Internet Idiot for May 28, 2008

I don’t have anyone specific for this one–but the award goes to anyone who thinks that this picture of Rachel Ray:

is A. an attempt by Dunkin Donuts to subversively turn us all into terrorists, B. a statement by Ray or Dunkin Donuts in support of radical Islam, or C. anything else other than the sort of scarf every woman in America has buried in her closet somewhere.

Apparently, this whole mess started when  Fox News commentator Michelle Malkin said that the scarf looked like a “keffiyeh”–which, if you are like 99.999 percent of the USA, you’ve never heard of. Apparently its something that a few Islamic extremists have worn. (What makes it a keffiyeh and not just a fringed scarf is beyond me.) If anything, I think the Islamic extremists should be made fun of for shopping in the ladies accessory bins at Ross Dress for Less. But, Ms. Malkin has her little unthinking sheep fans up in arms and pledging to boycott Dunkin Donuts and Rachel Ray, and so DD has pulled the ad.

A lot of talk over nothing. Must be a slow news week. OK, I promise not to get political again. Today at least.

On The Plane with Stan Zbornak (A reminder on proper flight etiquette)

OK, not really. The REAL Stan Zbornak died in 1996. (A sad fact I just learned while trying to find that picture). But this guy looked just like him, and in the words of Sophia Petrillo, he was a total yutz.

We were sitting in first class. (OK, I lied again–Canadair Regional Jets don’t have first class–but we were in the first row of seats, right by the door) The Yutz got on board.

“You’re having a good hair day!” he said to the perky flight attendant.

“Am I?” she asked, “I’ve been in the air for hours, and haven’t seen a mirror.”

“Oh yeah…of course, I can only hope for half a good hair day.” He gestured to his horseshoe shaped hairdo. Yuck yuck. I’m sure he just cracked himself up.

As luck would have it, he sat right behind us, as such people are wont to do. (Another recent flight had us adjoining an amateur electrician who tried to rewire her burned out reading light with parts stolen from across the aisle).

The poor senior citizen who took the seat next to him had it the worst, to be sure, because at least I didn’t have to feign interest in the life story he forced on her for the next hour and a half. Now, I’m all for being friendly…I’ve had a few interesting conversations on planes myself. (Including one wherein an elderly lady was convinced that the government had cardboard floating in space because she refused to recognize that we were below the cloud cover and looking at freshly tilled fields). But here’s a few hints–the whole plane doesn’t need or want to hear you speak. We all realize a plane is noisy, but you really don’t need to raise your voice above normal conversation level. And if all you are getting in response is a terse “yes”, “how nice”, or “mmm hmmm”–then your traveling companion probably doesn’t really want to talk.

Which was clearly the case for the poor old lady sitting next to Stan. He regaled her with tales of his Harley. “Oh? hmmmm” was her only response.

Undaunted, he went on to talk about his 98 year old chain-smoking aunt. His seatmate uttered her longest response: “Chalk it up to good genes.”

On and on he went with talk of car crashes, the weather, his mother, his travels. The poor thing seated beside him did her best to mutter an “oh” an “uh huh” or a “nice”, all the while clutching in her lap the book she no doubt thought she would enjoy on the flight.

When we finally arrived at our gate, the old woman couldn’t get out of  her seat fast enough. She darted for the jetway as the door opened–leaving poor Stan behind to shout “See you at baggage claim!”

Carmen Electra’s Portable Stripper Pole

Coming soon to a store (I’m thinking “Big Lots”) near you–Carmen Electra’s portable stripper pole.

“I am so excited to have a new pole coming out, a portable stripper pole. The great thing about my portable pole is you can put it in your own living room or you can do the  workout in your bedroom,” she said. “No one has to see you do it. It’s up to you — you can perform for your husband or boyfriend, or do it more as a workout and focus on that.”

 Yeah, like people are gonna be buying these for a workout. I can’t wait to see the product warnings for this one. How long do you think it will be before there’s a lawsuit because the pole collapsed?

Man Dies In Spitting Contest

Surely this is a future “Darwin Award” winner:

“A SWISS man died when he fell from a hotel balcony during a spitting match with a friend, a Swiss newspaper has reported.

The daily Blick said the 29-year-old man took a run-up from inside the room so he could spit further, but lost his balance and plummeted 6.4m to the street below.

He died in hospital.

The man had suggested the contest when he and two friends returned from a disco to their hotel in Cadempino in Switzerland’s Italian-speaking Ticino canton in the early hours.

One of the men went to sleep, but the two others decided to see who could spit furthest from the balcony of their room. “

Didn’t his mama ever teach him that spitting was rude?

Drug Induced Dreams

As I said in my last post, I started taking Chantix last week. There was a whole list of possible side effects–the most worrisome being that I might snap and kill myself or someone else. I think too highly of myself to ponder suicide, and I routinely consider killing other people–especially in traffic, but so far I’ve not suffered any stronger than usual urgings to do so. Nausea–yeah had that–when it says to take it with food, it means a whole meal. Taking it with a granola bar won’t cut it. Nightmares were the other possible side effect, which didn’t worry me much since I sleep like a rock once I actually get to sleep and rarely remember my dreams anyway. So I wasn’t at all prepared for the dreams I’ve been having. They aren’t nightmares in the usual sense–no death or monsters or axe wielding home invaders. Just bizarre, and very realistic.

Like last night…I was at the beach. A steep sandy beach that led to the edge of a calm ocean. Very crowded, and it seemed everyone I knew was there–though not together.  I excitedly drove from one group to another showing off my latest toy–a little motorcycle that looked like something a Shriner would ride in a parade.

It didn’t have the power to pull me up the sandy slope, so I had to push it. And it kept bogging down in the sand. The worst part was that I bragged to everyone about the deal I’d gotten–”They gave me full book on my car and my payments only went up $40 a month!” I traded in my damn car for this thing! And apparently paid more for it than my car cost!

Jump ahead. I have started the latest craze in kitchen decor with an extraordinarily expensive line of handpainted mexican tiles.

They are truly awful. They look like a preschool art project, but I just can’t sell them fast enough. So I enlist the help of all my friends children–feeding them pizza and giving them all Spongebob balloons in exchange for them fingerpainting tiles, which I then sell at ridiculous prices to people anxious to make their home look like an outdated Taco Bell. (maybe I was trying to figure out how to pay off my Shriner’s bike?)

The night before I dreamt my stepmother was throwing a surprise party for an acquaintance of mine. (The two women don’t know each other). The venue was some nasty banquet hall where the food was simply dumped onto the tables, and we had to scoop up our portions with our hands because they were out of utensils.

 And finally, I dreamt that my office conference room was in the center of a huge men’s room. Or maybe it was a conference room that just happened to be ringed with urinals and toilet stalls. At any rate, it was a large wood paneled space with  a huge conference table in the center and places to answer nature’s call all around the perimeter. As a coworker and I entered the “conference/toilet room” to prepare for a meeting with important clients, a smell knocked us down. Someone had dropped a deuce.

Only, they had done it in the urinal.

With these important clients just moments away, we tried flushing the offensive matter down the urinal. That didn’t work, so we tried scooping it up (wth a child’s sand toy that just happened to be there, natch). As we made our way from the urinal to the toilet with the scoop of poop, the doors opened and in walked the clients. Startled, we dropped it to the floor. One client rushed to help, only to slip and fall in it. Then the sprinklers went off. Thankfully, I don’t remember any more than that.

Every night, its like tuning into the indie film channel! I almost look forward to it! And to think, I may have this going on for two more months!

 

 

How To Get Along With Me

 

Yesterday I finally broke down and went to the doctor. If you’ve read some of my other entries, you’ll understand why I hesitate to do that. But I’ve been having some shoulder pain for the past year, and decided after yet another restless night that I would put on my big boy panties and have it checked out. Turns out I have some sort of rotator cuff problem that will be fixed with steroids and some specialized exercises. Getting old sucks. While I was there, I also broke down and asked for a prescription for Chantix so I can kiss my ciggie habit goodbye. Apparently, the major side effects are mood swings and depression. Not wanting to hurt my chances of success, I thought I’d better post a few rules on how best to get along with me under any circumstance. If everyone will just follow these for the next few months, I should be fine. So, in no particular order:

1. If I say I’m sleepy, or need a nap…the only response (if you must make one at all) that won’t annoy me is “Sleep tight” or “Good  Night”. “Don’t go to sleep, I want to have sex.” is also acceptable if you are someone I’m intimately involved with. If you want to say “But you slept 9 hours last night” or “Its only 9:30″ you will quickly get under my skin because I did not ask for an update on the amount of rest I have previously gotten, or the time. Pointing out either of those will not suddenly wake my body up.

2. If you are going to pull out in front of me in traffic, you better find the gas pedal and get to moving. If you were in such a hurry to pull out, you better be in just as big a hurry to get up to speed.

3. Furthermore, if you are in the left lane, you better be passing somebody. Otherwise, move your slow ass over. If six cars have passed you on the right—its a sure fire indication that you are in the wrong lane and you are screwing with traffic. Please hand in your drivers license until you learn how to use it.

4. If you need to make a right turn, just go on and do it. There is no reason to come to an almost full stop and then coast into the McDonald’s parking lot. That gas pedal is there for a reason.

5. When you are grocery shopping, kindly pull your cart to one side or the other as you stare blankly at the wall of soups or boxes of crackers. No one else wants to watch you decide between the “Bean and Bacon” and the “Clam Chowder”.

6. Don’t charge me $12.95 for “shipping and handling”. I  know it costs about two bucks to ship, and if someone is doing eleven dollars worth of “handling” I consider that merchandise to be USED and expect a corresponding cut in it’s price.

7. Don’t send me your stupid email forwards. I need a good laugh so I’ll take all of those you can send me. But don’t send me your prayer requests for people you never heard of (check Snopes, folks, most of those are bogus anyway), your chain letters, your calls for boycotts, or the latest (usually fake, again–see Snopes) way they are taking “God out of everything”.  Jokes, funny pictures, crazy movie clips, etc. are fine–fill my inbox with them–and you might even see them repeated at the Vinyl Village.

8. If I’m hungry, I’m hungry. My stomach does not have any concept of “ruining my appetite” or “it’s after nine!”. It’s like being sleepy–only one thing is gonna fix it.

9. If I’m grumpy for no apparent reason, its generally one of three things–some already touched on. I’m either hungry, tired, or sexually frustrated. So feed me, fuck me, and put me to bed–I’ll be fine.

10. Don’t show up on my door selling religion or magazines. I’ve got all of both that I want. If you’re selling cookies, though, come back as often as you like.

11. If your kid is screaming in a restaurant, take them outside, to the bathroom, or home. As unpleasant as it is for you to have to put up with your little darling acting up, its much worse for those of us who don’t know and love him.

I’m sure there are more, but following these eleven will help prevent the violent mood swings this medicine may give me.

Family Announces Impending Arrival of 18th Child

Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar are pregnant again. For the 18th time. I found some interesting facts on them at the Discovery Channel. They actually titled the page “Fun Facts”. I personally don’t see anything FUN about changing that many diapers…but to each his own:

• Michelle’s been pregnant for 135 months of her life.

• Average number of months between Duggar births is 18.

• Estimated number of Duggar diapers to date is 90,000.

• The Duggars do approximately 200 loads of laundry each month.

• The Duggars feed their entire brood for less than $2,000 per month.

• The only person in the Duggar family whose name doesn’t start with “J” is Mom — Michelle.

• Every Duggar child learns to play both violin and piano.

• The family organizes their household chores by assigning “jurisdictions,” so everyone knows exactly what their daily responsibilities are.

• The Duggars estimate all the family members combined have worked approximately 39,000 total hours building their new house.

• The Duggars are debt free.

Now, I don’t pretend to understand WHY anyone would want to have so many damned kids. It seems you would never get to spend enough time with any of them to have any sort of real bond. Further, I don’t understand HOW they are even able to find the time or privacy to MAKE all these babies. And 18?? The poor dear probably is at the point where she breaks wind and one just falls out. I hope she keeps up on her Kegals. They should give her a free Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation—because Im betting it looks a hot mess down there. I suppose I should offer my congrats to the happy couple–they clearly have more sex (which probably is otherwise hard to come by for a woman with a mullet and a man named Jim Bob) and money than most of us.

Mother’s Day Weekend–a Recap

Last week you might recall that I offered some predictions for my mother’s visit. As I know that everyone has waited with baited breath to see how correct I was, here are the results:

1. She will hint at least twice that she wants to move in here.  I nailed that one easily. There were TONS of said hints.

2. She will have some issue with the fact that there is a picture of my late sister in a collage frame that also has a photo of my stepmother in it.  She didn’t seem to notice that one…very surprised.

3. She will further recognize that there aren’t enough pictures of HER around. Not only did she notice, but she vowed to have a new set of Glamour Shots done post haste so that I would have appropriate photos of her around.

4. She will complain that the house is too cold at night.  No, it was too hot. But how was I to know that her doctor’s had changed her hormone prescription?

5.  She will recognize that the house is clean and proclaim that housekeeping is a trait I inherited from her (despite the fact that you literally can not walk through her house)  Partially right on this one. She recognized my house was clean and tried to sucker me into coming up to her house for a weekend to help her “get it in order”

6. When we go shopping for the new sheets I promised her for mother’s day–she will hint heavily about at least four other things that she “needs”.   I was right on the money with this one.

7. She will complain about the driving of whoever is behind the wheel.  Surprisingly, I missed this one.

8.  She will engage a complete stranger in a conversation about any or all of the following: A. whatever illness she is suffering from this week, B. my sister’s death, C. the rising price of various commodities. Oh, I was quite right on this one.

9. She will provide amusement and embarassment with her complete lack of political correctness.  Did she ever! More detail later…

10. She will attempt to do the laundry.  No, but only because I made sure there was none before she arrived. She did say she wanted to “Try out” my front loading washer.

11. She will inform me that I don’t use the right body soap, the right laundry soap, or the right cleaning products, and suggest the nearest dollar store where the correct items can be purchased. I nailed this one too!

12. She will, on no less than three occasions, suggest the she be allowed to smoke in A. my car, B. my garage, or C. in my house if she “cracks the window”.  Having been told no to all of these, any trip of more than 20 minutes will have to include a stop in a parking lot so she can light up.  Surprisingly, she only mentioned smoking in the garage.

All in all, it was a nice weekend. I’m sure it was good for Mom to get away for a few days, and overall, I enjoyed myself. But my psychic abilities fell short in being able to predict the following gems from the visit:

On Friday night, she regaled us with tales of her glow in the dark dildo. Apparently, that makes the multi-speed model easier to find at night.  She went on to tell us how one of her former gentleman friends wanted to tie her up and “then run to Kroger’s for Pepsi!” Then she started in on her list of things she should be entitled to–which includes anything of value that my Grandmother might leave when she passes away. (“I should get that sewing machine because I hid under it when I was little! I should get that ring because I went to the library and the internet says tradition dictates that the first born daughter gets it!)…anything that ever belonged to or had anything to do with my sister…(They should give me the funeral guest book because I had her! I’d like to know what happened to  her diamond earrings..those should go to me! I should get to pick out her headstone <even though she isnt contributing a red cent to it> because I’m the one who carried her for nine months!) When mom saw the 30th birthday collage my dad put together for me, she was aghast that it didn’t include any photos of her. (Why, exactly, should it? “Well I carried you!” As if someone who divorced you 26 years ago still has photos lying around?)

Then it was time for conspiracy theories. “I know your sister’s fiance paid someone to cut those brake lines.” Yeah, because a cut brake line allows a car to operate normally for hundreds of miles only to fail on black ice in a ninety degree turn down a mountain? I’m no mechanic but I just don’t think it works like that.

On Saturday night, I hosted a cook out with about ten or twelve friends in attendance. One friend is pregnant, and another couple there just had their first baby a month ago. When the conversation turned to breast feeding, mom offered that neither of her children were “tittie babies” but one of her ex husbands “sure loved breast milk“. She then suggested that any obstetrician would do what hers had done–”put a few extra stitches in there and you’ll be like a virgin again. That and some Kegal excersises–you’ll be 16 all over!”

Then there were the random comments about being a “Jew” when it came time to buy a new car…how she would make an excellent surrogate mother…and how her hormone shots had given her “these big titties.”

And of course there was our ongoing discussion about how a woman of a certain age should dress. “Are these ok to wear?” she asked, producing a pair of micro-jean shorts. “No!” I said. “Why not?”  

“Well, I don’t think they’re appropriate for somone your age.” She left it alone, but then throughout the day pointed out everyone she saw with something similar on. “She’s about my size, and her shorts are just as short!”   Well, yeah, she’s also 16 and firm. “She can’t be much younger than me, and look at her shorts!” Fair enough, but she also just walked out of a gym, she isn’t wearing that to dinner.

These minor annoyances aside, it was a fairly fun weekend,  but one that nonetheless left me exhausted. I was in bed by 9:30 last night and would have slept til noon today if the clock hadn’t gone off.

She promises another visit soon….stay tuned!

 

Mama’s Comin! And I Have Predictions!

My loyal readers (yes, both of you) will recall that I was complaining about my mother a few weeks back–mostly in relation to a planned visit for this coming Mother’s Day Weekend. A friend from back home has graciously agreed to be my saviour and drive mom down and return her home on Sunday. So mama’s coming after all!

I took today off to prepare myself. And as I tidied up the house, I came up with these predictions for what the weekend will bring. I’ll update you on Monday to see how many I got right.

1. She will hint at least twice that she wants to move in here.

2. She will have some issue with the fact that there is a picture of my late sister in a collage frame that also has a photo of my stepmother in it.

3. She will further recognize that there aren’t enough pictures of HER around.

4. She will complain that the house is too cold at night.

5.  She will recognize that the house is clean and proclaim that housekeeping is a trait I inherited from her (despite the fact that you literally can not walk through her house)

6. When we go shopping for the new sheets I promised her for mother’s day–she will hint heavily about at least four other things that she “needs”.

7. She will complain about the driving of whoever is behind the wheel.

8.  She will engage a complete stranger in a conversation about any or all of the following: A. whatever illness she is suffering from this week, B. my sister’s death, C. the rising price of various commodities.

9. She will provide amusement and embarassment with her complete lack of political correctness.

10. She will attempt to do the laundry.

11. She will inform me that I don’t use the right body soap, the right laundry soap, or the right cleaning products, and suggest the nearest dollar store where the correct items can be purchased.

12. She will, on no less than three occasions, suggest the she be allowed to smoke in A. my car, B. my garage, or C. in my house if she “cracks the window”.  Having been told no to all of these, any trip of more than 20 minutes will have to include a stop in a parking lot so she can light up.

 

Give me strength!

Creative Solutions

A reminder that sometimes the best answer requires us to think outside the box:

Tomato Garden

 An old Italian lived alone in New Jersey .  He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:  

       Dear  Vincent,

      I am feeling pretty sad, because it looks like I won’t be able to plant  my tomato garden     this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.

      Love, Papa 

       A few days later he received a letter from his son. 

       Dear Pop,

      Don’t dig up that garden. That’s where the bodies are buried.

      Love, Vinnie 

 At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

       Dear Pop,

      Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.

      Love you,  Vinnie