Om nom nom nom nom nom

The end of today marks the halfway point of my ten day long vacation, and I really don't want to have to go back to work. Normally when I return from a vacation, co-workers will ask me, "so what did you do with your time off?" On those occasions, the only honest reply I can give them is "Slept a lot and watched an obscene amount of television." There is nothing wrong with that, and I enjoy spending my hard earned PTO that way. However this time, when asked what I did during my Christmas vacation, I am very excited to respond, "I INVENTED A COOKIE!"


Yesterday, the cookie that my brain and tastebuds have been fantasizing about for weeks finally came to life. With the technical advisor skills of Opera Mom, we have brought forth to the world the first red chile flavored cookie. (I know it sounds unconventional, but trust me it's fucking amazing. It's so fantastic, that I don't have any pictures to show you the finished product. They were eaten that fast. I'll try to take pictures of the next batch.)

What have I named my cookie legacy? Albercookie of course.

Coooooookies!

Tomorrow, I will begin experimenting in the kitchen with OperaMom to invent a cookie!

This going to severely cut into my WoW gaming time. Sacrifices must be made.

Also, let me know if you want to sample my cookies (once they're made)! Email me your address and I'll send you a batch!

suicidaljane at gmail dot com

I've been infected, help me!

If you follow me on twitter or are friends with me on facebook, you might have seen this coming. It happened today. And I am so, dreadfully, sorry.

I bought my first laptop.

That's not the part I'm sorry about. I saved up for an entire year, and asked my family to forgo birthday and Christmas gifts in favor of money to help me buy this computer. It's the first computer I've ever owned. It doesn't belong to a roommate, my parents, siblings, my significant other, it all mine.

What I am sorry for.... I started a 10 day free trial of World of Warcraft today.

And so far, I like it!

So you might have thought that now I no longer have to share a computer with anyone that I'd get a lot more writing, social networking and blogging done. If you thought that, you'd be wrong. Sorry!

RAWR! vs ROAR!

For reasons I don't care to disclose, a doctor has prescribed me a shit load of hormone treatments. (Maybe I'm taking steps to become a real woman, maybe I'm trying to grow a horn out of my ass, it doesn't matter why.) And like a good girl (or soon to be girl?) I've been diligently swallowing pills, injecting shots into my thighs and ass, applying patches to my skin, despite some of the horrible side effects.

I'm bloated, I think I gained 60 pounds last night alone, I'm grouchy, I think I'm funny when I'm not, my poop is green, I can't stop burping and I'm experiencing horrendous heartburn.

Obviously I'm turning into a dragon.

It explains everything. I'm gaining weight because dragons are typically large. Dragons are grumpy and notorious for having a poor sense of humor. Green poo just means that my digestive tract has turned green. Soon the rest of my body will turn green and scaly. Burping and heartburn? Hello! I'm preparing to breathe fire.

This was not the original intention of me starting these treatments. However as far as side effects go, "turning into a dragon", is pretty cool.

G-baby!

Dear Google,

My friend is in the first stages of pregnancy. I'm trying to convince her and her husband to name their child the greatest name known to man, "Google". What arguments would you give her to use such a splendid name? Any chance you would sponsor the baby like Nike sponsors athletes? The "Google" logo on some onesies would be so gosh darn cute!

A fan,
Suicidal Jane

I know it's really lazy to blog using a print screen of facebook.

But I'm really lazy.

Crayola Poop

Last night, I was ravenous. I needed FOOD!

Wait, I'm going to cut to the end of the story, so you can decide if you want to continue reading or not. I just pooped GREEN. *

Still interested? Good, I'll continue.

I was hungry enough to start looking at the cat's food, wondering "The cats seem to like it... I bet it can't be that bad." But the man who was put on this Earth with the sole purpose of making sure I get fed around a set schedule, refused to get off the computer so we could go get dinner. Sure, I could have gotten off my ass, driven myself to the store, and gotten my own damn dinner. However by dinner time, I had already had far too much to drink to drive legally. (I like to get my drinkin' started early.) Starving, I searched the entire apartment, looking for something I could eat to keep my body from devouring itself. I found cookies.

This would not be the first time I had cookies for dinner, and god dammit, it won't be the last. But it will be the last time I eat dark green cookies.

BECAUSE I JUST POOPED GREEN!* I'm not saying that my poop was green, I pooped out a color. A solid color. (I'm not including a picture, that'd be gross). You could have painted with this shit. (Which reminds of a story about my brother, but that's for another time.)

*Not that I poop. I'm a girl, and girls don't do that. Ever.

This is how rumors get started.

I can neither confirm nor deny that a certain B-list Hollywood actor, who may or may not have autographed my left breast (and I may or may not have gotten it tattooed there), may or may not be here in town directing a web series pilot. I can am also unable to confirm or deny that I have read the script for this pilot/non-pilot. If I had, and I'm speaking completely hypothetically, I would definitely not have printed copies of it to use to wallpaper my kitchen. That would be weird. And if this was all really happening, and I'm not saying it is, wouldn't it awesome if my little brother, Monkey Lord, (who is currently enrolled in a kick ass film program) were working on the set of this project?

I bet if this dream was all real, he'd bring me home a mini muffin that this B-list Hollywood actor touched.

Or he'd make me come over and get it. Either way, he's enabling me to stalk awesomeness. I love you Monkey Lord! (I'll pick it up Friday, don't eat it.)

Sugar Plum Fairy during the off-season

She has no dollar bills in her G-string, because she's not a very good dancer.

Best Christmas Gift EVER!

This is a non-farting hippo. Purchased from Amazon.com, who does not sell farting hippos. What the fuck, Amazon? What kid wants a stuffed hippo that doesn't fart? Know your demographic!

Because I wanted to send a certain little boy (not so little anymore) a farting stuffed animal, and I decided to make one myself. (Sure I could find farting dogs, and really expensive farting hippos, but this one will have the personal touch of being homemade. So quit poo-pooing my gift!)

A self-inflating Whoopie Cushion is needed. Pictured is my cat, Vixen, inspecting the Whoopie Cushion, tomake sure it's a high-quality product.

You'll also need a sharp cutting utensi. Scissors, seam ripper, scapel, or a knife for dramatic effect!

I find that laughing manically helps the guilt you feel when violating a

plush hippo from behind.

Tear/cut the stitches of the back end of the stomach.

And pull out about half of the stuffing in the stomach.

From a shoe box, poster board, thin cardboard, trace the shape of whoopie cushion and cut out two.

Sandwich the whoopie cushion between the two pieces of cardboard you just cut out, and insert inside the hippo.

Stitch the hippo's stomach up with the whoopie cushion enclosed. Leave the flap sticking out of the animal, under the tail. Cut off the cardboard's flaps once you're completely done sewing the hippo closed.

Begin farting!

Open Letter

Dear Chicken shit-who-hit-our-car-and-drove-away-unwilling-to-exchange-insurance-information-or-even-check-if-we-were-okay,

Merry Christmas.

I hope you get herpes,

Jane

Fillin' you in... That sounds dirty!

Sweet baby Jesus, I think that was the longest hiatus I have ever taken from blogging. Let me catch you up.

I spent two months working on a Halloween costume (see the previous post). Blood, sweat and tears were shed in the making of that costume. A few were spread around just writing about it!

The same day of the costume contest (October 30th), Mr. J and I celebrated our two year anniversary. He wanted to spend the weekend at a sweet bed & breakfast. I wanted to go bowling. We compromised by having a romantic dinner at a restaurant we can rarely afford to go to and watching a movie of my choice while drinking wine. (We watched The Boondock Saints because I'm a fucking romantic.)

October 31st, my twin brother flew into town! He's a Marine currently stationed in Hawaii (lucky bastard), but was getting ready to fly out to Afghanistan. I guess Albuquerque was on the way? He stayed here for two weeks, during which my parents threw both him and I a Murder Mystery surprise birthday party (since he wouldn't be here for our actual birthday). He also showed everyone just how disgusting public displays of affection are when hanging out with your family. (Seriously, his girlfriend and him were attached with magnets that would pull satellites out of orbit. All. The. Time. I'm pretty sure they even went to the toilet together.)

After the first week he was here, more relatives dropped by. A cousin I hadn't seen since I was four, and her husband... who I'd never met. I had my doubts. Serious doubts. I don't like much of my extended family, but happily I discovered I really like them! Even though the night they got here my mother tricked me into stopping by for dinner. Dinner she told me! She failed to mention that it was going to be an early Thanksgiving Dinner. A pointless holiday that I refuse to participate in. (Woo-hoo! Let's celebrate how prudish pilgrims landed in a country that was already inhabited. Nearly starved to death, and were save by a group of people they eventually exploited. Plus, I really hate stuffing. Nasty stuff.)

Once everyone left, Mr. J and I struggled to clean our apartment spotless before, one more relative came to visit.

Mr J's Mother!

She was only here for three days, and she really is a nice and pleasant woman, but I was so nervous I STOPPED POO-ING.* From the night before she got here, to three days after she'd gone, I didn't have a single bowel movement. And we ate, a lot. I was briefly convinced that my colon must have so much poo stopped up it that the pressure was going to turn the poo into a giant diamond. A poo diamond, that while very beautiful, was going to tear my insides apart.

She flew back to her home, but before life could return to normal I had to prepare for Black Friday. For those of you lucky enough to not know what Black Friday is, Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving. The day most retail stores have ridiculous sales that cause overly desperate people (usually housewives) to stand outside these stores for NINE HOURS (rain, sleet or snow) to buy a 300" LCD television for twenty bucks. It is also the day that the Mayans predict the world will end in 2012, but I'm not taking any chances, just in case they miss calculated the year. I buy canned food, bottled water and ammunition for my shotgun, a few days beforehand. I create a bunker in my bathtub. I hide out with my two cats and wait for the end to come. Mr. J thinks I overreact, but when the shopping zombies drink his brains through a straw, he'll be wishing he'd worn the metal helmet I gave him for our anniversary.

Because nothing is more romantic than head protection.

*Not that girls do that.

Halloween 2009

How-to Make a Pac-Man Costume:

First off, you need to ask yourself, just how badly do you want to have a homemade costume? Are you willing to risk your relationship with everyone you love? Are you on any medications that make you emotionally unstable? Are you emotionally unstable if you don't take your medications? If after answering these questions, you still think making this costume is a good idea, please read on.

Step One: Buy Two Hula Hoops.

When I first decided to be Pac-Man for Halloween, I read this. Written by Geoff42, he suggests that anyone trying to create a Pac-Man costume creates a frame out of PVC that he curved using a ring roller. But those things are dang expensive, I figured I could take a shortcut, and use hula hoops.

Step Two: Throw Away Hula Hoops.

Buying hula hoops was by far the stupidest decision I have ever made. Unless you are incredibly short, if you use hula hoops as the frame of your costume, you are going to have no room in your costume to move around in. A bonus frustration in using hula hoops is that the plastic they are made of is very pliable. It bends and warps just by looking at it. Because of this, it's almost impossible to find one hula hoop that's a perfect circle, forget about finding two. But if you're like me, you bought two hoops, thinking that they would be the same shape, and didn't realize how mismatched they were until you got home.

Step Three: Buy two foam core boards in the biggest size you can find.

I managed to find some at a hobby store that measured 5'x3.5', that's pretty gosh darn big. Perfect for drawing a perfect 3.5' radius circle. That is until I discovered that I can not draw a perfect circle. Not even using these "simple" instructions.

Step Four: Find a smart person to draw a circle for you.

Mr. J was not only the closest person to me physically at the time, but he's one of the smartest people I know. Surely he would be able to draw me a perfect circle. For Christ's sake, he saves lives for a living, a circle should be easy.

It wasn't.

After a few hours of sobbing into the shower curtain, because you're never going to be able to leave the bathroom, because the bathroom is the only safe place in the world where no one would ever think to judge your Halloween costume that is not perfectly circular, come out of the bathtub, come to terms that it's just a Halloween costume, no one will ever be able to tell that it's not an exact circle, and accept the sub-par circle Mr. J has drawn for you.

Step Five: Cutting (not your wrists).

You thought you freaked out when the drawing of the circle wasn't perfect?

You're going to absolutely die trying to cut out the sphere with an x-acto knife. You are going to slip, you are going to end up with an even less perfect circle than you started out with. You are going to cry for so long in that bathtub that you are going to wipe the skin around your eyes raw.

Step Six: Painting.

I'd read somewhere (because for the life of me, I can't find the link) of a guy who made a kick ass costume, but wished he'd painted the inside black. To make it look a little more polished.

Using poster paint, I slathered black all over one side of each of my two freshly cut out circles. And that's when they started to warp. Not just a little warped either. My two circled warped into giant sized replicas of Pringles.

At this point the urge to cry will be gone, because by now you have opened the day's third bottle of wine.

Step Seven: How the fuck am I going to fix this?

You've already spent a lot of money on useless hula hoops, paint, warped foam core board, wine and Xanax*. You can't afford to buy new foam core board, it wasn't cheap, and you are poor. So you go to the hardware store and buy PVC pipe and some joints for the pipe. You created an elaborate skeleton for each board that will force it to be flat, or at least close to flat. I used stick-on Velcro to force the warped board onto the PVC pipe. For some reason it worked better than mounting tape, go figure.

Step Eight: Making it look like Pac-Man!

There was no way I was going to paint the outside of this costume yellow. I'd already been burned by the evilness known as poster paint. Using spray adhesive from an aerosol can** I glued yellow felt to the outside of my costume. On top of the felt I painted (despite my anger at the paint) the mouth and the eyes. Using extra felt and Velcro, I made straps to hold the costume on my person.

Step Nine: What do you mean you want one too?

Since it was a group costume that I was making this costume for, I tweaked a few of these steps to design a few ghosts, fruit and even a wife for myself that others in my group made. As shown in the video below.

It was hell to make this. But we did win first place in our company's costume contest!

*and yellow pool noodles, I don't even remember how I was going to incorporate those.

** Sorry environment!

Don't judge, just because you never thought of it.

I know I have been scarce lately. But until I get paid to blog, writing can't be my top priority (hint, hint). Just stopping by to say this.

Friday is Mr J and my two-year anniversary. While we are very close, there are still some boundaries we have yet to cross. I have to have the bathroom door closed, while I'm doing my business.* That door may not open under any circumstances. Even when I'm out of toilet paper and I don't realize this until it's too late. Even if it means sacrificing my underwear or a sock to wipe with.

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, all I know is I really need to go underwear shopping.

*My business being, of course, toilet paper origami, because girls neither pee or poo.

I haven't posted in forever, because I'm still feeling sick from eating one of these.

This girl challenged me to make bacon cupcakes. Yes, you read that right. Bacon Cupcakes. Not just any bacon cupcake, I make Chocolate Peanut Butter Bacon Cupcakes.

So here is a step-by-vomit-inducing-step picture diary of my culinary adventure.

The cupcake recipe: A chocolate cupcake recipe taken from here.

Ingredients

• 2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch process)
• 5 1/3 ounces (10 2/3 tablespoons) sweet butter (I had no idea there were different types of butter.)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 cup milk

Heat the oven to 350 degrees and line muffin tins with cupcake liners. Sift together the flour, soda, salt, and cocoa powder and set aside. (I don’t have a sifter, so I just dry whisked the ingredients together.)

Use a standing mixer or hand-mixer to cream the butter. Add the sugar and vanilla and mix to combine. Add the eggs one at a time, beating after each one until smooth. (I don’t have an electric mixer either. What kind of caveman kitchen am I running? I used my whisk again, and whipped the crap out that mixture. I now suffer from tennis elbow.) On the lowest speed, alternately add the dry ingredients in three additions and the milk in two. Beat only until smooth and fully combined, you don’t want to overwork the batter.

(At this point in the recipe, I realized if I followed the recipe exactly, there would only be bacon in the frosting. If anyone wasn’t willing to try these cupcakes, they could wimp out , scrape off the frosting, and enjoy a chocolate cupcake! I wasn’t willing to give those cowards the option. So I added six chopped up pieces of bacon to the batter.)

Scoop the batter into the prepared pans filling each about two-thirds full (don’t bother to smooth the tops--the batter will level itself as it cooks). Bake the cupcakes for about 25 minutes, or until the tops are puffed and spring back when lightly pressed. Be careful not to over bake the cakes, but know that if you take them out too early they may sink a bit. Cool the cakes in the muffin tins for about 5 minutes and then remove them to a rack and let cool completely. (I only had to cook mine for 15 minutes.)

The frosting recipe: A peanut butter bacon mousse topping recipe taken from here.

Ingredients

• 4 oz cream cheese at room temp (about half a standard package)
• 4 oz peanut butter
• ½ cup heavy cream
• ½ ounce butter, melted (about one tablespoon)
• ½ cup confectioners sugar, sifted
• Applewood smoked bacon (or other high quality, thick cut bacon) to taste

Melt butter; set aside Cook bacon to the point of crisp but not burnt. Thoroughly drain the fat and then pat bacon with paper towels, trying to remove as much of the grease as possible. Allow to cool, then chop into pieces. (Did you know you can cook bacon in the microwave? Clean up afterwards is so much easier.)

Whip cream to soft peaks; set aside. Using a mixer, blend together cream cheese, peanut butter, butter and sugar until well combined. Fold in whipped cream by hand. (Is that not the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen?)

Peanut butter mixture will seem too stiff before the cream, but once the cream is thoroughly incorporated, the mousse should be a smooth, homogeneous texture. Then fold in the bacon, leaving out any pieces for cupcake toppers.

Ice cupcakes immediately and top with bacon garnish. Inhale. Horde from others. Or share, if you’re nice

To anyone worried about my health, I used reduced fat peanut butter. That made these healthy, right?

Mr. J tastes the first cupcake

Pregnant, but still cool?

Quickly checking in, because I need your opinions on this.

Body Jewelry for Pregnant Women

Featuring flexible barbells for your belly button ring and your ever growing baby.

A brilliant product, that should have been invented years ago?

Or just plain odd?

I don't know... But I'm following them on Twitter!

I wouldn't do well in prison!

I dedicate this post to all the pictures I haven't posted. To the ones still waiting to be uploaded to my computer, and to the one that I just didn't have the balls to take.

On our way home from picking up dinner, Mr J and I found ourselves driving directly behind a school bus. A large YELLOW bus, that had a bumper sticker. An amusing bumper sticker, at least to us, that read "Powered by Mercedes Benz".

"Quick! Take a picture of it!" Mr J cried.

I fumbled for my camera phone, but was unable to snap a picture of it before the bus turned off our course home. "Follow it! I'll take a picture at it's next stop."

But let me tell you, for those of you that don't know, following a school bus full of kids just to take a picture of makes you feel beyond creepy. When the bus pulled over, and kids started piling out, I had images of my name on a list of child predators. We left as soon as we could without hitting any children, picture untaken.

Sunday, I made bacon cupcakes.

I promised Pagan Lizard that I would write about it, in great detail.

This is not the promised post.

Why?

BECAUSE I'M STILL VOMITING BACON!

More to come... Sans vomit.... Maybe

She's such a bitch.

When I get depressed, or "poopy", I can't think of anything to write about on this blog. I try to keep everything here positive. I don't succeed, but I try. But whenever I'm happy and things are going great, I don't have time to write.

This is all her fault.

Is there anybody out there?

Do you ever start talking to someone, and ten minutes into the conversation you realize you're talking to an insane person?

A few days ago, I found myself talking to a co-worker about instant transportation devices. (You remember, from Star Trek? "Beam me up, Scotty.") My colleague informed me that there was one, at a local laboratory. I assumed she meant that they were working on creating one. But no, according to her, they are merely in possession of one. One that was invented almost forty years ago. How did she know about this? From a series of videos she watched on YouTube, interviewing a man who has used the device to go Mars. He's gone to Mars to visit the government run laboratories operating there. It's no big deal to travel to Mars, as there is a breathable atmosphere. Apparently the secret government has been altering every photo received from the Rovers we send to the red planet, to change the color of the sky, so that the rest of the world won't realize that humans could live on Mars with no difficulty.

I'm guessing these aren't the same people who think the moon landing was faked?

Visiting the bank

This really happened to me. Kinda.

What you're missing, while playing WoW

Conversations from my house, put in a cartoon!

Public Service Announcement

Taken from the Suicidal Jane Best Of Archive:

Soylent Green, is people. It took some of us years to accept it. But can mankind ever accept the next layer of lies debunked?

If you can, here it is:

FLAVORED WATER IS JUST CLEAR JUICE!

It tastes like fruit. The most popular brands aren't even made from fruit, and have sugar, sucrose, or high fructose corn syrup added. Flavored water is healthier than soda. Because juice is healthier than soda!

A rant heard around my house, frequently.

I am about to write about something that could possibly lose the few readers I have.

I prefer the remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory over the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

This isn't to say that I dislike the original. I think it's good watching. Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka is legendary. (Johnny Depp was fantastic too! Even Gene Wilder says so.) But the movie takes forever to get going.

This song, "Cheer Up Charlie", belongs on the cutting room floor. Tim Burton's remake, gets to the fun parts (the factory) much quicker.

I have no issues with the newer portrayal of Charlie Bucket. But, something about the boy who played Charlie Bucket, originally, pisses me off. Even as a small child, watching the movie with my parents, I didn't like him. Was it his too blonde hair? His teeth? Or was it the fact that in the original movie Charlie Bucket broke the rules. Charlie and his grandfather, Joe, drank the fizzy lifting drink, floated around room, were nearly killed by a completely pointless ceiling fan, and had to burp to save their lives. IMDB.com wants me to believe that Charlie shows humility and grace at the end of the movie, redeeming qualities that prove him worthy of Willy Wonka's inheritance. But I am not buying it.

You reading this, may think that I have no taste, and I'm shitting all over your favorite childhood movie. You are entitled to your opinion, and me to mine.

So true

Quote of my week:

"It's hard to snort cocaine through a nickel."

Super Strength is Over-rated

Last night Mr J and I were discussing super human powers, and how over-rated super strength is. Because really, if that's your only power, and all your super hero friends had cool powers like flight, telekinesis, or time travel, you'd be pretty jealous. Mr J announced that if he could have any super hero power, he'd like the ability to make any one's asshole bleed instantly. His super hero name would be the Red Anus.

Sounds more like a super villain to me.

Disclaimer

I have never considered my blog appropriate for all ages. I have posted pictures of Barbie porn, dildos with faces and cunnilingus being performed on care bears. But I am not the one to judge if you are old enough, mature enough, or hell, immature enough to read my blog. I won't ever block this blog from people that are under the age of 18 (I censor everything that would force me to) because I trust you.

That being said, I think I should write a disclaimer.

*** This blog is meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is probably on purpose, however in a court of law will be denied. Some assembly required. One size fits all. Apply only to affected area. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. May be too intense for some viewers, especially your 15 year old niece. Never mind, she's already scarred for life, huh? Batteries not included. Be kind, rewind. Do not write below this line.

My city is better than yours.

Tonight, on my way home from a friend's party, I saw this driving down the street. And I nearly crashed my car into a light pole.

Picture courtesy of Dukecitybmx.com

Once I got home, I immediately googled "Bat mobile in Albuquerque". It does in fact belong to an Albuquerque resident. I LOVE THIS TOWN!

My weekend

This weekend I fixed my wireless router, Pagan Lizard's cell phone network and I tried to solve world hunger. But when I was at the drive thru at Whataburger, some asshole pumped up on steroids thought it would be cool to BLARE HIS MUSIC AND START SCREAMING AT ME, that I decided to just drive away.

I'd already paid, so couldn't afford to buy the world food again. Sorry world, you'll just have to stay hungry.

Am I going to hell?

I am a thief! Well...

I am an accomplice!

Mr J stole a glass from Red Robin in my purse. So tell me, is it cool enough to risk hard time?

Update 7/26/2009: Mr J is now FREAKING OUT that he paid for our meal with his credit card, and that they might charge the cost of the glass to it. (I have estimated the cost to be $50.) Silly man, you always pay cash if you don't want something to be traceable.

Warning - Spoilers

Harry Potter! Why is everyone talking about Harry Potter??! I work around many people, who are threatening death to anyone who "spoils" the end of the movie. Anyone who was actually interested in the storyline has already read the books. Everyone who read the book, knows how this book ends. Everyone realizes that they're really ghosts, Hermione is really a man, Darth Vader is Harry's father, and SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!

Less pollution?

Car update:

I am never getting my car back. The technicians at Carmax are using my car to smuggle illegal Mexican gummy bears into the country.

Whatever, it's cool. I can walk everywhere, right?

Summer niiiiiiiiights.

Something about summer queues all the family television channels into playing the movie Grease ad nauseam. Like many people in the country, I will stop whatever I am doing to watch this movie when I see that it's being played. The movie has some sort of hypnotic power, that if it wasn't for the commercial breaks, I would starve to death on the weeks that it's played 24/7.

But it got me thinking about a post I wrote in April of 2008:

Sandy and Danny, two teens crazy in love. Unafraid of what the rest of the world will say, a preppy girl dating a bad boy. But to those of you scoffing at them, thinking Sandy's throwing her life away being with Danny, remember: Danny and his friends invented the flying car!

Go Greased Lightning!

Don't believe that it flies? Watch this video. (The car shows up about 2:30 in)

Our founding fathers weren't as cute as David Cassidy

July 4th, the United States of America's Independence day. Back when I lived in Germany, with my Air Force family (and we only had one American TV channel to watch) my mother and I would watch "1776" on this day, every year. While I fondly remember it, any conversation about that movie with Opera Mom always ends up turning towards the movie "The Spirit of '76", a movie I'm sure David Cassidy wishes we would forget.

And thanks to the joys of YouTube, you can join me in spending the holiday thinking about stupid movies and their trailers. (Instead of blowing your arms off while trying to set off illegal fireworks.)

A synopsis of the movie provided by imdb.com, "Future Americans decide to time travel to 1776 to ask the founding fathers for the solutions to their problems. A glitch in the time machine changes their destination to 1976. Still believing themselves to be in 1776, the time travellers attempt to study this "ideal" civilization. 70's jokes, props and stars abound."

I miss my car.

June 17th, my car stopped working. The car I bought only 18 months ago, stopped working. Freaking out, Mr J and I rushed it over to the dealership, to find out if it was still under warranty. If it wasn't, I was screwed. I'd have to rob a bank to cover the costs of fixing it; and if the cop dramas on TV have taught me anything, I would get caught. I'd spend several years in jail until I was released. At that time my credit would be shot, I would never be able to find a decent employer willing to hire a felon. I'd be stuck living in a ratty old trailer with a butch, German, chain smoking lesbian who likes to put her cigarettes out on my forehead.

It was under warranty.

The dealership's repair techs looked over my car and couldn't find the problem without taking it apart. However my warranty doesn't cover taking my car apart just to investigate a problem. We were assured that just taking it apart to look for the issue would only cost $60, and it was incredibly likely that whatever problem they couldn't find would be under the warranty. Mr J and I talked, and decided to let them go for it. After all, the car wasn't running, taking it apart wasn't going to make it run any worse.

In my car they found rat nests. Rat nest-s.

Rats had chewed through wires. Wires that were connected to the dashboard sensors. The sensors that make the lights go on on to let you know "Hey, your oil is low!" Or, "I could sure go for some transmission fluid." Or, "Were you aware that your airbag isn't working?" Rats are not covered in my warranty.

As horrible as all that was, that wasn't reason enough for my car to stop running. They finally found the problem on Thursday, the 19th. Last time I got my oil changed, I went to a chain that specializes in doing all the work in a jiffy. (Now I'm not saying that it was Jiffy Lube.) When they changed my oil, they changed my air filter, like they should. However, when they replaced the cover for my air filter, they pinched a wire. This wire was pinched under the cover where it rubbed and wore down the insulation around the wire. Suddenly there is a naked wire in my engine. And my modest car just can't handle that. Not Jiffy Lube's inadequacy's aren't covered in my warranty either.

It's been 14 days since my car had it's nervous breakdown. And the car shop has ordered the wrong part twice and the only tech who can work on my car has called in sick several times.

Luckily ridiculously long periods of waiting is covered by my warranty.

Share the computer dude!

I have been trying to write yesterday's post for over a week! Please blame my lack of posting on Mr. J's increasing addiction to World of Warcraft.

Bruce

I have a tattoo.

No, not that kind. It's a tattoo of Bruce Campbell's signature. A few years ago when I met him at a book signing he signed my chest and I got it tattooed. I love it, because it helps me figure out what type of movie watcher a person is.

"What's your tattoo of?"

"It's Bruce Campbell's signature."

"Who's that?"

Sigh, "Have you ever seen the Evil Dead movies?"

"Huh?"

"Brisco County Jr?"

"No."

"Xena? Hercules? Jack of All Trades? Burn Notice?"

"Nope."

Crap... I did not want to have to pull this "The Spider-Man movies?"

"Oh yeah! Who was he in that?"

Sigh, "In the first one, he was the wrestling ring announcer who gave Spider-Man his name. In the second one, he was he theater usher who wouldn't let Peter into the theater to see Mary Jane's play. And in the third one, he was the maitre d in the restaurant where Peter proposes to Mary Jane."

This is where the true test is. If the person in question nods, and shuts up, realizing that they just don't understand the ways of Bruce yet, we can still be friends. But if the person then says, "Why would you get an extra's signature tattooed?" It's over.

Bruce Campbell may never be a mainstream celebrity. But he's never given up on being an actor. He's made some great movies, and he's made some horrible (really horrible) movies, but he's always working. He's never given up, and that's why I have his signature permanently on my chest.

Don't call me!

Some of my distant family members have come to visit my immediate family members this week.....

Which means I suddenly have to leave town on a business trip.

No, really, don't call my office, I won't be there.

And the girl who's taking all my calls thinks it's funny to answer the phone with my name. But it's not me.

I'm out of town. Out of state. In fact, I'm in a business meeting with Martians. I could be gone a while.

Happy Birthday Tetris!

Tetris is celebrating 25 years of Awesomeness!

So I give you my tribute to Tetris.

Why I hate ducks.

Just moments ago, I schedule myself for a pap smear. 

I will now wait while all the men reading this scream "EWWWW" and navigate away from my blog forever. I'll miss you. (But I'll try to not write about such grossness again for a while.)

The thing I absolutely hate about these appointments, is that I am paying someone to stick things in me that I don't want stuck up inside me. It's NOT CONSENSUAL. I'm paying for violation. The perky woman at the appointment desk may as well ask, "Would you like to raped in the morning, or the afternoon?"

But it's better than cancer, so ladies, schedule your yearly check up!

Let's make a baby!!!

Just an hour ago, I told Mr J that I want to have a baby. This is something we've talked about before. I think every couple has had the "Should we have kids someday?" conversation. Every other time we've talked about it, I've said "No way." And he's said, "Just think about it, okay?"

Not this time. This time I said, "Let's have a baby!"

He said, "Huh? What started this line of thought?"

I said, "Because I'm sick of going to work, I want to be a stay-at-home mom!"

He said, "........ uh....."

I said, "Plus, I hate these monthly cramps. I can't wait for the 9 month relief."

He said, "No way. You're just delusional from all the Midol you've been taking."

Yes, yes I am delusional. More chocolate please!

I'm sending Bruce Willis a helmet.

I am completely insane when it comes to car safety. My screen name may state that I'm suicidal, but I have no desire to die in a car accident. I don't speed, I always use my turn signal, and I drive as if every car around me is trying to hit me. On my drive to work, I often find myself wondering if I should buy a helmet, just in case.

Imagine my horror, when I was watching an episode of Moonlighting, one of my favorite shows of the 80's, and noticed that the two main characters never wear their seat belts.

Cybill Shepherd is crying over her foolishness.