Tuesday, May 31, 2005

HVAC this!

They've been working on the HVAC system in my office for about 2 weeks now. This means that there have been a lot of mulleted men in hard hats with OSU tattoos working in the building - EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.

This shouldn't be a big problem as it's in between semesters so there are no students. The problem (well, ok, ONE of the many problems) is that our esteemed leaders -probably figuring that everyone important is on vacation- have seen fit to schedule every major repair job at the same time. This means that not only the HVAC technicians, but the electricians, the plumbers, the painters, the carpet installers, and the landscapers have descended on our campus like a swarm of hungry locusts so that there is no place I can go to get away from the cacophony of medieval torture devices otherwise known as "facilities improvement."

The mullet parade notwithstanding, the repairs were going along just fine until Friday. That's the day I learned that not only were they going to rip the ceiling out of my lab - and my office - but that they were going to do it slowly and torturously over the course of a week.

Today when I opened the door to the lab there was a fine layer of grit covering the floor, electrical wires hanging down from the ceiling, and plastic wrap covering most -but not all- of the computers. I felt like I had walked onto the set of CSI and at any moment I would step on the dead body that had been dismembered and left in the lab to serve as a warning to all who might dare enter. Yeah, if only.

Instead, I was greeted by the maintenance head honcho who seemed way too excited about the installation of new HVAC units. I didn't look down just in case he was that excited - I've always abided by the rule that anything turgid, swollen, or engorged should be avoided while at work. It's just too awkward and icky.

So now I am reduced to roaming the halls in search of an empty office while trying to steer clear of the over-stimulated, HVAC-aroused, ass-hat in charge.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Revenge of the Chihuahua, part 2


tink2
Originally uploaded by Chai Goddess.
Just to prove my point (see last blog entry) about Yoda looking like a "hoary old chihuahua" here's a pic of "Tinkerbell" Hilton. I think they're related.

Yoda to Tinkerbell: "MMMMM....Strong in the force someday you will be. Get rid of clap-ridden ho-bag, you must!"

Revenge of the Chihuahua, part 1


yoda2
Originally uploaded by Chai Goddess.
Well, I just saw Revenge of the Sith and all I really have to say about is: meh.

Special Effects: Good.
Dialog: Bad.

Demented muppet who looks like a hoary old chihuahua flying through the air like Jet Li: Just plain silly.

I paid $6.50 to see this movie. If Lucas will mail me a check for $1.50 we can call it even.

If you want a more definitive review of Revenge of the Sith, check out The Man's blog.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Be All You Can Be...

...subtitled: The Diary Entry Detailing the Morning From Hell

1. Late for work... CHECK!

2. Wait in line behind the only guy on the fucking planet who writes a check for $3.88 for a bagel and coffee... CHECK!

3. Greeted by Roach-zilla upon unlocking office...CHECK!

4. Scream like a sissy and spill coffee on self while running away from Roach-zilla...CHECK!

5. Find co-worker with cahones big enough to step on said sasquatch-like insectoid (thanks Shirley!)...CHECK!

6. Use up the last of the Lysol disinfecting everything in my office that might have been touched by Roach-zilla...CHECK!

7. Am told by HVAC contractors that everything "of value" in my office must be removed by tomorrow morning so they can make big holes in my ceiling...CHECK!

...fuck the ARMY, I get more accomplished by 9:00 am than they do!

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

A Sign of the Impending Apocalypse

The wedding registry of Mary Kay LeTourneau and Vili Fualaau.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Why Do They Name Bras?

...because it's really freaky and I wish they would stop.

I was shopping online for a bra and noticed that now all bras come with really bizarre names like "Eyelash Galoon" and "Body Beware." {{Ed. note: No links as I'm sure the internet provides enough whack-off material for 13 year olds without me adding to the mix}} When did this happen? It used to be that only Victoria's Secret named intimate apparel. Those were some great names, too. I always felt like I was visiting the nasty twins of the Bronte sisters whenever I shopped there - "hmm...should I buy the Emily bra with the black lace or the Charlotte in hot pink?"

Have regular-buy-them-at-Target-bras always had names? I never noticed this phenomenon. Who comes up with these name anyway? Frustrated romance novelists? Demented monkeys farting on snare drums? Because I think those are the two types of names out there now.

Frustrated Novelist Bra Names...
1. "Jasmine"
2. "Isadora"
3. "Angelique"

Demented Monkey Farting on Snare Drum Bra Names...
1. "All the Right Moves" (I think I saw this exact same product name while shopping for a laxative)
2. "Body Beware"
3. "Eyelash Galoon" (I don't even know what this means)

Friday, May 20, 2005

Freaky Friday #1

Since I'm a lazy little twat who can't be bothered to write anything original on a Friday I've started the first of many "Freaky Friday" posts in which I troll the internet for freakishly weird happenings around the globe.

1.
Note to self: Leave the vibrating panties at home! I never want my 15 minutes of fame to be because my Pleather Panties of Pleasure knocked me senseless in the middle of the frozen food isle.

2.
Following the panties debacle, I found this story about a mobile phone thief with a rather unique escape plan. According to the story, however, hiding a stolen mobile phone up your coochie is not as unique as one would think. Which makes me wonder... why did I just spend $20 bucks on a new wallet when I could just stuff all my credit cards up my ass and keep my checkbook up my twat?

3.
OK, I can't be the only one bothered by this Silver Ring Thing being touted by some evangelicals (oh - right, they're not just right-wing Christian loonies, they added some secular bullshit so they could keep getting funded by George W and his cronies ON MY DIME). I find them mucho creepy.

I do, however, covet mightily this SRT water bottle - maybe it's just the pedophil-icious picture they have advertising its wonderful dick-dousing effects....

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Not So Trivial

***This is not the original post I had planned to write. I tried to edit the original for typos and Blogger ended up eating the entire post - typos and all. Which is probably ok, as the original post sucked anyway. I just didn't expect Blogger to be so editorially aware.***

Well, the final essays have been read and graded. Whenever I grade the final essays I always reminisce about my early days of teaching and why I chose to get into this field. Although, the fact is this was not my first, second, or even third choice for a career.

When I started college I had these heady visions of a career filled with political intrigue, foreign diplomats, and exotic locales. I thought I would major in International Relations, get a job doing something vaguely James Bond-like and well, do other...international-type stuff.

I majored in International Relations for about a year before I had the sense to get the hell out. Most of my professors were so deep into theory and divorced from reality that they couldn't name the capital city of Canada. They weren't interested in real-world events. I, on the other hand, had no interest in theory. It took me a year to figure this out and when I did I wasn't very happy.

To illustrate just how dissimilar my take on International Relations was from my professors I offer up a brief episode from my freshman year - oh so many moons ago...

One of my first assignments in my World Politics class was to find and interview someone who worked in the arena of - you guessed it - world politics. Considering that I was going to school in Washington D.C., it wasn't that difficult to find someone who fit the bill. In fact, my roommate at the time knew the ambassador from Paraguay and got me an interview with him. I thought I was the mother-fucking mack daddy of international politics for scoring that interview. I just knew that CNN would be calling me up for a job once word got out that I had interviewed the Paraguayan Ambassador! That's right, you read it correctly: Paraguay. (I'll pause now so y'all can look up Paraguay in the Wikipedia to find out just where it is.) Those professional journalists had nothing on me! Barbara Walters? Fucking amateur! Larry King? Imbecile!

So I met with the ambassador - who was an extremely nice man by the way - and I learned a lot about the current state of Paraguay. This was in 1990 right after Stroessner was ousted and the government was still in turmoil. Paraguay stood at the cusp of democracy after years of authoritarian rule.

I wrote my paper and turned it in expecting accolades and quite possibly a Pulitzer nomination (silly girl that I was). About a week later I got my paper back with a big fat "C" on the front and a note saying that while my paper was well-written it completely lacked any information on "networking." Networking?! Yes, networking.

When I asked my professor about my grade he told me that he wasn't interested in reading about revolutions, civil wars, and the like. He wanted his students to learn about the "networking" associated with the "average" players in the realm of international politics like a secretary working at the Red Cross, or the accounts payable clerk for a multi-national oil drilling company. "Your paper would have been much better had you explored the role of the ambassador's secretary in coordinating travel plans for the embassy staff."

Huh?

Soon after that conversation I started looking for a new major - right after I let one of my drunk friends vomit all over my prof's car.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

The Soundtrack in My Head

The soundtrack of my childhood (as with many other Gen Xers) was a montage of "adult-contemporary" and "easy listening" stab-yourself-with-a-fork-to-drown-it-out LPs. You would think, judging by my mom's record collection, that there were only 4 recording artists in the 70s:

1. Kenny Rogers

2. Barbra Streisand

3. Barry Manilow

4. Neil Diamond

Out of the Unholy 4 I think Neil is the least likely to make me lose my lunch. The other 3, however, are the reason my eye starts to twitch whenever I step into an elevator.

So, where are they now?
Counting their money and sipping champagne aboard their yachts while getting refreshing colonics from their personal astrologers/life-coaches with names like Makzumeeh of the 4th Dimension of Infinite Light.

Lucky for me they all have websites, such as...

The Neil Diamond Fan Poetry Site!
Do I even have to make a snarky comment about this? Do I even have to suggest that most of these people submitting poetry live alone with their 35 cats?

Check out Streisand's official website for her "Truth Alerts." Poor Babs, it must be a constant struggle to stay out of the National Enquirer - what with BrittKev and Bennifer pregnant, Martha out of jail, and Les Farts d'Al making it's European debut.

My wardrobe will finally be complete once The Man buys me this for our anniversary (you are reading this, aren't you honey?). Then to complete the outfit I can buy this Manilow en Mexico t-shirt!

...and finally, the MWLLKR, or Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers! Further proof that there ARE aliens living among us - and they've shrewdly chosen to clone Kenny Rogers so they can live among us undetected until the time comes when they begin harvesting us for food. You didn't think that the failed Kenny Rogers Roasters Restaurants were meant to actually make money, did you? They were just a front for the aliens...

Thursday, May 12, 2005

The Label Didn't Say Anything About Porcelain-Hugging Diarrhea

Anybody seen these new coffee "pods" by Senseo? They're the latest shit for coffee-chugging, caffeine junkies like me -- and I do mean "shit." I had one cup of espresso-via-pod this morning and since then I haven't wandered 10 feet from my bathroom.

I checked out the FAQs on their website just to see if they included anything about this phenomenon and here's what I found...

What are the differences between the seven coffee varieties? (my interpretations follow each definition)

The Mild Roast is a lightly aromatic blend with a taste that is mild and delicious. -- accompanied by a mild burning sensation in your rectum.

The Medium Roast is more aromatic and rich; and very appropriate for the morning, as it is characterized by a balanced, harmonious and natural taste -- don't schedule any important appointments for the next 6 hours (because you have a date with a hunky block of porcelain that goes by the name of American Standard)

The Dark Roast is robust and full-bodied, yet surprisingly smooth -- yeah, umm... enough said.

The Decaffeinated variety has the same fine taste of Medium Roast, only without the caffeine -- for when your colon needs a little r&r.

The Paris Roast is a simply sweet French vanilla, caramel flavored blend -- "ooh la la mon ami! my ass, she eez on fire!"

The Vienna Roast is a smooth flavored dance of hazelnut, vanilla and mocha -- "Auf Wiedersehen colon!"

The Killarney Roast is an enchanting flavored medley of Irish cream and vanilla -- "That's no Lucky Charm! There's a leprechaun flying out of my butt!"

Oh yeah. The shit just never stops here in Tex-ass.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Which is more pathetic?

Ok, here's a deep philosophical question for you...

Which of these stories is more pathetic?

1.
Man had 10 beers, blew up house
Apparently the combination of alcohol and fireworks can be quite dangerous, hmm... that's a new one. I bet the cops were rolling their eyes when they got called in to investigate this one. Too bad he lived, otherwise I could nominate him for a Darwin Award.

2.
Tara Reid horses around at Kentucky Derby bash
Tara Reid is quickly becoming the poor-man's version of Paris Hilton (as evidenced by frequent flashing of boobage to prop up her declining celebrity and still inexplicably popular despite amazing lack of talent).

I liked her in American Pie - but the movie would have been just as great without her. I know I'm not her target audience being that I'm not a 12 year-old boy looking for his first masturbatory pin-up, but really is there anyone out there who takes her seriously-as an actress?

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Not the Mental Image I Needed

That's me you hear screaming, "EEEEWWWWW!" at the top of my lungs.

Thanks to this site I found the link to this story about Bruce Springsteen's new album. Nothing too bad so far, right? I mean, I'm not a big Springsteen fan or anything, but in general there's nothing about him that makes me lose my lunch. Until now.
The song, “Reno,” is in part about an encounter with a prostitute. Springsteen includes a description of anal sex, including the price she charges for the act.

OK, the last thing I needed today was a mental image of The Boss banging a hooker in the ass while belting out his lastest attempt at a Top 40 single. Not pretty.

This now replaces the other unwanted anally-themed image floating around my brain- that of Billy Bob Thornton doing the brown-nasty to a hooker in Monster's Ball.

I'm not sure, but I think I speak for most women (at least over the age of 30, reasonably sane, and those not under the influence of mind-altering drugs) when I say that singing/writing/ yodeling / etc. about anal sex with a prostitute is a definite turn-off.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

So Sayest Kim...

And Kim, the mother of one toddler spake these words, saying...

1. In the first year (infancy) thou who hast procreated shalt appreciate the value of birth control --even more so than thou didst during thine hedonistic college days.

2. If thou workest outside the home and useth the services of a babysitter / nanny / daycare thou shalt alternately love and despise said babysitter / nanny / daycare. On days which have a "d" as their third to last letter thou shalt love thy babysitter, whilst on days which end in "y" thou shalt despise her and curse her name.

3. Thou shalt bribe thine child with french fries and other such cholesterol-enriched foodstuffs when thou art weary and heartsick of thine offspring's wailing and lamenting.

4. Seven days and nights shalt thou labor - and then labor some more in thine house of bondage (and not the fun, kinky kind either!)

5. Thou shalt not commit adultery - really, who has the time?

6. Thou shalt raise a might cry and shout, "STUFF IT IN THE HAPPY BOX!" when thine offspring beginneth to whine after thou hast told him he cannot watch Shrek for the 11 billionth time.

7. Thou wilt pour lavish praise upon the head of thine toddler when he learneth to use a fork.

8. Thou wilt pour thyself a drink of the sacramental wine (sacrificial gin and tonic may be substituted) for every day that thou stayest sane.

9. Thou shalt raise Hell with parents of other children who do not respect thine offspring and layeth the smack down on all those who do not bow in awe at thine offspring's beauty and intelligence.

10. Thou shalt have no other offspring for thou art too tired from the first one. "One and done" shall be thy motto to be repeated to the insensitive louts who keep asking, "so when are you going to have another baby?" Thou canst also substitute, "When Hell serves freezy pops!" to the most oustpoken of the lot and thou mayest ask me to smite them.

So it is written, so it shall be done.

(I'll reserve my first-class ticket to Hell now and avoid the rush.)

Monday, May 02, 2005

Cult Films I Never Thought Would Achieve Cult Status

The Goonies

If you don't believe that this has achieved cult status then visit this site. Even I'm not this geeky. Although I have to admit that I do own this movie.

The Shining

Having never liked Stephen King, I guess I'm not an impartial judge when it comes to his movies. This one had all the subtlety of flinging a flaming bag of dogshit at unsuspecting pedestrians. Only the pedestrians were those of us who were unlucky enough to sit through this entire movie without the benefit of alcohol.

I know a lot of people liked this movie. I'm not one of them. This was grossly apparent when it came on tv the other day and I ended up shouting, "Oh for fuck's sake, just go crazy already!!! You're married to Olive Oil, your kid's a whiny little freak, and you're a total fuck-up who's stuck in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere! Now start the killing spree you big pussy!"