I am sick. Like pneumonia sick. So I can't sleep, and this comes to me. So I made it to get the voices out of my head. God, I'm funny.

*hacks up something vile*

Try and guess what it is before you look under the cut. Me, I think it's hilarious. YMMV.





come on, give it one more try before you click for the answer )

I can't understand what my cat says. He's Siamese, and my Thai is rusty. You need *what* for your pipe bomb? Stop mumbling, cat.

I am totally a Coke addict. Yeah, ha ha ha.

The old joke about “drowning when you snort it” would be kinda tired, but I’ve got a set of friends led by [info]torin3 and The Chef who somehow manage to get me to hork something through my sinuses at least once a year, so it’s not so much a joke as a reminder. The last thing I snorted was wasabi, IIRC. Now that was an experience – but that wasn’t where I was going at all.

a little prelude for the confused )
Shopping around, I found Mexican Coke way cheap at a store I don’t usually go to. Score! When I got home, I popped one open and iced it up.

Weird. Kinda freaky tasting today. Kinda like… malk?[1],[2]

So I looked at the bottle. Damn, it’s been a long time since I saw a returnable bottle, all rough where the bottles rub up against each other. Ah, memories. Ah, nostalgia.

Wait. Coca-Cola Mexíco doesn’t use returnables. Uh oh.

So I looked at the receipt. It rang up as “BUENO COCO COLO.” That sounds like a festive umbrella rum drink. I don’t think my caveat emptor radar had warmed up to the stupid level while I was in that store. Damn, I got fake bootleg Coke.

Holy crap, what’s the world come to when you can’t trust bootleggers anymore? Didn’t they unionize or something when the Volstead Act was repealed? What happened to honor among thieves, or the “pirates’ code,” as revealed in the documentary series Pirates of the Caribbean? Man, I bet I can’t even trust what the chip in my head tells me anymore.


[1] “but I drink plenty of … malk? (Now with Vitamin R!)” Bart Simpson, “The PTA Disbands”

[2] “I don't get it. Everyone loves rats, but they don’t want to drink the rats’ milk?” Fat Tony, “Mayored to the Mob”

 

When your significant other reaches the point where he (or she) hates his job or his boss so much he either needs to quit or he’s going out on a roof somewhere to shoot out a busload of kindergartners, you got some options.

or maybe it's just me, I don't know )
Threesomes are difficult to manage. Oh yeah, two chicks will cooperate, sure, but two guys always end up jealous and competing. Don’t ask me how I know that. Let’s just politely assume I read that somewhere and move on.

not the pr0n you think it is )
For those of you who have been unable to find me lately, either this post will clear things up or send you around the bend, I don't know. First, though, I feel compelled to share a new icon I made (and the much better accompanying animation) inspired by [livejournal.com profile] syrjustus' fabulous theory that commander-in-chief is actually a secret identity for a superhero:



There's a size limit to making an LJ icon, but I decided the Justus man needed that one -- hence the crippleware version above.

As for the rest of you... )

I'll surface eventually. If it's important, email me. In the meantime, I know that Fr-Ozone image is stuck in your mind forever. Haha.

EDIT: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] scascot , the little animation has gone viral already. And when I posted the below on YouTube, it got a crazy amount of hits before I had finished entering the damn description. Go figure what people will click on. Or, for that matter, what shiny objects I will be distracted with in the midst of a graphics feeding frenzy.

It's so much more rewarding cleaning other people's kitchens than my own. Other people are grateful and most times, they pay you. Nobody does that here. Shit. And there are so many damn more dishes to wash when I'm in the throes of a cooking streak.

where DOES food come from? )

On the other hand, I got some kickass ice cream, rich and creamy with no artificial ingredients, guaranteed to clog your arteries on your way to heaven. Guess I came out ahead. :)

Happy birthday to [livejournal.com profile] amykb and [livejournal.com profile] thorae .

There might be more, I know they could make a whole city out of people who share their Dec 22 birthday, LOL.

What monkey crack was I smoking where I thought we'd have this house redone this winter? Ahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahah. Right now I am listening to the soothing sounds of The Man knocking out another wall. Actually, it's really fun to take a sledgehammer to one's house.

I grew up believing that it was illegal to touch the wiring in your house, East coast union thinking and all. Idaho changed my life, what with trying to renovate a 100 year old house stapled together out of old milk caps. It's somewhere in between here in sunny Texas, and it doesn't hurt living with my own building contractor.

His favorite joke? Any time one of the utilities insists on their "approved contractors" lists, he is that list. Mine? Any time we rip out a wall, not only are we going to find a dead body, but it's gonna be a load-bearing body and we're gonna have to work around that fucking thing, too.

Seriously, have I mentioned that the previous owners watched too many episodes of Trading Spaces? I suppose in the end that's actually a good thing, because at this point if it looked halfway decent in here I'd be tempted to leave it the hell the way it is rather than trying to redo it right as opposed to half-assed. But since the walls look like crap there's a high motivation to erase the hideous so I don't have to poke out my eyes.

The appliances they left here are cursed. You know, if you piss off a witch doctor, you should just make amends. Not dump your hexed belongings in your ugly house and sell it to some unwitting victim so that someone else has to suffer from your stupidity. You think he won't find you where you go? You think that gris-gris won't follow you? Morons. Besides, we'll just call [livejournal.com profile] vikingtatter  and she'll walk us through the exorcism, at least as far as gas-fired appliances go. She's da bomb, no pun intended. [livejournal.com profile] vikingtatter  tries to avoid explosions...

Maybe I really will make the house out of legos. Making the icon was fun. Done now.
[Error: unknown template qotd] Sold a kidney and started turning tricks like everybody else, duh.

Why, why, why, for the love of God why did someone hack my userpics so that my default pic cycles randomly to a picture of Obama? Ok, thanks for picking one where he's like grooving out or something, but fuck all, what did I do to deserve this? Is he trying to get on my dance card with the escort service? Jeez, like Clinton doesn't have my number memorized or anything, he could pass it along -- I'm sure I'm still on the Oval Office speed dial, Bush kept pushing the button lableled "sardine pizza" thinking he'd get actual pizza, LOL.

Queued, was that you?

Damn, I'm in a mood today.

Evil weasels have eaten all my money. Therefore, Christmas is rescheduled for January. Please make a note of it. Motherf@#$%.
criminal meme
If you saw me in the back of a police car, what would you think I was arrested for?

Answer me, then post this in your own journal to see how many different crimes you get accused of committing.

Ok, has anybody else has their icon hacked and replaced by Obama? WTF?

also, my rainbow meme. )
 
 
 
 
 
 

What is says about you: You are a grateful person. You appreciate quiet moments. You are a good listener and your friends are glad to have you around in difficult times. People depend on you to make them feel secure.

Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.
The Pie


And just because I think it's funny (thanks [livejournal.com profile] scascot  for the inspiration)


More than one of my sweet angel friends have included me in a recipe-exchange chain letter. I have participated, because, well, hell, I'm bored in the kitchen and it's free. Cookbooks they is espensive. (However, the chain calls for forwarding to 20 of your closest friends, and famous as I am, I'm running out of multiples of 20 of my acquaintances who will put up with chain letters, so I'm gonna dump the next ones here.)

Before you make fun of my recipe, remember I went to cooking school. I know how to cook. I just don't care anymore.
Super Stupid Pie )
I think I horrified the crap out of [livejournal.com profile] bronx_baroness  with my idea of "pah." You can make a hundred variations with endless choices of puddings and even cookie crusts. You can get all fancy by making the crust and filling from scratch, with real whipped cream and all, but I wouldn't waste my time. Somebody's just gonna scarf the damn thing up in less time it took to make it, and it doesn't matter what nice dishes you use, you're still gonna be the one who has to wash the fuckers at the end of the day. At least my pie takes only 20 minutes, and you can do it in your sleep if you're on Ambien.

You can see what years of being unappreciated has done to my culinary prowess. You go full-out, and they descend like vultures and you wash a mountain of dishes. You phone it in, and they descend like vultures and you wash a mountain of dishes. My version of a freaky zen koan. It doesn't help that I still can't find my pans and we don't have a working oven. It's hard to "love cooking" with no tools as well as bad ghosts. A good southern cream pie goes a long way to fixing that. Ok, yeah, I miss madeleines -- but who wants to eat those alone? Or outside of Paris? Give me my damn pie.

Thanksgiving this year is gonna be the same as last year. Smoked turkey barbecue carry-out from the place down the street, Stove Top, instant mashed potatoes, steamed microwave corn, (ok, I'm making lovely gravy--you can't take the saucier entirely out of the girl, and life's too short to eat crap-ass gravy), and vanilla-white chocolate Stupid Pah. Then we're watching Warner Brothers cartoons for the rest of the day instead of football.

I think I'm gonna make the paper plates traditional, too.


This is my niece as a lobster for halloween, with some kid I don't know. Please come up with a suitable caption.
Today is not only the Fabulous MrZ's actual 21st birthday, but also that of my brother, the strange and acerbic Queued [who I can't get to LJ-link right, dammit.]


here's pictures of one of them, I leave it to you to figure out which )

He's doing great, and he's even adapting to Texas well. He still stomps around the house yelling, as both Siamese cats and old dudes do. I assumed what he was saying was, "Ethel! Where are my glasses? Ethel! Where are my pants?" Of course, now that we're in Texas, he's had to make a few adjustments: "Maria! Donde esta my pants? Maria! Donde esta my soul jar? I could go at any minute... Mao..."

We didn't let him vote, even though he's of age, since he keeps ranting about Taft and demanding we bring back Eisenhower.

Not bad for a cat that just a few years ago had chewed off all his fur and was so threadbare he looked like the Velveteen Rabbit. Go MrZ.

My brother, on the other hand, seems perfectly capable of locating his own pants, and has never had dust come off him when you patted him as far as I know.

Happy Birthday, dudes.

I had this great post all written out about the Russian Mafia delivering my belongings a week ago at 11 pm. But since we didn't have the DSL hooked up by that point and I was hacking the neighbors again for internet in the middle of the night, LJ kept dropping my post and I finally gave up. It would have been way cooler if I could have posted this discussion before the election, but oh well.

strange prelude )

 At one point, out of the blue, Sergei turns to me and says, "Who you think win the election?"
"Uh," I said carefully, thinking I'm standing in a dark container with an insane man throwing boxes, "who do you want?"
"Oh, McCain." He said it Mi-Ky-Een. "He like Bush. Obama always want to have conversation. He want to talk before do. McCain, BAM! He do. Like Bush. Bush BAM! He do. Is good leader. Is good for America. Obama, not so much."

So there you have a post-Soviet Russian immigrant take. I'm not so anti-conversation myself, but YMMV.

...the furniture has not. The Russian mafia has until the 30th to deliver. I have no intention of pissing them off. They're quite wonderful to deal with if you know the rules. I’m not kidding, really. They’re very insistent that I not ship any vodka. Shipping hookers and vodka is their purview, and they don’t like interlopers. I tend to shop local for my hookers anyway.

Many of you may have heard me speak of the incredible volume of books I own. Only those of you ([livejournal.com profile] torin3 , [livejournal.com profile] technomage , [livejournal.com profile] starbabyf4g , [livejournal.com profile] blaecstan , and [livejournal.com profile] melvh , right off the top of my head) who have had the dubious pleasure of helping me move said books don’t feel a need to get into pissing matches over who owns more books. It’s a common SCA phenomenon to think that you do, as we are all insane bibliophiles --and I applaud us all for that -- but I assure you that unless you are [livejournal.com profile] tedeisenstein , I win, and I have the weight ticket to prove it.

My books came in at 4 tons. And that does not count the furniture or the anvils.

Yes, I said anvils. One of my favorite moving moments was when an enormous man picked up a tiny box and grunted, “Jeez, lady, whatcha got in here, anvils?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
There’s really no clever response to that.

Today, I am waiting for the second gas dude of the day (hey [livejournal.com profile] vikingtatter , what’s the correct title? I guess you can’t really call them “gas dudes” any more) to fix the water heater flue so we can have hot water. Finding us internet is my next task, but in the meantime, God love the residents of Austin who feel no need to secure their networks. Oo, spoke too soon, gonna have to find a Panera, dammit. At least I had pirate for an hour. Aar, matey, I’m a goner….

 

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