My Christmas Wish

My wish is to be able to watch the local news without constant interruptions from the meteorologist, updating viewers on the whereabouts of Santa.

I personally hope that NORAD is not using its resources to track the phantom gift giver, as the weatherman claimed during his last report. 

That is my wish. Happy Holidays.

http://www.noradsanta.org

Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Pooetic Justice

One nice thing about being an animal and living at the zoo is that when people piss you off, you can throw poop at them. At least that was the case this afternoon.

As a volunteer at the National Zoo, I have the privilege to take part in many things that the public is denied access to, such as witnessing the artificial insemination of an elephant (they have uteruses the size of a couch), and assisting in the assembly of hay cakes in celebration of our great pachyderms birthdays. However, today’s incident was a treat that all present in the Elephant House had the privilege to observe.

It seems that some youngsters were being particularly shrill and raucous in the presence of Shanti, the zoo’s slightly ornery yet endearing 32-year-old female elephant. Now, this particular elephant may be a bit excitable, but at her age, one must respect that she is lady who knows what she wants. And she did not want this. Shanti began swaying back at forth, her heavy lumbering a clear indication of her agitated state. The shrieking youngsters, however, did not cease their irritating screeches. Shanti then used her great proboscis to heave hay towards the offending individuals, which perhaps should have been taken as a sign that hmmm, maybe we should step away from the aggravated 9.000 lb animal. However, the youths continued the commotion as Shanti continued spraying hay towards the crowd. Suddenly, in the midst of the piercing racket, Shanti halted the hay shower and stood motionless. For one brief moment, it seemed she would retreat to her outdoor pen, the doors having been wide open since dawn. The onlookers then watched as this middle aged cantankerous female elephant matter-of-factly picked up a pile of her feces and hurled the excrement through the warped bars of the enclosure.

There was a collective gasp as Shanti’s not so subtle hint hit the onlookers, striking some on their arms and chest, though much of it landing in a pile at their feet, culminating in a pleasant and perfectly sounding “plop.”

The crowd dispersed quickly as the zoo keepers suppressed their smiles, sweeping the sheisse aside. There’s nothing like a little bit of shit on a sunny Sunday afternoon to put things in perspective.

The Newest Ron Popiel Product! As seen on ABC, NBC and FOX

I love this product! I've recommended it to all my friends and family!



*No CoD's...S&H not included.
**If you order now, you get a second one free!!!!!!

Sad Sunday at the Store

So I went grocery shopping this afternoon. At 7-11. I was alone, living it up at my parent’s house (they were out of town for the week and took the only running car) when I relized all that remained in the fridge was half a box of baking soda and a stick of margarine circa the Clinton administration. Trying to take the county bus in the burbs on a Sunday to the grocery store is most definitely not advisable, so I decided to walk the mile and a half to the outdoor shopping center (i.e. strip mall) and purchase some provisions. I thought I would just stop at the drug store, since all I needed was a loaf of bread and some milk. But apparently, since I was last home, it had turned into a parking lot.


Therefore, I was left choice but to head down the lane and enter the 7-11…Well, it was either that or pick up a week’s worth of lo mein at Mama Wok. I decided to avoid the MSG in favor of trans fat and go to the 7-11. I bought enriched hot dog buns (there were no loaves available), sliced American cheese product, a bottle of water and a Sunday paper. I purchased the merchandise, which totaled 16$, (apparently the price we pay for convenience) and went on my sad way, imagining the other customers shaking their heads at me in pity. I returned home and as I put my “groceries” away, I realized I should have bought more stuff. Way more stuff. However, I know I won’t starve, and if I get hungry enough, I can always nibble the news print.

You Betcha!

If John McCain dies, this woman would become our first female president...










AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But she sure is pretty, which is important.

The Red (White and Blue too) Olympics...

Please, somebody help me... I have Olympic Fever. Every night until one in the morning I am fixated by sport… swimming, gymnastics, and yes, even trampoline (they may be getting rid of baseball in the next summer games, but damn it, we have trampoline).


Now, all of us have heard about the controversy surrounding the Chinese “women’s” gymnastics team. Though cheating on the world stage is a brazen move, I do feel that turning girl babies into gymnasts prematurely is probably a better alternative than sending them down the Yangtze…On another note, why is it that the women’s volleyball team wears bikinis and the men’s team outfits itself in shorts and tee’s? Is that really a sign of equity among the sexes? Of course, the male gymnasts do wear little tiny spandex leggings so I guess all’s fair.... Oh and that Michael Phelps. Have you heard of him? Yes, thank you Bob Costas, we know he’s awesome and that he consumes 10,000 calories a day, but must you refer to him as Dolphin Boy?


Go USA!



Oh, and if you see either of these girls, please alert the cute police, because appparently one is not (for those just tuning in, the accused is the girl on the right, according to the Chinese state media).

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N (almost)

I have been saving my vacation days like a miser since last summer and as a result have nearly 3 weeks of leave. I have decided to use that time to motor across the country and see the best sights this country has to offer. I know gas prices are high, but it’s my patriotic duty to make sure the terrorists don’t win, right? I'm heading to the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, and of course, Graceland, Dollywood and the Corn Palace. I also hope to encounter the World's Largest Ball of Twine along the way.



My vacation could not have come at better time, as the last week has nearly unhinged my fragile psyche. I injured my knee (swimming of all things, but to be fair it was in the Atlantic and the sea was hella rough. Yes, I just wrote “hella.”), nearly killed two electricians working in my office when I turned on the lights (an event that could have been easily averted by a small piece of tape over the switches. The two electricians turned out to be fine, though the shock definitely took a year off my life), and got in to a fight with a taxi cab driver who took me two miles in the wrong direction and then charged me 10$ for dropping me off in the same spot he picked me up at. To top it all off, I was solicited by a cult this morning at the library. I smiled and said politely, that no, I was not interested in their conference featuring up and coming artists and free food, nor would I sign their petition or attend their free relaxation seminar.



Anyway, I will be conducting my own relaxation therapy starting tomorrow, as I hit the road and head west. Upon my return, I will share my adventures in America Land, but in the meantime, be wary of any group that approaches you in the library inquiring about your financial stability, your relationship with your parents, and whether or not you crave a new and exciting lifestyle.

The Hot Cop

Well, I think the writer’s block has finally been knocked out of me. I have been struggling for the last couple of weeks, staring at my new shiny computer with nothing new to write. That is until yesterday, when my inspiration literally came knocking at the door.

I was in the attendance of my close girlfriends bachelorette party and though I was in on the “big” surprise, I was still a bit on edge when “Logan,” the friendly neighborhood hired stripper, showed up. He was impeccably dressed in tight slacks, a barely there button down, and boots that seemed to buckle up to his neck. Logan came armed with a boom box and promptly got to work. While I was expecting some slick oily man gyrating his pelvis perversely in all directions, he was actually quite tasteful and rather decent, shoving his junk in my face only once. Though he wouldn’t leave me for the next girl until I slapped his ass, I was thankful he asked for only a slap and not a tug as I had feared.

The bride- to -be sat on a chair and Logan went about his business, gyrating this, swiveling that, eventually lifting her out of her seat. He danced around nimbly for quite some time, commenting about “how hot” he was, when suddenly, in one swift graceful motion, his pant were off. Of course, by that point, he really was sweating and panting, and just a bit more that I thought he would be doing just for the show, so I offered to get him a glass of water, which he readily accepted.

Since I did Logan a favor, he went a bit easy on me, only straddling me once as I crossed my legs together so tightly they began to quiver. He then moved on to the next girl as I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over and I survived. My stripper cherry had been popped and it couldn’t have been done by a nicer gentleman. He slipped us all his card (better his card then something else) and I took a furtive glance at it before casting it aside. Apparently, Touch Too Much Entertainment recommends Logan and its other entertainers for a wide variety of events, including promotions, office parties, and retirement celebrations. Hmmm…yes what better a better way to honor Grandpa Earl’s 30 years of service to his company than hiring a stripper for his retirement luncheon.

Though the experience could have easily been more traumatic than it was, I remain haunted the by the sight of red spandex and the opening measures of Eye of the Tiger.

The Move

So moving sucks…especially when it’s to your folks’ house. It’s almost depressing enough to make me want to quit my job, move into the basement and make a living selling fake ideas to the high school kids. Almost.

I find myself in this particular living situation because my roommate decided to do something utterly grown up… to get married. As happy as I am for her, that meant I needed to find a new place and though I have a full time job, I cannot afford to live alone in the city that I work. Ok, well at least in a neighborhood I am less likely to be shot. Given the circumstances, I made the decision to move home for the summer, home being the suburbs where I grew up. It’s only temporary and I thought I had come to terms with it, but bringing that first load of boxes up to my old room (still plastered with Beatle posters and an occasional Tiger Beat cover) made me feel uneasy, a bit like a failure.

I am hopeful to find a place by September and that this period at home will just be a temporary blip on my “grown up” life radar. However, as I lie in the tiny twin bed I have slept in since I was 4 (luckily I was a large child so it’s actually quite comfortable), draw the teddy bear curtains closed over my windows and shout a “ g’night” to my Ma, I am filled with warm gooey feelings of nostalgia. Then I suddenly remember I am in my mid twenties, single, have a crappy job, and live at home… and the feeling quickly fades. And on top of everything, on Sunday evenings, I am still not allowed to talk during 60 Minutes.

The MacBook

I recently bought my first computer. And yes it’s a Mac. I don’t really intend to use it for anything except word processing and email, so yes, I did buy it for the lifestyle.  And now that I own it, boy, I sure feel hip. I sit in my nearly empty apartment (I am moving and most of the furniture is gone) and watch movies on my 1,400 dollar DVD player. I also sometimes take pictures of myself. And then share them with no one since all my friends have PC’s.  I do enjoy that my computer is white, so I can truly understand just how dirty my hands are. And of course, learning to right click all over again has been a real joy. But in all seriousness, my new computer has been a good thing, after all, trying to keep up my blog with a type writer has proven to be way too labor intensive.

 

 

 

Sunny D

A close friend of mine, a newlywed, recently moved to the fine city of Miami, Florida with her graduate student husband. Now this friend is a warm, down to earth girl with the utmost of Midwestern sensibilities, so as you can imagine, Miami does not exactly feel like home. The people are rude (except for the old folks) and everything is chic, hip, expensive, and trendy. It is a city lacking in mashed potatoes, stonewashed jeans and great lakes.

I was talking to this friend on the phone, trying to console her and pull her out of her unhappy state. She dislikes where she lives, her job is awful and she has not made any age appropriate friends (though Mr. and Mrs. Goldfarb upstairs are just dolls). In an attempt to console her, I point out that at least she is getting plenty of Vitamin D living in Miami, a vitamin essential for calcium absorption. I expect this to cheer her up, after all few Americans meet the recommended daily dosage of D, but all I got was silence on the other end.

I guess when you are feeling miserable, the intricacies of vitamin absorption are not enough to cheer you up...

The Foot Long

My friend and I were downtown one evening and with dinner time fast approaching but little money in our pockets, we headed to Subway. Truthfully, we went there because my friend has calculated the exact number of calories in a 6 inch turkey sub on wheat and allows herself to eat there twice a week. She really savors the anemic deli meat sandwiches and the array of bland veggies and breads they offer.

Anyway, as we walk into the small store in Dupont, we find ourselves between an angry woman and a poor fellow behind the counter looking quite bemused. Yells the woman “the sign says FOOT LONGS!!! And you’re telling me you don’t have hot dogs!?” The man replies meekly in broken English, “sorry no hot dog, sandwich.” Pointing to the window sized sign, the customer, now completely irate, screams “How can you have that sign up and no hotdogs!!!!!!!?” The clerk, still confused, repeats “sorry, no hot dog, sandwich.” Quickly realizing the confusion, I was about to interject and explain to the woman, on the sandwich maker's behalf, that the advertisement was for foot long sandwiches, not hotdogs. However, before I could do so, she whipped around and left the store in a huff, grumbling to herself all the way.

Moments later, as my friend begins to order her sandwich, the woman comes back into the store, slumped over and looking ashamed. She apologized and explained her misunderstanding of the advert. For several mintues, she tells us all how sorry she is, how “sincerely sorry” she is and that no, she still does not want a sandwich, but wanted the clerk to know how regretful she was of her behavior. Once she seemed satisfied with her penance, she left once again. Several minutes later we got our sandwiches.


Eat Fresh

The Parking Garage

My folks had been looking forward to seeing Anne Murray in concert for several months, but at the last minute were unable to attend. As their favorite daughter (and the only one in the area) the pair of tickets was left to me. I went with a friend and had a rockin' good time. The crowd was definitely an over 60 bunch, but I like old people and aside from the occasional crinkling of hard candy being unwrapped, you would have never known this excitable crowd was full of senior citizens. Anyway, the concert was great but the trouble began as I was exiting the parking garage.


I pulled out of my space and turned, following all of the appropriate arrows. Now, I was definitely going against a thick slow line of traffic, all the while silently wondering what those fools were doing. As I crawl along, accelerating with the pace of a two-toed sloth, I become aware of the glares coming from the other drivers as I inched by. There was one driver in particular shooting me vile glances, who had her head literally sticking out of her window, pointing at me. Her head was protruding so far out of her vehicle that if I were to pass her (and I was approaching quickly), the hood of my car would have lopped it right off. I continue my journey and am still against traffic when I slowly pull up to her, careful not to graze her forehead. "YOU are going the wrong way," she says coldly. I begin to think to myself that maybe I should just turn around and join the other downstream fish, perhaps all of the sign and arrows I have been following were incorrect…

Not wanting to resist any longer (I will never survive a revolution), I pull into a space to attempt a 3 way turn and join the line of traffic. Of course, much to the amusement of my friend and I, no one would let us in. I say amusement because at this point I am laughing so heartily tears are streaming down my face. Just as a car gave me space to inch backwards, two old ladies, who seemingly just materialized from the thin noxious air of the parking garage, ambled behind my car. Realizing I was maneuvering out of the space, the ladies then abruptly turned towards the front of my car, and though there was plenty of room, one of the dames actually walked into my hood. By this time, the kind soul letting me into the line had long since moved on and I was left in the same spot once again.

After several minutes of desperate looks and 180 degree head turns, one fellow begrudgingly gives me a millimeter of room to back in to. However, every time I inch out of my space, he inches forward. I finally pull out, happy to be on my way and leaving the exhaust filled parking jail, only to find myself parallel to the car I thought had let me in. Not only had he not allowed me to get in front of him, I had now created my own lane of traffic, similar the problem I had before. I put my head in my hands, ready to abandon the car and walk, when finally a huge white SUV took pity and let me in.

We escape the parking garage unscathed, emerging 30 minutes after the initial pullout. As I take a final turn out onto the main road, I look to my left and see the white SUV, the one that came to my rescue just moments before. I solemnly nod, hoping he receives my quit thanks. He does, nods back and turns down the road, disappearing into the dark, misty evening.


Boy, those Anne Murray fans are tough...

Menace to Society

I work with many eccentric people, one woman in particular who is slightly mad. She is often found grumbling to herself and talking on the phone to her dogs. Today at work she came to my part of cubical land and began screaming at us that the Diet Coke she had purchased just minutes before, and had left on the table in the staff lounge, had disappeared. I am not sure if she expected us to dust for prints or what, but moments later, the following note appeared on a sign on the Coke machine.

Ummm..yeah...

The Sandwich Police

I love sandwiches. Hot, cold, or toasty, I find anything you can stuff between two slices of bread quite appealing. Often, when I bring a particularly tasty sandwich in my lunch to work, I tend to tell people about it, as was the case today. That's right, I strike up conversations about my lunch and how awesome my sandwich is and that yes, you should be jealous, and no, I won't trade it for your tuna casserole... Anyway, this afternoon, as my sandwich was in the process of becoming all melty and delicious, I noticed that parts of the bread (a delicious whole grain Italian sub roll... mmmm.) were cooking unevenly in the archaic toaster oven my office has in our kitchen. I adjusted the sandwich accordingly and sat down, eagerly awaiting my culinary masterpiece.

Moments later, a particular meek colleague of mine poked her head around and said gently to me "I think you should check on your sandwich." Well sure enough, there was gray smoke wafting out of the oven, the top of by beloved sandwich blackened to a crisp. I attempt to blow the smoke out of the kitchen, my cheeks puffed, my lips pursed, but all efforts prove to be in vain. The fire alarm had been triggered and the room was consumed by blinking lights and piercing bells. I work in a large public building, which means that hundreds of people were forced to evacuate. As one of the designated individuals responsible for securing the evacuation of the 1st floor, I paced back and forth, urging people to exit as quickly as possible, all the while knowing I was the cause of their forced hasty retreat. As I patrolled the floor, I thought of ways to sneak back to the lunch room to dispose of the sandwich, obvious evidence since it was a blackened crumbling mass resting next to the oven, but I was soon forced to leave the building myself.


When the public safety officers finally gave the all clear to us evacuees waiting outside in the snow, I sheepishly made my way back to the lunchroom. As I walked down the hall, several colleagues gave me knowing glances and muted smiles. To some, I whispered timidly, "don't tell anyone, but I set it off," to which the response was "I know." Apparently, the entire staff was aware of my blunder since I had been talking all morning about how great my sandwich was gonna be. Boastfulness was my downfall, as was the trust I held in my office's toaster oven to handle my totally awesome lunch.

Joke # 1731

With less then a year left in his term, President Bush has begun work on securing his legacy, which, since the beginning of the Iraq war, has turned to complete Shi'ite.

Panda Factory

Are these creatures actually endangered or is a certain communist country that shall remain nameless simply trying to control the world market?

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C*

* These last ones are clearly being trained for some military operation...

Celebrating the Clap

So today is Valentines Day..........

And a colleague of mine just wished me a “Happy VD.” Yes, VD. Now, I can only assume this coworker meant “Happy Valentine’s Day” and not “Happy Venereal Disease,” but I am certainly not going to inquire. Anyway, for those of you celebrating with your loved ones, I wish a happy Herpes, Gonorrhea, and Chlamydia to you all.

Healthy Competition

Once a year my college friends and I gather for a day of sportsman-like drinking, known to us as The Beer Olympics. Various events are organized, such as beer pong, flip cup (a personal favorite), quarters etc. As you can imagine, the senses become dulled after hours of such assault, so it was early in the evening that we all retired to bed (well, to the various air mattresses, sleeping bags, and sofa cushions assembled in my friend’s living room).


Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I awoke to a piercing persistent beep. It roused some of my fellow Olympians, all of us exchanging blurry glances and slurred expressions of annoyance for having been awoken from our coma like state. Someone shouts "it’s the carbon monoxide detector!" Suddenly, I am completely alert, desperately attempting to recall the symptoms of CO2 poisoning often described on Dateline. Was I nauseous? Yes. Sweating? Yes. Thinking clearly? No. Omg call 911, I think to myself, I am poisoned! I can’t breath! I am dizzy! I...pass out and wake up to sunlight streaming stealthily through the slots of the blinds, my brow crinkling from the blinding light and a pretzel stuck to my cheek. I silently chant a prayer, thankful to be alive. I had not been poisoned after all. I was just drunk.

Sticky Buns at the Movies: A Film Review

Hey fellas, wondering why all of the clubs and pubs were lacking ladies this weekend? Well it's because the entire female population of D.C. went to see the film 27 Dresses. The movie was OK, there are pretty people to look at (all who have jobs waaaay better than yours), a couple of funny lines, and as my mother always likes to say, some lovely scenes of New York. I have decided to share some highlights of the movie, so you yourself do not have to actually go see it.


- Ed Burns...That gent is easy on the eyes.

- When they finally stopped playing "Crocodile Rock."

- The fact that in the bathroom at the movie theater, new hand dryers have been installed that are so powerful, they sound as though a jet is taking off, in addition to making the skin on your hands warp from the high speed of the hot air being ejected from the nozzle.

- The awesome new lip balm I kept reapplying throughout the film. It tastes just like oranges!


Oh wait, the last two comments were not actually about the movie, I just wanted to share some of the fun things I experienced that evening.


So in conclusion, what did I like better, the film or the pile of vomit I found awaiting my pals and I on the metro? Hmmm... I'll have to think about it...

Joke # 1737

Earlier this afternoon, Republicans weighed in on the cloning debate. While Mike Huckabee and other leading Republicans expressed vehement opposition, claiming it violates Christian mores, front runner Mitt Romney threw his full support behind the measure, saying that they can "start with one of my wives."

The Bike Gang

My new bike is super sweet. It's a two toned aqua and cream gem, with chrome fenders and green rimmed wheels. I purchased this bike with the intention of riding it to work from my apartment. My previous biking experience? Well, riding up and down the driveway of my parents house. I would love to pretend that I used to ride a cool banana seat bike with my gang of buddies into town. But let's face it. I grew up in the 90's, not the 60's, and lived in a housing subdivision, with downtown being miles of busy roads away, all which lacked sidewalks.

Recently however, I have been experiencing a childhood renaissance of sorts (though way better cause I can have cookies for dinner and stay out as late as I want), and there has been talk of starting a bike gang since so many of my friends ride. I am not sure if our gang will be more like the A-Team or Hell's Angels, but I can tell you that we will cruise all over town looking cool, with a capital K.

Spring Cleaning

As I was home over the holidays, I embarked on an ambitious task. I decided to clean my childhood room. While that doesn't seem like a big deal, it's been about 10 years since the carpet has been visible. I decided to tackle the piles of clothes, books, and other clutter, and in the process found some things I thought I would share with you. The following items have been cleaned, archived and preserved for the next generation. They include:



-My special treasure box (a decorated Strid Rite shoe box) with the following warning: "Stay out! Not just secrets but gum and candy too!" Yes, that was actually written on the top of the box. Pretty clandestine, huh?



-Piles of paint swatch samples I took from Hechinger's Hardware store. I sincerely hope that did not contribute to their bankruptcy.



- Puppy posters (a given).


- A list of every boy I was ever in love with between the years 1988-1996 (I started lusting after boys pretty early in life). The most recent list is in my apartment. Yes, I still keep one.



- A note sent home regarding unexcused Latin class absences during my senior year of high school that I intercepted in the mail. Of course, I got a D in Latin in college, so I guess the joke's on me.



- Many "collectible" brochures, books and pamphlets about the "new hit show!" Beverly Hills, 90210. A classic!!



-Scrunchies!



-Babysitter Club trading cards



- A Whitney Houston tape ( the soundtrack of the Bodyguard, naturally. Though it was found still in it's shrink wrap)



-Math tests bleeding red with the word "See Me" in capitals. Well bully to you, I have my masters degree! In Mathmatics! Ok, no, not in math, but still...Pretty good, right?

Adventures at the Public Library

On the afternoon of one particularly steamy summer Sunday, a friend and I decided to venture downtown to the cool air conditioned glass and steel fortress that is the MLK Library. I had a pile of books to return, so off we went, my bag filled with such classics such as ABC: True Tales of the Alphabet and The Princess Diaries: Princess in Love. As a habit, I always leaf through any books I return to ensure the removal of book marks, stray slips of paper, or what have you. Just as I was placing the books on the counter, a prophylactic lept from between the pages and on to the floor. My purse was swimming with them* and unbeknowst to me, one had slipped its way between the pages of my book. I grabbed it as nonchalantly as possible, though beet red, the librarian staring me down through the bifocals balancing on the edge of her nose. I am just thankful that the next reader of the Princess Diaries was not corrupted by the possible surprise ending that had been lurking near the final chapters.



*The night before I went to the library to return my books, I had attended a bachlorett party. The result was that I had about 30 comdoms in my bag. Just to clarify.....

Diamonds are a Messiah's Best Friend

Smell that Holly? Tis' the season where people of all faiths set aside their differences and join together to celebrate...well, Christmas. However, I know many Jews and Muslims who love eggnog, so that's not an issue (and isn't eggnog what Christmas is all about?). Regardless, it's always affirming to see representations of ones faith, such as the expression I saw buttoned to the bosom of a women I met at a "holiday" party. It was a broach, spanning half her chest with the word JESUS! outlined in rhinestones. Wow, if that doesn't rally the faithful nothing will. As we spoke, I could not help but stare, (and I am sure she was thinking...umm my eyes are up here). Glittering rhinestones surrounded by shiny sliver metal with the name of her savior upon her breast. It was very special. I guess that answers the question, what would Tiffany's do?