Ego check.

Sometimes, whenever I start to feel way too talented and/or awesome, I just look at this picture and realize no matter what I accomplish on this earth in my lifetime, this horse is cooler than I am.



(I'm really sorry that the horse's dong is visible. It's gross.)

(Also, I'm really sorry if you didn't initially notice the genitalia and my first apology brought it to your attention.)

(That's enough.)

Your son Rip is on line toot.

I am once again impressed with my own high level of immaturity.

I saw this commercial on TV, laughed my ass off, and proceeded to look it up on YouTube just to watch it five more times.

Snowcones, windshields, and missing you.

I know I don't post as often as I intend too, but I hate writing about it very much because I don't like it when people spend every blog entry talking about blogging itself and how hard it is to find time for, being overly apologetic and seeming really into themselves by assuming that anyone cares or even notices they haven't written in a while.

Enough about that.

I guess I haven't felt very funny lately. My mind has been more serious than usual. I think that happens to me in the spring. Every spring, I get really emotional and mushy and sometimes a little dark. I listen to old songs that remind me of people and places I don't have anymore. I get more sentimental than anyone knows and I even cry a little and wonder if anyone else does this whole thing each spring, or ever.

But one thing that gets me happy again about spring is the dawn of snow cone time. I love a juicy Tiger's Blood snow cone. With a real spoon, not one of those stupid, long, red straws with a tiny little cheap "spoon" end that will surely catch my lip and pinch it.

In the spring I always decide I want a convertible. Maybe I will rip off the top of my car tomorrow. With my bare hands.

This is barely related, but I think if I ever needed to replace my car’s windshield, to save money I would just make a new one. There are a lot of glass buildings downtown. I would simply go downtown at night with a glass cutter and remove a windshield shaped piece of the Bank of America tower and caulk it on to my car, no?

All this to say, if you want to get a snow cone, call me.

I don't like birds. They defecate on my car.

I don't know why the mysterious collective referred to as "they" call this:

a bird's eye view. Birds do not have eyes on their stomachs. Birds to not dangle downward-facing eyeballs from their feet.

Birds have eyes on the sides of their heads. I think a bird's eye view is probably closer to this:

Just a thought.

Come on, Henry

Is it just me or has it been "Ford Truck Month" every month for the last seven years?

Decision 2008

Sometimes a comparison begs to be made. This is one of those times. You may not know that Ron Paul and Ru Paul actually are brothers, and they are both running for president. I made a graphic to help me keep them straight.



On one hand, Ru Paul would mean free socialized belly chains. But Ron Paul would make sure my personal belly chain liberties were protected.

CHAIRS: take a seat- you'll feel great!

For some reason I'm amused when I see magazine ads and billboards for milk. Or avocados. Or oranges. Because it's not a specific brand that's being advertised.

'Hey, buy this stuff- we don't even care what kind. Any kind will do. Just buy it, because it's good.'

It would be funny to see that outside of food products. I'd love to drive down I35 and see a billboard that reads:

SHOES
fun to wear, good for your feet

or

PENCILS
an American classic brought to you by the United Association of Pencil Manufacturers

An exchange

Person: See you later, alligator.

Myself: After this episode of The Commish, starfish.

Stronger

I want these so bad. In yellow.

(I just fear that I will be walking along, looking fly in my shutter shades and accidentally step on a pigeon that I couldn't see due to the positioning of a shutter in my field of vision. The problem at that point won't even be that a beautiful, innocent bird died. It will be that pigeon juice is on my shoes, and I can't live with that.)

Icebreakers gum

Today, I caught myself wondering 'what was I doing at this time, on this day, 10 years ago?'

I was in 7th grade, so I was probably sitting in some science class, smelling of Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers and peeling the silver backing off gum wrappers and applying them to a folder while wondering to myself what I would be doing at this time, on this day, 10 years from now.

I don't live in the now. I like to live in the back then and the next thing.

Fumble!

You know that Seinfeld when Jerry accidentally drops his girlfriend's toothbrush in the bowl and then she brushes her teeth with it before he has a chance to tell her what happened? Then he avoids kissing her, they break up, and she vengefully dips something of his in the toilet, leaving him to wonder what it is. (It winds up being the toilet brush- after he throws out every kitchen utensil he owns.)
.


On occasion, I too completely lose control of my hands and drop something in the toilet. A couple years ago I haphazardly flung a beaded necklace in the toilet, and after removing it I scrubbed and dipped it in rubbing alcohol- and yet I really don't think I've worn it since. I see it and think 'toilet necklace', and move on to the next choice.

This morning I dropped a pump of hand sanitizer in the toilet. I was so mad at myself during the retrieval process, but I managed to laugh at the irony as I fished the sanitizer out of such an unsanitary little pool.

Now I just need to invent some kind of toilet guard for clumsy fools like myself to prevent this horrible little situation. Oh wait, I think someone did invent that already- it's called a lid, and I just need to use it. Cool.

I work at a physician staffing firm...

Today my work phone rang and the display said "PRESBYTERIAN HO".

I should have snapped a photo. The caller ID cut off the end of Presbyterian Hospital.

It's the little things in life, really...

Hard Rock and Rubble

Today, most of us in Dallas are mourning the demolition of the Hard Rock. This pretty 101 year-old lady saw a lot of action, first as a historic church, and then as the house of hamburgers and Bay City Rollers collectibles. She will live on in our hearts, and on Google StreetView, at least for a while.

.

In other news, my latest internet addiction is Very Short List (VSL). They send you an email each day with information about something cool- usually a CD or book that recently came out. I have found their recommendations to be pretty awesome, and I like having something in my inbox besides spam (V1@Ggra h%f oFF!) and forwards from my mom, which usually look something like this:

.

Fwd: OMG Using BIC pens causes brain cancer!

Fwd: Boycott jif Pnut butter- the CEO donates money to satanism.

Fwd: A young boy's final wish *SO TOUCHING*

Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Tricks criminals use to kill women ~ TeLl eVerYoNe!

.

After deleting all of these, I politely direct my mom to snopes and request yet again that she stop sending me forwards. She's a sweetheart, and I know she does it out of love- after all, she doesn't want me to donate money to satanism or get killed after I unwittingly wear a gang color to the grocery store.

.

I'd like to read some scholar's paper on the effect of e-mail on family relations/communication. Now that's something they should put on VSL.

MacAttack

So I realize it's been an absurdly long time since I updated this thing, but I have been busy doing extremely important things. Like watching American Gladiator and doing the giant q-tip fight thing with my husband. And playing Rock Band for hours on end.

While I enjoy blogging, it really is kind of difficult. I can't be all witty and smart alecky and hilarious at the drop of the hat. Moments of inspiration are seldom, and when some of my best ideas strike I am nowhere near a computer (or even paper- old school) and I forget these funny little thoughts in my head. Which are really not that funny at all, even to me.

What's really been on my mind this week is a computer. I love watching the MacWorld keynote with Steve Jobs every year. I love Steve Jobs every year. I love Steve Jobs every day. Steve Jobs for president. (If I keep up like this I will be in the top five results when you google Steve Jobs.)

I'm kind of lusting after the new MacBook Air. Which should really be called MacRexia. Or MacUlimia because it vomits up awesome. Then I remind myself I already have a really great MacBook Pro that meets all my needs and runs quite fast for being a couple years old, and I really don't need a skinny, sexy Air at all. The specs kind of suck. It's a weak computer. Plus I like a larger screen anyway, for design purposes. And I like my laptops with a disc drive.

Why do weekends have to end?

Number 437 on the list of things I'd rather do that go to work tomorrow:

Have a 16-pound rectal tumor.