TGIF

Don't forget to celebrate International Burt & Loni Day on Saturday... Burt and I are really close. We're like this (Sara does fingers crossed illustration of closeness.) Cannonball Run is a good celebratory option, or Smokey and the Bandit. But if you're going for the pair- Stroker Ace is the best bet!

I'm in a wierd funk where I'm having difficulty being funny. The normal wit is supressed. I'm trying coffee, but that tends to make me bitter and sarcastic, not straight funny. Good for me that this weekend is a whirlwind of nothing. After my daily rollerblading 8 mile trek across the barren tundra also known as Sepulveda Dam Recreation Area, I need to decompress and most importantly, shower. That's my entire schedule for the weekend, and I'll wrap that up around 9am on Saturday am.

The funk is making the writing going slow - but I have to wrap up a spec quickly, and then get going on the wrapping up of the feature. It's at that 'insert line about father-plant here' part, where it's written, but not written. I hate this part mainly because I have to stare at one page for 3 hours, do dishes, watch some TV, listen to music, pet cats, vacuum, and then stare at the page some more in order to get the line. I'm on par with the muppet that bangs his head on the piano repeatedly. Then on to the next page.
Rinse and Repeat 127 times.

After this comes the 'it sucks' part, where I am done, but it's a terrible script. That's possibly the easiest part, since I just turn on the 'film teacher' mode, get out my red pen, and mark it up with words like 'terrible!' 'bad dialogue' 'where did this come from?' etc, etc... it's the fixing of that that's hard...since it involves more head-banging.

All in all, I'm glad it's coming to an end, and honestly, it makes me feel good that I break into tears every time I read the ending. I guess that's a sign of a good drama, when it makes it's own writer cry every time. It's no schindlers, but it's something interesting.

Next up, "Schindlers II - Red Coat's Revenge".

Bird! (from Bambi)

My father and I were discussing the logistics of feeding his pet owl in the forest, and I reminded him the pet store sells mice for snakes - they must let you buy them for owls too, otherwise that would be 'bird-ist'.
His reply:

Bird-ists – that’s gonna leave a mark!
But they deserve it.
I mean, really, owls are people too.
And they gotta eat.
How dare they think their cute little furry hamster is too good for my owl! The nerve!
Everybody’s got to die sometime and why not quickly with massive talons
ripping into your flesh and organs.
It’d be a quick and sure death a Klingon would be proud of.
It’s a good day to die, Hammy.


Just thought I should share.
That's where I get it from.

American Me

This Saturday, Cheryl and I went to 'The Grove' which is the Disneyland uber-rich version of 'the mall'. They have only high-end expensive stores, and about 75% of the attendees were 20-something Beverly Hills 90210 mall rats. With $1000 Dooney and Burke purses. I was extremely underdressed. No thong underwear or purses worth more than my car.

There are pond fountains that dance to music a la The Bellagio in Las Vegas. Does that hint at the non-mallness of this mall?

At said mall, Cheryl and I witnessed the glory that is 'American Girl' store. Where you can purchase a doll made to look like you. It's the cabbage patch on speed. They sell both child-sized and doll-sized clothing so you can dress like your doll. They even had a 'hair salon' where these 'Beauty Shop' Queen Latifah stylists were gabbing as they brushed the crap out of these tiny doll heads, while their little girl owners stood nearby in awe. They had cheerleader outfits and gymnastic outfits. Ironically, the gymnast was also wearing an arm cast, leg cast and ankle guard. Apparently gymnastics is dangerous. There were even wheelchairs, and crutches. Clearly for the gymnasts as well. Cheryl remarked how the wheelchairs and crutches girls were in the section with the brushes and accessories...and that a handicapped child seemed to be an accessory. I think it was actually the wheelchair that was the accessory, but it was scarily questionable nonetheless.

There was a cafe, theater (for stage shows!), birthday party area, grooming area...I'm hyperventilating. The politically correct part of the store was the historical dolls - where you could play with Claire from 1879, or depression-era Holly. She really didn't seem that depressed. It was more Daddy Warbucks depression - which means, not at all. We noted they didn't have a 70's or 80's historical doll, since that would be...well, us.

I think overall it was a disturbing experience, mainly because of the sheer magnitude of this store - just dolls, and it's the size of 5th Avenue Macy's. There was also an eerie theme song that kept playing, but seemed to have no source. Possibly it was the 15 foot live pink flower arrangements.

But I also think we both were a bit jealous that we didn't have dolls. Although we probably would have gone counter-culture and gotten dolls that did NOT look like us. And put casts all over them, not brush their hair, let them be naked, and just made people deal with it. Because that's American Us.

Cubby Broccoli

You know when you realize that you're on a strict diet?
When you start craving broccoli.

I heated up some frozen broccoli for dinner on Sunday, and eating it was like eating the holy grail of broccoli. Better than the extravaganzza pizza, better than sex, better than a potential all-new Lost where they find out it's all a dream, or just life in a snow-globe being held by an autistic boy.

Summing that up, it was the best broccoli in the entire world.

I wish I had Broccoli as a last name, because then I'd be heir to the James Bond producing fortune. Yes, that's random.

And it wasn't just broccoli - it was florets - which is just the good part. No stems for me, baby. Is that high maintenence? Seriously - they taste different.

And the irony is, it was plain broccoli - no cheese sauce, no spices, no nothing - just hot broccoli.

I better get me a social life, if that's the high point of my day. Also, when you blog about broccoli, and how it's the high point of your life...that's some sad sad commentary. Hello friends? It's time to take me out.

Or come over. Because I make some mean hot broccoli.

Roe Vs. Wade Vs. My Soapbox

Ok - enough with the funny posts for a moment - it's soapbox time.
(insert catchy 'it's soapbox time, (la la) this is the theme for soapbox time (la la)' song here...)

Should men have the rights to reject being a father?-- including getting out of paying child support? Matt Dubay, a 25-year-old from Saginaw, Michigan, is suing his ex-girlfriend, 20-year-old Lauren Wells. They had a baby girl who is now eight months old. Dubay says he told Wells up front (prior to conception) that he did not want to be a father. She also told him that she could not conceive. Now that she has, and gave birth to the baby she claimed she could not have, and he did not want...he doesn't feel he should have to pay $560 per month in child support since they clarified the decision to not have children up front. A national men's rights group backing the suit argues that a woman gets to decide if she wants to have a child, give it up for adoption, or have an abortion, while the man has no control.

The problem with this whole debate is that it stems from the fact that the entire situation is ALREADY biased in the favor of women - biologically. No matter if a consensus is reached on the child's fate - the mother is the one with a physical decision and the father with only the verbal one. Should men be punished for biology? Especially if, in this case, the decision is made in advance. Why is a man held responsible for his partner's change in decision, but not vice versa? The court cannot tell a woman to keep a child that her man wishes to have. Why then does the court get to tell a man the same thing? A lack of a womb is no excuse for a lack of voice.

People get too caught up in this emotionally, as people do...but it boils down what we have now is a legal requirement that man to be responsible for a woman's decision. And as a person concerned with equal rights for all people, not just women...I see a fundamental problem with that.

I just came up with the brilliant concept of a 'pre-nup' for sex...such that a man may file something that legally says he does not wish to have children, and he is not responsible for any child that results of any union, as his choice is abortion. As unfair as that sounds generally - it could solve the problem...and force a woman into taking into account if such a document exsists before she decides to keep her child alone. Possibly it's more fair if it legally requires him to PAY for said abortion, as that's his choice. I think this document should exsist for women as well - so that a man may not challenge her decision to keep a child - as she's stated so in advance! What a different world it would be if a woman were legally required to have a baby her male partner wished to keep if she didn't file paperwork indicating she did not want a child! It's thought provoking...and possibly finally fair?

Discuss amongst yourselves...

(That was the theme to Sara's soapbox, la la, We hope you've enjoyed Sara's soapbox, la la la.)

No Chemistry

I am so relieved that Joe Boring from Missouri can't e-mail me that we're perfect together, despite the fact that he didn't graduate from 8th grade, and is 21 with 3 kids from 2 women.

My horoscope said to "do something dramatic to start over like deleting all your online dating profiles", and not that I ever listen to my horoscope, let alone read it....but I was so inspired to just say F-it...so I got rid of them! The last was chemistry.com- Each experience was a bad one, and honestly, I don't think you can truly meet people online. It's all about that 'hmm...' feeling when you meet someone in person, and you can't 'Hmm...' online.

I find it really ironic that people don't read the profiles. I guess expecting men to actually read something is silly on my part. Men? Read? Although the swinger wife who wanted to set me up with her husband 'You're perfect for each other, and I like you too' didn't read either.

And I got e-mailed a bit by the 'guy with flair' from Office Space...which will go down in my 'interesting people I met' list, but other than that...Dork.

And the only guy I actually hit it off with enough to date stood me up. Talk about first impressions...

Sigh. Maybe I should e-mail that swinger couple. At least they looked nice.

Sermon on the Alias

Yea, verily, on Wednesday the elevator with the TV in the wall doth telleth me that a new 2 hour Alias was on that very night.

I did not believe the elevator, as Alias has not been on in about a year. But the elevator doth telleth me the stock prices, the weather and I shall not doubt. For those glorious 12 seconds every day as I rise from the ground to the 3rd floor, the elevator with the TV in the wall doth speak the glories of the day, sports, the time and date, new words from the dictionary and information such as Alias' return. I shall not be a doubting Thomas to the elevator's teachings.

The elevator doth giveth me to the 3rd floor, and the elevator doth taketh me away from the 3rd floor. And yet I remained a doubtor to the elevator's true power!

But I was baptised in the true glory of the elevator with the TV in it when verily, Alias was on at the time the elevator prophezized! And the elevator doth bringeth Vaughn back to life! Glory to the elevator!

The elevator said Let there be Alias!, and it was good.
I am the elevator thy carrier! Thou shalt have no other elevators with TVs in the wall! Thou shalt not place other false elevators before me! Glory to the elevator! Amen!

And now I shall go worship, as the elevator with the TV in the wall has risen to the third floor to take me home.

It is risen, indeed.

L.A. Story a.k.a. The Post Where I Get Name-dropping Out of my System.

Hyperion's blog a while back on Inside the Actor's Studio brought up an old memory of a former acting instructor Nina Foch, who was not only an excellent teacher, but was married at one time to James Lipton (host of Inside the Actor's Studio). Upon hearing this, the entire class' level of respect for her grew - not due to the connection but due to the 'holy crap - you put up with that blowhard?' aspect.

Nina was in An American in Paris with Gene Kelly. She told me once in confidence that he was a hottie. Like I needed her to point that out. I have eyes, woman!

Which round-about-ishly brings me to my topic - odd celebrity/actor sightings in L.A. This is the type of town where you can literally run into Christopher Walken on the street. Or you can do like I did and embarass yourself staring at him in the Good Earth Restraunt.

Randomly, I helped Michelle Pfeiffer sponge off her shirt when someone spilled coffee on it. Arnold and Maria Schwarzenegger talked to me for a few minutes about clocks. Talked to Jack Nicholson. Chatted with Chris O'Donnell about his shoes - have a great photo of us from a movie with me in a wedding dress, him in a tux. Looks like we're getting married. Dylan McDermot said Hi. Chatted with some playboy centerfolds at the 'oddest christmas party on earth' and felt really insecure. Met 'Russo the crazy French lady' Mira Furlan from LOST at a birthday party - kept thinking 'I know you from somewhere' and then der - after she left it all came back. sigh. At least it saved me from zoning about Lost while we were talking.

My most infamous encounter was when I tried to flirt with Dennis Quaid. I clearly was mildly drunk, since I did not realize it was Dennis Quaid at the time. He dissed me. I was hurt, but it's understandable. He's Dennis Quaid. But he is first on my list to shiv in the shower if we're ever in prison together.

Saw a ton of celebs, but I really only count those that I SPOKE to. For some reason that seems more real. Yeah, if you're a stalker.

I had a friend who once sat next to Madonna in a Malibu restraunt. He had the balls to ask her what she did for a living. She says 'I'm a singer'. He says 'How's that working out for you?'. He was an ass like that.

But this same guy flipped out when we saw Annette Bening in a Starbucks. You never know...

I had a different friend who sat next to Quentin Tarantino at a coffee shop. Without knowing who he was, upon hearing he's a screenwriter, she says bitterly 'Well, good luck with that'. She was kinda silly like that.

At least I just stared at Christopher Walken. And I didn't stare at Rachel Bilson. I just said 'Rachel Bilson is here?' really loud. She was right behind me.

Sigh.

Robert Wagner is going to attend this wedding I'm going to this year (shout out to Kristen! for cool factor.) I promise I won't hit on him. He's no Dennis Quaid.

Paging Emily Post and Miss Manners

I have a personal beef with etiquette. Also common courtesy. So this isn’t going to be a funny blog. It's going to be a rant. Like Dennis Miller, but not funny. If you’d like to leave, leave now. Go read the porn quickie from earlier. You know if I do 2 in a day, something's up.

I'm going to spend this blog teaching people about what common courtesy is, and will use some examples from my life.

Etiquette Class 101

1. When you receive a party invitation, you must respond in a timely manner to the hostess, via some mode of communication. If you cannot attend, politely decline and offer an excuse or apology. The response 'Not Interested' is not an appropriate party declination. Nor is the word 'No'. Both offend the hostess and will result in your expulsion from her inner circle of friends. You are also not likely to be invited to further events. “I’m sorry, but I’m out of town” is a correct response. If you do not respond at all, that is also considered rude, and insinuates that you not only will not attend, but did not care enough about your relationship with the hostess to respond to her invitation.

2. When you receive a gift, you should respond to the giftor with a thank you. Either in writing or in person. Regardless of the size of the gift. If you do not acknowledge the gift…the giftor will assume it was either not received, or not appreciated. If you are aware someone has a gift for you but you are unable to arrange a meeting to exchange it, it should be communicated to the giftor at minimum that you thank them for the gift, but are unavailable. Requiring a giftor to hold onto a present for you because you are unavailable for months to receive it is rude. If you do not communicate your thanks or reason behind the unavailbility, the giftor has every right to give the gift to someone else who may appreciate it.

3. When you receive communication, either written or email or phone, common courtesy dictates that you reply within 48 hours. If email, possibly sooner. If there is no response in 48 hours, the sender will assume you do not wish to communicate with them, or do not care about what they have to say. This may or may not be considered rude by the caller. If you normally take time responding to someone, they may accept up to a weeks' delay. However, multiple weeks or months before returning a call/email is a lack of common courtesy. If they pose a question such as 'How are you?' and this item is not answered, the sender can only assume that their interest in your life is not desired, and they will cease all communication. If the communication is an invitation such as “Would you like to attend this event?”, please refer to item # 1. If you cannot attend, notification of this is to the host required in a polite and timely manner. To let the event pass without communication is intolerable.

Miss Manners and Emily Post may certainly correct me if I'm wrong, but I assume we all three agree on the general ideas above.

I had a friend who recently decided to ‘Fire’ some of his closest friends for the lack of common courtesy and etiquette. He felt that his offense at their uncourteous actions was warranted, and if they truly cared about him as a friend, they would take his comments to heart, and make an effort to keep the friendship up. Some friends did just this, and vowed to be better friends. Some got angry and confused that he bothered to bring it up. In the end – he got what he wanted. The people who didn’t care were dropped immediately, and the people who did care vowed to make an effort. He got a closer circle of friends that was better than ever.

I am beginning this process now.

So…to all my readers…take this to heart. If you have poor etiquette, or poor manners, you will offend your friends, regardless of your intentions. Best to do what you can to correct this lack of etiquette before it forces them to address it in a huge blog, and publicly humiliate you. It’s common courtesy. Pure and simple. And if you can’t demonstrate common courtesy to your friends – then you shouldn’t be friends with them in the first place, and you also don’t deserve them.

Thus endeth the lesson.

It's all about the shoes

I'm totally thinking of changing my logo. Unfortunately this is from a porno. I had no idea there was physics porn. I've missed my calling.

Just don't tell anyone it's not me, k? Although I do own better shoes. Those are SO not sexy shoes.

I used to have a job where I watched and wrote porno plot synopses for TV Guide. There you go - something you didn't know about me. Ok, some of you knew, or at least suspected.

And no, I'm not giving you the link to the porn. Freaks! Go look up your own porn!

Coffee vs Doritos

I have nothing much to say today...it's hard to beat Pol Pot jokes.

I can say this...I hate dieting, mainly because you barter with yourself. Like...that 30 calorie tablespoon of hazelnut coffee creamer is equivalent to 10 minutes on the elliptical - do I want to work out for my coffee? Can't I drink it black?

After coughing up a lung, the answer is no, I cannot drink it black.

So I drink my 30 calorie coffee and feel really guilty, since I could have 6 big glasses of really gross Raspberry Lemonade Crystal Light for that! But in the big picture, I'd rather have the coffee or Crystal Light than one Dorito chip. Such is the life of woman.

And the only reason I'm making my own coffee is that I learned a grande nonfat latte at Starbucks has about 400 calories. I had NO idea, thinking it was just water and coffee. I keep forgetting there is lots of milk in there, and some sugar and some tiny ground up 'keep her fat' pills.

I think those 100 calorie packs of Cheetos, Oreos and Doritos are genius. That is, until I saw them yesterday. They're the size of my index finger. I don't know what I expected, but I guess I thought it would be more than 4 chips. If you ate 4 bags, it would be worth it, but I think that defeats the point. Maybe that's me.

And as much as I love cranberry flavored seltzer water...it's clear. And that bothers me. Somehow drinking clear cranberry 'juice' makes me feel cheated. Does red dye have calories? I think it should have a semblance of juice, yes?

Unless red dye is 30 calories. In which case, I want coffee. In a Pol Pot mug. Damn, I still think that's funny.

Genghis Koffee

While getting coffee in the break room this morning, I heard that Genghis Khan killed 1,748,000 people at Nishapur in one hour in 1221. That wacky Ghengis!

I can't say I believe him. He's got a terrible reputation, and he might be a compulsive liar. He also tends to exaggeration. I might believe him if he said 'about a million' people. But the exact number 1,748,000? In an hour? That's what makes it slightly unbelievable. If you're going to make up stories, at least have them be logical. He was also avoiding eye contact when he told me this, so I think that's a dead giveaway.

It seems to me that he's establishing a vicious circle where he has to cover up for previous lies by telling yet more untruths. So if he had just admitted he jammed the copier, I don't think the 'killing people' lie would have even been needed! He gets himself into deeper and deeper water. In the end, he's always found out and by then the scale of the deception is immense. 1,748,000 people immense. If he continues to lie, I might have to tell him that our work relationship is seriously threatened. Not to mention the physical one.

And I can tell you with 100% certainty that the Genghis I know has never been to Nishapur. He can't even make it to Mammoth without making me pull the car over to get some air or throw up.

And he can't make it through Schindler's List without sobbing at the girl in the red coat, so I find it hard to imagine him killing 1,748,000 people.

As he says this lie to me this morning, he's pouring coffee into his mug, which is an Elvis bust. I think he could at least get a Genghis Kahn mug. He was also quoting George Burns, "Honesty is the key to relationships. If you can fake that, you've got it made" which although funny, isnt helping the 'evil conqueror' reputation. And it makes me question our relationship as well. I mean, who do you know who quotes George Burns? Pol Pot doesn't quote him. He's more an Steven Wright person. And I'll bet Pol Pot takes his coffee in a Pol Pot mug.

Speaking of Pol Pot - he's looking hot today. Did you see him in the grey suit? Brooks Brothers, I think.

Happy Easter

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said "Stop! Don't do it!" "Why shouldn't I?" he said. "Well, there's so much to live for!" "Like what?" "Well... are you religious?" He said yes.
I said, "Me too! Are you Christian or Buddhist?" "Christian." "Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant ? "Protestant." "Me too! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?" "Baptist" "Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?" "Baptist Church of God!" "Me too! Are you original Baptist Church of God, or are you reformed Baptist Church of God?" "Reformed Baptist Church of God!" "Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?" He said, "Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915!" I said, "Die, heretic scum", and pushed him off. (Emo Philips)

Aaron Gutleben self-GOOGLES!

The net is a wild and woolly place.

Aaron Gutleben was bored. He was tired, and suddenly, a thought struck him. He was going to self-google. He hadn't needed to self-google in years, and what would his wife think if she caught him? But it was too much. Late at night, he creeped to his computer, far away from his sleeping wife and kids, and googled himself. GASP!

Lo and behold, he found my post 'Pencil Envy' about him from when were in the 4th grade together and he stabbed me with a pencil when I asked why I didn't get a valentine. This photo to the right is a historical re-enactment of that event. Do not try this at home.

He was freaked out! Who was this crazy woman who accused him of stabbing her? Might he actually have done this horrid thing? He recalled the name, but no face...maybe she was telling the truth!

He had the good nature and mild-mannered Clark Kent-ness to e-mail me and apologize for the 20 year old stabbing (isn't that freaking adorably nice?)...but honestly... we were 11! We emailed for a bit, and I was not surprised at all to find him a nice smart family guy with some similarities to myself due to our school upbringing. Bizarre.

Which made me think - if I just typed out the full names of all kinds of people I lost touch with - maybe they'll self-google and find this post and e-mail me?! It's worth a shot, right?

So...

John Dickey
David Steele
Will Dinyes
Scot Frazier
Steve Holmes
Jenny Lee
Maria & Saira Garcia

Where are you guys???

To all the net-gods out there..."bring me my peeps!" (That's official net-god talk, btw.)

Thanks to Aaron for the inspiration to re-connect, and the scar on my knee - I'll never forget you, no matter how much surgery I get to remove it. (Just kidding Aaron. Ok, not really.)

Grunt, scratch, grunt.

This is the death of the English Language. The death of communication.

A cell phone was dropped in my office, was sitting on the floor, and I stood over it staring. My brow wrinkled. I said 'Phone.' then grunted. Like a monkey.

'Phone' louder. Nobody turned. Nobody understood. Possibly it was my lack of adjectives. Or verbs. Or sentence structure.

Perhaps... 'Excuse me, someone seems to have misplaced their cellular telephone, jolly good' would have elicited more of a response. I thought a grunted 'phone' was clear. But it did require turning to look at me and said phone.

How is it possible that my use of the language disappeared over my 30-something years? I'm sure none of us actually recall sentence diagramming, or what a passive adverb is. But why are we shortening the pleasures of conversation and communing to be a necessity or chore? Since when did BRB and ROTFL become expressions of emotion and how is texting a substitution for a lengthy hand-written letter, or an hour over coffee? Linguicide is becoming socially acceptable. Et tu Brute?

I feel slightly miffed when a friend ignores an email - much like a conversation where someone walks away while you're talking. And a returned message on voice mail is not an actual communication - it's a cop out. How are those socially acceptable in text form, but they're not in reality?

And yet I stand there hoping someone will glean the meaning from my uttered words, and not force me to convey purpose and structure in my ramblings.

Phone, dammit, 'PHONE!' Do the monkey dance. Grunt, scratch, grunt. Ooo, Ooo...phone! Do I have to spell it out?

Apparently we don't.

Happy One Month Anniversary Darling!

Paper? Or is it stationary? Can you celebrate a one month blogiversary with stationary? - seems redudant.

Or at least ironic.

oxymoron?

Star Wears Shirt, No Pants to Walk of Fame

seeing that header on CNN, I clicked on it thinking 'no way! Gary Busey again?!', but imagine my chagrin when it was revealed to be Winnie the Pooh.

That's right. The animated/book Pooh.

But what caught my eye was the costumed Pooh. Remember there's a person in there (hope I didn't ruin that for any of you). How wierd is it to be accepting a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, as a guy in a Pooh costume. This guy probably will never be a better actor, than at this moment of Pooh-dom. And he will never be any closer to this award than he is right then.

It's as if Han Solo got an award and Harrison Ford had to show up to accept it. He'd be all 'Hey - I do other things, you know. I date anorexic actresses. I'm a carpenter.' But they'd expect him to say 'Punch it Chewie' and smile happily.

This costume guy is one step worse, since nobody knows who he is! He's shaking hands with the Govenator, waving and blushing, but deep down he's thinking 'Screw you guys - I'm just a guy in a bear costume that has to be here for the day instead of in Disneyland with screaming kids on my lap. Tomorrow I'll be back there huffing it for measly pay to save money for college where I can do what I really want - Criminal Justice.'

I need my meds

Cheryl and I had this brilliant idea to start an L.A. theme bar called 'Emergency Room' or 'Medicine' in which all the fruity drinks were served in beakers and the shots in little cough syrup plastic cups. They're drinks like 'Pediacare', 'Robitussin', or 'Phenyldextripezine'. There would be gurneys to sit on, IVs to drink out of, little perscription bottles of candy and peanuts etc... and a 'waiting room' for V.I.Ps. Because of course in this imaginary scenario, all the trendy celebs would come. Not Paris Hilton. We won't let her in.

Oh, and the slogan is 'Get yer meds'.
We were also thinking the bartenders should be in lab coats with stethoscopes, and for the boys... candystripers.

I was thinking an insane asylum theme bar would be cool too, but it might get depressing after a while. But the bar fights sure would be great with those padded walls.

Anyone want to invest in this idea? Send me a check. That's right, just 10k each, lick the stamp...get yer meds....it will make you feel better.

Not Dun and Bradstreet

Bari had to reload. She couldn't handle the 25 militant congo soldiers approaching. She was shot, once, twice. Her vision went red, but she kept going. I had a handle on two on the suspension bridge, but Bari took out three on the side steps, distracting the two above. It was a good thing, since suddenly we were ambushed with grenades. They had switched weapons mid-attack, the bastards! Bari and I crouched behind a fallen tree to reload, but neither of us could figure out how to launch the grenades without getting killed. Blood splattered everywhere. We gave up and went for it, dashing through brambles toward the makeshift hut.

Once inside, there he was. Steve, the diplomat, known only to us by his dossier. He was scraggly and unkempt. He thanked us profusely as we untied him and made for the river. Suddenly on a boat, we were shot at from all angles by men on all types of watercraft. With Uzis. And barricades for their Uzis. These guys were prepared!

All seemed lost. Bari managed to take out a few speedboats before sucumbing to the cold water. Steve was dead. We had failed the mission. After 10$ each in quarters we were tired and sweaty from the dramatics, and plus, I don't like guys named Steve anyway, so no big loss.

That my friends, is life in Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon.

So...in answer to all your queries, the matador photo was from D&B (Dave and Busters)- for those who don't know, that's an adult Chuck-E-Cheese. They have silly photo booths, 80's arcade games like PacMan and Centipede, and really scary games-that-kids-should-not-play like Ghost Recon. All with booze.

And there's nothing quite like playing Centipede while buzzed. But it doesn't improve the hand-eye coordination, I can tell you that. I swear the stupid ball was slow.

I also got a blister while playing Ms Pac Man. I got to level 3, which I couldn't do in the 80's originally... so there's always that to console my bandaged index finger. And there were some little kids that stood behind me to watch those interstitials - where Ms PacMan and PacMan finally have their baby delivered by a stork. I felt vindicated and cool. But the kids went on to play Dance Dance Revolution. I would have too, except exercise defeats the whole point of eating BBQ chicken tenders and playing video games.

Bari's skill at shoot-em-up games was impressive, but I got almost double the tickets. I'm saving up for the disco light and stuffed Spongebob.

Maybe I'll save Steve the diplomat next time. Or maybe I'll go the Air Force One mission and save the President instead and leave Steve in the jungle. That'll teach him... I mean Bari died to save his sorry ass. Stupid Congo.

Madonna and babe

My friend responded to the matador photo post saying I look like Joey Lawrence. That so disturbed me that I went immediately to this site to determine which celebrity I REALLY look like, because it's super important to my sanity and self image. Because I'm vain like that. Here are the results:

1. Madonna.
2. Cindy Margolis
3. Rachel McAdams

I don't think that clarifies what I look like at all. But I do think it's particularly flattering to see that if I were a man, I'd be :

1. Richard Gere
2. Joaquin Phoenix
3. Liam Neeson

So, what I'm saying is I'm a moderately attractive woman, but a scorching man. HOT HOT HOT! I'm putting on the pink Material Girl dress right now and calling Richard Gere. It's meant to be. Look how cute we are up there! Awww... kismet.

Skittle Strike Team GO!

We need a catch phrase...what do you think girls?

Yes, it's an honor just to be nominated, but screw you - I'm IN! I've been declared a S.K.I.T.T.L.E. today - that's more specifically a Sexy Kitten International Termination Team - or Evil Kitty of the Realm by Hyperion. He's a genius! Although he did post my first 2 blogs...which despite HIM thinking they're funny - I still think the donut post is my creme de la creme.

"I'd like to thank the academy..." (visualize me in that yellow dress Michelle Williams wore - but I'm way hotter, and with MacGyver instead of Heath Ledger)

ID: Schrodinger's Kitten
Code Name: Fluffy
Special Skills: Toenail painting, Bullfighting, the ability to kill you with thought, Invisibility, Stalking, and I make a mean macaroni and cheese.
Special Weapons: Glock, tweezers and that earthquake sticky glue that can make criminals stay in place once caught, no matter the earthquake magnitude.

I join the ranks of people like Calico (a.k.a. Tracy) who's skills run the gamut from Fish Killing to Poetry Writing, and she can also kill you with thought. Together, we can make you dance the west coast lindy with thought...something to fear.

In our first meeting we discussed the plot intracies of LOST, drank lots of raspberry mojitos and discussed world domination. Hyperion had a neat speaker he talked out of...so we don't ever see him. I'm not sure where he got that idea, but it seemed familliar.

Next up: Domination of Rural France. It's the way the Nazis did it - we think they were just a bit before their time, and a tad supremecist. We'll get it right.

Cat in a Beaker

Beaker: a type of laboratory glassware which consists of a cylindrical cup with a notch on the top to allow for the pouring of liquids. They are about as wide as they are tall. This makes beakers very stable and easy to handle. They may be made of plastic, glass, or Pyrex®. Some beakers have graduated markings, or calibrations, to allow an easy rough measure of liquid volume.
As a means to make solutions, they are probably the most used piece of laboratory glassware. Coupled with a good magnetic stirrer, they see frequent heavy use in a laboratory. Like a test tube or a boiling tube, a beaker can be placed over a burning flame (such as a Bunsen burner) to be heated.

Yes, I stole it from the encyclopedia.

I stole my photo ( at left) too. The cat is CC, the first cloned kitty. I think CC stands for carbon copy, but my Cheryl says it is for Cloned Cat. She's probably right, since hers makes more sense in that 'scientist being funny' way. Here's the website for the peeps that clone cats. I love them. I love them even more because they think putting a cloned cat in a beaker is cute, and not even mildly offensive to them or the cat. And because of their name. Genetic Savings and Clone. Scientists with puns - a very dangerous combination.

I used to be a scientist. A great theoretical physicist specializing in Quantum Mechanics and Relativistic Space Time. Ok - maybe not great, but I did get a degree in it. Barely. I think my song-and-dance laugh-riot thesis seminar on the Schrodinger's Cat Paradox was the piece that allowed me to graduate. ("Oh- Now I get it - it's the title of her blog - it all makes sense now! Der.") In comparison to the rest of my class, I had the test-taking ability of someone with mental retardation. The old IQ smaller than your hat size joke. But my thesis had lots of humor and really spiffy hand-drawn graphics (we didn't have powerpoint back then, kids) so I passed on a stand-up-comic technicality. Physicists aren't used to laughing during seminars. They were too stuned to fail me.

The only funny physicist was Richard P. Feynman - who was funny because he was willing to be the bongo-playing chief in the CalTech production of 'South Pacific'. He also used to sneak out of Los Alamos through a hole in the fence and keep re-entering over and over to confuse the MPs when he was working on the Manhattan Project. So that's the standard for stand-up physicists. I blew them out of the water.

Now I'm no longer a physicist, and the amount of quantum mechanics I retained is compiled in this sentence. To clarify...that means the words 'quantum mechanics' is about it.

I made a great huge art canvas out of pieces of my Relativistic Physics final and hung it in my bathroom. People love it, but I can't explain a single word, even though it's my handwriting, and it boggles my mind that at one point I actually knew what it meant, and came up with it on my own. It's sort of a commentary on my mind. Staggering intellegence has morphed into meaningless art held together with glue. I think there are triple intergrals on there. And sums of triple intergrals. And lots of greek letters that I don't know what letter it is, let alone what it stood for. Omega? Tau? Mu? What's the intergral of the volume of a sum of Mu's? Is it going to be on the test?

Now I spend my time coming up with poop jokes for my scripts, and I do know a lot about refinancing your house if you're interested.

No Bull

I became a bullfighter last night. My first bout only lasted about 30 seconds before I was gored in the side and had to retire. They carried my body from the field with ribbons of honor.

It was a good run while it lasted.

State of Mind

I am outraged, OUTRAGED I tell you, that California does not have a 'State Donut'! I mean, seriously, what are my taxes paying for if not an elite team of donut-tasting professionals that determine what donut will correctly represent the great state of California in all it's facets and glory?

Louisiana is just sitting there with their haughty attitude, all 'nanny-nanny' that they have the Beignet as their state donut! Sacre Bleu- I hate them. It's all french, and all spiffy in it's powered-sugared splendor. Whatever. And even Massachusetts has the Boston Cream Donut. That may be a technicality since Boston is actually IN Massachusetts. If we claimed it, there might be a fight there - so I'll allow that one to pass.

While reporting this news, I also see that Arizona has state NECKWEAR and we do not. Bolo ties are not neckwear...they're jewelery for men. But Oregon has the pearl necklace. So maybe the term neckwear is a bit of a misnomer. It sounds like they're aiming for more neck-specific jewelery cross-gender. In that case, maybe California might opt out, otherwise we're going to end up with the white pukka shell necklace, and we really don't want that to be official. Yes, we all have one, but let's not admit it.

Georgia has Grits as a 'State Prepared Food' and Texas has Tortilla Chips and Salsa (eaten together) as it's 'State Snack'. Notice the (eaten together) part...that is on the official designation. Not only does Texas have a crack team of snack testers, but they have spent the time to determine that only if eaten together do these snacks qualify to represent Texas. That is the type of team we should be aiming for people!

I don't even know what a Natchitoches Meat Pie is, but I'm impressed that it's the 'State Meat Pie' of Louisiana. Hawaii has claimed 'Tang', Nebraska - 'Kool-Aid', and Texas - 'Dr Pepper'! How dare they! If I want to, I can certainly have Dr Pepper with my lunch. Damn Texas. First Chips and Salsa, now this!

Can I earmark my taxes for state donut development? I think if I wrote Arnie a note, he'd take it to heart. I'm sure he likes donuts too. I met him once for about 10 seconds. I'm sure he remembers me and will focus 100% of his attention and musculature to addressing this pressing problem.

I propose the 'Buttermilk Old Fashioned'. Anyone with me? I'm holding a candlelight vigil and protest tonight at 8. With punch and donuts. Ohh..'Punch' better not be taken, or I'm going to be pissed.

Pencil Envy

Private Eyes (clap clap) are watching you (clap clap) they see your every move...

Apparently I have *18* readers...I am in awe. Thank you, thank you all 18 of you...I probably only know 5 of you in reality, but I love you all anyway. Yes, I installed a hidden site counter so I can see how many hits I get, and apparently 18 of you visit me on a daily basis. Not that this is anything more than a online version of getting valentines in 4th grade, but dammit, I have the most valentines!

Tangent: Aaron Gutleben stabbed me in the knee with a pencil in 4th grade when I asked him why I didn't get a valentine. He said "Because I like you" and stabbed. I report this because it seems much like how I deal with men as an adult. I question their loyalty and they lash out and I get hurt. I don't think they change much, they just move on to more elaborate weapons than pencils. Verbal weapons, or emotional ones. But I still have that grey/green pencil scar on my knee that will forever remind me of Aaron. And other than that remark, I didn't know he liked me, and he never spoke to me again, and I changed schools.

Somewhere out there is a 30 something year old man who probably can't deal well with women. Hopefully there's no 'pencil killer' that I've suddenly unmasked, but I'm sure Aaron would understand my commentary. Maybe I have pencil envy or maybe I wish I had stabbed first? Personally, I'm more of a mechanical pencil person. Those go deep. Sharpies aren't forever. Trust me.

So, to all 18 of you...thank you, don't stab me, and I love you even if all I know of you is a strange online avatar that looks nothing like you. Even if you turn out to be Aaron Gutleben.

The First International Take MacGyver to Work Day

I called Richard Dean Anderson (MacGyver) yesterday to let him know Wednesday is 'Take MacGyver to Work Day' and that we should probably do a test run today. He said "Sure - pick me up at 8."

After the horrendus traffic to Malibu, I arrived at his house a bit late, as I went off the directions some stalker posted on a fan website, but after finally locating the house, he was ready to go, dressed in MacGyver duds. He did mention he had to swing by Home Depot to pick up some Duct tape, so that set us back a bit, but we got here about 9ish, and he got started right away on making my chair into a projectile bomb.

I didn't know you could make coffee from an old phone and my 'recognition of service' award, but after just a few minutes with his swiss army knife and that duct tape, I had a Starbucks grande latte on my desk. I think he hand-drew the green logo, but it tasted excellent.

He took up station at my co-workers desk, making a smokescreen so I could get out of a 11am meeting, and then it set off the fire alarm. He later revealed was part of his plan to get us out of the building, so he could use a paperclip to seismically retrofit the foundation for safety. He's so thoughtful.

The day suffered a downturn when he insisted on using his belt to jerry-rig a ripline to swing out of my 4th story window for lunch, but we only fell about 10 feet into the restraunt, and we did manage to escape my boss without notice. Mac is a bit paranoid about 'Murdoc' showing up, so he barricaded us behind the bar for a light lunch of cheese and bruchetta before we had to return to the office. This time, he hot-wired a Harley behind the restaraunt, and we rode it into my parking garage. He dismantled it, taking the gas tank and some wiring for 'later'.

The post-lunch meeting was delayed due to his oil slick in the hallway, and despite my amusement, it did ruin my shoes. I chastized him, but he seemed too interested in his knockout gas set in the break-room microwave to notice. We were only out about 2 hours, but it did put a serious time cramp in my afternoon schedule.

He dissapeared after that, but at 5pm I found him in the parking garage with my Jeep setting up tire-ripping fenders he obtained by gutting leftover computers in our storage room. Despite the cost involved, it sure did decrease the traffic back to Malibu.

All in all, I think Take MacGyver to Work Day was a success. He is a bit high-maintenence, as I consistently had to be on the watch for what project he was going to come up with next, and the fact that he called me 'Pete' all day was a bit annoying. But he thwarted all evil and guns that came my way, and even managed to get Jack Dalton to come by for about an hour to entertain the office.

Next week we're going to the Challenger's Club to help some at-risk youth who might get involved in a gang. It should be interesting.