Southern Living: McPan finds out what it's all about

Southern comfort
With Mardi Gras coming up, I began seeing ads on tv and in the paper for king cakes. I had vaguely heard of them before, probably in some social studies class, but had never had one or really knew what they were about. I asked my coworkers, and the first thing they said was, "You've never had a king cake? Well, don't chip a tooth on the baby." Odd. So yes, there's a baby inside (or now, often beside it so people don't sue the makers) the cake. It basically means you bring the cake the next year, and maybe that you are the king/queen of that party.

All day Monday, I was running around trying to find one (a decent one) but the cakemakers in New Orleans that usually ship to my area weren't shipping this year. The other secretaries were very helpful, making calls on my behalf and seeing if there were any to be had. I was beginning to think I wouldn't get one, but when I came back from the Fed Ex run at 4:45 this lady who does a bit of business with us had brought a king cake for the office! It was a grocery store one and it was ok, but I can see how one made by a really good baker would be fabulous.

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Something else way awesome about the south is the abundance of foods with marshmallows, or so it seems. I'll be damned if they don't come up with the best ideas for marshmallows and chocolate. I stopped by a bakery on the way home because I had a sweet tooth right then, and I picked up some crazy marshmallow chocolate confection. It was about the size of ladyfingers and had a rectangle of devil's cake, topped with chocolate cream frosting, then a couple of jumbo marshmallows smooshed ontop of that, and then the whole thing had been dipped into chocolate. Wow!

Southern miss
I have noticed that women tend to be called Miss [First Name] and not Miss [Last Name]. I feel like a kindergarten teacher whenever people call me Miss Elaine. I suppose Miss Elaine is preferable to "Honey," "Babe," "Sweetie," and "Sugar." Being called any of those by complete strangers is so foreign to me, but everyone does it, men and women, young and old. At first I was a little offended by the familiarity, but I sort of had to learn to live with it, just like Miss Elaine.

What I'm still not used to is "Girl."

My boss calls me "Girl," like he does every other female. "How was your weekend, Girl?" or on the phone to someone who works at the courthouse: "Hey, Girl, this is Mr. Boss...when are you going to get the Smith file done? Hmm, okay." He doesn't say it in the still-in-the-nineties-you-go-girlfriend way. He says it the way others say Honey. It's just strange. And the first few times, I felt very Westley whenever he said it.

Instead of "Farm boy... fetch me that pitcher," I get "Girl, can you make me four packages for a mail-out?" And instead of "As you wish," I generally don't respond because I don't realize he's even been talking to me.


He's getting better, though, and by the third or fourth time I sit there unresponsive, he adds my name. That sometimes gets my attention.

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What I'm still waiting for is The Southern Gentleman. So far, all I've found are absurdly old and/or really skeevy men who think I'm easy pickins or something.

Today I can add another to my list. I was at the pharmacy and at the window, they ask if you have any narcotics or refrigerated medicines (I guess they are stored separately from the main prescriptions). The man in front of me said, "Well, I got a controlled substance, but it's not a narcotic." Her: "If it's controlled, it's a narcotic." Him: "No, it's not. But it's controlled." I begin the heavy sighing and watch-glancing. Her: "Just tell me the name of it."

"Viiiagggra!!!"

He said it really loudly and turned and looked at me with a sleazy lopsided grin, as if I were going to be the lucky recipient of his new prescription. I wondered if I could projectile vomit with any accuracy. EWWWWWW. This guy was creepier than the cheesesteak grandpa and postal guy, and slightly edging out the "I like my girls mixed" grocery guy.

I tried to pretend like maybe I didn't speak English (hey, it could be true) but he insisted on having a conversation, even if it was mainly him talking. The waiting area was tiny and we were the only two in there. So now I know way more about him that I wanted to know, besides the prescription thing. But if anyone's interested, he's 62 and recently quit smoking. AND he's on Viagra (actually, Levitra...I overheard the girl come back with his prescription and tell him he wasn't on Viagra after all).

Show us your boobs!

Hola!

I'm not dead, but it IS Mardi Gras (my very first), so I suppose anything could happen. If I manage to survive the rest of the day (very likely), there will be posting at some point. I hope I do survive because this would be a rather lame last post.

Happy Mardi Gras!

'Tis the season

I got stuck behind this last week when I was trying to go to the pet store.

Who does Number Two work for? Who does Number Two work for?

Casino Dealer: 5.
Austin Powers: I'll stay.
Casino Dealer: I suggest you hit, sir.
Austin Powers: I also like to live dangerously.
Casino Dealer: 20 beat your 5 sir. I'm sorry, sir.
Austin Powers: Well I must admit, cards aren't my bag, baby.

-------------------------------
The other night at the blackjack table, the guy to the left had a 3 and a 4. He sat there, pondering whether to hit or stay, and the guy at the far right bellowed, Man, you gotta hit that! You can't NOT hit a 7.

Mr. 7 hesitated.

You cain't bust with a 7. You gotta hit at least until a 10 or 11! This is TWENTY-ONE!

Normally I would find this kind of behavior annoying (the shouting behavior), but it really was funny that time. Mr. 7 went ahead and hit, and I think he got a 17 or 18, so he stood. The dealer beat him anyway, so the outcome would have been the same whether he hit that 7 or not, haha.

Nudge, nudge, wink, wink

A "personal favorites of" series of the surviving Monty Python members is coming to PBS. Check out when it'll be on your tv!

Thanks, Fark!

It's size deflation, stupid

I went to the Banana Republic the other day and was horrified to find that out of all the places I've ever been to, they are the worst at vanity sizing. By "worst" I mean the most exaggerated. I can see going to a dressing room with two pairs of pants, size A and size next-up-from-A, but their sizes are so ridiculous that it was impossible to guess what I might wear.

Vanity sizing is probably nice, but I don't really see the point of it. Having size deflation doesn't make me feel any better or worse about myself. Generally I don't shop for fun - I shop because I need something to wear, and vanity sizing wastes my time. I don't want to stand around trying on 24 items just to figure out what size I am that day in that store. Bring me something I can stuff my love handles and J. Lo derriere into and that's what size I am. Also, it would be nice if it were on sale....

My hovercraft is full of eels

I was at the mall the other day and I caught a peek of a store I had never noticed before, tucked way, way back there. From afar it looked like it had those big glass canisters full of coffee beans. That excited me, so I went in.

It was a tobacconist's. Those canisters were full of pipe tobacco. (To be fair, there actually WERE a few canisters of coffee beans - they provide coffee for customers, and offered me some, even though I told them I don't smoke and that I had actually been confused as to their business.) The place was kind of neat, though - a big walk-in humidor, lots of neat-looking pipes and lighters and such.

What struck me as crazy was that even though everyone around here smokes, you could actually smoke IN the tobacconist's. Which was inside a non-smoking mall. Weird. I didn't buy anything (what WOULD I buy?), so I didn't feel right taking their customer coffee.

Do you waaaant to come back to my place, bouncy bouncy?

First week of work wrap-up

The funnest part of secretarying is that you get to use the ink stamper-thing to stamp the back of checks for deposit. It's way fun, and I pretend like I'm the librarian in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy is cracking open the floor in the library.

"X never marks the spot!"

But, as with every schwartz, there's an upside and a downside. The downside of stamping is that I also have to total up all the checks for deposit.

No sweat, right? Wrong. I can barely do simple addition. With a calculator. Me adding vast sums was disastrous. I probably took 3 times longer than he thought I would. I made up for it, though, by doing other things faster. Apparently no one around here (secretaries included, which I find mind-boggling) can type. I type. Fast!

After adding the checks 3 times and the deposit slip 4 times, I finally got the numbers to match. I'm not talking being a little off. I'm talking a few thousand dollars off. This wasn't the end of the number drama, though. A few hours later, we had to make a copy of the slip for the bank because I hadn't pressed hard enough on the carbon, after all that freaking work.

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Jesse: Dude! You got a tattoo!
Chester: So do you, dude! Dude, what does my tattoo say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?
Jesse: "Sweet!" What about mine?
Chester: "Dude!" What does mine say?

I was making copies and had my sleeves rolled up because it was almost time to go, and my office was getting stuffy anyway. What is that? my boss asked. He grabbed my wrist and turned my arm around so he could see it. Go...to...cleaner's. Oh, at first I thought you had a tattoo on your arm and you wore long sleeves to cover it up. You don't really seem like the tattoo type.

No, I've forgotten to go to the cleaner's for three days now and I didn't want to forget or write it on my hand because it would wash off. I figure I'll go to the cleaner's sometime before my next shower. Otherwise I can't shower until next week, I guess.

Sometimes I let my musings escape out of my mouth, it seems.

He said he hoped I took a shower before next week and then we pretty much said goodbye for the weekend.

My attempt at normalcy in the workplace apparently did not even last one week. At least now I can be myself again.

Friday Cat Blogging

Boiler room

I don't even recall how, but tonight I began thinking about boiled peanuts. I have no idea what a boiled peanut is, or how one boils a peanut, or why boiled peanuts are better than any other old peanut. It must be a southern thing, because I had never really heard of boiled peanuts before but "they" (whoever "they" are) sell them here. I see signs all the time for "Green boiled p-nuts." I'm curious but not that curious.

So if any of you have had these green boiled p-nuts, I'd be interested in knowing what's so darn great about them.

----

This weekend I'm going to go on a mission to pre-blow my second paycheck (my first one pays for the cat dentist) to find the Unicorn Shoe.

You know, the not-ugly yet totally comfortable woman's work shoe. Even my most comfortable shoes I could wear to work can't withstand the amount of running around with my head cut off - you'd think they'd at least let me wear my running sneakers - without killing me. I have a hard time because my foot is small but wide. A lot of department and shoe stores don't even carry my size, and if they do, it's never in wide as well. So I end up buying a larger size, which is mainly larger in length and not width, so not only are they too long, they still cramp my toes. In other words, I'm more likely to find a unicorn and be taken to Pleasure Town than finding comfy and not-ugly shoes for work.

I'm takin' what they're giving 'cause I'm workin' for a livin'

Work is still pretty good. We're in a relatively slow period right now (most of the action, I hear, is mid-month or end/beginning of month), yet I'm still running around like a chicken with its head cut off, which, if you've ever seen one - it's gross. And yes, I look like that, except wearing a suit instead of feathers.

I do some phone answering, if it's already rang twice or if I can see that the girl who normally answers is on another line already. Probably 70% of the people are cordial, just leaving messages or some such, but every now and then you get a real butthead.

I got one of those yesterday, who started in on me when informed her that the person she was calling was on the other line, and could I take a message.

I refuse to leave another message because I don't think you're giving them to [the recipient]. I have been calling EVERY DAY for TWO WEEKS and all you do is take a message and say she'll call me back. I'm not leaving a message.

I think Great! That's one less message I have to deliver! However, I can't let her hold until, say, next week or whenever, so I say very nicely, I assure you I will give her the message. Can I have your number?

Oh, you know it by now! (She hadn't even given me her name yet) I been giving it to you for TWO WEEKS.

I assure you, ma'am that you have not been giving me your number and that I have not been brushing you off.

She then basically told me not to get smart with her.

I informed her I had been working only since yesterday, so again, this would only be my first time to brush her off take her message. She got quiet for a few seconds, but didn't bother to apologize for being so hostile or anything. Instead, she demanded to speak to the office manager.

This was going to be funny.

We don't have one.

It's true! It's an attorney and some secretaries. There is no office manager. We all just do whatever assorted things need to be done. It's a small (but extremely busy) outfit. This, of course, was going to be problematic, because now she refused to hang up until I produced the office manager. I should have left her on indefinite hold, but we only have three lines, and that would seriously put a crimp incoming calls.

I don't even remember how it was resolved. I think the person she was calling for told me to put her on hold and they eventually got to her.

The other secretaries think I'm going to make a good attorney because I'm working my way from the bottom up. I didn't remind them that no, not really, I'm sort of regressing here, but having gone to law school did help a little bit with negotiating a higher salary than I could have asked for without having had legal secretary experience, especially in this field, about which I know next to nothing.

I don't know if that true or not, but even when I am angry or annoyed with the service I've received (or lack thereof), I am never rude or hostile towards the person who answers the phone. I'm not sure why people are so mean to secretaries or receptionists who are very unlikely at fault. Especially second-day-on-the-job ones, but oh well.

The good news is I got my first paycheck! For two days (Monday and Tuesday - It's the 15th today)! I'm rich, *****!

Gatos

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What Musical Are You?

Cats
You're Cats! You're always up to something new, but it almost always ends happily. You tend to be scatter brained at times, but you're popular and every one loves to be around you.

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I like taking quizzes, but I don't always post the results. You know, when they portray me more negatively than I already do. But how could I resist not posting that I'm Cats?! Right, I couldn't.

Seen at Brian's

I discover, you decide

I couldn't decide whether "That's hot!" or "That's nuts!" was more apropos.

Maybe the dingo ate my baby!

I had one of those nights where I was so afraid I would oversleep I ended up waking up like, every hour or so, just to make sure I wouldn't oversleep. But I didn't oversleep! So I guess it worked.

I took Thomas to the famed cat dentist. It was impossible to find, and I called at one point and said, I think I've gone too far. Are you in the ocean? No...not yet, I don't think. Well, then you haven't gone too far. The directions were tenuous at best, since there were no street names given (and it didn't matter anyway because there aren't any street signs up), and mostly they consisted of "on the left will be a gas station that looks like it was hit by a tornado" and "you'll pass a grocery store except you can't tell it's a grocery store because the storm tore it up."

Work was also fine. My temporary workspace is in the copy room, which makes me want to call everyone Steve-o-rama and comment on how they're making copies. The people are nice. I don't think they think I'm totally incompetent yet, so so far my plan is working.

Silly: For most of the day, I wrote down almost everything I did. I guess I was born to bill! I just need the watch now!

Dumb: Every time the phone rang more than once, I was supposed to pick up and basically hold the call for whoever it really was for, and every time I began to say the name of my last real job, the box factory job, even though that was five years ago. I can't shake that habit for some reason. Office phones make me want to say the name of my old company.

Anyway, back to the cat dentist story. When I went to pick him up, I noticed that the excessive use of the word "baby" rather than "Thomas" or "cat." Including the phrase "the baby's food." I thought maybe this was just one person, but no, everyone at that office says it, including Dr. Vet Dentist.

Be sure to make a check-up appointment for the baby in 2 weeks!

The baby may have a gurgling sound in its throat for a few days but that goes away.

So Thomas is back at home, back to his old tricks. He's trying to swipe tortilla chips every time I raise one to my mouth. The gurgling noise is disconcerting. It sounds like he needs a voice box.

Oh...I don't get President's Day off...but I do get Mardi Gras off! So strange.

Odds & Ends

I start my secretarying tomorrow. It's been a long time since I've been a secretary, and never one for a law firm. (Hello. You've reached the office of E. Edward Grey.) It's been a long time since I've had any law-related thoughts, too. So...it's like starting all over or something. Or, if I'm lucky, it'll be deja vu all over again!

I have to wake up in the 5:00s in order to be ready for my first day of work after driving halfway to New Orleans (well, not that far, but probably like, 40% of the way) to take the cat to the cat dentist. It better get fixed in one go-round, or else my boss will think I'm a crazy cat lady, always asking for time off to go to the cat dentist or whatever.

I'm going to try to act "normal" at work this time. I wonder how long I can keep it up. I think the longest was two weeks, when I first started my number cruncher job. It ended when I told a complete stranger in my department that he stole my lunch seat every day and that I was willing to fight him for it, because I didn't like sitting in the other places. The end result was that we were like, best little friends at the box factory from then on, until he went to another department. And the lunch seat? Since neither of us would give it up, we ended up eating lunch at the same table every day, except the one day two women were at it, and we just sat there and gave them the evil eye.

I ate one of the new Reese's with caramel cups tonight. It was ok, but I don't really care for caramel much. My hard-working staff of interns/food tasters had warned me that it was rather caramel-y, knowing I am not a big fan of it, but I didn't think it was that caramel-y. So I just ate one. And that was plenty.

I hope I survive secretarying and cat dentistry. I'm going to have serious hockey withdrawals, though. So far all I've been able to watch is the U.S. women v. an American-Swiss goalie (the rest of the Swiss team, as far as I can tell, did not exist), and Canada beat the bejesus out of both Italy and Russia. Men's hockey starts Tuesday. Of all the months to finally get a job, I get a job the week the Olympics starts?! I even have written down in my day planner all the games I wanted to watch! And they're all in the middle of the day! Boooo. Maybe my boss would understand if I had to take a mental health day for the women's gold medal final on the 20th? It at least sounds more normal than "I'm taking my cat to the cat dentist."

Bury me along the big sandy, under a blue Kentucky sky

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This old town of sin, it's about to do me in
I don't know how much I can stand
With my knees on the street and my heart at their feet
I'm forced to beg from Satan's hand

Seen at Stare Decisis's! (Man, that's rather difficult to say. Too many Ssssses.)

Also...Yay for Olympic hockey! I'm sooo not going to get anything done today.

Friday Cat Blogging: Pyramid Scheme

Public Service Announcement

Attention, parents! Your kids are safe from the cruel substitute tutelage of McPan! I won't be substitute teaching...because I got a for-real job!!!

Well, not yet...I start on Monday. I don't want to talk about it too much, but I think it involves the words/concepts "law firm" and "secretary."

I had a good feeling about this place when he asked if I could start Monday. I hesistated. Well, um, I have an appointment on Monday morning, but I could come in maybe, for part of the day. He said something about some other girl in the office who took off for a hair appointment and then I felt that I needed to defend my appointment.

No, no. I have to take my cat to the cat dentist. If that doesn't get a prospective employer's attention, I don't know what will.

The cat dentist?! Now I was sorry I had said it, but I didn't want him to think I was flaky and was skipping out of work the first day to get my hair done or something. Maybe later on in the employment relationship, but not the first day.

Um, yeah, a tooth broke off and so he needs like a cat root canal or something. It can only be done in [town I've never been to]. But that's very early in the morning! So I could still come in after that! Of course, I'll have to leave at some point in the afternoon to pick him up.

Crazily, he agreed to that. I think we'll get along well.

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My interview yesterday (for subbing) was crazy. I got there early because I don't like being "barely on time." That feels "late" to me. So I get there and it turns out that 9:00 really means something closer to "9:15." Grr. Oh, and "professional attire" to some people apparently means "wind suit." At least the two parts matched, I guess. Most of the two hour (which was 2 hours and 20 minutes) interview was really just filling out paperwork and/or waiting for Mr. Wind Suit to finish filling out his paperwork.

The lady was discussing the different rates of pay per district and one of them was, "$49.42 a day or $49.48 if you have a degree." Six cents? Maybe I misheard her or she misspoke, but my inner smartass had to know. I raised my hand. "What kind of degree gets you six cents more a day? Does it have to be a teaching degree?" She said any degree would merit you that hefty pay raise. I'm not good at math, but I think that six cents a day isn't enough to feed a child in a third world country for a day, or to even pay for the per-minute interest growing on my loans.

With all that settled, we did hypothetical questions about how to handle classroom situations.

The one that bothered me was something like, "Under what circumstances should you have contact with a student?" I think my answer was something like, if the student were harming or threatening to harm himself, another, or me - and my "contact" would be "restraint." That was the WRONG answer because the RIGHT answer is to let whatever happens, happens. As a substitute it's not my job nor place to defend myself or try to prevent bodily injury from someone. Ok, I don't mean like I'm going to try to break up a fight between two hulking teenage boys, I mean like, a second grader banging his head on a desk or something.

I didn't think of it at the time, but in the car on the way back, I remembered that we weren't supposed to touch the students for any reason, including medical. So if some kid is spazzing out or falls off the jungle gym and is knocked out cold, my job is to stand around and yell for help? And if some four-year-old nutjob swallows an eraser and is choking, I'm supposed to call down to the main office and not administer the Heimlich? I understand their reasons for telling us not to touch students, but I think that I would find it hard to ignore some kid getting blue in the face and waiting for the administration to come down to the classroom so they can lay hands on the student themselves. I'd rather get fired for un-choking a kid and maybe breaking a rib in the process or something than to have a kid die in my classroom. It's too spooky for me.

Anyway, all of that is moot, now, so...yay! (Unless the guy was playing some sort of early Mardi Gras Fool's joke. These people have been Mardi Gras-ing since last week! It's insane.)

Valentine's Day sucks

There is definitely something going on between me and Lulu. I totally feel a cosmic connection and it's not just because we're on the same bowling team.

When I was in the second grade, I was sitting on a porch swing with the neighbor kids and my brothers. They all jumped off at the same time, and the transfer of weight tipped the seat over, I guess. It would have been bad anyway, but it tipped over right during the backswing, and so I crashed noggin-first into the brick wall of the house (don't ask me why it was so close to the house). I looked down and saw little blood drippys on their concrete porch. That was scary, but I didn't want to seem like a weenie, so I just collected myself and walked home, hand over my head, and blood gushing out of my hand the whole way. I went to an emergent care center where I was a bozo and refused stitches because I was afraid of someone sewing up my freaking head. I think they put a butterfly bandage on it.

The blood is still on my neighbor's porch, the last time I looked (which, admittedly, was a long time ago). I still have my Valentine's memento - a wide scar on the back of my head where I'm now permanently bald because I was momentarily afraid of stitches.

Yes, Valentine's indeed sucks.

On a barely-related note (trust me - it all comes together in a minute here), I saw South of Heaven, West of Hell the other day. What does that have to do with anything?

Lulu loves Dwight Yoakam --> Dwight stars in the movie --> Dwight's character's name is Valentine Casey --> Lulu --> her Valentine post.

So...there! Ha! And you thought I couldn't tie it all together.

You have the bridge, Number One

When I saw that Target had a shirt entitled "Make it so" I excitedly clicked on it - waiting, expecting, and maybe even salivating, but no one needs to know that ... to see Captain Picard, maybe even pointing his finger at Number One and saying, "Make it so." But no!

It was just some fugly inspriational t-shirt. It might as well have said, "Wherever you go, there you are." Yes, it was THAT bad.

Perhaps this calls for some CafePress and making it so on my own. So there. Or just a trip to this site where you can get your techno Picard on!

Tuesday Night Update

What I'm doing at home: Nursing Thomas back to health. He's had a bad run lately, what with the benign ear tumor and multiple infections and complications from it. He had some major dental problems and next week I have to go to a city I've only heard of and never been to (as far as I know) to have more surgery done on him. He's lost about 1/6 of his body weight, which is a lot for a cat. So I've been trying to coax him into eating, which involves sitting on the floor several times a day and feeding him with a spoon.

On a happier note, I've also been busy scanning photos at home so my Flickr badge will be nominally more interesting.

What I'm doing at work: Well, I'm looking for a job so I can be doing something at work. I have that interview tomorrow morning and today I got a call for another legal secretary job. I have an interview for that on Thursday morning, so I've got to stall the temp agency until I can find out about the possibly more desirable law firm job. Plus, it's really close to home, so I'm hoping I get that one.

What I'm reading: The Game. I have Prep waiting in the wings, but I don't see getting to it anytime soon. I read like... a dyslexic snail. I'm very slow when it comes to reading books.

What I'm thinking about: Work. Saving money. Paying off debts. How to lose friends and alienate people, and how I really should have just read the last two chapters to see how it ended. Stuff to blog about - suggestions?

What I'm not thinking about: Money. Partly because I have none (due to both cat health care costs and my lack of a j-o-b), and also partly because I want to avoid thinking about Sallie Mae kicking in my door in a few months.

What I did today: I went to the vet (again). I am newly mobile after having to leave the truck at the car shop over the weekend. I didn't do much except await cat news. Oh, I got my suit ready and have my briefcase packed and stuff. Two hours? I still can't wait to see what could possibly merit a two hour interview.

It must be popcorn month or something

My hard-working staff of interns found this short film. Warning: You may never want to eat popcorn again, if you're a softie at heart like me.

Unlikely

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Seen at Legal Captain Quandary's!

I'm not even supposed to be here today!

Sheesh - a two hour interview to substitute "teach"?! Little kids!!! Not even like, physics students or something!

Wish me luck - it's on Wednesday at 9. And I have to bring proof of at least a high school diploma or GED. I asked if a law school transcript would presume proof of at least a high school diploma because who keeps handy their high school diploma or transcript? (A: yes, so yay, I'm ready to go)

Too secret for even Post Secret

Your darkest secret is: You once told someone to bring it Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Pop-oZao

Here's something for all you popcorn lovers (hint: it's not K-Fed, thank goodness)! The sheer number of audio links made me nervous, as did the scary variations. I guess I'm not truly dedicated to popcorn.

McPan love it long time

Best picture and post title of the week.

I wish I were Chinese so I could have New Year's. Except I don't like dogs and this is the year of the dog or whatnot, even if it IS supposed to be extra lucky or somesuch. (I know, I don't like dogs even if I'm Korean. Enough with the dog jokes, or...I'll come and eat your dog, and then you'll be sorry.)


If you want to join me for breakfast we can have a stack of pancreas. You touched my plate! You're not sterile! You ruined my liver and we're all out of North Koreans!

Friday Cat Blogging: Misha strikes again!

Free to a good home!



No, make that just a home.

Well, no, just make that free. I'll pay shipping, too.

He doesn't seem to enjoy shredding Quilted Northern Ultra as much as he likes shredding Cottonelle, though. I have no idea how he feels about Charmin, so caveat emptor-for-free and all that.

Pop copies

For entertainment today, I went to the grocery store. A far-away one. Oooh, exciting.

In the popcorn aisle, I discovered that at least two new popcorn-like snacks have sprouted since I last looked at the bottom shelf.

First, microwavable pork rinds, which are called bacon snaps or bacon curls. They also make them in flavors like "Savory garlic." While I find this discovery fascinating, I didn't want to buy any to find out how they were. Luckily, I found an online review. Apparently they really smell when you microwave them.

Next, they've added marshmallows to popcorn. I think this would be really tasty, but as I read another online review I discovered it's just a pour-on sauce and you have to mix it up. Those things never work. It's like the make-your-own-caramel-corn, which never ever worked out well for me.

This isn't popcorn related, but... I am dismayed to know that Tupperware is not bulletproof.

Grrrrl crush

Carmen has a crush on Kate Moss.

Kirsten has a crush on Patricia Arquette.

From this, I deduce that the latest fad is to claim your celebrity girl crush.

That being said, I call dibs on Geena Davis. She's perfect for me! She's cute. AND tall (always a bonus for me, so she can reach all sorts of things at the grocery store for me)!

She was in one of my favorite movies.

She wouldn't mind if my driving was so bad I drove us off a cliff.


She's not the world's best driver, either, so we're even.


I could be the First Lady Friend.


And finally, she was in Fletch.


So go find your own celebrity girl crush and stay away from Geena. She knows how to use a bow and arrow.

Aha!

I am constantly befuddled by why micro-panties have such outrageously high prices for what seems to me, so very little. The latest theory is that it's like the evolution of portable music, and that technology has evolved so that "less" really is "more" nowdays. I guess that's true, at least price-wise.

-->
Ghetto blasters --> the Nano

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Union suits --> micropanties (you want this site to be SFW, don't you?)