet, I can't vouch to the idiot level or whackjob quotient. I predict it's just a matter of time, being the cynical brat that I am.
That being said, I am rubbing my bloggy hands in gleeful anticipation of a neverending source of Encounters, Social Transactions, and First Hand Windowlicker Witnessing. Not gonna name names. Not gonna give time or place specifics. Not gonna replace terminology to cover my tracks. Wait, yes I am on the last one. Or not. Now I've confused myself.
In any case, if blogging appears lighter than usual, it's because I'm At Work. Or recovering.
(PS. I would like to point out that this is my second part time job. Not my second ever, you nit, my second in addition to tossing churros at touristas. Concurrent sentences, as it were. Is. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to be accurate. In case this all comes up later in court. Or commitment hearings. Or gossip on the bus. You know who you are, bigmouth.
Anyway, the other is a freelance, under-the-table-payment gig doing housecleaning for absolute slobs who care nothing for their personal safety or abode hygiene very busy people. It's cash in hand, but it makes me smell of bleach and dust.
You really really want me now, don't you? I could tell.)

Analysis

My dad has weighed in on the whole Martha Stewart thing.....

"The investigation of Martha Stewart continues. Her recipe for chicken casserole is quite efficient. First you boil the chicken in water. And then you dump the stock."

A Young Margaret Thacher, Baby

This is the exact conversation I have every time I have to ride the bus.
(eavesdropped from Reflections in d minor)

The Annual Disclaimer

If for some reason you are blocked from commenting, it's quite likely you share an IP with the same shit-for-cerebellum assnuggets that keep posting utterly window-licker shortbus comments designed to annoy the bloody buggery hell out of me.
If you are an innocent victim caught in this insidious byproduct of evil, let me know via email.
If you are the aforementioned assnugget, please eat camel poop and die.
Thank you,
The Management

It's Not My Fault

Robert started it.

Nggghhaahhh!
Grrr arrr Rum and Monkey.
(I can just hear my mom now..."and I suppose if Robert jumped off a bridge, you would too?" Probably, Mom. Because that's just the kind of girl I am. A bridge-jumping crowd-following polar bear.)

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Once more, the Friday Five.
If you...

Unguilty

Granted, I may get a little blind, bulletproof loaded tipsy on days ending in Y occasion, but I've never ever gone so low as to consider doing karaoke.
But I appreciate Steve being brave enough to cover that base for me.
(from the musically inclined Bob, who is not too shabby in the crooning department.)

Letting the Appletinis Drive

My notes for today, St. Patrick's Day, 2004

1. Appletinis are not only good, they are damn good and take three tries to spell properly.
2. I was gone all day, did you miss me?
3. The correct recipe is 1 appletini equals 2 ounces green apple schnapps, 2 ounces Grey Goose vodka, shake a lot and drink many.
4. I follow recipes to the LETTER, Jack. I'm just sayin'.
5. I went to the GM1's pre-retirement seminar (day 3) today.
6. Listening to the VA rep was like llisteining to paint dry.
7. No, three appletinis is not enough. Go make more.
9. I really hate the VA rep.
10. He had ugly shoes and a depressing attitude.
11. The GM1 would not let me speak in the seminar, he said I was an instigator.
12. I love my toes.
13. They are the prettiest toes I have seen all day.
14. If I could find the camera I wuold take a picture of my toes.
15. And the coffee at the seminar was bad bad bad, like old piddle.
16. I'm just saying.
16. I cannot, however, feel my toes. What's up with that?
18. I sincerely support with my whole heart and ammo dump the death penalty.
19. Especially for mega-boring VA reps. You ass.
20. I make a great appletini, have I told you this? I mean, damn, I could get a job anywhere on th basis of my appletinis.
21. Did I tell you this? The GM1's first name is really Henry?
22. He hates his names.
23. He likes Hank.
24. Hank sounds like a disease of the horse's testicles.
25. He's doesn't htink this is funny. I do. I laugh and say Hank Hank Hank.
16. This is the best toenail polish yet.
17... no, 26.... what the hell?
27. If that's yhou on the phone, I"m not here. Call back later.
28. Holy shit. When did THAT happen.?
29. Must go, sink is on fire. Damn. Again.
Happy Valentine patkrick days!!

The Proper Way

Forget Nascar

This is the only racing for me.
Cheese racing.

Q: What do you think happens when you throw a slice of processed cheese (without removing the plastic wrapping) onto a lit barbeque?

The plastic melts giving off highly toxic fumes and you are left with a pretty grim cheese/plastic mess welded on to your BBQ, right?

WRONG!

Sparkling Mullet

Sparkling Mullet. Body Wash/ Car Wash. Dual action! 2-in-1 formula! Strong enough to clean the car, yet gentle on the nards.

Frikkin-A this is a real product, not a product of my twisted hygienic sensibilities! Go look if you don't believe me.

But You Doesn't Has To Call Me Johnson

I saw this over at Lee's place. Did I mention he has the best first name?

If you call me Ann, you're my mom.
If you call me Annabelle, you're my papaw.
If you call me La, you're one of my friends met through the GM1
If you call me Lee, you're one of my friends met in Hawaii.
If you call me Squeek, you used to play paintball with me.
If you call me Lala, you are the GM1.
If you call me Pookiebear, you are the GM1, horny.
If you call me Leroy, you are constantly misaddressed junk mail.
If you call me Smelly Ass, you're Tonya.
If you call me Molly or Jinjer, you're from IRC.
If you call me bitch, you used to live downstairs and coveted my screen door.
If you call me Your Royal Majesty, you're darn right.

Those Impetuous Fools

Yesterday morning, March 14th, I heard a rustling at my front door.
*rustle papercrinkle rustle*
I went to investigate, seeing as how I was only partially dressed and it would be kind of funny to see some Domino's crappy-advertisement-stuck-on-my-doorknob-dispensing yokel fall down the stairs in shock.
Sadly, I was too late... and it wasn't the yokel.

I Drink, Therefore I Am

Alcohoroscopes MRK 2- the stars and your drinking style

Virgo Style:
Cerebral Virgos are compelled to impose onto their bender. Their famously fussy quest for purity could lead to drinking less than other signs, sure -- but it could also lead to drinking booze neat, to sucking down organic wine or just to brand loyalty. They rarely get sully shellacked -- but oh! when they do! Virgos controlled by the intellect, but there's an unbridled beast lurking within, and they let it loose when walloped. It's dead sexy (and suprisingly unsloppy). As every Virgo friend should declare, 'I'm going to drink myself into a low level of inteligence tonight' as a toast to the subgenuis IQ.

Meat... It's What's For Dinner

Tomorrow is International Eat An Animal For PETA Day.
I plan to celebrate with eggs and chicken-fried steak for breakfast, a double cheeseburger for lunch, and veal for dinner. However, if you add in some caramel, that's pretty much how I eat every day.
Built for comfort, not for speed... that's me.
I'd trade it all away, though, if I could buy Hannibal Lechter a big old helping of southern fried animal activist.
And a Coke.

Ribbet

Thar's a new blog in town.
Okay, that works a lot better if you imagine me walking all bow-legged with my thumbs hooked in my waistband and speaking entirely in this perverse love-child-of-Matt-Dillon-and-Festus accent....
Anyways, while I go put away the pink cowboy hat and spurs, go check out Froggie's Lilypad, which is one of those rare blogs where I actually have met in real true life the author. Which is cool, as is she.
Hop to it.
(sorry, I am recently infested with severe pun-itis and cannot stop myself from saying things like that. It's just one of those things. I'm climbing aboard the short bus even as we speak.)

A Quick Word From Our Sponsor

Zoom.

Vex Vobiscum

Have you ever had one of those days where the sun shines, and birds sing, and you find a $20 on your way out to the car? Where traffic seems to melt away before you, where other drivers smile and wave, where the perfect parking spot awaits you at your destination?
A day that goes smoothly and easily, with compliments from strangers and kudos from friends? A day that in the evening finds you safely at home, dinner already made by an adoring spouse, and an icy martini with olives so pert and perky they fairly coo "nibble me, oh yes oh yes, nibble me now!" placed in your hand the moment you step through the door to your freshly cleaned and elegantly furnished abode?
One of those days where you find nothing in the mailbox but thank you notes and certifcates of merit, where spam rears not its ugly head and Nigeria doesn't exist, where clever phrases and eloquent posts filled with insight and genius flow from your fingertips? One of those days where all your favorite television shows are on one after another and nary a rerun in sight and all commercials have been reduced to three second blipverts?
A wonderful day that at the end finds you tucked snuggly warm in a heavenly-comfortable bed, with clean, crisp sheets and only the quiet whisper of your most cherished song on the radio to lull you to sleep after your beloved has considerately waited for you to have pleasure first, not once but several times, and followed it up with a long backrub? Where all your dreams are wonderful and full of benevolent omens of coming peace and prosperity?

Me neither.
And if you did, I don't want to hear about it, you lousy braggart.

Stick The Banana

There's something decidedly wrong about giggling like Beavis and Butthead while watching this harmless recipe animation for MonkeyPops.
Yet I cannot contain myself.

Oh Hell

And of course, the post previous to this but after the initial "not gonna post" one, it was needed to make very clear under what circumstances it was allowed.
So, let me just be clear.... absolutely no posting whatsoever today after those two... uh, and this one, because they were required by the Geneva Convention or something.
Unless something that rocks the news world happens. Or if my neighbors do something typically short bus. Or if the GM1 says something silly again.
Except for all those, no posting today.
Really.

To Each Rule Its Own

When I said no posting today I meant except the one I posted saying there was no posting. Because technically that is posting, but it was a necessary post so it doesn't count.

In Accordance With Some Other Prophecy

There is a tradition amongst the bloggarians that any absence shall yea verily be explaineth so that people don't think you're just off on a binge somewhere and not bringing them back anything like the selfish pig you are.
So in cooperation with local authorities (very very localized, like the little voice in my head... no, not that one, the nasal one that sounds like my third grade teacher on acid) I am hereby serving notice that I'll not be posting anything today.
Too much stuff I've read already this morning has me in a supremely pissy mood and I don't feel I should inflict it on you, even though some of you think I'm one funny Cheese when I get all huffy and kick someone's tushie all over the 'sphere.
But I'm trying not to elevate my blood pressure unduly, saving that for fun stuff like who they vote off on "Survivor" tonight, and so no posts today.

I Know You Are But What Am I?

Googlism is the process of letting Google define you. Googlism is not for the faint of heart. Googlism is not for unattended children. Googlism wants your heart, your soul, your very being and most of all the rest of the afternoon that you discover is gone gone gone once you start mucking about with it.
Googlism said about LeeAnn:

leeann is one of the sweetest bunnies ever
leeann is a highly trained government agent
leeann is also in the frederick's of hollywood lingerie catalog
leeann is at the bottom of the pile
leeann is dead

Today's Non-Fluffy Post

My favorite recent quote:

"Activism is a way for useless people to feel important, even if the consequences of their activism are counterproductive for those they claim to be helping and damaging to the fabric of society as a whole." Thomas Sowell

In Accordance With Prophecy

Once again, cheese takes the fall for the weak overindulgence of others and the dire consequences. Or else we can blame mullets. Nevertheless, we at The Cheese Stands Alone always advise that you consume your cheese in a responsible and moderate manner, lest you suffer the fate of the poor sods in this little precautionary film.

Who am I kidding? Cheese is meant for the wallowing... go on, all mozarella at full speed and damn the lactose intolerant!
(brought to our attention by loyal hottie Tonya, who should get off her ass and get a blog going already, because she is just that darn cool)

Is Bill Under My Desk? Or Is It Just Spring Synchronicity?

There I go, posting about my cooking skills (or lack thereof) and what do I see on Bloviating Inanities but a post that refers to a recipe clearly made just for me:
Cheeses Christ.
All I need now is a few holy crackers and some wine... well, I have water, maybe there'll be one of those miracle thingys.
Mmmm, the power of Cheese.

Words of Wisdom From the GM1

"It's on that fine line between flush now and flush later."

A Mere Dribble In the Cyber Spitbasin

I never thought it would happen to me.
(You really have to say that in the voice Steve Martin uses in "The Jerk" to get the full effect I'm going for, and if you don't remember it, I urge you to trot on down to the video store and rent it quickly, lest thou burst into uncultured flames and where the hell was I going with this anyways? Oh yeah....)
An antique post of mine has been pinged several times this morning, and while this, or some comment spam or such happens fairly regularly, this appears to come from a legitimate blog. Yet when I go to the blog (not my blog, the blog what has sent the ping, why in the world would I ping myself? Do I look like I'm modeling for a soon-to-be-banned London ad?) I can find zero mention of The Cheese, or even myself.
How odd is that? Even stranger, it appears to be a political blog, and anyone who knows me knows that The Cheese and meaningful political discourse are as disparate as John Kerry and credibility.
Nothing to fuss yourselves about, just my little morning mystery... and me without my trenchcoat.
Wonder if Columbo ever wore snazzy pink polkadot pajamas?

Can It Be? A Quiz I Was Last To Do? Oh, The Shame, The Shame... It Burns!

Volo anaticulum cumminosam meam!
"I want my rubber ducky!"
Okay, so you're a little childish. You know how to
have a good time.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
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A little childish? Am not, you big boogerhead.