Friday, August 29, 2008

baggy jeans

I couldn't bear to not write an entry for more than a day. I've been supremely busy this week, but I just wanted to give you something---anything---to update you until I have time to write (and podcast) a proper blog:

The jeans I'm wearing today (which just so happen to be borderline "too tight" most days), are officially baggy.

Now, I'm well aware that the bagginess is one part eating better and exercising (sort of...) and one part haven't washed said jeans in a day or so and have been in them for over eight hours...

...but that second part? Yeah, it's a lot smaller:

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

the plan

Here's the plan for tonight:

1.) Leave work by 10pm

2.) Drive home--remember to enjoy Lake Shore Drive at'll make the drive feel shorter.

3.) Arrive home, check for spiders near the front door, struggle with key---all the while fearing that a face-eating spider is slowly creeping up behind you, next to you, above you (cripes! They're EVERYWHERE!).

4.) Frustratedly open the door. Let out a huff. Probably say "Jeebus Chrisssssse..." under breath (but loud enough to really express discontent).

5.) Fumble through the dark to find the light switch, any light switch, all the while carefully avoiding glass coffee table.

6.) Flip on dining room light, although actually wanting to flip on the kitchen light. Remind self of which switch is which. Forget which switch is which in about 5 minutes.

7.) Plop purse on counter/chair/table/floor---whichever's closest.

8.) Pee. This is inevitable after the amount of water and coffee consumed today.

9.) Come up with ways to justify that the pizza you ate for dinner (Hey. It was free Lou Mal's...), does not count as cheating on your diet. Remember that you only had one piece...even though you thought you wanted two.

10.) Turn on radio. Probably something AM. Remember how fast 30 is approaching.

11.) Walk into kitchen. Pour a glass of wine, wait, no, have a beer. Wait. A margarita. Go to computer, check which option will be less detrimental to your diet. Choose that one, all the while knowing you'll still have a margarita, too.

12. Fill up bath tub. Use Jeff's shampoo to make bubbles.

13. Top off wine glass.

14. Soak in a nice, relaxing bath.

15. Towel off, put on pj's, have a cigarette on the back porch. (There are no spiders out there. Well, none that I can see, at least.)

16. If Jeff's home, give him a big kiss. If he's not; try to stay awake just a little bit longer.

17. Get some much-needed (and well-deserved) sleep...

...start all over in the morning.

(Podcast coming shortly.)

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

crazy day

So, my wisdom tooth cracked. This caused my tongue to swell up and my jaw to feel like a cow had just kicked me in the face.

Not fun.

And wouldn't you figure it happened during one of the busiest times of my life to date.

So I took a trip to the oral surgeon this morning and found out that in addition to needing the sucker yanked out, I also have an infection.


Of course, the initial plan was to get a consultation, and then drive into work. That didn't happen. Figuring that the effects of an infection in my jaw would not be good, I thought it best to stop into Walgreens to pick up my prescription and be on my way.

I should have known by the percentage of slow drivers and oblivious pedestrians on the way to the pharmacy that the rest of my day wasn't going to go as smoothly as planned. After waiting for what seemed like 10 minutes for a driver to get a "primo spot" in the Walgreens parking lot (for chrissakes, it's Walgreens...the farthest you'll have to walk is 10 goddamned feet...), I wrestled my way through the door.

It smelled like a goddamned fart in there.

I hurried through the noxious cloud of ass puff, only to be told that my prescription would take 40 minutes.

I had 2 options.

1. Go to Chicago and turn back around to pick up my prescription before 10pm, and then head back into Chicago.

or 2. Call work, see if I could work from home until my prescription was ready and head into work.

After calling, we all decided that 2 would be my best option. I mean, I don't think anybody wants my jaw to explode right now.

I went home, did some work and headed off to Walgreens to pick up my prescription, nervously wondering if the place would still smell like a public restroom at an IBS convention.

Click here to listen to the Podcast of this entry!

Monday, August 25, 2008

oh skinny jeans. why hast thou decievest me?

So, I'm dieting again.

Not really, dieting, per say...but watching what I eat and investing in a shitload of 100 Calorie Snack packs and meat that really isn't meat.

Why? Because 30 pounds ago I felt fit. But now? Now, more often than not, I feel bloated and unstylish. When you can't fit into 70% of your wardrobe, usually that means that you've resorted to wearing worn out t-shirts and unflattering jeans.

This is true in my case. So true, in fact, that my last pair of hip jeans are officially too small.

This is unheard of.

I mean, my skinny jeans and I have had a love-hate relationship for about 2 years now. But there was always that one pair of jeans that, even if my gut, ass, and hips had outgrown my skinny jeans, well, that other pair of cute jeans still fit.

And I'll be damned if I tried to try them on over the weekend and I couldn't get them over my knees.

So, I've decided to lose the weight. 30 pounds. This is kind of a big deal, because in addition to a slimmer waistline, I will also be losing my butt and *gasp* my boobs.

But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, because honestly? I don't want a new wardrobe. I have plenty of clothes...they just don't fit. Or, if I do manage to squeeze them on, they cut off all circulation below the waist AND make digesting food near impossible do to their restrictive nature on my intestines.

So that's the scoop. But you know what's great? I actually eat MORE when I'm dieting than when I'm not. Why? Because to keep your metabolism working, you need to eat more frequent (albeit smaller) meals throughout the day.

I've eaten 3 times already and I still have 2 snacks and a meal to go. Woo hoo!

Also, I'm going to start exercising.

Today, I set my alarm for 6am in order to do a free workout on Comcast On Demand. Unfortunately, I couldn't pull my sleepy ass out of bed.

The good news? The biceps on my right arm are going to be bulging from hitting the snooze button for the better part of an hour.

Hey...'s a start.

One more thing: I am going to start a podcast of this blog very soon. I realize that sometimes, well, you just don't feel like reading. But more on that later.

I have a snack to eat.

Click here to listen to the Podcast of this entry!

Saturday, August 23, 2008

150 million bucks...and all i have to do is what?

So, checked my email this morning and found one of those "My client in Somalia needs you to invest 456 gabajillion dollars on his behalf" emails.

It's from Barrister Paul "Paulie" (I like to call him Paulie) Graham and it reads:

Barrister Paul Graham
Law Practice UK


Pardon my invading your privacy. I am Barrister Paul Graham (Managing Partner) Barrister, advocate, Solicitor of LLP Law Practice UK, located in Glasgow Scotland. Born January 2, 1960; admitted, 1984. Education: LL.B, Phd. 1979. Practice Areas: Business Law Company; Commercial; Employment; Family Law; Intellectual Property; Real Estate; Wills, Trusts and Tax. I have a legitimate business offer for you. I want to know if you will like to help my client invest in your country and get rewarded financially without leaving or neccessarily affecting your present job.

I represent Mrs. Ljiljana Zelen Karadzic, wife of Radovan Karadzic, former Serbian leader, who has just been extradited to face genocide and war crime charges in the Hague, the Netherlands, herein after shall be referred to as my client and it is on her instruction that I am doing all that I am doing now. She is looking for a foreign individual or a corporate body that can profitably invest $150,000,000.00 (One Hundred and Fifty Million US Dollars) on Real Estates outside Serbia.

Most importantly, you will be required to invest these funds on real estates preferably in your country of residence outside of Serbia. Mrs. Ljiljana Zelen Karadzic, herein after shall be referred to as my client, is willing to reward you with 30% for your partnership role. Trust me; this is once in a life time opportunity and I bet you can't afford to miss this. The said funds,$150,000,000{One Hundred and Fifty Million USD} is presently kept in a safe vault in a Private Finance Company in Serbia, and needs to be re-profiled for immediate transfer. Hence you will be expected to liase with the finance company as regard the release of the funds to you and subsequently invest in Real Estate and Property for her in your country on her behalf.

If you prefer to be re-contacted for more express information, Write back promptly at: At the receipt of your interest to partner this project with me and my client, I will send you a detail email as regards the procedures to be followed to achieve this objective.

I am looking forward to your reply correspondence as my response with more information on this profiting offer will be swift back to you.


Barrister Paul Graham
LLP Law Practice UK

Well holy cow. 150 million US DOLLARS? I decided to write back...I mean, the real estate market has been iffy this year...I thought it best to give him a few better suggestions. And the fact that he was only 19 when he got his PhD? Man, this guy must be a genius! I mean, really. Eat it Doogie Howser!

Here is my reply. (I can't wait until he writes me back so we can get this ball rolling!) :

Dearest Barrister Paul Graham:

I am so happy that you contacted me! January 2nd was your birthday, eh? Well happy freakin' belated birthday my man! I should buy you a beer next time I'm in Glasgow! You know, hang at the pub, meet some sexy kittens, have a real swingin' time! But I'm digressing. I mean, this is serious business.

So your client, Ljiljana, needs my help, is that right? Well, let me give her my first piece of advice: nobody needs 2 useless "J"s in the spelling of her name. No, hear me out for a minute. I mean, look, it's obvious her name is pronounced "Lilliana" so why go through the hassle of inserting useless consonants? For christ sakes, her hubby's on trial for freakin' genocide. I'm sure the last thing she really wants to deal with are jerkwads mispronouncing her name. Am I right? AM I RIGHT?!

I'm right.

As for her wanting to invest in "Real Estates" outside of Serbia, Look Paulie (can I call you Paulie? Great). So look, Paulie, I'm going to be frank with you here...the real estate market in the states these days? Not so good my friend. I mean, I could take that money and buy a few trailer parks, maybe a nice crack house or two, but I'm telling you...the return on your investments (which herein after shall be referred to as ROI) is gonna be for shit. No really.

So allow me to make a suggestion or two.

Suggestion 1: Invest in meats on sticks. Hear me out, Paulie. I mean, you're probably saying, "Is this American woman crazy?!" But look, we crazy Americans love to eat meats on sticks. It's portable, affordable, and just damn cool. Could you imagine what 150 million dollars could do for the meat on a stick industry??? Foot-long corn dogs??? Think out of the box, Paulie! How about Yard-stick corn dogs! On ACTUAL YARDSTICKS! Christ, I'm drooling already! And your ROI? Ho-ly shit. People pay at least 3 bucks for a nice kabob these days. A yard-stick of meat? Our out-of-pocket might be----MIGHT BE---4 or 5 bucks. We charge a flat $12 per stick and these people could feed the whole family---twice. And then, when they're done, they could measure things. I am actually blowing my own mind right now, Paulie. Hoo-wee, you have contacted the right girl.

Suggestion 2: Squirrel Farming. We set up custom traps, and our squirrels are basically free. Take them back to the ranch and it's all the squirrel milk you could ever want. And squirrel milk is projected to be a hot commodity in the next 2 to 3 years.

Suggestion 3: Beta Max video tapes. VHS has nothing on Beta. Trust me.

Suggestion 4: Clowns. Need I say more, Paulie? Eh? EH?! Christ, the transportation costs ALONE would be so cheap. I mean, one Smart Car for every 45 clowns? Brilliantly ridiculous.

So those are my suggestions to Lejiliajjajjanijaji about investing that stack of cash she's got stored in a vault. Which, by the way, can I just say, is not a good idea? She'd be much better off cataloging shoe boxes or re-stuffing her mattress with those bones. Vaults are highly overrated.

I really want you to be "swift back to" me on my ideas. Let me know if they work for you so we can work together on this matter.

Also, "neccessarily" is only spelled with one "C", my man: necessarily. You should talk to your college or University or mail-order degree program about that. They really did you wrong.

Thanks Paulie Graham Cracker! I look forward to more details!!!

Swanky B. Parsnips

Friday, August 22, 2008

fridays, roof tops, and why are the blue angels so late?!

Last Friday, the Chicago Air and Water show kicked off. Luckily, at work we had access to the building's rooftop. So at around 3pm, we decided to take a little break from our busy schedules and catch the Blue Angels' portion of the show. Love those freaking Blue Angels!

Unfortunately, the Blue Angels were a tad bit late. But as we waited we were able to see 15 people jump out of a plane with red smoke shooting from their shoes.

I snapped a lot of cool photos that afternoon. As you can see, in this one Chris is explaining something important via the use of jazz hands.

Either that or he was trying to high-five one of the Blue Angel pilots. (I mean, they were close...but not that close.)

I was just trying not to fall off the building.

oh syntax!

Since Chicago's installed these push-button Emergency-Generation Machines, I'll never again find myself asking, "Where's an emergency when you need one?"

Thursday, August 21, 2008

i'm a mush

I was getting something out of the closet the other day at Jeff's house, when I noticed his clothes just chillin' on their hangers.

I took a step back and looked at the collared shirts, and the slacks, and the pajama pants on the top shelf. (I usually manage to steal a pair or two of those pj pants for a few months before he even notices they're missing. Now, his socks? I steal a pair of those and it's like he's got some kind of damn radar! But I digress...)

But looking at all of his clothes, I just got all mushy and sentimental, like, "This is all of my baby's stuff. All organized and pressed, just hanging there, waiting to be worn."

Maybe it's weird, but when he's at work and I'm home alone, sometimes I walk to the closet and take a quick peek at his shirts. I guess it just comforts me a little.

That and he's got this one shirt that has these flaming mutant pineapples on it--which totally makes me laugh.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

new digs

The games division at work moved upstairs, which resulted in a mass migration downstairs where I'm stationed with the other writer/directors. So here's my new desk.

And yes...that is, in fact, a gigantic Twinkie.

Monday, August 18, 2008

not very appetizing...

So, I was perusing the JV kitchen for lunch the other day when I found a brown jar of B&M tucked away in the back corner of a cabinet. (Apparently, B&M is baked beans.)

Note: When making a food product that is A.) brown and
) known to cause gastrointestinal issues and/or music, so to speak, it's probably best not to name it anything remotely close to "BM." (That ampersand (&) does not make the situation any better, if that's what they were hoping...)

Sunday, August 17, 2008


I still find this situation disturbing.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

acid cigars

Uh? Don't smoke the brown ones?

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

colorful language

After an intense day of Back-to-School-the-Day-Before-School-Starts school shopping, I was exhausted, to say the very least.

Max had tried on at least 20 pairs of shoes before I convinced him to go with the Vans on clearance for $15. Apparently, even he knows a bargain when he sees one...which is great.

After pulling in the driveway and carrying 5 bags, my purse, and a travel coffee mug up the back stairs, I used the pinkie finger from my left hand and the middle finger from my right to fumble for the house key. Unfortunately all of that awkward fumbling caused my car key to break loose from its ring and hit the deck.

As the key thumped on the wood, I instinctively shouted, "Shit!"

Then I looked at Max.

"Sorry, Max. Mom shouldn't say things like that."

He looked up at me and gave me an understanding nod---and forgiveness for my foul mouth. I mean, it's rare I drop a curse word in front of him, but it happens. Heck, when we play video games, inevitably a "damn" or a "shit" will pop out, especially when Mario fails to make a jump for the 18379384th time.

That's when Max will say, "Mom! You're not supposed to say that word." And that's when I humbly apologize, and he says, "That's okay."

But it got me thinking. I remember the very first time I let the word "shit" slip from my juvenile mouth---right in front of my dad. We were in the 87 Dodge Caravan, driving up the street to somewhere I can't remember. I was probably 11 or so, and I remember being introduced to Razzles candies that day---you know, those candies that magically turn into gum?

I had been chewing on a few pieces that afternoon. So sure, they go from candy to gum, but what my friends failed to mention was that if you chew them for too long, they also magically disintegrate into stringy, lumpy, slime. And as we were going down the street, that's exactly what happened. One minute gum, and in a split second, a mouthful of fruit-flavored, rainbow-colored bird poop.

So, I quietly muttered, "Shit."

For a moment, the interior of the car started spinning, my face got hot, and my ears began to buzz.

Did I just cuss? In front of my dad?!?! Did he hear me? What the hell am I going to do with this mouthful of lumpy stew?

My dad kept on driving. He didn't say a word. But for the next few years, I didn't utter a bad word in front of my parents again.

But during that part of life, that part when there are words that you're not supposed to say and really aren't allowed to say? It's sort of breathtaking. Think about it. When you said them around your friends, out of ear shot of parents, teachers, or other adults, you felt sort of empowered. I mean, you could almost taste those words...and they were delicious.

And then, at some point, they became words that you still weren't supposed to say, but could say if and when you needed to.

At six, I was allowed to say "dang." (Turns out, I could have been saying it all along. But I'd heard my babysitter say it and just assumed it was a bad one day, I just asked and ended up getting the go ahead.)

At twelve, I was allowed to say "crap" whenever I wanted.

At sixteen, I could get by with "hell", "damn", "piss", and the occasional "shit." I could even say "bitch" so long as it wasn't in reference to my mother.

And, even though my friends and I had been saying it for a few years already, by 18, I could drop the mother of all curse words--the F-bomb--in front of my parents. (But I gotta tell you, even though I was allowed to say it, it took a long time to not feel the way I did years before in the back of the family van that day my candy turned to troll snot.)

I guess it's sort of a coming of age thing. A rite of passage of sorts.

But sometimes I wish I could taste those words again, back when they were juicy, forbidden fruits still ripening on the vines of my vocabulary.

No shit.

Monday, August 11, 2008

hey, jerkass…what about my freakin’ order?

Now, I’m not one to complain about restaurant service, and for the sake of it being my first time at a certain establishment, I will not mention its name in my blog. However, if I end up going there again, and I happen to receive the same treatment? Well, it’s going on my shit list for all 5 of you readers to see.

So what happened? I’m not sure what to call it really. Blatant rudeness? Poor customer service? Borderline discrimination?

I honestly have no idea. What I do know is that I felt really disrespected and hurt when it happened.

For lunch today, a bunch of us headed to [restaurant name withheld] for lunch. I’d never been there before and it looked pretty decent. Plus, Peapod hadn’t made a delivery yet, so I was starving.

I offered to buy my coworker, B, lunch because she so graciously pitched in for me last week. We walked up to the counter together, and I let her know she could order first. She was ordering a wrap of some kind, and I wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted on it, so I thought it best to let her go ahead.

After she told the guy that she wanted the Wasabi Tuna Wrap, there was a pause and I began to say, “And I’ll have th—“

He cut me off without even looking at me. You know how someone shoots you a look to as if to say they'll be right with you? Yeah. That totally didn't happen.

Nope. He just bulldozed over my words—like he couldn’t possibly be bothered with them.

He proceeded to ask B what she wanted on her wrap.

B: “Lettuce, no mayo or mustard, and no tomatoes.”
Order-Taker-Guy: “Is that all?”
B: “Yup.”

B then looked over at me as if to signal to the Order-Taker-Guy that it was my turn to add on to the order.

Once again I started, “And I’ll have the five-cheese sli—“

The guy walked completely away from the counter and back toward the kitchen—once again without even so much as looking at me.

I turned to B, “Apparently I’m invisible today.”

For a split second I thought about not ordering at all. What horrible customer service. I mean, really. Did he find me appallingly unattractive? Was I too chubby? Did I look funny? Did I remind this guy of an ex-girlfriend who had stomped all over his heart before proceeding to swallow it whole, only to pass it three days later and flush it down the toilet?

What was worse? He didn’t even ask my name. He had placed B’s order on a separate order ticket and handed it to one of the cooks. When he took my order, he rushed through it, let the cashier know I was paying for both orders, and didn’t bother to put my name on the ticket.

I felt horrible to say the least. It was like he didn’t want to be bothered with me. I felt ugly and out of place. I honestly did. I mean, I sort of felt mildly worthless. Like I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, I-don’t-know-what enough.

It was awful.

I stood at the counter waiting for my food to come up so I could just get the hell out of there. The whole time I just kept thinking about how awful this guy’s attitude toward me had made me feel. I thought about giving him the benefit of the doubt, I mean, it was lunch and there were about 7 of us placing orders.

But I thought about the attention he gave B and the care he took with her order. Why didn’t I deserve the same care? It was just bad business.

As I walked out with my salad and my pizza, I thought about how I never wanted to go back there again. I’m sure some day I will, but no time soon.

And besides…the food? Well…it wasn’t that spectacular anyways.

Friday, August 8, 2008

what's a matzo wit you?

Took Max to The Whistler for dinner not too long ago. Jeff ordered the matzo ball soup. When it came to the table, Max looked confused.

Max: What's that?
Jeff: It's a matzo ball.
Max: What's a mazzo ball?
Jeff: It's well, it's a ball of dough. In soup.
Max: Oh. Can I try it?
Jeff: Sure.

Max proceeded to finish off most of the soup.

At the table behind us a couple both ordered corned beef sandwiches and got snippy with the waitress complaining that the corned beef was "old." The nice waitress offered them a different menu item, but they remained grumpy and declared that they were leaving.

As they huffed across the parking lot to their car, no doubt complaining about their experience...and no doubt still hungry, I looked down at my plate. I'd ordered The Iron Duke, which was basically roast beef, lettuce, onions, and some packets of horseradish. (The menu had said, "covered in a horseradish sauce." Apparently that meant AFTER I opened the packets and covered the sandwich myself?)

I squeezed on the horseradish and took a bite, relived that I hadn't ordered the Reuben as I had initially planned.

Max asked for more matzo ball soup.

Thursday, August 7, 2008


The first movie theater Jeff and I saw a movie at together is just a few minutes from his house, near Lincoln Ave.

We saw Slither there about 2 years ago after a nice meal at Lou Mal's. Back then, it must have been owned by a big movie theater company because it showed all the latest releases...and had an ample parking lot.

Not too long ago, it was sold to someone else, and I'm guessing it was an individual or a family, mainly because the parking lot was not sold with the building. That's right, there's no where to park if you want to see a movie. Well, there is...a few blocks and a hike across a bridge away.

And yes, a police car is stationed near the theater to ticket anyone who parks within a reasonable walking distance.

We drove past this theater recently, to see that, in addition to the mainstream blockbusters, the theater is now showing what I assume are movies popular to either the owners' or the local demographic?

So I did a little research. Turns out Mehbooba and Thoda Pyar (it's actually spelled "Pyaar." Good to see that even after an ownership change, there are still mistakes being made on the marquis) are Bollywood offerings.

Wiki pages are helpful, I know...but video clips are better:

Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic:

This one actually looks pretty good. And if they had subtitles, I'd probably go see it.

And here's the trailer for Mehbooba:

But apparently, it's a remake? Not sure. Here's some footage from "Mehbooba" from 1976:

I think it's pretty cool, actually. (Despite the fact that yes, I laughed when I saw the word "boob" in big black letters on the marquis...what can I say? I'm still somewhat of an adolescent when it comes to body parts.)

But what I can't understand is, why is Momma Mia under new management?

And why do people interested in group sales need to call Hancock?

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

post-pierogi pool party

When I was in grade school, my friend Jackie taught me how to make a George Washington hairdo in the pool. That was over 17 years ago, and to this day I find it equally as hilarious as the first time.

Basically, all you have to do is dunk your head under, and flip all of your hair in front of your face. When you come up, you'll look a bit like Cousin It. When you come out of the water, before you toss your head back, take the ends of your hair and flip your hair up and voila!

You are Washington.

It's also funny because the guys at work showed me this: Washington, Washington.

Why am I bringing all of this up? (And more importantly, why am I allowing you to see such a horrendous picture of me?) Because after Pierogifest, my friends and I decided that the bars were too crowded (one even closed early and only a select few [not us] were allowed to go in and pay for over-priced drinks...sheesh, the nerve!), and we were overheated.

The solution? Free beer and swimming at my house. So we jumped in in t-shirts and underwear and drank (free) Fosters, Leinie's, and Old Style. We even called in to 103.5 Kiss FM (it was the only commercial-free station that came in clear on my radio with the broken antenna).

Actually, Angela called and here's what she said:

"This is Angela from [sometown], Indiana! Pierogifest woo! We're swimming naked [note: we really weren't] and drinking beer! Beer! Pierogies! Yay! What happens at Pierogifest stays at Pierogifest! George Washington is here!"

(Me into the phone: "I'm George Washington. I'm drinkin' and I'm swimming naked and I love Pierogies! Washington! yay!")

Angela again: "Woo hoo! Oh yeah, and Melissa has a sweet pussy!"

Click. (What's more? Angela actually hung up...not the DJ. Mission accomplished.)

About an hour later, the DJ played the call.

Well, sort of...

Kiss FM: DJ: "Hey girl what's up?"
Angela: "This is Angela from [sometown], Indiana!"
Kiss FM DJ: "And what's goin' on tonight, girl?
Angela: "It's Pierogifest and we're drinking beer and swimming naked!"
Kiss FM DJ: "Aw girl, you wilin' out! (laughing)"
Angela: "What happens at Pierogifest stays at Pierogifest!"
Kiss FM DJ: "All right, girl! You guys are crazy! Have fun! Kiss FM" (Cue some remix of a song they played 30 minutes before.)

Wait. Hold up.
They edited out George Washington.
(Some might argue this goes against all things patriotic...)

...damn censorship.

Monday, August 4, 2008

free hbo?

I've driven past a few shady hotel/motels in my life, but this is the first time one shared the same name as my reaction upon seeing it...


I wonder if they have a "4-hour nap" special...

Sunday, August 3, 2008

the great muppet disaster

A few weekends ago, Jeff decided to wash some old puppets from his childhood that he found in storage. Years of being cramped in a box in a damp storage unit had given the old puppets a rather mildewy aroma.

Most of the puppets were hand-made, and they were all over 20 years old. In other words, they we're really...REALLY fragile.

As I sat on the couch watching TV with Max, Jeff walked over to the washing machine to pull the puppets out of the washer and put them in the dryer. As he opened up the lid, I heard a shocked gasp, then a thoughtful pause, until finally Jeff burst into a fit of laughter.

ME: "What happened?!"
Jeff: "" (laughing)
Me: "You didn't put the puppets in a pillow case before you washed them...did you?"
Jeff: "" (Still laughing)

One by one Jeff pulled out the puppets, some of which had made it through the spin cycle with flying colors, and some that well, as you can see from the above picture...some that didn't fare as well during the Great Muppet Disaster of '08.

ME: "Oh. My. Gosh. (pause) Baby! You killed Kermit!"
Jeff: (laughing and holding up random puppet body parts ) "Get me a towel and the travel sewing kit. This is going to require major surgery."

Friday, August 1, 2008

mini golf

A few weekends ago, Jeff and I took Max to Skokie for some mini-golf. The theme of their 18-hole putt-putt course has something to do with interesting places around the world. The 17th hole just happened to be Africa.

Unfortunately, in this particular hole, you had to hit the ball into a hippo's mouth, but right in the way was a gigantic plaster elephant.

Luckily, my son Max (above), has no problem doing what it takes to make par for the course. I'm just glad that it wasn't a real elephant...after a heavy lunch.


What the hell city is this?

In other words, when did the Statue of Liberty move to Chicago?

Oh, Skokie...*shakes head*