Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. Does anyone read my blog anymore? I haven't had comments since I was 21. :) And that's a full week now. And then some. Fans, come back. I need you. I'm nothing without you. More news and rants coming later this weekend!

"I'm gonna take you down, Focker. I'm gonna take you down to Chinatown." According to my next door neighbor, whose building looks a bit like, well, a crack house, the former tenant of the now chicky-boom suite in my building was busted for running a meth lab! Wow! Apparently, the cops were called in all the time because he and his girlfriend were always beating each other up. So then one time they show up and are like, wow-- this is a huge meth lab. BUSTED! Okay, so I say no to drugs and prefer hugs to drugs and all that crap, but this adds a whole new element of edge to my life by transitive. For me, it's a toss-up really between who I would rather have live up there. I mean, I decidedly am not a fan of the chicky-boom neighbor, and while having a drug-makin' and dealin' neighbor is kind of cool in theory, I would also be a non-fan of his blowing up my apartment.

In other news, I have discovered who the owner of the vagrant immobile Honda civic (last inspected by the state:1997) and I fully intend to tell him that he irritates me with his junk pile. Is it the chicky-boom neighbor? Why, yes it is. Shocker. The Meth man neighbor is seeming more and more appealing. Then again, I am not really about the domestic violence, especially since it often involved (and this is all news via my neighbor J.) the ramming of one another's cars. My little sedan is no prize, but I'd like to keep it out of the way of hate crimes.

The chicky-boom is going down... to Chinatown. (This is pretty funny in Houston since the Harris county jail is actually in the Chinatown section of downtown.)

Thanks, the Management

I am so gullible. I was re-reading one of M1's posts today about ninjas and it reminded me of the time that I worked in a Chinese restaurant. I was 18 and the other guy that worked there (yeah, it was a small place) was like 19 or 20 or something and looked a lot like one of the Hanson brothers. Anywho, our boss, Allen Chen called him Ninja. The funny thing is, I can't remember what that kid's name actually was. One day I asked Ninja why Allen called him that and he and Allen launched into this whole story about how when Ninja was applying for a job, he did like some karate moves and a back flip to prove that he was good waiter material, despite being non-Asian at a Chinese restaurant. ( I certainly did not add to the authenticity of the place.) I actually believed this story and thought that Ninja must be some kind of badass. One day when we were in the kitchen frying crap, I asked him if he ciuld teach me to do a back flip. His answer: I don't know how to do a back flip. I was puzzled. I asked him about the name of Ninja and he laughed at me and told me Allen just called him that because his hair was cut kind of like a ninja's.

Other junk I have believed:
-When I was nine, my camp counselor told me that she had gone to the Olympics for pickle ball.
-My mom told me that if you separated from your parents in Sam's that you would be arrested and that's why they had security guards on duty: for wandering children.
-In second grade, I started crying when this boy in my class told me about going into his bathroom with the lights out and seeing Bloody Mary.
-When I was ten, a girl in my cabin at camp was playing with a Ouija board and made me spas out when she screamed that she was possessed.

People in high school sometimes told me I was the dumbest smart person they ever met. Can I help it if I believe that people are genuinely honest and take them at their word? Soe might call it naïveté, but I like to call it optimism for the human condition.

And YES I know that the word gullible is not in the dictionary. :)

P.S. School is going well. Sorry for the infrequent posts, but I still don't have my schedule quite set yet. Stay tuned though. And for the love of God-- vote in my poll already. It's comedy, people. Comedy.

Customer DISservice One of my favorite things to rant about is Southwestern Bell, but today I am going to do myself one better. I would like to rant about all telecom industry, nay, all industry that offers "customer service" as a bonus when you buy a thing, sign up for a plan, sell your soul to Lucifer, etc. Below, see an excerpt from an early summer edition of the MTFC Newsletter relating to customer service at SWB:

Me: Hi, I would like to transfer my phone service because I am moving. If possible, I would like to keep the same phone number.
He: Yes, ma'am. How can I help you?
Me: Yes, I'm moving.
He: Would you like to disconnect your phone service?
Me: Well, if possible I'd like to transfer it and keep the same number.
He: Do you want to keep the same phone number ma'am?
Me:(testing) no.
He: Okay ma'am, our computer shows you can keep your same phone number in your new area.
Me: Super. When you're transferring it, please make sure not to add on all those services that cost more than...a lot of stuff.
He: Ma'am are you interested in the super mega hyper call screening caller id phone with maximum super potassium and 9 gazillion gigaherz flabulula humanana?
Me: Uh. Well, you would more or less have to have caller ID to screen your calls on that phone and I don't have caller id. So, no thanks.
He: You don't have to pay for it until August and then, only 6 easy payments of $300 , with a one-time shipping cost of $15.50 and a once monthly bill break-up fee of $8 million. Would you like me to put you down for one with our basic one-time set-up fee of $60?
Me:Oh well, in that case! No. I don't need a phone like that. I really don't even have the basic "extras," even.
He: I can set that up for you ma'am. Hold please. (classical music)
Me: no, wait! come back!
He: Okay ma'am, your total for today is the net worth of your life insurance policy + your first born.

This excerpt is only one of about...45 conversations I had like this, this summer alone! Here you can read a hilarious rant about another dissatisfied customer of a telecom service. The ultimate irony here is that these people are in the COMMUNICATION industry and yet, they do not so much communicate effectively. Is this the reason that a communications major is the laughing stock of the academic community? (I'm sorry if you're a communications major; but if you don't know this, it's time to face facts.)

You know what's also ridiculous and at the same time, extremely irritating: people calling you on the phone to sell you a service you already have. Example: I must get a call a week asking me to switch to Southwestern Bell long-distance. Enthusiastic telemarketers extoll the virtues of $.07/minute service and this and this feature for a half hour before I can be like-- dude, shut up! I have southwestern bell long distance. And then they're like-- well, congratulations! Great jaerb, you!

Yeah, thanks for calling, jackass.

P.S. I will post more thorough results later, but last week's poll's big hit for "Nobody says I wanna be _______ when I grow up," was
choice three: a no-talent ass clown like Michael Bolton.

P.P.S. A new poll is now up for your voting enjoyment.

Thanks for the pickles. Hi Eddie. Hi Billy. Hi Fishface. So yesterday was my birthday and what an odd assortment of birthday gifts I received. From Chuy's: sopapillas. From J.: a fonude set with fondue plates (which is super cool). From M1: a gigantic jar of pickles. No, really. It's like the biggest jar of pickles you've ever seen in your life. I have no idea where he got the idea for this gift. Oh yeah, and from the margaritas: a hangover. (Just kidding. Kinda.)

In other news, the icing on my birthday cake was gray. If you've seen the armadillo groom's cake from Steel Magnolias, it was pretty much just like that. It was supposed to be purple, but the cake was supposed to not be burnt either and as a cake-making team, S. and I really sucked it up. Don't hire us for your next event. I must say that the combination of chocolate and peanut butter pieces, rainbow-colored sprinkles, and the gigantic 22 candles made it a stunning piece of art. The cake was well-documented, so as soon as I get the pictures developed, you know I'll put it up because frankly, I just can't stop talking about my birthday. I really will write something interesting again at some point and put up a new poll, but quite honestly, that point is not now. Cheerio and thanks to all the well-wishers on my most special day!

Once you hit someone: test over. Attention Houstonians. I don't know how you passed your driving tests (or did you?), especially the written part, but I have some trivia for you: Turn signals are not so much of the optional equipment. Even cars that don't have air conditioning have turn signals. There is a reason for this. Please drive friendly and don't honk at me if you're behind me and I let someone in. I'm sorry if you're in that much of a hurry, but maybe you should have left sooner instead of getting pissy at me for being courteous. Furthermore, you could always beam yourself places if you think you will have rage issues. I mean, not really, but it'd be funny to see someone with rage issues try it. "That damn Sharper Image doesn't have one of those beam things! Curses! I guess I will just have to go run peops off the road in my SUV!"

In other news, today is my birthday. Yahoo for me!

And Happy 40th Kevin!

'Roids are the bomb diggety. Polaroids I mean. (Not steroids or hemmhorroids.)This morning, my pets were looking *so cute* that I had to take a picture and voila! Instant gratification! (Some might say that instant gratification is neither truly instant nor gratifying.) Anyway, this is my post for today. Sorry, this is it. No, really.

*Hilarious image removed due to space restrictions. You snooze; you lose.*



It's not as though my constituents M1 and M2 have posted lately, but I still feel bad for denying my public. It's disheartening to think that my only audience at the moment may be one scary republican. That's right; Pat Buchanan reads this page. I would like to (for Pat's sake) make some wiseass comments about the world, as per my usual roasting, but I have been in my house for the last...while. I just have stuff to do here, none of which would interest anyone besides me. Except this picture. So enjoy it and maybe I will come up with something brilliant later. I don't advise holding your breath, however.

You WISH you had my life. Actually, you probably don't, because I would say my fat index is rising and really, I don't contribute to society in any useful way. I am basically a drain on everyone, except Molly and Frankie who, let's face it, are a drain on my bank account. But enough negativity. You do wish you were me because of my agenda today:

Wake up (ish)
Walk Molly
Read Harry Potter
nap
Repeat
Bath
Study for the GRE at Starbucks
Walk Molly
Take Molly to the Beach

Okay, so maybe you don't want to prep for the GRE, but hey-- I had a cookie. I have nothing to blog about. I'm not worthless, but all of my friends are unavailable for play. Maybe I will just spend some more time thinking about how my birthday is Friday. Yahoo for 22!

Oh, and by the way, here is one of the more frightening, yet oddly hilarious sites I have ever seen. It is the top ten reasons why Texas is the greatest state. Now, I am locally grown-- a native if you will-- and I've got love for TX and I don't want anyone to "mess with Texas," as it were, but frankly, there are some aspects of being from Texas that are just embarrassing. Just about all of those are covered in this list. Environmental regulations? We don't need that crap in Texas! Yahoo! Thank you, Captain Courageous! Your site provides endless entertainment.

I would like to leave you with this bumper sticker message I saw once: Be a Democrat: because who ever heard of a good piece of elephant?

You're a beautiful audience. Thank you. Thank you.

Act like this surprises you.

Just another manic Monday and Building a Better Mousetrap However, I don't wish it were Sunday for the following reason: the grocery store is too damn crowded on the weekends. I know. I know. You all think I am some kind of misanthrope, but honestly, I think if the parking lot at Whole Foods is full, you should take that as a hint, especially if you drive any of the following: ginormous SUVs. Whatever. Like huge car owners care if we plunder the Earth with conventional farming methods. Better have four-wheel drive in Houston because you know, we have all those steep potholes. Don't forget to forget you have a turn signal.

I was considering writing a letter to Chevy and to Ford. To whom it may concern: I am appalled to discover that on all of your expensive, fully-loaded sport utility vehicles, you have neglected to include turn signals as standard components. Oh wait. No. It's just that the drivers are obnoxious. Oh, thanks for clearing that up.

I do like Sundays though because I have kind of a ritual. Well, sort of. J. and I cook dinner together on Sundays and watch a movie. Last night, because J. has had it at his house for like a month, we watched Scarface. Now, Al Pacino is good people and in general, it was a very interesting movie, but a dude got his arm and leg removed by means of chainsaw which frankly, I'm not really about. Dinner was also delicious, but I had to remind J. of something very important that I hope the rest of you are paying attention to: There is no substitute for Italian Parmigiano Reggiano. It is the undisputed *KING* of cheeses (and it is/was Elvis week after all). Do not buy Kraft. Do not buy DiGiornio. Do not buy domestic parmesean. Remember: Italian Parmigiano Reggiano. Your food will thank you.

Right now I am studying for the LSAT and the GRE which I am taking in back-to-back weeks in October. Hooray for standardized tests! Oh wait. Nevermind. By the way, if I ever write a test guide like these ones Princeton Review and LSAC and Kaplan put out, remind me to either A) Put candy inside it or B) Shoot myself. There's got to be a better way...

One more thing. I think because I put up the stupid post about my birthday in short order, most of you missed my extensive commentary on back hair on women. I think it's worth checking out, so here; knock yourselves out.

22 candles on my cake My birthday is one week from today! I can't explain why I love having a birthday; I just do. My sister, especially, thinks this excitement is bizarre, but so far my publicity has allowed me to do well in the prize department. :)


Are you disgusted with me yet? It gets better when you see my wish list at Amazon.com. Come on, you know you love me!

The Greatest Thing Since Ze Frank? Do not take this subject lightly. Ze Frank is kind of like a web god and definitely a hero of mine. If you have never been to his site, go, go, GO!

Anywho, I have an excerpt from a site (http://juliussharpe.com) that has made me a believer in funny again! Hooray! (In case I didn't make it clear, the passage below is completely plagiarized.)

Truth is, I don’t drink that much. Sure, I enjoy knocking back two to fifteen gin and tonics on a Friday night. In my defense, I tend to get really thirsty on Friday nights. Also, I’ve never been so drunk that I couldn’t show up for work the next day and perform my job with the embittered and lackluster attitude my employers expect and deserve.

I don’t smoke pot either – which is too bad, because I look like I’d be really good at it. I enjoyed my last lungful of marijuana smoke seven years ago. After 13 bong hits, I started crying because I couldn’t figure out how to open a kitchen cabinet. Then I had an otherworldly vision of every pair of pajamas I’d ever owned arranged chronologically. Finally, I passed out in a laundry hamper with noted futurist Faith Popcorn.

I’ve never even tried harder drugs. I’m too thrifty to buy cocaine and I have yet to find a coupon. Acid sounds way too much like that other substance that can disfigure your face … what’s it called? Oh, yeah: acid.

A group of friends has been trying to persuade me to do ecstasy. But a drug that makes you happy and loving? I’m sorry, that just doesn’t sound safe.

If you almost peed yourself reading that, go here for funny beyond your mortal imagination.

Better Nate than Lever.Hey everyone-- sorry about my post just now showing up after what seems like a long time (yeah, you care) but I finally switched to Blogger Pro and I was experiencing technical difficulties.

Can I get fries with that back wax ? This afternoon, S. and I experienced one of the last great public sweatshops. We went to this place in the village where you can get a manicure and a pedicure for $20 total. For those of you who aren't out on the beauty scene, a pedicure alone typically costs anywhere from 35-60 dollars (depending on how fancy you get). This place was insane. There were 20 stations in a store/room about 10' X 30' and about 50 Korean women gossiping among themselves (because the patrons sure as hell didn't understand a word) and providing services ranging from the average manicure to...yes, back waxing.

And by back waxing, I mean there was a price list up on back waxing for men and women. What woman gets her back waxed? Publicly?

Those manicure ladies were insanely productive. I got a French manicure in like...12 minutes and if I had desired, another woman would have been at my feet giving me a pedicure at the same time while yet another could have been waxing my eyebrows. Further, as this was an option, I could have had my woman-beard waxed too. Ick. The fact that these price lists exist means that more than one person has requested this service. This price list begs the question:

Are people bringing in their monkeys?

Normally, the Rice Village is one of your wealthier shopping spots and caters to women with a rather comfortable standard of living. Why, oh why, are these women not seeing a doctor (privately, if you please) about being excessively hirsute?! I'm just a poor college student, but if I had enough facial hair to join the circus and crap sprouting out of my back, you can bet the ranch that I'd get laser treatments until I was no longer clothed in hair shirts.

I don't claim to be the Houston sophisticate, but people, have some propriety, and for the love of God, stop breeding these monkey children.

For the record, even hairy backs on men are sort of unsightly. I'm all about being the way God made me, but I mean, even Jesus got his hair cut sometimes.

Attention shoppers: This mall is my Graceland. This week of August is a very special time of year indeed. For one thing, August 16th is the anniversary of the death of The King. And I don't mean like of England. No, we all know that in these free United States, there's only one king-- and mama, that king is Elvis. I'd bet a lifetime of peanut butter and 'nanar sandwiches on it, baby. Okay, enough of that. Anywho, this year marks the 25th anniversary of the fatal heart attack due to drug overdose that was literally heartbreak hotel for Elvis the Pelvis; fans and devotees of the king are pouring into Memphis to pay homage to their fallen angel. How very romantic. Equally romantic is the fact that Elvis's only kid, the adored Lisa Marie Presley married Nicolas Cage in Hawaii this weekend. That's marriage number three. Way to go x 3. Priscilla is going on with Katie Couric to remember the good old days with the king. Am I the only one that watched the tv movie in which Priscilla was basically robbed from the cradle, emotionally, and verbally abused and then left with a huge chunk of change that fateful August day in 1977? Well, I remember.

Another past time I greatly enjoy this time of year: retail therapy. Dallas has some of the best shopping in the world and I am pleased to announce that I got in on a bit of the action this afternoon. (Please note that Plano is the second richest area in America and is quickly gaining on Beverly Hills at that. The malls here are not to be missed.) The best part about this whole experience? Teen-free mall! I mean, I can't assure you that not a teen walked among us, because after all the food court and Abercrombie and Fitch seemed to be turning a tidy profit, but for the most part, the mall was orderly and quiet, sale-licious, and low on the angst that can only accompany the high school days of adolescence. I would even have felt comfortable in a lesser mall, had the same atmosphere of sobriety and contentment.

Which brings me to one other question: what happened to the malls of yesteryear? Don't get me wrong, I love these new malls with themes and atmosphere, but do you remember when the mall was just the mall and the highlight of a shopping trip was perhaps a jaunt to the Cinnabon? No more! Now the food court has fireplaces ( or so they do in Denver's Park Meadows which opened my junior year of high school and further features the lyrics to America the beautiful around the atria between shops); bathrooms have carpet and waiting areas; toilets flush by themselves. I conclude: it's a beautiful time to be a consumer and August is a great time to be alive!

Note: 10 days until my birthday. Pens and checks ready!

The one(s) who read this are clamoring for more. M2 has hit the big time with over 1,000 hits. I'm not sure how many M1 is up to since he faked most of his hits anyway. I am keeping it real with about 800 hits.

According to Patrick, I need to publicize myself because I am hilarious. The fact of the matter is, Patrick-- I'm not hilarious, I'm just so ridiculously anal that people think this stuff is funny when it's just my life. Further, I can't even get the bf to read this site. It must be love if he's already stopped listening to me....

Here is a conversation from tonight:
Me: Hey, do you ever read my web page?
J: Of course I do; all the time.
Me: You do?
J: Yeah every day or two.
Me: Really? Did you like the comments about watching the O'Reilly factor and then acting like circus clowns?
J: Uh, yeah that was awesome.
Me: Dude, I know you don't read it. It's cool. It makes it easy to talk about you to my public without you knowing.
J: You talk about me?
Me:No.

Who needs a bf or fans when I have M.s 1 and 2? They are the best entourage ever. Group hug, guys.

I am off to Sallad tomorrow a.m. but I will try to blog the good blog while there. Miss me!

XOXO.

Everybody says..."Can I have your stuff?" Sorry I have been slow in blogging. I haven't been online in over 24 hours. I am going to put something pipin' hot up in a bit, but for right now, I am posting my poll results as I will also be serving up fresh poll in a bit.

I just called to say:

-if you die, can I have your stuff? 45%
-that dogs can play poker and they rock your lame ass! 27%
-stop calling me. 9%
-that M.s 1-3 would make a great sitcom. 9%
-can I borrow some money? 9%

(Results not scientific. Hee.)

Party like a rock star.

I don't get bragging rights that often, but J. is a dead ringer for Rivers Cuomo, well, except he's not a midget like Rivers, but whatever. I have a rock star boyfriend. So as M1 would say: eat it. Ha.

Engine, Engine, Number Nine. I've had this discussion with Clayton (who wants to go by M4) so I know going into this that I have some opposition, but as if that's ever stopped me before. I would like to begin with this quote from Observational Humor.com which was procured for me by E.

"My friends study computer science, architecture, and biology, but they all say they're engineers. You know why writers never say they're engineers? Because we can think of more than one word for 'guy who designs stuff.'"

And now my rant. You (unless you are Bo or one of my other crazy engineering friends or something) are not an engineer. No, you're not. (I mean, you might be, but the likelihood is that you're not.) Engineering is a bachelor of science degree. In order to be an engineer, you must obtain one of these from an accredited university in some field of engineering. Let me reiterate this point: Being an *actual* engineer requires a bachelor of science degree in engineering. No, it does. I'm not an engineer either. It's okay, but really neither are you.

The following are REALLY not engineers, even if they think they are:
-Microsoft Certified Systems *Engineer* (a few weeks of night school does not an engineer make)
-Domestic Engineer (no offense to Mr. Mom)
-Sanitation Engineer (and by this, I mean the garbage man)
-Network "Engineers" (yeah, I have a password too, pal)

So people, be creative and enjoy your life, but for the love of God, please stop calling yourselves engineers because you're not. I would like to take a moment now to shout out to all of my Bachelor of Arts holding (and candidate) friends. I got love for the B.A.

You're not an engineer. I'm sorry.

'Cause ya gotta have faith, faith, faith...baby! Last night, M2 relayed the conversation he'd had with his grandmother earlier in the day wherein she warted the heck out of him about whether her belief (or lack thereof ) in hell made sense to him. M2 says he doesn't believe in anything.

Do you believe in anything?

I used to be a hardcore Catholic. (E. says I was a buffet Catholic, but I really believed in the great spiritual feeling I was getting from Catholicism.) Anywho, I spent a lot of my year off of school reading books about new age religion and the meaning of God for folks and it seems like most of us are just drifting around picking up a piece of life's great mysteries here and there.

Tonight, J. and I were watching the O'Reilly Factor (watching the O'Reilly Factor with a lawyer is a whole other blog...) when this commercial for a time life cd collection called "Songs 4 Worship: Kids!" came on. J. was saying what dorks your kids would be if they listened to that. I have to agree with him.

How come being a fan of Jesus isn't cool? I think Jesus is a cool kid. I don't wear those lame ass bracelets, but how come everyone thinks they're so lame ass?

When did Christians become the heavies? I mean, why are they such an annoying group in general?

Jesus was too cool for these people and their metal fish on their cars.

Thank you, thank you. No, no. Thank you. My esteemed M2 just posted a mean-spirited comment that said that my birthday is not worth commenting on and I need more of my old skool snappy humor. Bleh. First of all, my birthday is of great importance to me and to Barbara Eden (of I Dream of Genie fame), as it is our very special day. Secondly, I left a very detailed blog about the weirdness of online peops and of armadillos! People. Come on. What are we if armadillos stop being funny? Really.

For those of you who were worried, I am re-unconsidering going to law school. My boyfriend is a first year lawyer. It's 11:20 pm. He's still at work. Lower paying jobs are looking better by the minute, plus I think they are much better for the soul. However, not a lot of lower-paying professions offer fruit and gift baskets. I would like a fruit and gift basket. Feel free to give me one for my birthday (T-17 days).

M*E*M*O*R*A*N*D*U*M

To: You
Date: August 6
Re: My birthday.

A general reminder. Only 17 days left until my birthday. That's right folks; I'm almost 22. I accept all checks.

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.

Also, how come everyone comments on the Matts' blogs but not on mine? Damn it. Get to work!

Is my blog HOT or NOT? By the way, I stole this idea from Patrick, but I don't feel bad since he blatantly re-blogged my own link to FHQWHGADS!

ISO NON-ugly person. I have been a member of CollegeClub.com since I was a freshman in college. Back in those days (1998) swing dancing was quite the hip thing, remember? Anywho, for my member name, I chose SwingGrrl. Yes, we already can see this is going to be a problem (hindsight being 20/20; I am normally near-sighted). It is ridiculous how just by signing on to check my newsgroup email I get hit on by every college-aged perv in the U.S. and then some. Oy.

A sample coversation ( I didn't change the name, so you can feel free to look this dude up and ask him what his problem is.)

Jmedica: U interested in hooking up with a fine white male?
SwingGrrl: Any particular one? Ha.
Jmedica: yea! me! u swing?
SwingGrrl: Sorry chief. I picked my name back when swing dancing was popular. I'm not a swinger.
Jmedica: I C what about hooking up with a fine white male?
SwingGrrl: why do you keep identifying yourself as a white male as if that is somehow socially deviant?
[ brief interlude for him to look up deviant]
Jmedica: so?
SwingGrrl: Let me ask my boyfriend. hahahahahahaha


Anywho, one thing I like to read on collegclub.com are the Match U success stories. They are funny and depressing at once. It's like watching a car accident, except that car accidents are not funny. I just mean- you wanna look away, but you just can't. There are pictures, for God's sake! This particular one is especially convoluted. After reading about eight of these "success stories", I have come to a dramatic realization. A vast majority of people on the internet are ugly, have "good personalities," and know about as much grammar as well, an armadillo. Of course, they get themselves run over before they ever have a chance to learn grammar, so who knows their potential? (Armadillos, not internet people.) Probably not high if they are always running into the highway.

Fast armadillo facts: Armadillos are always born in groups (litters?) of four and are all of the same sex. Thank you Camp Longhorn Wildlife!

This video is one of the more entertaining ones I've seen. The root site that it comes from Homestarrunner.com is also highly enjoyable. I am forever indebted to M2 for showing me to this site. In fact, M2 has opened my eyes to all sorts of cool sites on the internet. You might say that he's a real eRenaissance Man. That is so dorky. I can't even believe I wrote that. I need to go de-dorkify. Come on fhqwhagads!

Tax free bleak-end.

Riddle: what's worse than Katy Mills on a weekend? Answer: Katy Mills on tax free weekend. It may be too late for some of you, but for the love of GOD, unless you're going to be destitute without your $.08 on the dollar (and if you are, you have no business shopping anyway) stay AWAY from the malls. No discount, even if they were giving stuff away free (no, really) could get me in the midst of all these pushy people trying to save a buck or two (they could just use 1-800-Collect-- ha ha?). The people that really save this weekend? Rich people. They are going to buy more and save more. I nearly got gunned down while passing through the Rice Village yesterday by a suburban hellbent on getting a primo parking spot. Poor people who need to save $.08 on the dollar are NOT driving 2002 suburbans with the special package for extreme driving conditions (such as in the bush of Africa, and therefore necessary in Houston?) and therefore, I conclude that tax free weekend is from hell. For my out-of-state audience (do I have one?) Tax Free weekend is the brain child of our brilliant Texas government in order for parents to have a tax break on back-to-school clothes and school supplies for their kids. In theory, it's a heart-warming idea, but in reality, it inspires homicidal fantasies in even the most gentle of people*.

*By the most gentle of people, I am not referring to myself. I asked E. today if she thinks I am easy-going and she was laughing hysterically. Ok, so I flip out about everything. I'm sensitive, but people love me for my tightly-woundness anyway. I'm just a big bundle of nerves, so don't get on them. Capisce?

P.S. My boyfriend J. thinks it's funny to pick me up on tax free weekend and ask if we can go to Katy Mills. This is not funny.

Kitty got the bling bling. My cat Frankie weighs nine pounds. Due to an error on my part when buying her new tag, it weighs approximately four pounds. In all honesty, I think her tag might even be bigger than Molly's and Molly is 60 pounds of waggy dog. I wanted to make sure that I got ALL the information on her tag because I am psychotically overprotective like that (though informative tags are available in small). I will not be surprised if I one day get these for my children. Of course, I do not approve of leashes for children in any way. Have you seen that crap? That is ridiculous. I mean, really, in theory it's a good idea, but in reality, it's just bizarre. Just remember when ordering tags for your cat: they are not rappers. They are not crack dealers. Just say yes to ordering the small tag. And when having children, keep them in the buggy if you must but really, don't get them a flexi-leash or tie them to trees in your front yard. (As a side note, I don't condone the practice of tying dogs up to trees either.) The Notorious C.A.T. and I thank you.

It happens to all the great ones. David Cassidy. Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Molly Ringwald. You take a short break from whatever and the fans fall away. Don't think that I don't know that you're not reading this. I know. The shadow knows.

It's been a bit of a hectic week or rather, as hectic as it can be for a person who officially does nothing. I am looking for a job and it's a rather humbling experience. I spent about an hour yesterday with a career advisor at school so she could tell me how ridiculous my résumé looks.

A girl I have known since middle school got married last weekend. My mom sent me the press release. Am I sad I wasn't invited? No, I just said I knew her, not that I liked her, although according to the dealy in the paper, I missed out on quite a spectacle. Something about her is not quite right. I don't approve of people that I know getting married. Well, unless they're older than me.

This si the most rambly and pointless blog ever. I am going to write something of value (hopefully) later in the day. Just you wait 'enry 'iggins! Just you wait!