I'm just talking 'bout Harry.

Cause he's one bad mother-

-Shut yo mouth!

He's a complicated man!

-Potter!

I just saw the new HP movie trailer last night. It happens to be coming out on my birthday. I know they did this just for me, because I am awesome. Thanks, HP people. I love you so.

Won't Someone Think of the Red Beans 'n Rice??

I've listened to a lot of the talk over whether or not to rebuild New Orleans. There are many compelling reasons to just declare it a dead zone and move on with reality. I mean, the billions and billions of dollars it will require for the clearing of rubble, the demolition of ruined buildings, the restoration of power and communication lines, the complete overhaul of water and sewage systems, it goes on and on... And all of that is only after the water is pumped out, the bodies carted away, and protective measures taken against the city flooding again.

Not to mention the contamination that is seeping into the earth as it sits in a soup of human waste, oil and chemical spillage, and god knows what else. That stuff doesn't go away with a few good rains. I read somewhere that there are places outside of St. Petersburg, sites of old villages and such, where people do not ever go because they can still catch the plague.

Not that I really have a say in the matter, but I had been in favor of everyone just cleaning up the disaster area the best they could, caution-taping the whole place off, and walking away for a few decades. No rebuilding. Let sleeping dogs lie. Until.

Until I was made aware of the fact that Zattarain's is actually based out of New Orleans. It never really occured to me that such a delicious company would not have outsourced it's production to somewhere less voulnerable, say, Chicago. Kansas City. Detroit. ANYWHERE ELSE!

I mean, how could this happen?? One minute we are all munching on jambalaya with chicken, shrimp, ground beef or sausage, and the next minute, realizing that we never really appreciated this versatile, mouthwatering food of the gods while we had it!! So much better than hamburger helper, yet so convenient!! A one-pan, two-step meal for three or four people for under $5, in only 25 minutes! And the spanish rice! SO GOOD FOR STUFFED PEPPERS!! I can't even tell you how many nights we ate the dirty rice in college and were so sooo happy! Some of you were there! You know!

Ok, people, I do not know for a fact that the Zattarain's company was actually affected by the hurricane. For all I know, the factory or plant or whatever is perfectly dry, still churning out boxed rice deliciousness as we speak. But on the off chance that my jambalaya supply will be interrupted in the slightest, I vote yes. YES on the rebuilding of New Orleans. Toxic wasteland be damned! This is America! We have billions and billions of dollars! Who's with me?? Zattarain's...I mean New Orleans forever!!

Rated ARRRRRRRR!!!!!!

Everyone needs a pirate day. On this day, I pimped it, pirate-style.

My Baby

Jaimie's (my) baby turned one on the 25th. With all the Pennsic hangover and whatnot, I haven't gotten around to sharing the cuteness until now. But oh, the cuteness.

They got a cake all for him, just so he could rip into it. It was a big fish (I don't know, they like fish) that said "JR." Frosting. Everywhere.




It was a big day. It's been a big year. I mean, he discovered his fingers and toes, learned how to clap, learned how to say "dadadaDaDaDADADADADAD!!!" whenever mommy is simply not satisfactory, learned how to kiss mommy because she is actually the light of his life, and became entirely self-propelled, willing and able to seek out every bite-sized floor crumb and dust-covered couch flotsam and furniture staple forgodsake in exsistance.

No wonder he's all tuckered out.

if I have to be on a wagon...

...it's going to be of the "band" variety. In particular, the "outrage" bandwagon.

I'm not a self-hating American. I am a bleeding-heart liberal Bush-basher. It's different.

However.

I am having a real hard time with the reporters and commentators who, upon viewing the aftermath of a hurricane and the very human reaction people are having to being homeless and hungry, proclaim with a touch of horror in their voices that they cannot believe they are seeing this on American soil. This, of course, encompasing the natural disaster, the destruction of a beloved city, and the frightening chaos of human desperation in the aftermath. This happens to darker, poorer countries that have no infrastructures anyway, right? This affects exotic faraway lands, and probably is a direct result of those people not speaking English. Didn't everyone get the memo? This is too base...to common for Americans to have to endure. This happens to Indonesians and Chinese and Africans, not us.

We are Paris Hilton at a Supreme Court ruling, stamping our stiletto in protest; "What do you mean I don't get to vote? Don't you know who I am?!?"

There is a great line from Terry Pratchet or someone that goes, "civilization is only 24 hours and two meals away from utter barbarism." I believe that the average American has no idea what we are supposed to do in times of crisis, or what a relief effort even looks like up close, because for most of us, a crisis involves Starbucks running out of caramel drizzel for our machiattos. I am not surprised that relief efforts have been slow and disorganized. We have resources, but a massive disaster is still a massive disaster, even if it happens on the sacred soil of our forefathers. Imagine how slow and futile relief efforts must be in places without mighty American resources.

We can't just give some lip service to UNICEF, donate five bucks to some unfortunate foreign tragedy and go about our business with this one; we have to actually do something, a lot of continuous something. I think the sensation of actual responsibility is shocking to the American system. Responsibility compounded with the reality that for so many, even our best efforts would not be enough.

Posting is for squares

Ok, so here I am, in full post-Pennsic pout mode. This is my sixth year, and post-Pennsic has yet to go smoothly for me.

The whole Pennsic thing is kind of a re-set button. I come out of it every year like I'm being born into a brand-new world. My perspective significantly and delightfully askew, I come floating back into reality as if I will never have to worry about another thing as long as I live. None of the mundane, petty things about my life can possibly bother me after the sublime alternate universe from which I have just emerged. And then all the pointy, crunchy, hard bits start edging their way in.

The student loan, cell phone, and credit card bills that are all aready past due, or soon will be. My paycheck waiting for me that is a magnificent $68 because I only worked two days in the pay period before I left. The yearly appointment (the girly one) that I have to make very soon. My instantly stressed b/f, back to face his own reality of bills and childrearing. The aunts and friends and everyone else on god's green earth who wonder if I've secured a teaching job for the school year. (I have not.) The Fall Victoria's Secret catalog and my coveting covetousness over the h.o.t. fall skirts and jackets that I have never really been able to afford.

I don't want to come out! It's all SQUARE out here!! Put me back in!

The stupid real world can lick it.




The stupid real world can also suck it.



And...um...boobs.

Um...What exactly would a "Wompenog" be?

Yes. In the hustle and bustle of a Friday night in the pizza kitchen, as saucy pizza boys flick saucy pizza girls with wet towels and playfully drop pepperoni down the back of each other's shirts, one of them will yell, "I need a large thin sausage and mushroom, an indy tradish Hawaiian, and a Col. William Widewees!"

Thank you, K-Dawg, but they are not Pizza code names. They are all streets that I deliver to. And you all breathe a sigh of relief, for I know you were waiting anxiously to learn the answer. Alas, no one gets the prize. But it was going to be good. Maybe some other time.

Anyhoo, I'm off to Pennsic tomorrow or the next day. I haven't packed shit yet. And I don't mean that in a gay-sex kind of way. I mean it in a 'my stuff is exploded to all points of the house and most of it isn't even clean, let alone ready to travel across the state' kind of way. I have laundry to do, boots to track down, a few items of clothing to mend, and what am I doing instead? Blogging.

I did make a list. A list of stuff to do before I leave. Blogging is not on that list.

I'm getting a ride out there, because, ideally, I will be driving back in Cheryl's Ford Explorer with which she is paying me for working this year. YAY NEW CAR!! Well, new to me. And five or six years newer than the car I have now. Of course, Blaze the Amazing Thunder-Blazer has been on her best behavior since I mentioned this deal in front of her. The speedometer is working, the brakes are ok again. Yeah. Shameless hussy.

I'll try to update from Pennsic, but you know, no promises. I'll at least try to bring back interesting picture of penis parades and large men in bondage outfits. It will be everything you knew it could be and more, I promise.

Ok, I think I lost my list. Now I have to make a new one. Crap.

Hardcore Trannies Suck the Big D!!!!

Ok, I lied. Although, I'm sure some Tranny somewhere is sucking the Big D in a hardcore fashion. It is statistically probable, anyway. I wonder who gets paid to sit there and come up with spam subject lines. Cause I could do that for money. I could do that all day. Ahem.

"barely legal hotties in their first orgy ever!"

"Bisexual housekeepers get kinky on the kitchen table!!"

"Mature MILFs show the young guys how it's done while donkeys watch and munch carrots! Caught on tape!!"

See?

Wenkwuss Update: Since last I blogged, Wenkwuss has been very polite to me. Exceedingly polite. Heartbreaking, tip-toe-ing, doesn't-want-to-be-kicked-again polite. The other day, he politely let it slip that he has spent time "in the joint." I heard him asking this waitress if she likes bad boys. I don't know whether to laugh, or laugh harder.

So who can guess what the things on this list have in common?

• Char Mar
• Butternut
• Wompenog
• Sparkleberry
• Menonite
• Col. WIlliam Widewees

The first person who guesses correctly gets a prize!

It's Like Shooting Fish That are TIED TO YOUR GUN

Round 1

Phone: Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring!!!!
Me: (*fixing a salad*) Hey, could you get the phone?
Wide-Eyed New Kid With Underdeveloped Social Skills: HAHA! Not it!!
Phone: RING RING RING RING RING!!
Me: Actually, I think you are it.
W.E.N.K.W.U.S.S.: nope! (*walks away*)
Me: fine. (*answers phone*)


Round 2

Pizza: *is being cut by Wenkwuss*
Wenkwuss: *walks away, mid-cut*
Me: *picks up pizza knife to finish cutting abandoned pizza*
Wenkwuss: *meanders back several pizzas later* Oh, what?!?! Now you're stealing my job? Bitch!
Me: Excuse me, Wenkwuss, but you do not know me well enough to use that word with me. If you did, you'd know it wasn't a good idea. (*chops pizza, drops knife*)
Wenkwuss: Whatever. bitch.

Round 3

Me: *sweep sweep sweep*
Wenkwuss: Yeah, that's right. You do that so I don't have to do it later.
Me: *sweeps cheese and meaty bits into the laces of his new white shoes*
Wenkwuss: ....You don't like me all that much, do you?
Me: As a matter of fact, I don't.
Wenkwuss's Elaborately Erected Sense of Identity: *is shocked beyond the point of inteligible speech, has not faced this sort of rejection since the night of Junior Prom*
Wenkwuss: What? Why?
Me: *sweep sweep*
Wenkwuss: Do you think I'm annoying?
Me: Yes. Extremely.
W.E.E.S.I.: *has heard this before*

Round 4-28

Wenkwuss: How am I annoying?
Me: Take an educated guess; Ask someone else; It's mostly your face; Leave me alone; etc.
WEESI: *is scorching brain cells trying to figure this one out*

Round 29

Wenkwuss: Oh yeah? If I'm annoying, you're a BITCH!
Me: That's a snappy retort you have yourself, there. Use it often?
WEESI: *thought he was being clever*
Wenkwuss: Well....I'd rather be annoying than a BITCH!!
Me: Opinions vary.
Wenkwuss: *shoots his best 'now you're on my list' glare, stalks away*
My Brain: *has already thought of seven things more threatening than Wenkwuss*

They're both mulch, no one wins the race.

This is Carl's John Deer.



He rides it around the yard, mowing things, whenever he gets the chance. The other day, I walked up to him while he was sitting on the mower. I glaced down and saw this:




And I said, "what, do you flip the switch and put down the heavy turtle blades when you're not mowing rabbits?"