And a River Runs Through It

While in San Diego over Thanksgiving, my mom found an old flyer that I made when I was about nine. I remember my parents having a talk with me around that age letting me know that when I got older they would send me to college, but after that I was on my own against the cruel elements and mean streets of this godforsaken world. I figured I better get crackin on making some dough ASAP (if not sooner) so I created the following flyer and passed it around to all the mailboxes in our neighborhood.

Interestingly, watering your plants is of the same value to me as babysitting your children. Also, how "Professional" does one need to be in order to pick up your mail and newspaper while you're out of town? Why did I charge separately for these services? Sure I'm "Responsible" but am I "Dependable" ?? Did someone only use a Thesaurus to come up with this, or what? Finally, who advertises childcare with A HUGE HAND? That would be me. Guess how many baby-sitting jobs I got with this fly. (Answer: ZIP). Funnily enough, there was a lot of false advertising going on with my little helping hand. I recall getting the gig of turning the sprinklers on at my next-door neighbor's house while they were on vacation. For some reason I wasn't very dependable that week and kept forgetting to turn them on. Then one night at around 11pm I remembered that I hadn't watered their yard in like 3 days so I went over and turned the sprinklers on only to go to bed and forget that they were on. At 8:00 the next morning when I went outside to catch my carpool I noticed that my neighbor's house was now an island floating in a sea of sprinkler water that had been on for nearly 9 hours. Now THAT'S a responsible helping hand if ever there was one. And did I tell my neighbors of my faux pas? Nah. . . . I let their water bill do the talkin on that one.

Cruisin for a bruisin

Whilst dropping trou last night I noticed this gigantor bruise on that no man's land where the thigh ends and the hip begins right on the border of butt frontier. I don't know what is up with my equillibrium, but I am waaaaaaay uncoordinated and pretty much eat shit on a daily basis. Just this morning while walking out of the parking garage I stepped over a chain that was draped between two posts, but neglected to lift my knee up high enough and the toe of my boot caught the chain and I went flying, just BARELY saving myself before my face hit pavement.

What I almost looked like coming into work today. "Morning fellow co-workers!!!"

Axel says I run wrong and my feet aren't parallel to each other. . . . so maybe that's it. Long story incredibly long, my body is constantly running into and falling over things. This hip bruise is the result of me not knowing the dimensions of my own office desk (which I have been sitting at for the past 5 years) and I always cut the corner too close and end up smashing my mother hip into the edge resulting in a permanent banana-like bruise on that appendage. (Ed. note. this happens DAILY). Are my hips expanding and preparing to give birth whether I am with fetus or not, or am I just stupid? (I'm going with the latter). Which reminds me, a couple years ago when I was first learning to snowboard, Axel and I went to Tahoe and got all bruised up because of eating it on the side of the mountain.

Way to shred, Braaaa!

The following week I had a gyno appointment. So my 100 year old gyno was checking out the ol' cervix and while he was doing his thing he asks "How is everything going in your life? Everything ok with the boyfriend?" I thought this was a little weird as we never talked about Axel before, but I said "Yeah, everything is fine". Then he goes, "You guys getting along?" To which I said "Yeah, as much as can be expected." Then he tells me to put my clothes on and meet him in his office. When I go into his office he asks me "Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything at all?" At this point I'm starting to wonder what are the gynocologistics (ZING!!) of this conversation? What exactly does this old man want me to say? So I simply said "Nope, not really" and left. When I got home and got fully undressed in front of my mirror to take a shower, it hit me not unlike an abusive boyfriend . . . . my inner thighs were black and blue and bruised to a pulp as a result of my pathetic attempt at snowboarding. My poor gyno was probably dialing up women's protective services at that exact moment.

Bruise Knee is that you!?!?

(sorry)

Hall O' Weens

Pregunta me this. Would you say Axel and I are too old to dress up for Halloweener considering we (a) have no children (b) have never dressed up together in the past? I seriously think we'd make a fab Cagney and Lacey . . . no?

I mean Axel is the spitting image of Lacey and I have that very same Cagney expression on my face 99.9% of the time like "Did you just let one rip, Lacey?" But good luck getting Axel to be Lacey . . . . you should see the lengths I have to go to just to get him to be Pleathery HA! Get it, because I . . . umm . .. never mind. I guess I could always just go as D.J. Qualls.

Kid you not, I have that outfit and we have THE EXACT SAME HAIRCUT. . . . not to mention the same debilitating case of anorexia nervosa.

Oh Deer

What do you call a deer that can write with both hooves?



Bambidextrous

Come on! I made that up all by myself and it only took me 4 hours to photoshop that stupid picture so just shut it already! JEEEEEZ!!

Tons O' Pun!

I took a sleeping pill last night and now I have a major case of the Yawn (Ullrichs that is) . . . .

Thank you thank you . . . . you've been a great audience!! I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

When you get caught between the moon and New York City

Hello America, where have you been all my life? The other day a friend was in town and had a little get-together of sorts and all his best San Fran peeps crowded into this hipster restaurant to hobnob and schmooze. We all ordered appetizers, vittles, and drinky-poos. Side note, don’t you hate it when you go out to eat with a big group of people and no matter how little you eat or drink you’re expected to pay a butt load because they split up the entire bill amongst everyone? That’s why I usually order at least eleventy of these:

word to wise, word to my thighs, don’t invite me to group dinners.

But I digress. . . mid-munch I realized the gnocchi I was wolfing down my gullet was wrapped in bacon - "inside a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in an enigma" - You Winston you lose some . . . Churchill

Before I could projectile vomit, the little nugget o’ flesh was already swimming around in the old body cavity and my 16 years of meat celibacy came to a mouth watering end. Shockingly, I didn't keel over and die. Maybe it’s because I’m not a real vegetarian. I’m, how do you say in American, a non-eater-of-anything-that-has-a-face, unless it happens to be a delicious fish face.

People often ask me why I don’t eat meat and there are a few reasons:
I am a huge animal lover (i.e. I freaking hate small animals)

Hi, I'm a total jerk!

I have never really liked the flava flave of meat.
And finally, my mom was a vegetarian when I was a child.

Which reminds me, my mom used to take me and my brother to this place called Alive Polarity at Murrieta Hot Springs in Southern California when we were kids. It was this hippy dippy (aka CULTastic) au natural spa place out in the desert where they had these hot springs that smelled like eggs and they served only vegetarian foods and did yoga and massage and meditation and mud baths and child labor (I’ll get to the latter later . . . say that ten times fast, I DARE YOU . . . ok, ok, it's not that hard). My dad never went with us because he eats every kind of face . . . . and is a Republican. HEYO!
So the summer I was 6 years old my mom took us for an extended stay at Murrieta Hot Springs and enrolled us in their so-called Kids’ Camp while she marinated in fart smelling mud.

My first day at camp was weird because I realized that all the kids in camp were the children of employees of Murrieta Hot Springs and were extremely cliquey. The ‘camp counselors’ were strict, mean, masseurs making extra cash on their days off by supervising kids they didn't enjoy being around. They had this cultish way of talking and wouldn’t help me out in any way if I didn’t answer every question with the words ‘yes please’. Any affirmative response other than ‘yes please’ was strictly forbidden. On top of that, they didn’t tell me this rule and just ignored me until I figured it out on my own. I actually starved the first day of camp because whenever someone asked if I wanted lunch, I would simply say ‘sure’ unaware of the ‘yes please’ protocol. That evening I complained to my mom that I didn’t like camp and nobody talked to me or fed me or anything. My mom, most likely fearing her ‘Mom time’ was in eminent jeopardy, gave me the sage advice to walk up to one of the children the next day and introduce myself by saying “Hello, my name is Leslie, would you like to be my friend?” This sounded simple enough, so the following day I did just that. I waltzed up to another little girl and said “Hello, my name is Leslie, would you like to be my friend?” to which she responded “No. I already have friends.”

STELLAR ADVICE, MOM. Gracias por nada!

Crushed, I walked over to where my older brother Chris was playing and he pretended not to know me (most likely the result of being brainwashed into becoming a member of this veggie, yes please cult). I then tried to talk to one of the cult counselors, but was also ignored because I didn’t somehow work the words “yes please” into the following phrase: “Nobody will play with me. What kinda camp is this!??” To top this off, the main ‘camp’ activity was cleaning the resort’s hotel rooms. I kid you not, my mom paid cold hard cash-o-la for her children to clean hotel rooms unbeknownst to her (but knownst to me).

Me, back row, 5th from the right.

On about the 4th day of camp I was walking to one of the hotel rooms and my mom just happened to be walking to one of her yoga sessions and our paths crossed. My mom was all “Leslie? What are you doing with that bottle of Windex?” To which I replied “My camp job”. Long story ridiculously long . . . that pretty much ended our relationship with Murrieta Hot Springs and we left the next day. The only good thing I remember about the whole experience was that the movie Arthur Two: On The Rocks was the only movie they played in the evenings and my mom let me watch it over and over and over each night until our dramatic exodus. Don’t ask me why, but the combination of Dudley Moore, Liza Minnelli and alcoholism is comic gold to any six year old.

T Pain-cakes

Last Friday Potsey and I went for a run at Crissy Field and then we needed to get new tires put on the ol' auto-mo-beeel, so we dropped the car off at our trusty mechanic

and were told to come back in 15 mins. Still dressed in my sweatfest outfit, we decided to keep the workout-a-go-go and speed walk around the Inner Richmond district for a bit.

Actual picture of my hair (not my body . . . I wish!) speed walking . . . . and yes, I spent $165 US dollars on that haircut

Whilst walking con mucho gusto, and the picture of pure determination on my face, some random kid

crosses the street and interrupts me mid speed walk with this little ditty:

RK (Random Kid): Hey you, where's the IHOP at?

Me: HUH? (breathing heavily as a result of speed walking a total of 2 blocks)

RK: YOU know. . . (hefty eye roll) The International House of Pancakes. Where's it at?

Me: Ummm . . . (to self "Can't he see I'M SPEED WALKING HERE?! I AM AN AVID EXERCISER, NOT A PANCAKE CONNOISSEUR!") No . . . . sorry I don't know.

RK: RIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT. . . . . like YOU don't know.

????

SERIOUSLY, what do I look like people???

"Houston, we have a pancake."

I'm Salutin' Putin

When I got home from work yesterday I was feeling kinda blue, not to mention super rumbly in my tumbly. So I started hunting and gathering (more gathering than hunting) for sustenance in our gourmet kitchen . . . .

only to discover that all we've got are some stupid Ritz crackers and cold(war)cuts. Which begs the question:

If you're blue and you don't know where to go to

Why don't you go where fashion sits . . . . . . (wait for it people)

Putin on the Ritz.

Different types who wear a day coat, pants with stripes

And cutaway coat, perfect fits . . . . (everybody with me now)

Putin on the Ritz!

I gotta say while they tasted kinda oligarchy, they weren't that Vlad! See what I did there? 'Cause his name is Vladimir Pu . . . . . never mind.

And, because I couldn't resist

A Boot Scootin Putin . . . . . .ZIIIIIIIING!

P.S. How awesome could this all be if I actually KNEW how to photoshop?

Answer: very

I'm having a hard time coming up with something to post so I give you this:

Yes, friends, it is a rainbow puking up rainbows into a toilet. You'll never guess where I found that picture that so aptly reflects my Wednesday mood. I was doing a Google search for Marc Summers from that Nickelodeon game show of yore called Double Dare and Mr. Barf Rainbow popped up . . . . don't you just lurve the interweb? Can anyone explain to me how people with blogs highlight a certain word in their blog and then when you click on that word it takes you to a link? Also, how do you attach actual YouTube videos to blogs? DIGAME!! No tengo patience to finger this out on my own. Okgreatthanks.

U-G-L-Y You Ain't Got No Alibi

Remember when you were a kid and braces were the epitome of cool? Braces were the ultimate sign of extreme teenagerness in my preteen world. I used to take paperclips, unhinge them and walk around with them in my mouth as pseudo braces. So when I found out I actually needed braces, my 10 year old world was rocked. Not only did I get full on brace-face, I was also fitted for headgear.

Little did I know that there is a very fine line between braces and headgear and their respective acceptance in elementary school. I was told that I only had to wear my headgear at night, but in my mind I thought all things orthodontia would sky rocket my lukewarm popularity into oblivion. So why wouldn't I bring out the big guns for all my classmates to fawn over? Imagine my utter shock and dismay when I waltzed into to school wearing this . . .

and nobody wanted to sit next to me. I also got the distinct impression that people were laughing at me, not with me. Couldn't they understand I was ALMOST A TEENAGER with all this metal in my face? Why couldn't they just see that!??! At first recess I wore my headgear on the monkey bars and whilst doing a lemon drop, I bonked the side of my head against one of the bars causing my headgear to jam up inside my mouth so that I didn't even have the choice of removing it because it was all stuck in my jaw! I remember seeing my childhood crush (Todd Emblem who was 2 years older than I was and one of my brother's best friends) playing kickball and he wouldn't even make eye contact with me. That stupid day was the longest school day everrrrr. After school I had to go see my creepy orthodontist, Dr. Watson, just to get that stupid thing off my freaking face.

Things didn't get much better once puberty set in.

Mock turtleneck - Check

High waisted culottes - Cheque

Ridiculous perm - Checkers

Cocker Spaniel-esque bangs - Checkmate

80's white super cinched belt - Checkedy Check Check

"You're not fat, you're just chunky" can-do attitude - Check-oslovakia

(Let's go in for a close-up, shall we?)

Seriously, could I cinch those culottes up any higher?

And ever heard of the T-Zone Leslie? Maybe look into it pronto.

This is seriously awesome . . . . .

Read article here.
How would you like to be a child at that "children's home" with poo breaking in through your windows? AWESOME. And what exactly is a children's home? Is that like a retirement home for really really really really really really really young retirees?

Floor Four . . . going down

Since I'm half German . . . . . .

(mi madre was born in the land of the Deutsche) my family celebrates Christmas on Christmas Eve. This used be so cool when I was a kid because we'd get all our presents the night before Christmas when all the other non-Germans had to endure sleepless nights awaiting the break of dawn to open up all their shizz. As a result, Christmas Day was no big dealy-doo in our household and rather anti-climactic. We'd usually end up riding our bikes out in front of our house waiting for our next-door-neighbors to finish their Christmas celebration so they could come outside and compare and contrast their loot with ours. When I was 12 years old, my parents decided to do something different on Christmas Day. Instead of lounging around our house, my parents decided to take us to downtown San Diego to the Food Bank and volunteer our services to the needy. My brother Chris and I were rather nonplussed because who wants to hang out in ghetto-fab downtown San Diego on Christmas Day? Not to mention we were the only stinkin' kids there. Anywho. . . . . The San Diego Food Bank was in this big old warehouse with all these different floors to it and all the volunteers were supposed to get organized into groups to help out on each floor. Nobody really knew where they were supposed to go and what they were supposed to do, so finally this priest got on stage with a microphone to explain the whole process to us. So I'm standing there between my mom and dad and the priest goes:

"Thank you all for coming today. You have all been assigned a floor to work on. The homeless will visit each floor and you will assist them with whatever is taking place on your particular floor. Floor One is storage and cots where they can leave their stuff in a secure place and later sleep. Floor Two is the cafeteria for food. Floor Three is showers. Floor Four is blowjobs. Floor Five is clothes exchange."

Immediately after stating the purpose of Floor Four, a cumulative gasp went through the crowd and I whispered under my breath, "I am NOT working on Floor Four." My mom shot me her dagger eyes look that burned straight through my very soul.

Someone next to the priest whispered something in his ear and he immediately made a little nervous cough and said "I meant, Floor Four is where the homeless can blow dry their hair". I felt really weird for the rest of the day knowing my mom knew that I knew what a blowjob was . . . and on GD Christmas Day for Christ's sake!!

Leslie's "Coming Out Party" . . . . as an idiot

Over the weekend Axel and I tried to watch the Olympics, but no dice. First of all, we don't have cable . . . why you ask? (dramatic eye roll) because we prefer to READ . . . duh! And by 'read', I mean watch Mexican television since those are the only channels we get . . . . (we don't even know how to read, silly!) No, but seriously, the reason is we are cheap and haven't bitten the proverbial televisual bullet and gotten it installed. I promised Axel that it wouldn't be a problem because we could just watch the Olympics online . . . . but that proved to be a problem as well since we have a Mac and were unable to install whatever was necessary to watch it online. So brilliant Leslie goes, "Let's watch whatever is posted on Youtube! I'm sure the opening ceremony is on Youtube". I do a search for 2008 Olympics Beijing on Youtube and Axel and I watch . . . and it actually made me cry. Those guys were AMAZING. I seriously don't know why I cried, but I was moved Goddammit!
I come into the office today and Yedi asks me if I saw the opening ceremonies and I told him "I was moved to tears Yedi, those gold guys, while a bit homoerotic, were nonetheless INCREDIBLE!!" and Yedi goes "What gold guys?" I say "THE GOLD GUYS! The opening ceremony!! COME ON! They were THE BEST!!" Yedi goes "Were you watching the Special Olympics?" so I send him this:


Welllllllllll . . . . that pretty much got me laughed out of the office, as that was NOT the opening ceremony for the 2008 Olympics after all. Why am I so S-L-O-W!?

Sidenote: We've been catching up on some of the games here at work and the commentators keep saying "This is China's coming out party" . . . . who knew China was gay? HEYO!!

Mystic (not the tan or the pizza)

I've been extreeeeeeeeemely busy at work lately and was going through the drawers of my desk only to discover yo tengo muchisimo crapola en mi escritorio. Here is a list of some things currently in my desk drawers:

A Cha-Cha Chia Pet Alarm Clock

A homemade check my boss's 8-year old daughter made for me with a rainbow on it (someone knows I'm hard up for cash-o-la)

A bottle of Ziacam Cough Mist Max expiration 08/2007. (VOM. . . who even uses this stuff and how did it get in my desk?)

A Snapple cap with the following "Snapple Real Fact" on it:
Squids can have eyes the size of a volleyball
Side note: how awesome a fact is that? I would LOVE to see some volleyball squid eyes. . . . name the time and place and I AM SO THERE!

A Sewing Kit that I've puff painted the words "Sew . . . a needle pulling thread" on the lid, yet have never used.

A Flashlight

A Keychain (that I find jocular to the nth degree) that I made with my office laminator (click to enlarge and therefore join me in the hilarity. . . or not, since I'm the only one who finds this amusing)












An old journal I never really used, that has the following written on the last page:
Greetings,
To know someone here or there with whom there is a feeling of understanding;
In spite of thoughts or distances, unexpressed,
That can make of this Earth a Garden!
MYSTIC.
Which brings back this ridiculous encounter that happened to me when I first moved to the Bay Area and was living in the Oakland hills with my brother. I didn't have a full-time job yet and was substitute teaching at the French-American School in Berkeley (though I speak zilch French . . .shocking right? Since I'm such an experienced linguist at, how do you say, La Espanola, shabadoo). In the afternoons I would sometimes go to this cafe by UC Berkeley and get a coffee and then sit and read in the sun on the small grassy knoll near the tennis courts. So I'm sitting there reading and this guy with dreads

who must have been 45? 50? 59? who knows, comes saddling up to me and stands there blocking my sun, watching me read . . . . which is a weird feeling. . . . being the reader being watched (as apposed to the readee?) Movingon.org, so I look up and the guy says something like "Can I see the book you're reading?" and I oblige, and he reads the back of it and acts all super enthused and tells me that he's read it before, which I found skeptical considering it was some total chick book like You and Your Uterus. Then he asks me if I'd like to check out some film called Rabbit Proof Fence that was showing in the next 30 mins. I don't know what is wrong with me and why I'm always afraid of hurting people's feelings and can't simply say "Thank you, NO", but I can't. On top of that, I'm a really bad liar and came up with some stupid excuse that I had to go do something in exactly 30 mins. So the guy then asks if I have something to write on and I hand him my blank journal and he writes that total cheeseball pseudo poem in it. . . After reading it I go,"Ummmm thanks . . . . Mystic . . .?" Then Mr. Can't Get A Hint Magillicutty asks for my phone number. Idiota numero uno, once again couldn't just tell him no and/or give him a fake phone number, and like the total tard that I am I give him my actual phone number thinking he won't call and if he does, he'll get the point that yo no soy interesante when I don't call him back. Well, that didn't exactly transpire. He called me every day for the next week and each voice mail message got more and more intense a la "Hey Leslie, I know you wouldn't give someone your number just to try TO AVOID THEM!" Oh Mystic, you know me TOO WELL. Finally I had to get my brother to call Mystic for me and ask him to leave me the chingao alone.

OMG ANTM WTF CYJDA?! (Couldn't You Just Die Already)

Doodle . . . . America's Next Top Model premiers Sept. 3. I'm trying not to get my hopes up about this season, but if you could see me now, you'd notice that I'm totally smiling with my eyes (if you know what I mean).

If I told you you were beautiful, would you page me on the regular

Axel the P and I went to Mendocino this weekend and it was totes fab. We drove up the 101 to Mendo, drove through Fort Bragg and then drove south along the coast to the tiniest picolino town of all called Elk. We had reservations at this uber cute inn called the Greenwood Pier Inn on the cliffs overlooking the coast. Seriously so cute I could barf. They obvs were pet friendly, so we checked-in and left Potsey in the room for all of 8 minutes while we walked to the restaurant to get a glass of wine and watch the sunset. Whilst in the restaurant I heard what sounded like an elderly woman being stabbed to death in her room . . . . and that elderly woman turned out to be one Potsey Lydia Maguillicutty Donaldson.

(Dapper, unless left alone in hotel rooms)

He totally freaked out due to his 'abandonment anxiety' and was making these ridiculous screeching sounds that could be heard all over the hotel grounds. We made a mad-dash back to the room and picked his pathetic ass up and he joined us for a romantical sunset. We had dinner at this faux french restaurant called Le Petite Rive that got great reviews on Yelp yet was not that great. They tried way too hard to be all shmancy with their food by like providing a peach sorbet in the middle of the meal to 'cleanse the pallet' . . . . yet my pallet wasn't that dirty after the first course salad, so it was kinda weird. After din din Axel and I decided to take it to a whole new level of cheese and drove back to Elk blaring Justin Timberlake's 'My Love' (how does Axel know all the words to that one?) and decided to go down to the beach. We were told where to hike and when we came to the cliffs we noticed a rope line to the beach below. Mind you, I had 3 glasses of wine in me, so I thought it was a brazilliant idea to descend down this cliff at 8:00 in the PM. The first half of the climb was pretty steep and then we came to a 2nd rope which took us to the very bottom. So we scale this cliff and then hang out on the beach (Leslie went into the ocean whilst Axel looked out for sharks). Then we decided to go back up the cliff seeing as it was getting dark. So I'm scaling this wall on the first rope and get the 2nd rope only to realize that someone has either untied it (POTSEY!??!) or it came loose from its holding and I'm stuck on the side of this cliff with one end of the rope in my hand! It was a carbuncular debacle the to nth degree. Luckily, I was drunk enough to have no fear, yet sober enough to not totally spazz out and crept up the side of the cliff on my hands and knees with Axel in tow. Here is an artist's rendering of the experience.

This will come as a complete shock to you, but that whole idea of not eating in exchange for not going to the gym yesterday didn't quite work out. Not only did I not not eat, I ate my weight (if I weighed 1 delicious little pint) in chocolate gelato last night. Why do I do this? Por que yo tengo idiota con mucho gusto por su puesto chingaou!

X-ER-THIGHS

For the last hour I've been coming up with brilliant reasons to avoid going to the gym after work today. See, if I don't eat anything for the rest of the day, it'll be like I burned off at least 600 calories and I don't even burn that many calories when I do go to the gym, so why even go? Duh. I really really do need to go since I didn't do hip hop dance class this week nor did I go to the gym at all though I pinkie swore with myself that I would do 30 mins of workout each and every day after work. . . guess I'll have to break my own pinkie . . . . AGAIN. The only working out was done on Sunday, when Axel snuck me into Gold's Gym in the Castro where he is a member. We spent the whole time doing a bajillion butt machines. I have never seen so many butt machines in one gym in my entire life. . . . then again, it is in the Castro . . . . sooooooooo (sheepish shrug) whatcha gonna do? The worst machine is called the Butt Buster and it is this crazy contraption where you actually have to strap your arms and ankles into the machine, then seductively apply KY Jell. . . ummm never mind. Whilst working out we kept having stupid conversations like this under our cumulative breath:

Axel: See that guy with the butt?

Leslie: The one in the unitard?

Axel: I bet he's a dancer.

Leslie: Whatever he is, he's been giving me the hairy eyeball.

Axel: No, he was totally checking ME out.

Leslie: You wish.

I sorta believe that that Sunday workout should carry me through until next Sunday, though I'm pretty positive that's not how it works.



I kid you not, my hair looks EXACTLY like that kid's right now.

P Port Pix

Wanna see the worst passport picture of me ever? When Axel saw this his immediate response was "you can get a new picture taken, right?" to which I responded accordingly, "No . . . . . my anchorman hair will withstand the test of time, travel, and beyond."

Did you know this movie existed?

Huh, whaaaa?

WHY IS THE WORLD SHARING MY BRAIN!?!? Magillicutty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayrantee It!

Do you remember back in the 80s when the radio used to play all those Men's Wearhouse commercials where it was like an actual voicemail from a 'customer' left on the Men's Wearhouse answering machine? Some customer would leave a message and gush about their experience at Men's Wearhouse and how it like saved their career/wedding day/life? Did I ever tell you that I used to call Men's Wearhouse and leave fictional messages about how my husband had a last minute conference in Chicago and didn't have a suit and how he waltzed into the Chicago Men's Wearhouse and in less than an hour walked out in a brand new suit and his career was literally saved by the fabulousity of that Men's Wearhouse suit? And shock of all shocks, my messages never made it to the radio and that really pissed me off. . . like they could tell the difference between a 12 year old girl pretending to be a satisfied wife and a real wife? Whatevsssss!

Today at work, Yedi goes "Why is it that whenever you go to the bathroom you run like crazy? I can hear you running in the hallway. Do you have some sort of bladder problem?" So I explained to him, "I imagine I'm in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom when they are in that little cart on those tracks and that huge, gigantor ball is rolling down the tracks after them and they are about to get crushed . . . I pretend I'm outrunning that massive ball" . . . and by Yedi's blank expression I sorta wish I had just lied and said I've got a bladder infection.

Rhoid Rage

I just got back from the women's bathroom on our floor and whilst washing my hands I noticed a half used tube of hemorrhoid ointment sitting next to the soap. What is THAT all about? How do you accidentally leave that behind in an office building restroom!? Also, next to the women's restroom is a door and above the door is a sign that reads 'Telephone Room' and one can 99.99999% of the time hear a phone ringing from behind the door! I picture this gigantor telephone in there just ringing and ringing and ringing . . . . and I bet it's red and I bet it links you to the President of the United States of America.

MY HAIRS

This chick is SOOOOOOOOOOO copying my 'wing' haircut it's not even funny.

Greatest Picture of My Dad Ever

Yes, that is a huge foot my dad is about to enter.

T Morgan

And what is up with 30Rock? It used to be so freaking funny. Now, something has changed. And have you noticed that Tracy Morgan is anorexic? He looks like he dropped 60 Lbs? But when I google 'tracy morgan skinny' nothing comes up!? QTF?

Things that make me cry

THIS freaking commerical

2 Lips

So I get this lovely card in the mail yesterday. It's a picture of a bouquet of red tulips.

Methinks to myself "Self? Who sent me this beautiful, classy card? Did someone just now remember my birthday only 7 months late? . . . . Dad?"

I open up said card and read the following: This is to remind you that it is time for your gynecological check-up

Sooooooo many questions.

Why is this elaborate doctor's appointment reminder so over the top? Whatever happened to the phone call or a simple, plain post card reminder? And Tulips? TWO LIPS? A bit heavy handed aren't we Dr. Gynecology? My gyno is about 110 years old and I love the guy, but I've never received such a smarmy card from him in the past. Also, check out the freaking stamp he used on the back of the card. Is this Vaginatown USA or what?

A&E Intervention - Leslie

My name is Leslie, L-E-S-L-I-E . . . . (facing camera) and I am a chronic A&E Intervention watcher. (cut to photos of Leslie age 3).
Du, no but seriously, I freaking love this show and it's gettin' kinda hectic. So I come home from work today and I walk through the hall and WHOA . . . I'll paint a picture . . .
Leslie: Whoa! What are all you guys doing here?
Ken Seeley (interventionist): Hi Leslie. You're in a room full of people who love you.
Axel: Have a seat.
Leslie: Ummm, okaaay. (sits next to Axel and Potsey).
Potsey: Mom, you're not a mom to me anymore.
Leslie: Huh? When did you starting speaking English?
Potsey: Never mind that. I need to read this to you. (puts on reading glasses and clears throat). Your addiction to watching Intervention all the time has negatively affected me in the following ways . . . . (30 minutes later) . . . I LOVE YOU MOM.
Ken: I usually don't let dogs speak during these things but . . . .
Leslie: But I DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM!!!
Eddie: (through tears) Please accept this wonderful gift we are offering you today. (sniff)
Leslie: Eddie? What are YOU doing here?? Your wife is about to give birth! You need to be in San Diego! Does she know you're here? QTFFFF!?
Eddie: That's all noise. . . unless you say yes today, that's all just noise.
Leslie: Whaaaaaaaaa?
Axel: If you don't accept this help that we are offering you today, our relation will change in the following ways.
Leslie: Laughing, no seriously guys. . . . are you for real?
Eddie: NOISE! (blows nose)
Axel: I will take my laptop away from you and block Youtube from showing recaps of Intervention. I will block the Intervention website as well. I will not do the dishes.
Leslie: You never do the dishes anyway.
ummmm . . . . . this is turning into a big fat coldy. . . .. methinks this joke has gone on long enough. .. . hmmm?

Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

So for a while I was being all hardcore communist on limiting myself to only black coffee in the mornings because of my past as a NutraSweet junkie. I used to drink like 2-3 Diet Peach Snapples a day and pour a packet of NSweet in my coffee in the morning along with my sweet sweet sugar beat chemical partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil, sodium stearoyl lactylatemate CoffeeMate creamer shabadoo. For the past month I've been going black . . . . but that whole saying about "never going back" doesn't really apply to me. I've started adding the ol 'Mate' to my coffee in the morning and it's like I crave that nasty chemical now. Eh . . . . at least I've still given up the cancer inducing faux suges, right? (or am I trading one carrageenan for another hmmmm? maybe we'll never know).
Dude, you have to start watching the Bachelorette. . . . though now the point is moot and the moot is point, since next week is the final finale. Last night 'D' kicked off Jeremy who was like a robot man. Seriously, he had this insanely muscular body, as if created in a lab. . . by a mad gay scientist and his posture was like so ridic erect (yes POSTURE) and when he walked, it was like watching somebody do the robot. . . like his arms bent 90 degrees at the elbow and moved perfectly with his stride, and his eyebrows moved independently of each other? What's up with that? Don't you know only robots do that, guy!?! He was a robobachelor and she should have started calling him "Bots" . . . but she didn't . . . she just broke his little animatronic heart. Look at him and digame, Bot Or Not? Movingon.org, so D's down to 2 and it was so fake fakery b/c after breaking up with Bots last night, she did all this super lame wiping of the eyes as if she were crying, and she kept sniffling, but there was no snot and/or tears, and then she just turned around and went back to the remaining 2 finalists and was all unicorns and gumdrops and smiling all over the place. APOX ON YOU Bachelorette!

Best Road Name in the State of Washington

Knead I say more? Methinks I kneadn't.