Yearly : 2006

I marvel at the little food processor I got for Christmas. He’s just a little guy – but when I put stuff in him, he rumbles and whirrs, and then it’s all done! He even grinds his own MEAT! I find that amazing. Amazing, and wonderful. I could grind up any damn thing in that: nuts, meat, fruit, meat, vegetables, meat! It’s even RED, like a little grinding rocket! I loves it.

Strange thing, this kitchen business. My mother’s kitchen has so many more toys in it, so much more room, so many opportunities for grinding meats, and yet I never really cared for cooking in it – but now that I have my own little rented space, the kitchen section of every store has become my favorite. This has given me all the proof I need that people are really like piñata: give them what they want and you can tame them and then bash them for candy!

Are hermaphrodites allowed in the Olympics? And if so, would they have to compete as men, since they have more testosterone in them than is allowed in women?

Wait, don’t go, little blog piñatas! Pictures, I have pictures! Curt and I went to look at Christmas lights in Chino:

Foghorn Leghorn, and a little jittery monkey say (he says he says) Happy Christmas!

And what Christmas display would be complete without an Elvis Bear display? EH!?

I am off to watch some Monk on my new VHS/DVD-R, and then nap, and then bake, and then play a video game or three. ;)

I got Viva Pinata for Christmas! :) Which meant, of course, that we now have an XBox 360! I only stopped for sleep, and to clean (since I was starting to gather a thin film of gamer filth). Still cleaning now. Stopped to brag about my loots like a n00b. Also, to announce that I cry every damn time I watch The Bells of St. Mary’s. Damn that Bing Crosby and his stupid straw hatted charm.

Back to work. /waves

Michael Bolton wants to know How Can We Be Lovers If We Can’t Be Friends? I don’t know, Michael. I just don’t know. Remember when you had a receding hairline and long curly hair? Oh, Michael, Michael – secretly, I still love you!

I am almost certain that listening to him will make The Boy cringe and roil in his seat like a tortured, possessed thing, stopping just short of the chest beating and the ululations.

/pats Michael Bolton

Okay, on to business.

I have four of the eight packages under the tree. It is imperative that I find out what is in these boxes, before the 25th. I must discover whether one, or all four of them, are ponies. You have been impressed into my Christmas hooligan adventure. Arrr!

Dimensions are important. Since I can’t find my ruler, I shall use the DVD box of Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan to convey size.

Exhibit P

Observations: No air holes. Pony is possibly freeze dried (a la Sea Monkeys), or possibly has perished due to buyer oversight. Way to go! /sobs WAY TO GO!

Shaking: Top heavy on one side. Or, possibly, bottom heavy on one side. Subject may have been tampered with. Suspect subterfuge involving box versus real size of present.

Measurements: Weighs about 1/18 of a pony, if ponies weighed 144 pounds. About 2 Khans x 1.74 Khans x 2 Khans.

Likeness To Pony: Not high.

Alternate Guess: Kitchen gadget. Maybe bread-maker. Maybe some other thing with metal in it.

Exhibits O & N

Observations: Exhibit O has a strange relief pattern on top side. Top edge contours rounded. Mildly squeezable. Exhibit N is regulation size un-pony.

Shaking: No looseness. No neighing.

Measurements: Collective weight about 5/10 of a pony, if ponies weighed 4 pounds. Exhibit O is exactly 1 Khan. Exhibit N is about 1.5 Khans in Depth.

Likeness To Pony: VERY Not high.

Alternate Guess: Exhibit O…I have a guess, so bright and deep in my soul that I shall not utter it here. If I am right – oh! – then I also have the key to Exhibit P, and my Boy will be smothered in kisses and love nips! (Oh, regardless of any presents, anyway, he will be! ;) )

Exhibit N is Monk, Season One. This is only a guess.

Exhibit Y

Observations: Where does the saddle go?!

Shaking: Uniformly packed. Does not respond to kicking.

Measurements: Collective weight about 3/72 of a pony, if ponies weighed 375 pounds. About .7 Khans x 2.31 Khans x 2.2 Khans.

Likeness To Pony: /whimper

Alternate Guess: A VCR Player. Possibly a VCR/DVD Combo. Possibly a VCR/DVD-R Combo. I must watch my VHS tapes! MUST!

It is a strong possibility that I may not be receiving a pony this year. Again. Again, and my heart aches. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but HE GIVES NO PONIES!

I suppose I should content myself with the fact that he didn’t give my brother a Badonkadonk either.

I bet my Pony and I could beat my brother and his Badonkadonk in a joust.

Enough tomfoolery. ;) I am making cookies today, here in Stepford. Off I go!

I hate Ticketmaster. I hate it so much, I wish I could beat it to death, like it were a giant, ugly clown pinata. I don’t think I know a single person who walks away from Ticketmaster saying, “Gee, that was a great transaction, I just love dealing with them!” NO. No, it is always a gut-wrenching, bend-over-and-take-it experience, and I hate them. Assholery, that’s what it is: ASSHOLERY! Beware, you Ticketmasterians – some day when the big poop hits the fan, you will crumble and I’ll call leprechauns to dance on the ashes of your smoking, rotting remains, and put curses on your ancestors so when they all land in hell for using your ill-gotten treasures, the harpies will snatch out their entrails and decorate your nasty, yellow gravestones with them!! /shakes stick

(More later: curses go first, for potency.)

:)

I got a sparkly for our one year anniversary, and Curt gets a one year renewed subscription to Me! ;) Just kidding. He gets a gift. Still secret – shhh!

In other news, I am dragging my feet on getting ready for work, hoping the freeway will miraculously clear. It won’t. I know, because if ever there were a cup that was incapable of being half full, it is the one that holdeth the bitter wine of the commuter. Still, it is not so bad. Mortal beings must be thankful for love and shelter and food, all of which I have in abundance. I offer up my mileage and blood pressure to you, great god of the freeway, so that these gifts may continue!

The best thing about my blog is that I have no conception of what a great dork I am until years later when I read over what I’ve written, and blush.

Oop, must get to work. /waves

2:01 AM. I’m going to hate myself in the morning. As usual.

I keep meaning to make this blog a productive member of society, but it persists in being not. I meant to start doing that productive bit tonight, but one thing led to another, and somehow my iTunes opened up, and the time I had allocated to blogging productively was usurped by the New Kids On The Block (yeah, you heard me!) singing “I’ll Be Loving You Forever”, and so, you see, nothing has been done. As usual.

Boy and I went to The Huntington today to look at the roses in bloom. I took pictures, but as my camera is way over there on the other side of the room, I offer up to you a totally unrelated picture:

My younger brother and a happy foofy kitty!

Also, there is a new game in the house: Bookworm Adventures! Other video-game-to-crack analogies aside, this game is really like crack. Curse PopCap and their confounded addictive game making!

I have nothing more to say now. I take my neuroses and bad music and go to bed.

As I’m currently trying to madly clean the apartment, clean out my computer, restock my iPod, and get some Christmas shopping done while Curt works today, I bring you, for now, (apart from very long sentences with an, overabundance of commas, some of them inappropriately placed) an entry consisting almost entirely (from this point onwards) of chat conversations I’ve had with my older brother. Please, to enjoy.

(The names have been edited to protect the safety of my sometimes-not-so-innocent blog, that sits precariously in my brother’s server’s grasp, comma, comma.)

On Golf Terminology
Brother: you called me last night?
Me: What is the thing called that holds up the golfball before you hit it?
Me: (You see why I didn’t leave a message)
Brother: that’s why you called me?
Me: …
Brother: a tee.
Brother: it’s called a tee.
Me: Nuh-uh!
Brother: yeah, like if it was bigger, and you put a baseball on it, and you had toddlers, it’d be called TEE ball
Me: Huh. Any relation to T-shirt?
Brother: none.
Brother: t shirt is called thta because the shirt looks like a letter “T”
Me: Huh.
Brother: is this retarded jeopardy?

On Anthropomorphism
Me: What scares snakes, you know?
Brother: texans and red-tail hawks
Me: That’s it? How do you keep snakes from attacking?
Me: If you were an animal, what animal would you be?
Brother: don’t step on them, doof.
Brother: then they don’t attack you
Brother: i would be a sloth bear.
Me: What are sloths bears?
Me: Or is there a kind of bear that is just slothish?
Me: Why would you be a sloth bear?
Brother: http://www.shortnews.com/shownews.cfm ?id=54367&CFID=2395980&CFTOKEN =74599022
Me: HAAHAHA

On “Nesting”
Me: I can come over today though!
Me: And play video games on your giant television!
Brother: hehe
Brother: my house is a disaster
Brother: so stay away
Brother: paula is out of town until saturday, so I have been nesting vigorously
Me: “nesting”
Me: being code for, dirty pig
Brother: well, i gather everything i think i’ll need for the night
Brother: and put it all on the bed in a circle
Brother: then i climb in the middle, with my laptop, and kill n00bs!
Brother: then in the morning, post nest, i grab handfuls of stuff and bring it down to the sink.
Brother: i keep a clean nest.

On The Weather
Me: I’m going to Big Bear this weekend :)
Brother: Watch out for homeless people.
Brother: And it’s going to be about 200 degrees.
Brother: 88 here locally
Me: yeah, i know.
Brother: up there, about 90 degrees with a mile or two lessa tmosphere
Brother: better bring sunscreen.
Me: probably less hot there.
Me: no?
Me: higher?
Brother: no
Brother: hotter.
Me: eh
Brother: less atmosphere
Me: verra well
Brother: it’s all radiant heat.
Me: right, that’s stp stuff
Me: right?
Brother: STP is an engine additive.
Brother: SPF, maybe? Sun Protection Factor?
Me: Standard Temparature Pressure
Brother: STFU
Me: U STFU, n00b!
Brother: kekeke n00b! LOL
Me: roflcopters
Brother: lollerskates
Brother: ok, stop.
Brother: i’m going to have to kill you.

Today, I made my first Thanksgiving turkey!

He’s still cooking – admire my bird!

I felt up his breasts and slathered them with butter earlier, and then dipped him in white wine, butter, and rosemary. I love him. If he does not give me salmonella, I will retire tonight a happy, full-bellied little woman. ;)

I had more to say, but foo – it’s a holiday. Happy Thanksgiving, etc. /waves

I find you little monkeys are attracted by little personality quizzes and pictures. Let’s see what I haves:

Yar, that’s us at Yosemite in October. See Half-Dome and El-Capitan, the redhead, and me, looking snaggle-toothed (I’m not, I’m not! /stamps feet). Whee, pictures!

Here on the ranch (not really a ranch), things are odd. I was thinking how two years ago, I spent my Thanksgiving weekend tied to my computer, praying that I could finish killing my obligatory 5 Scarlet Friars before the server crashed again. WoW had just released. I hardly log on nowadays. When the day is new and full of squirrelly, caffeine-powered energy, sometimes I sit at work and dream about questing and looting, and my eyes gloss over and become pixelated with memories. (Memoirs Of A She-Geek.)

I feel that my blogging has been overly bubbly, lately. Not that I do not mean it – I find that when I’m sad these days, I mostly wander around for some other way of expressing myself, so you have a lack of the self-armageddon entries. Blogs. /shrug. I have no further justification of the existence of mine, except this: I write here because I like it. I have fun. I certainly write to an audience – but not so much in the way that I am trying to keep you here with cheap tricks (like personality quizzes and pictures), but in the dirty, paranoid way that pessimists have of believing that whatever they put up on the internet will be found by someone who will then abuse it, dirtily. So, no naughty secrets, no detailed plans to egg the bitch-girl-in-the-red-Honda’s car on the last day that we live in this apartment complex, no nekkid pictures.

11:35 PM. Too tired to go out into the big bad world and attempt something in the way of late night escapading, and yet not tired enough to sleep. I amuse myself with thoughts of someday training the Monkey The Cat to do tricks, like sitting and shaking. I have gone so far as to buy her treats to lure her into learning, but I discovered that Curt spoils her horribly with them when I’m not around, and she has learned nothing, except where my socks are, to tear them. I avert my brain to this odd coincidence. Surely, my boyfriend is not so dastardly as that…

11:43 PM. I am going to sign off. Too long a blog entry without pictures makes the monkeys swerve back and forth in their cages, and the shrieks to follow shortly after. I go, before the shrieks. So long.

There’s a 14 pound turkey thawing in our fridge. Possibly, we could fit another one in there, and then after that, maybe we could squeeze in a cornish hen or two quails, but that’s it. The fridge is full: no vacancy.

(HAHAH! My search for a valid turkey picture yielded this: “Suddenly, calamity!”)