Friday Featured FRIGHTENER

HAPPY HALLOWEEN (observed)!!!!!
I don’t generally blog on weekends, so today is my official Halloween blog.

BOO!

I don’t have anything really scary to post on here, except for the fact that the Yankees won Game 2 of the World Series last night.
Frightening, I know.
(In all honesty, I only watch baseball as an excuse to drink beer. Do I care who wins? Not that much…)

BUT –
Let’s see if we can’t squeeze some Halloween out of this here blog anyhow, shall we?

And it being Friday, I should probably do a Friday Featured Follower.
So, on account of it being both Halloween (observed) AND Friday, today’s featured follower is:

Wait for it…

SATAN.

Now, he’s not a traditional Friday Featured Follower in that he doesn’t have a blog. I DID find a blog by a so-called Satan, but I gotta tell you – I don’t buy it. Maybe it’s because he only has 23 followers, and last time I checked, there are more than 23 Nazis and Republicans out there, so, right off the bat, I’m suspicious. Plus, he hasn’t posted since June 29th, and I know he’s busy and all, but something tells me the REAL Satan would update more regularly, if only for his fan-base.

We all know the KKK get cranky when they have nothing to read while eating their Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the morning.

However, due to the nature of my posts (let’s not talk about this one. And this one. Aaannnddd possibly this one), I can only assume that Satan follows my blog. Not publically of course. But he’s there.

Can’t you feel him?
He tells me to burn things.

Anyfireandbrimstone…

Why I want to do sexy times with him (good lord did I actually just write that I want to do sexy times with the devil?!? Well if I wasn’t going to hell before, I CERTAINLY am now)

Because he’s HOT (yuk yuk). In all seriousness, I’ve always been attracted to the bad boys. There was Phil Diamond in highschool – the senior who skipped class and who I’m pretty sure showed up to school intoxicated at least twice a week. And there was my ex-husband who…well…was a bad boy in a number of ways, and taught me a valuable lesson about WHY DRUG DEALERS DO NOT MAKE GOOD HUSBANDS (is there anything as stupid as an infatuated 22 year old?). But Satan? He’s the ultimate Bad Boy upon which all other bad boys are compared to. Skipping class and selling pot are KID’S STUFF compared to famine and war.

Plus, I feel like he probably rides a motorcycle, which is pretty sexy. I heart bikers.

One of his most memorable deeds
Wow, so many to choose from!
But I think I’m going to go with the Black Death.

According to Wikipedia (ahem…)

The Black Death was one of the deadliest pandemics in human history, peaking in Europe between 1348 and 1350. Usually thought to have started in Central Asia, it had reached the Crimea by 1346 and from there, probably from black rats on merchant ships, it spread throughout the Mediterranean and Europe. The Black Death is estimated to have killed 30% to 60% of Europe's population, reducing the world's population from an estimated 450 million to between 350 and 375 million in 1400. This has been seen as creating a series of religious, social and economic upheavals which had profound effects on the course of European history. It took 150 years for Europe's population to recover. The plague returned at various times, resulting in a larger number of deaths, until it left Europe in the 19th century.

Wow.
I mean…wow.
I just...wow.
That’s old school. I can only dream about inflicting that kind of mortality rate on this planet. At best, I’d be able to pick off a handful of people from a clocktower before I got nabbed by the po-po. But 30% to 60% of Europe’s population? Well, I bow down to the master.

(Okay, I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that I am NOT, in fact, a devil-worshipper, and Tapdancing In The Dark does in no way, shape, or form promote mass-murder. Excluding Republicans, whom I think we can all agree should probably be wiped off the face of this earth. Nor does Tapdancing In The Dark actually desire to pick people off from a clocktower, although the though has crossed our minds, usually during the morning commute.

Also, henceforward, Tapdancing In The Dark will refer to ourselves in the first person plural. Because we think that sounds very official and kind of bad-ass)

So that was today’s Friday Featured FRIGHTENER. Want to be in the running? You know what to do. Click the ole’ follow button and commence with ego stroking.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST:
I’d like to acknowledge this very awesome and sexy award I got from Adrienzgirl over at Think Tank Momma:

Awards are ALWAYS appreciated, and I have to say that Adrienzgirl is one of my newest and most favorite bloggy buddies. Her blog is awesome. And sassy. And a little bit wild.
I love her. You should love her too.

Anyhoo - THANKS, THINK TANK MOMMA!
I’ll be sending you a picture of my own home-made post-it outfit soon. Just a little sumthin-sumthin from me to you *wink wink

(make sure you have a bucket on hand for the vomit when you open the file. I haven't shaved my back in a while.)

Okay ghosts and ghouls, that's about it for me. Have a safe and happy Halloween, and I'll see y’all on Monday!

I Have A Very Sarcastic Fish

Me: Hey! Wazzup homes?
BlueFish (BF): Oh HEY THERE. Wow. Haven’t seen you in a long time. How’s life? What’s new? Oh, and by the way, did you know that fishes are living things that need to EAT once in a while?!
Me: Okay, okay, I get it. I haven’t fed you in a while. Sorry about that. But look! You’re still alive! Hooray!
BF: Barely.
Me: But alive, none the less.
BF: I guess. Well, at least more alive than that cricket-looking bug floating at the top of my tank.
Me: AAAIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
BF: Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. Did you know that fish can scream? Just ‘cause you can’t hear them…
Me: HOLY SHIT that’s disgusting!
BF: I know.
Me: GROSS!
BF: Tell me about it.
Me: How did that even happen?!?
BF: I don’t even remember, seeing as fish don’t have much long-term memory and it happened FOUR DAYS AGO
Me: WHAT?!?! Four DAYS ago?!?
BF: Yeah.
Me: You mean to tell me that thing has been floating at the top of your tank for four DAYS?!?
BF: You got it.
Me: Geeze, dude. That’s rough. I’m SO SORRY about that.
BF: By the way, I’m going to need therapy now. Thanks a lot.
Me: Christ. That’s terrible.
BF: I hope you weren’t planning on having kids any time soon, because you obviously need some skills in the whole “raising and nurturing” department.
Me: Well, that’s a little harsh.
BF: So is watching a cricket-thing drown to death in your tank and then having to stare at him for four days.
Me: Okay. Point taken.
BF: I’ve had nightmares ever since…
Me: I get it.
BF: And I think he’s starting to decompose…
Me: I’m actually surprised that you haven’t, like, eaten him or anything.
BF: WHAT?!?!
Me: I dunno…I kind of figured that fish aren’t exactly picky eaters. He’s made of protein…you EAT protein…
BF: That’s disgusting.
Me: So is the stuff you NORMALLY eat.
BF: It’s entirely different.
Me: Okay, whatever. I’m no expert.
BF: Clearly
Me: Jesus, I SAID I’m sorry.
BF: Not as sorry as he was.
Me: Yeah, yeah. Okay. Listen. I have to go to work now…
BF: WAIT…WHAT?!? You’re LEAVING?!? What about the cricket situation?!?!?!?
Me: I know. It’s awful. And as soon as I get home…
BF: AS SOON AS YOU GET HOME?!?!? What the HELL, man?!?
Me: Dude, I’m late. He’s been in there for 4 days. 8 more hours isn’t going to make much of a difference.
BF: You are the worst owner in the world.
Me: I know. I’ll make it up to you. Okay, I’m running late now, so I’ll talk to you later...
BF: WAIT! What about my food? Weren’t you going to feed me?
Me: No time. Gotta run. See ya.
BF: I’m going to murder you in your sleep…

Tomorrow:
Awards!
For me!
What could be more fun than that?!?
Stay tuned...

YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE

Disclaimer: This is a rant. It's a doozie. If you're not in the mood, I don't blame you. Go get some ice cream and stop by tomorrow, when I'm funny again. Or at least not all preachy.

________________________________________________

Once again, the Media reminding me why it’s on my List of Hate (right in between WalMart and Republicans, in case you were looking).

Maybe it’s because I spent all morning with the dregs of society in my local Social Security Office trying to get my married name on my social security card so I can get a new drivers license so I can open a joint savings account with my husband so we can cash the checks we got from the wedding (and the knee bone is connected to the thigh bone)…

But I’m feeling all hatey and shouty and would like to state once again for the record that the Media can BLOW ME for scaring the crap out of people for no good reason.

Point of reference: The H1N1 Flu (because we can’t call it Swine Flu anymore because dumb, gullible, ignorant people stopped buying pork when it was called that. Those poor pork farmers. They didn't stand a chance...)

It would appear that the Media is having a slow news month. I totally get it – Iraq is old news, reporting on Afghanistan gets people all confused and bewildered, and healthcare reform is drowning in the muck and mire we like to call “The Senate.”

So what do you do when you have nothing else to report on? Find a slightly concerning story and blow it out of the water.
Make it big.
Make it dangerous.
And scare the ever-living daylights out of anyone who might be listening/reading/watching by telling them IT WILL HAPPEN TO THEM unless they tune in at 6:00 to get insider information about how they can protect themselves and their families from this menace of apocalyptical proportions.

And that’s exactly what’s happening with this H1N1 pandemic.
While it is a cause for concern, it’s CERTAINLY not anything that people should be losing sleep over. And yet the Media, in its desire to get good ratings, would have you believe that the H1N1 virus will kill you, your children, and probably your dog too.

And that’s just mean, man.

This all started when I was reading a friend’s blog (you know who you are. Hey there! How’s life? Let’s do shots!). She was discussing the H1N1 virus, talking about how it was so hard to get the right information, and understandably upset, as she has children and wanted to know if she should vaccinate them and where she could get it. So first off, yeah, it’s a shame that is SO FREAKING HARD to get accurate, up to date information on these kinds of things, as The Media are no help whatsoever (and usually perpetuate more alarmist propaganda than actual facts).

So I left a comment, noting that despite what the Media are saying, the H1N1 virus is not really any more dangerous than the normal influenza virus (although it IS more often affecting children than the elderly, which is abnormal), and recommended that she should vaccinate if she felt comfortable doing so, but not lose any sleep over it, because even if her kids DID contract it, as long as they have no underlying conditions, they’ll probably be fine.

Excepting, of course, for the daytime TV they will inevitably watch while home from school, which can be…erm…educational…to say the least.
Heh.

But then this other person leaves a comment on her blog saying,

“Lily, worst case scenario is far worse than that and that is why it is so scary. If this flu only made us sick for a few days and only required some bedrest and fluids, no one would be talking it about it like this. In fact, it is a far worse flu than most of the other flu's out there - and the severity of it can multiply quickly, causing serious and sometimes irreversable respiratory damage. My oldest son had pneumonia last year and this is why I'm especially worried and concerned - he's also in kindergarten this year. So yeah, I'm scared.”

And I’m not posting this out of malice or trying to indicate that this person is stupid or anything like that, because with all this Media hype, I can totally understand how she would get this impression.

Especially with articles like this one out there stating that the president declared an H1N1 emergency. Because if you were reading that headline, wouldn’t you be scared too?

And then the article throws out this paragraph:

“Since the H1N1 flu pandemic began in April, millions of people in the United States have been infected, at least 20,000 have been hospitalized and more than 1,000 have died, said Dr. Thomas Frieden, director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.”

And without any other facts to put this information into context, it kind of feels like the end of the world, doesn't it?

But it’s not.
Because the flu – you know, the one that goes around EVERY YEAR – is even more deadly.

fluFacts.com says:
"In the U.S., an estimated 25–50 million cases of the flu are currently reported each year — leading to 150,000 hospitalizations and 30,000–40,000 deaths yearly."

So now that you have this information, doesn’t that statistic about H1N1 – that it has hospitalized 20,000 people and killed 1,000 – seem a little less scary? Even a WHOLE LOT less scary?

Yes it does.

But most Media outlets fail to provide this information. Because they want you to be scared. Because scared people KEEP READING/LISTENING/WATCHING to get more information, even if the information they are getting isn’t accurately represented.

The bottom line?
To everyone out there who is wigging about the H1N1 virus and is considering moving their family to the bomb shelter out back until this whole thing blows over, I’ll repeat what I told this friend when she first posted her concerns:

Dear [awesome blogger whom I adore]

Don't panic.
H1N1 is the FLU. Nothing more, nothing less. Yes, people are dying from it, but people ALWAYS die from the flu. Every year. It's nothing unusual. And YES some children are dying from it, but most of these kids have underlying health issues.

So, you have nothing more to fear from this flu than from any other. Make sure your kids are healthy, vaccinate them (if you can find it, and god help you, because there is a SERIOUS shortage, at least in the US), and hope for the best.

Worst case scenario?Your kids will get the flu. They'll feel sick for a couple of days and you'll have to give them lots of juice and let them watch daytime TV, and then they'll get better.
Okay?
Okay.
:-)

AND THAT, people, is why you shouldn’t blindly trust the Media.
Ever.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go sit in the shower for a couple of hours in the fetal position because I am TRAUMATIZED from my visit to the Social Security Office this morning.
Seriously.
I think I have post-traumatic stress.
And possible herpes.

Off Course Lil

So I had this demo riding lesson on Sunday.

Don’t ask me how this thing was arranged or who in gods name the 15 kids and 5 adults were who showed up at the barn to watch me ride. All I know is that my riding instructor Dave said “free lesson” and I said “where do I sign up?”

(I’m such a cheap bastid. Oy)

So I end up riding this horse, Mac, who is impressively white and impressively large (6’3’’ at the shoulder, to be exact). He’s also impressively EASY to ride, and not prone to being spastic, unlike the other jumper I ride, who would have most certainly given everybody a show, but probably more of a “death-defying” show as opposed to a “this is how you should ride” show.

Plus, falling off sucks, yanno?

Anygiddyup, so I’m warming up the horse and Dave is giving a schpiel about who I am and how I used to be one of his prize competitors.
Which is true, in that I used to represent the barn in competitions, but false in that I spent more time puking up my breakfast from nerves than actually competing.

Showing was never my thing.

Throwing up, unfortunately, was.

So he starts waxing nostalgic about our old glory days, when I was part of a team of fearless jumpers sailing over 5’ fences and he was our barave commander in chief.

Very warm and fuzzy.

But this guy, Dave, well, he tends to exaggerate. He was going on and on about how awesome I was at showing, and I had to gently remind him about the first time I ever went to a show.

~~~~~cue flashback~~~~~

I was probably 14 or 15 at the time, and nervous as hell (a trait that I never lost, which eventually caused me to abandon showing for training youngsters. Seriously, the voming was out of control). We had trained and trained for the day, and in all honesty, it was a small, inconsequential show, but still. There were jumps and judges and people watching and this loud, nasty buzzer that scared the bajesus out of me.

The problem with show jumping is not so much the jumping, which is actually pretty fun, otherwise, why else would we be doing it? The problem with show jumping is that it requires a certain amount of short-term memory.

You see, when you show up to a competition, there are anywhere between 10 and 15 jumps set up in the ring. Posted somewhere outside of the ring is a diagram of all the jumps, with little numbers next to them stating the order (and direction) in which to be jumped.

They call it a course.

I call it an exercise in futility.

We all know that I have no short term memory. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – If they ever discover a type of juvenile-onset Alzheimer’s, I’ll probably be their spokesperson. On an average day, it’s a miracle that I remember to put on pants before I leave for work.

So how exactly am I supposed to memorize the order of 10 to 15 jumps in about 10 minutes and then perform said course in front of a bajillion onlookers?!?
It’s practically impossible.

And that, my friends, is what I learned at that first show; that my handicap is not the jumping. It’s the memorization.

So I’m all quaky and shaky and vommy, trying frantically to remember the course. I’m third up in the order, and I’m watching the first two with a knot in my stomach, because even as I’m watching them, I’m messing up the order in my head.

Finally, my turn is up. I head into the ring and do my warm-up circle, and wait for the buzzer to go off.

*BBUUUZZZZZ
Time to go.

So we shoot into a canter and I approach my first fence.
*kick
*Juummmmpppp
*oomph

We land and I start to feel more confident.
I’m all “This is great. I’m DOING this!”
And the horse is all “Get this amateur off of me”
(he was always kind of a douche)

We approach the next jump and come in with a bit more gusto and a bit less vomitinmymouth
*kick
*juummmmppp
*oomph

Sailed over it.
Because I’m the man.

The third jump is coming up quick, and at this point I’m feeling pretty damn cocky. So I leg him on and we jump it with room to spare.
*kick
*juummmmppp
*oomph

*BBUUUZZZZZ*
“THE RIDER IS OFF COURSE. PLEASE EXIT THE RING”

W. T. F?!?!?!?!?

You guys.
Not only did I jump the wrong jump; I jumped it backwards.

People always talk about the “walk of shame,” but there is a little-known but equally humiliating “ride of shame” in which a rider exits the ring after being asked to leave because she fell off or her horse refused the jump too many times.

Or, on those rare occasions, when she is a retard and goes off course.

I am the latter of these examples.

I exit the ring to face an irate trainer and a crowd of smirking competitors.
And did I mention that most horseback riders come from an elite upper class which is SWIMMING in money, and are usually snobs to some huge degree?

So the snobby-snobs are snickering and my trainer is red-in-the-face angry and all I want to do is vom.

Luckily, there are three classes in this division.

Redemption, thou name is “Class II”

I do my best to shake it off and ignore the snide little comments coming from the other riders, which totally makes me want to bust a cap in their asses, and focus on the next class.

I study the course intently.
“fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…etc”

The next class, I landed the first in line.
Great.
Fuck me.
So I head out again and wait for the buzzer of death.

*BUUUZZZZZ

Off I go.
And you guys, I kid you not:

The very first goddamn fence I took was the wrong one.

*BBUUUZZZZZ*
“THE RIDER IS OFF COURSE. PLEASE EXIT THE RING”

Holyshitthiscan’tbehappening

Walk of shame No. 2, ladies and gentlemen.
Never in my life have I wanted to die so much as when I was exiting that ring for the second time.

A rider who goes off course once is an anomaly.
A rider who goes off course TWICE? ON THE SAME DAY?!?!?
You might as well take the short bus to school.

I’m happy to say that I finally made a clean round by the third class, and even managed to place in the top 3.

But the damage had been done.
I was traumatized.

And TO THIS DAY, I’ve had a nickname around the barn that I have yet to shake:

Off Course Lil.

So of course I relate this little story to Dave and the 15 some-odd kids who are watching the lesson.
Because somewhere out there is a little girl who is bound to go off course, and when she’s feeling dumber than a pile of rocks, I’d like her to say to herself,

“Well, it could be worse. At least I didn’t do it TWICE in the same day.”

Cake. Fuck.

Dear Anonymous Person Who Threw Away My Cake
Die.
Fucking die.
A horrible, pain-filled death of much suffering.

PS - I hate you.



On Friday, in the afternoon (after I wrote my blog for the day), someone threw away the rum cake I brought back from Bermuda for my coworkers. I put the cake out Thursday in the late afternoon, and when I came in on Friday morning, I noticed that it was yet unopened and still sealed in the airtight plastic covering.

As in, still fresh as a fucking daisy.

And then just after lunch on Friday, my coworker comes in and is all, “Dude, what’d you do with the cake? I was gonna try some.” And I was like, “Nothing. Why? Where is it?” and she was all, “I dunno. It’s just gone.”

So of course I had to run some reconnaissance, because this is CAKE we’re talking about after all, and I’ll be damned if I can sit by and let innocent cake go missing without bringing certain individuals to justice.
Especially when said cake was painstakingly transported with love all the way from Bermuda to New Jersey, despite the fact that I had swine flu and was, essentially, dying.

So, yeah, where the fuck is my cake?!?

But before I could get up, my boss came in.
Due to a combination of OCD and complete disregard for looking silly whist poking around in nooks and crannies for missing stuff, she’s pretty much the office Sherlock Holmes.

I love her.

So she comes in and tells me that she found my cake.
It’s in the trash.

So I ask her, completely outraged, “Do you mean the box is in the trash – like, because everyone ate the cake – or is the entire CAKE in the trash?!?”

The cake is in the trash.
And as far as she can tell, it’s still in the packaging.

Begin VOLUMINOUS AMOUNTS OF HATE in 3…2…1…

So here’s what I suspect went down:
SOMEONE in the office (and I believe I know who, and I also believe she is the dumbest thing to ever walk the planet) walked by and decided to “clean up” the coffee station. She threw out the leftover Dunkin Donuts donut holes that were put out on Thursday, which, fine. I understand. But THEN she saw my cake and DESPITE the fact that it was still shrink wrapped, in her little pea-sized brain, she realized that she had seen it sitting out the day before, so it must therefore be OLD and trash-worthy.

And you know what? I don’t care that she’s a dimwit. I don’t care that I should feel bad for her because she’s destined to go through life struggling to understand advanced concepts like shrink-wrap and doorknobs.

I still hope she fucking dies.

And sure, am I cursing a lot in this blog?
Hell-fucking-yes.

Because somebody threw away cake.
MY cake.
And if there’s a better reason to drop the F-bomb multiple times, I don’t want to know about it.

Fuck.

Friday's Featured Follower

Holy Crap, guys! It’s Friday! Which means by this time tomorrow, you’ll find me A) still in my jammies, B) NOT at work – and therefore NOT contemplating suicide, and C) yelling at Milo (because if I’m at home, then that’s what I’m doing).

And in an unprecedented feat of recall, I’ve somehow managed to remember that on Fridays, I was going to feature a follower.
Because my brain shuts down on Fridays...I mean...Because I love my readers!

Today’s grope-fest features My Masonic Apron. I don’t know his name because he’s kind of anonymous like that. I mean, like, there's not even a PICTURE or anything, for chrissake. Just a weird icon.
My guess is that a large dot would appear over his residence if we looked him up on certain watchdog websites, but I suppose we’ll never really know why.

The only thing I DO know for certain is that this blogger/possible child predator has stolen my heart.
For realz.

Why I want to do sexy times with his blog:
I’m not gonna lie; most funny bloggers (myself included) are funny because, well, to be quite honest, we don’t really have that much else to contribute to modern society. I’m no groundbreaking artist, and I’m CERTAINLY no leader of future generations. What I AM is a funny MF-er with a potty mouth and the nerve to say some truly insulting things, so I stick to tickling funny bones instead of Neo-cortexes.

But this guy? He tickles funny bones and Neo-cortexes and at least three other parts of the human body that I’m not at liberty to discuss. One day he can have me laughing so hard that vodka...er...recently inhaled coke...er...semen...er...milk comes out of my nose (wow, that was awkward), and the next day he has me contemplating the extent that criminal profiling should be allowed to influence matters of the law.

Yanno, if you’re in to that kind of thing.

Plus, he’s Jewish. So if it turns out that the Jews were right about this whole religion thing, then I guess I’m getting some brownie points by reading his blog, right? Isn’t that how it works?

One of my favs:
My Masonic Apron does this recurring thing where he takes the questions from “Dear Abby” and answers them himself.
I know what you’re thinking: “Dear Abby isn’t dead yet?”
No, she’s not.
Or at least her column isn’t (although for some reason, I keep imagining her head, in a jar, reading through various submissions and dictating her responses to her secretary. Creepy.)

They’re all great, but for an example, let’s hyperlink to this one.

It doesn’t need much of an explanation or commentary. It’s just really fucking funny. So go read it. And then be sure to add him to your blog roll and visit him daily (his posts are usually up by the time I get to work, the crazy SOB).
You won’t regret it.
And if we all check in on him regularly, I think that counts as some sort of “predator watch system.”
We’ll be doing parents around the world a solid.

I don't know about you, but I sure could use the good karma...

And if you want to be in the running for next week's Friday Featured Follower, then make sure you're following me and showering me with praises on regular intervals.

(I'm talking to YOU, person who lurks on my site anonymously and refuses to follow me or leave me feedback. You know who you are. DONT' WALK AWAY FROM ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!)

A Halloween Confession

Now before I start this blog, I’d like to preface it with a cold, hard fact.

There is nobody…nobody…who digs Halloween as much as I do.
Capiche?
Jack Skellington, you ain’t got SHIT on this chick.


I live and breathe Halloween like no other. I decorate – or, at least I would, if I had any money left over from the wedding to buy decorations. I play Halloween soundtracks while unwinding at the end of the day with a glass of wine and a good book. I watch every scary movie that plays on TNT, regardless if I have a DVD sitting on my shelf and could easily watch it without the TV editing and endless commercial breaks because I am fully supportive of the cause, dammit! Above all, I eat candy. A LOT of candy. To appease the Gods of Halloween and my ever-widening ass (which I believe are in cahoots with each other).

But costumes?
I….just…er….
No.
Don’t wanna.

Does this make me a less fun person? Well, I can name about 167 reasons RIGHT NOW why this is not the case including Reason #52: has been known to take pants off in public. So let’s not even go there, or I will be forced to be so much fun, your head will explode.

And then I will lose a reader and this all will have been for naught.

Brian? He loves costumes.
Like Luh-OVES them, perhaps too much.

Exhibit A:
This is what he was last year…

And judging by those short shorts, fully functional bullet-proof vest, and 100% authentic foo-man-chu, I’d say that he is quite possibly the most dedicated Halloween costume freak to ever walk the planet.

Me? I half-ass it. I was a ninja last year for Halloween, until I got stripped of my ninja rights when I fell down the stairs at a friend’s house (those ninja socks are more slippery than they appear). Then, like many a disgraced ninja, I became a cowgirl.
And in both instances, they weren’t really costumes, because I actually am a ninja (who cleverly acts like a clumsy person to throw people off the trail) and a cowgirl, of sorts.

At any rate, the chaps were already broken in (outside of the bedroom, pervs).

So we’re kind of like polar opposites on the issue.

And I believe this may lead to our first-ever fight.
Because he comes up with these ideas, and I try to get excited about them. I really try. But the concept of spending money and energy on trying to be a giant candycorn when we all know FULL WELL that I am human, or at any rate, definitely NOT a candycorn? It’s just kind of beyond me.

And this whole “sexy kitten,” “sexy nurse,” “sexy parking attendant” thing is just dumb.
Like, if I want to be a whore, I don’t need Halloween as an excuse.
I’ll just go out there and be all whorey and at least I’ll have found another way to pay the bills, and maybe even have had a little fun in the process. Or at least learned a valuable lesson about the high price of prostitution (hint: it’s Chlamydia).

So this year, I’m thinking of skipping the costume all together.
Is there going to be some sort of Brian vs. Lily “Rumble in the Jungle” over this issue?
Perhaps.
But at least at the end of the day, I can find solace in the fact that I’m not a whore.

Or a candycorn.

The Roving Black Hole

So, we have this roving worm hole/poltergeist/tectonic energy thing in the house that so far appears to:
A: Bend time and space
B: Relocate things to ridiculously absurd locations
C: Knock shit down for no G-D reason

And I know it sounds like it would be cool having a roving black hole in your house because it’s a great scapegoat for when you lose your keys and also, who wouldn’t love being able to bend time and space? (although so far the worm hole is persnickety and somewhat averse to being ordered around).

And at first it was, when we managed to navigate an overstuffed sofa through the underground labyrinth known as our basement and into the “finished” section where the TV and Wii and booze are all located. We said it couldn’t be done, but 4 people and 3 hours later, that bad boy was somehow in front of the TV. I have no idea how it got there – I think I blacked out. So we heralded it as The World Series Day Miracle (because this whole thing started when we all agreed that we wanted to watch the World Series on a couch, dammit) and sacrificed a goat to the Black Hole, which was our new Lord and Savior.

But now it’s not.

Because, like, the black hole is kind of the reason we can’t have nice things. Well, that, and Milo, which are by most accounts equally formidable opponents, and explains why the animal shelter found him wandering the cold streets of Mississippi.

(“I bet you USED to have a nice, warm home,” I tell him, “Until you chewed up all their stuff and they had no choice but to drive you to the woods and boot you out of the car. Way to go, asshole.”)

(and if you object to my calling a dog an asshole, then I invite you to come and meet Milo).

So we buy nice things and they either disappear and are never found again, or they get ruined because they fell, or ‘cause Milo ate them, which is kind of a given, right?

One day I bought Milo a kong, which is one of the few toys that he is unable to shred and ingest in mere seconds. So I’m throwing it for him and he’s retrieving it (sometimes), and one time it goes *bounce bounce bounce* down the stairs. So I do down to get it and it’s nowhere in sight. Like, absolutely no where. Later on the basement flooded, so I can say with all confidence that EVERY SINGLE ITEM was removed from the basement and the kong never appeared.

Until a few weeks ago.

Brian found it down in the basement, through the door to the laundry room (which is always kept closed because we have cats that like to squeeze into small places and then give us heart attacks when we don’t see them for days and think they escaped), through the door into the storage area, into the storage area, and into a cat carrier that was closed and perched on top of a high shelf.

Go figure.

And then this morning, at exactly 5:24, we heard this huge CRASH and it turns out that the picture over the mantle (which is too narrow for the cats to get up on), just up and fell and shattered glass everywhere and it sucked SO MUCH to have to clean that shit up at 5:30 in the morning. Those little pieces of glass are impossible to get up. And the whole time I was cleaning, Milo was throwing himself at the bedroom door because god forbid we deny him full access to the house.

(His sense of self-entitlement is THIS____________________________________________________________________________BIG)

So I finally cleaned it up and since I awake up anyway, I decided to go to the gym, even though I hate exercising first thing in the morning.

So where was I going with all this? I have no idea.

I guess the moral of this story is that, like Milo, our roving Black Hole is kind of a pain in the ass, but at least it gets me to exercise once in a while.

Awards! Pics! A Chance To Win! (I might have lied about that last one)

Well, folks, I’m happy to announce that I’m doing a bit better today; instead of feeling like death warmed over, I've upgraded to life chilled down, which seems infinitely better, but that might just be the optimist in me.
Consider me to be a good white wine: chilly and dry (on account of the cold meds), yet still delightfully robust.

Wow.
Delightfully robust.
I think that says it all. (I’m totally putting that on a T-shirt).

More importantly, I’ve got a bit of my piss-and-vinegar back (although I don’t even really know what that means) and am ready to address some matters of interest.
First up?
Awards.
Ah lahks meh sum
And thanks to Ed over at Ed’s Funny Pages and Travis over at I Like To Fish, I gotz me sum purdy ones:

To be honest, I received both of these awards while I was either losing my shit over the wedding or combating tourists on my honeymoon, so I have no idea if these come with any kinds of rules or stipulations. All I know is I got ‘em and I’m not giving them back.
Dibs, mother f*ckers.

So many thanks to Ed and Travis. You two are some funny cats, and the bloggy world wouldn’t be the same without you.

Next up?
Bermuda pics.
Check it:

Fortress in the Dockyard


Church in the city of Hamilton

Bermuda Botanical Gardens

I dunno. A boat.

On the way to snorkeling, infinitely grateful that we were there instead of working

Bermuda beaches are the shit

See above caption

St. Georges (the town was celebrating it's 400th year)

More St. Georges - or maybe that was in Hamilton? I dunno. It's not my job to keep track of this shit.

This was definitely St. Georges...I think.

Ditto.

So, did I like Bermuda? Yes and no. Don't get me wrong - Bermuda is a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL island. It's tropical and safe and for some reason, the entire time you're on it, you smell flowers constantly, which is actually pretty bizarre when you think about it. Like, not just getting a whif here and there but every time you breathe in, you smell flowers. I swear to god, I though I was getting a brain tumor or something. So I told Brian that I thought I was getting a brain tumor because I smelled flowers, and he's all "no, you're not getting a brain tumor because I smell them too," to which I replied, "maybe we're BOTH getting brain tumors," and we contemplated that because really, what are the odds?

Finall we just decided that since we both were experiencing the same senosory hallucination, it was probably more likely that there were just a lot of flowers on the island rather than us both by some odd chance developing the same sort of cerebral malignancy.

But it was a scary 5 minutes, guys. I kid you not.

So like I said, Bermuda is warm and beautiful and serene and everything an island paradise should be.

Who wouldn't love it, right?

Call me crazy (trust me, you won't be the first. Or the last), but despite the beautiful surroundings Bermuda had to offer, I didn't really feel like I was in another world or anything, which is how I like to feel when I've shelled out thousands of dollars and traveled for multiple days.

I guess it was just hard to feel like I was really far, far away from the US when I had fucking New Yorkers up my ass 24/7 driving segways and complaining about the beer not being cold enough and getting in near-accident after near-accident because "these fucking panzy brit assholes drive on the wrong fucking side of the road. What a bunch of fucking morons!"

So, yeah. There was that aspect.

Honestly, I think Bermuda is great for people who want to hang out somewhere warm and beautiful, yet very safe and very, VERY Americanized.

As for me, I think I'll stick to where I'm most comfortable: OFF the beaten path, preferably with a backpack on my back, a dictionary in my hand, and - and this is very important here - not a segway-driving New Yorker in sight.

A Pathetic Excuse for a Cruise Recap

All right, guys:
So apparently I owe all you a recap of the honeymoon in Bermuda.
But apparently I also have Swine Flu and some sort of inner ear problem resulting from 24-plus hours spent on a boat in rough seas (in other words, in my head, I’m still riding 20-foot swells at 18 knots, despite the fact that I’m firmly planted on land. Trippy doesn’t even BEGIN to describe it).

So I’m going to use a universal method of compromising here:
Oh yeah. That's right.
We’re going bullet point-style up in this bizeaytch.
And if I hear one complaint from you guys, so help me god…

Ahem:

Lessons learned on a cruise ship to Bermuda: Navigating the high seas while stuck on a boat with people you hate with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns.

Mental preparation is key: Chances are, if you hate people, then you’re really going to hate people when you’re all stuck in a boat together in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. No amount of activities, food, or flashy lights will distract you from your hate. Rather than fight it, it’s best to just accept your hate and try to move on, all the while ignoring the urges to cause bodily harm to your fellow sea-goers (yes, there are police on board and remember: international waters mean no strict rules regarding torture).

Alcohol is your friend: Yes, you hate your shipmates, but sometimes when you’re sitting in a Jacuzzi under the stars with a bucket full of beer on hand, you hate them a little less. You also stop caring that your boat has ugly carpeting and corny attractions like the Dazzle Lounge. However, if you drink too much, you suddenly start caring A GREAT DEAL that your boat is rocking back and forth. And back. And forth. And back.

Don’t go to the shows: Just….don’t. Unless you're 65, have blue hair, and enjoy screeching renditions of Witchey Woman. Then by all means, have at it.

Eat until you’re happy again: If there is one thing you can find in excess on a cruise boat, its food. Eat often and in excess quantities; it’s hard to hate when you’re so full you feel like a wet bag of cement.

Become an optimist: Sure, you may be stuck on a boat with 2200 middle-aged New Yorkers with various Napoleon/Oedipus/Sopranos complexes, but look on the bright side: you’re the youngest, smartest, hottest person on the ship. So relax. Look at all the unhappy, obese, morons around you and smile because you’re not one of them. See? Every cloud has a silver lining.

Hit the shore the minute the gangplank touches mainland: Get off the boat as soon as possible. And run. Because they’re right behind you. With their floppy hats and fanny packs and motorized scooters and oh my god is that seriously a segway tour?!?!? Get far, far away from the boat. The farther the better. And hope that they can’t find you.

Special people make special friends: And speaking of people who can find you no matter what….look: I have no problem with mentally disabled people. And I fully support programs that take mentally disabled people on trips and such. But when your group of “special” people is making other boat-goers uncomfortable, say, by approaching them and getting in their face and talking nonsensically and then asking them to dance, maybe it’s time to step in and sort of round up that “special” person and give them a time out or something so that they calm down and stop harassing others. And then when you’re taking your “special” group on the mainland and that “special” person recognizes that same boat goer and gets all excited and up in their face again, maybe they need to be supervised a bit better, hmmmm? Just a thought.

Low pressure zones are bad, bad business: Think your boat is too big to get tossed around? Well guess again. No matter how big your boat is, the Atlantic Ocean can produce a wave big enough to rock her. And not in the fun, sexy, or Def Leopard kind of way.

So, I think that sums up the cruise rather well.
I’ll post some pics of Bermuda tomorrow when I’m hopefully not feeling like death warmed over.

I’m also aware that I’ve received some new awards and been called out to roast a fellow blogger and also obtained a handful of new readers (HEY THERE!), which is in itself awesome and I’m totally dry-humping you guys out of thanks. But today? I’m dying over here, and you can be sure as balls that I wouldn’t be at work if I had any sick time left.

So let’s leave that love-fest for another day.

Right now I need to dose up on more Tylenol Severe Cold and Allergy meds and try to find my land legs [Avast ye...oh whatever...insert appropriate pirate phrase here].

Bonus Sunday Post: Wedding Recap

Reason number 348234654903 why Brian and I are some sexy bitches:
May I present to you: The Moneyshot...

Oh yeah. You know you want us.

But I digress...

HELLLOOOOOO READERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Holy Shit have I missed you guys, and I'm not even kidding about that. We could talk about how weird it is that I've missed a bunch of anonymous interwebz people, half of whom I've never met and half of whom I don't even know exist (because they refuse to follow me publically and hey, that's cool man, I can dig it, but you know that hurts my feelings, right? WHY ARE YOU ASHAMED OF ME?!?!?). But let's not talk about it, because that's a completely different, awkward conversation for a completely different, awkward day.

Have I lost you yet?

If I have, don't be alarmed. I'm all hopped up on medication because I may or may not have contracted Swine Flu in Bermuda. Talk about different conversations for different days...I'll fill you in on that little awesome story tomorrow.

Moving on...

The wedding was so amazing that I had to make up a new word to describe it: Scrumtrulescent (and if you can tell me where I got that line, I'll buy a steak dinner). The weather couldn't have been nicer, the ceremony couldn't have gone any smoother, and we couldn't have had a better bunch of friends and family who all pulled together to make it happen. If you're reading this and you were one of the people who showed up days and/or hours before the ceremony to help set up/decorate/cook/clean etc: THANK YOU times a million! We couldn't have done it without you!

I'd also like to thank the baby jesus...

(I kid)

So here are just a few shots from the wedding, taken from Carrie from BrickCityLove, also know as the hardest working friend/event planner known to man. She took these pics when she wasn't herding people or pouring champagne or working the PA system or doing a million other things.

I swear to god, she was like Wonder Woman, except she wore a blouse and sensible pants instead of a strapless unitard and knee-highs (on account of the dress code being "smart-casual" and not "superhero-elegant").

The flowers:

The cake:

The ceremony:

The toast:

I have a lot more pictures I could show, but you know what? Google Blogger is being a little bitch (yes, again) and it's taking me literally like 5 minutes per picture, so I'm going to have to concede defeat.

But you get the idea:
White dress
Flowers
Cake
Wedding-type activities.

It was great.

But now I need to go and rest. So tune in tomorrow to hear about my trip to Bermuda. I didn't get into any bar fights, but I did learn a valuable lesson about the benefits of hand sanitizer.

Intrigued?
Don't be.
It involves mucus.

A LOT of mucus.

A Spastic Farewell (For Now)

All right, guys, this is it. My last day at work before the wedding.

I'm psyched.
And stressed.
And a little bit wild.

(and sweaty, from all of the above, mostly in the pit area. TMI?).

AND THEN my boss comes to me at 10:00 this morning and says "I need this done bytheendoftheday."

And of course it's not really her, but HER managers, who need this bytheendoftheday, but still, Jesus Christ, yanno?

So there's that.

And the pit sweat, which is irritating, to say the least.

So unless I manage to find a few minutes between now and the honeymoon (HAH!), I'll have to say adieu for now.

But never fear, I shall return on the 19th happy and refreshed and hopefully with some wonderful story about how I got into a bar fight with a dolphin.

Or something equally ridiculous, because that is how I roll, my friends.

So I leave you now to get married.

er...again.

And maybe beat up a dolphin.

(too smart for their own damn good, if you ask me)

Arts 'n Crafts

My apologies for the poor quality - they were taken with my camera phone.

5 Days Left...

Click to enlarge

Friday's Featured Follower

Editor's note: stupid #@*$%& google blogger has totally messed up my spacing. For the hot mess that is this blog post, I apologize

___________________________________________________

I have no material. What else is new?

So, I figured I'd spread the love (and a little VD) by featuring another follower. I’m thinking this might be an every Friday thing, only because I love alliteration like a fat kid loves cake.

Actually I love alliteration almost as much as I love cake.

And that is saying something.

Today’s Friday Featured Follower (wow, I got all tingly in my girl parts just writing that) is relatively-new-follower Ed over at Ed’s Funny Pages.

Why I want to do sexy times with his blog:

Beyond the fact that his picture is a giant-headed person drawn on Microsoft Paint (or with some equally archaic art system), which immediately makes him awesome because Microsoft Paint is near and dear to my heart, Ed’s blog is funny.

Very funny.

And, well, I like to laugh, so this is a good thing.

He’s like a cup of hilarious, a teaspoon of random, a tablespoon of dirty, a dash of sarcastic, and a pinch of wise.

Mix it all up, and you’ve got Ed’s Funny Pages.

With a giant head.

God, there’s nothing funnier than a giant head on a teeny tiny body

(I was always a sucker for physical comedy).

Okay, well there is ONE type of physical comedy that’s funnier than a giant head. You know what I’m talking about:

It’s the “portray someone being thrown across the room by replacing them with a poorly-constructed dummy” schtick.

Like so:

(skip to 1:02, although the whole clip is HYSTERICAL and I want to give a Beej to the guy who invented Fresh Prince of Bel Air)

Anywah, where was I. Oh yeah.

Ed’s Funny Pages: ALMOST as funny as person who has OBVIOUSLY been replaced with a dummy being thrown across the room

One of his most memorable posts:

This one. Probably not his most memorable, but I think this was the first post of his that I read, and it made me hit the “follow” button faster than you can say banana hammock. Yeah, I’m totally a fan of his bits & pieces (hot).

The Patrick Swayze bit was hysterical (although I will admit, it took me a minute to figure it out).

The Pure Romance segment was completely random (if not TMI)

The Hand-Tossed Pizza part had me all “woah, this is a funny cat”

The MJ Lawsuit section was…educational? And made me feel poor. But we’ll overlook it just this once.

And finally. The booger paragraph? WOW. 100% classy, all the way.

So. Yeah. Ed’s Funny Pages.

Be there, or be square.

And if you want to be in the running to be next week’s Friday’s Featured Follower, hit the ole’ follow button on the right, and maybe grace my blog with a few comments.

(A word to the wise: boosting my ego will bring you to the front of the line. Making me think too hard will send you straight to the back.)

Happy Friday, folks.

Go-Time

HolyShitHolyShitHolyShitHolyShitHolyShitHolyShitHolyShitHolyShit

As I'm sure you've surmised, at around 8:38 this morning, I officially hit the wedding panic button

Last night? “Oh, we have plenty of time. Let’s watch some TV.”

This morning? “I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO DO THAT I WANT TO DIE.”

And of course, there are Birthdays. Two, in two days, that need planning and reservations and preparations made at the house for a small gathering.

And then my soon-to-be mother-in-law says, “What were you going to do for the rehearsal dinner?”

And I was all, “ummmmm, pizza and slave-labor?”

And I was serious.

Because the day before the wedding is not going to be some magical time where he goes golfing with his buddies while I go shopping and maybe get a massage, then we hold hands and skip to the chapel for rehearsal, and then go out to a lovely dinner where speeches are made and wine is drunk and everybody is mellow and happy.

No.

The day before the wedding is going to feel more like this:

Or maybe this:

Except at some point, my sister, mom, and I get our nails done.

So I wrote this blog, first thing in the morning when I should be doing other things related to…er…um…my job, in hopes that getting this panic off of my chest will quell my fears a bit.

But so far, it’s not working.

I’m still panicking.

And remembering more things I should probably get done sometime in the near future.

You, guys, I’m about this close to taking one of the sedatives that we got from the vet for Milo.

What?

We’re sedating the dog for the wedding.

Doesn’t everybody?