The accidental recipient, part deux.

I got a bunch of MERRY CHRISTMAS text messages on Christmas from friends.
I also got one from whoever sent me the text about the retard in snowboots on the big wheel.

So...I wished whoever it is one back.

XMAS FAIL!!!

Today at work, my coworker Laurie had her radio tuned to Christmas songs. About the second or third time I had to hear "Do You Hear What I Hear?" I pointed something out to her that even she--the woman who called me Grinchy last week--had to admit to.

"You know that part about how 'a child, a child, shivers in the cold. Let us bring him silver and gold'?" I said. She had already started laughing.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Well, how about someone brings this poor kid a blanket? Silver, gold, and a freakin' blanket? Or maybe a snowsuit for the baby Jesus? Try to be a little practical. You know?"

The woman had to have her baby in barn. Seriously, no one thought of A BLANKET??

The accidental recipient.

I got a great text message today. It said:

"There is a report of drunk and naked retard wearing snow boots riding a Big Wheel along 690. Do you need me to come get you again?"

Except I have no idea who it's from, so I don't think it was meant for me.

Die. Die. Die. Die. DieT.

Maybe it's because I've been home sick from work for two days. Maybe it's because I've gotten through all three seasons of Kids in the Hall that I own on DVD, and am now starting over at the beginning ("ballet and snacks! my two passions!"). Maybe it's because I've accomplished little but laundry and fighting off cold germs in the last three days. But I've had just about enough of diet advertisements lining the websites I'm looking at.

First let's address the one I hate the most: the stupid fucking "pink patch" that will allow you to lose five pounds in two weeks. O RLY?! Five pounds in two weeks? Chances are, if you're about to glue this thing to your torso, you don't have any real need to lose weight anyway. Where do you plan to lose it from? Your eyelids? Your ankles? Your pinky toes? Get bent. If you're bellyaching about how "if only you could lose five pounds in two weeks," you're a whiny bitch who's probably too skinny anyway. Do us all a favor and eat a sandwich. Thank you.

Second, the bowl of acai mud. I admit, I would like to taste what acai is like, just to see if it holds any of the charms of other berries I enjoy, such as...most berries, but particularly cranberries and strawberries. I enjoy most things that boast antioxidants, such as green tea, cranberries, coffee, red wine and so on, and don't particularly care if they have magical powers for making people skinny. (Which they do not.) I do have to tell you, however, that a heaping helping of what appears to be, to quote Amanda, "huckleberry diarrhea" is not going to make me run out and purchase some acai sorbet, even if I could find some somewhere.

If this whole world was more about who people actually are and the good care that they take of their bodies regardless of weight, instead of magical fucking potions to counteract McDonalds and sitting on our asses, we'd all be a lot better off.

And after a couple more doses of NyQuil or DayQuil, I promise to return to being lightheartedly cynical, instead of a railing, coughing bitch. Merci.

Celebrating Thanksgiving with soy.

Amanda has told me that Turducken is all the rage on the food network these days. I'm thrilled. I had some last Christmas and thought it was pretty good. Some might say, in these trying financial times, that turducken is overkill, or an exercise in excess. It is, after all, three types of fowl shoved up each other to make one super-fowl.

I disagree. Sure, a turducken is a turkey stuffed with a duck which has been stuffed with a chicken, and maybe to some that seems like "too much." I don't think so. And I'll tell you why: if there was no such thing as turducken, no one would get to say "turducken," which is a hilarious word because it contains the word "turd." And that, to me, is funny. Because food names are no places for poop jokes or references.

There is a delicious Chinese appetizer sampler that I can't order with a straight face, and as such, I don't order it. It's called a pu-pu platter. I KNOW that it does not mean the same thing in Cantonese or Mandarin as it does in English, but that DOES NOT MATTER. There is a discernible toilet reference in the name of this food. And all the paper-wrapped chicken and beef on skewers and those little shrimp chips in the world can't change that.

I think that the makers of the popular vegetarian turkey substitute Tofurkey should develop their own holiday hybrid. You can do awesome stuff with tofu, so why not make a tofu turducken? I even have a name ready for them. Ready? Tofucken.

Yep. It's tofu made to taste like turkey, duck and chicken. Plus it's got a swear in it.

I never want to hear [about] the following again:

* Joe The Plumber
* Joe Sixpack
* Ashley Todd
* Karl Rove
* Ann Coulter
* Rush Limbaugh
* Sarah Palin (NOT KIDDING.)
* Keith Olbermann and/or Chris Matthews (you heard me correctly)
* Bill O'Reilley
* Anyone who thinks it's a cool idea for Alaska to secede from the U.S.
* Bristol Palin. Because really, she's got enough problems.
* Any child with the last name Palin
* Jesse Jackson (sorry, but I think you've said enough, sir)
* Bin Laden, until you tell me he's dead and can confirm it.
* John Edwards
* His girlfriend
* Chocolate Skittles

I think that'll be fine for now.

Featuring Bounder and Jake the Arson Dog!

I got to spend my Saturday with my family and friends of the family, and not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR labrador retrievers, dogs who I love for many reasons. First, I love all dogs, but especially dogs big enough to take me down if they get the notion. Labs can definitely do that. Second, they retrieve. It is their job, they are good at it, and they take it seriously. Third, they come in an assortment of colors, one of which is bound to match your decor. And last, they run the gamut from exceptionally intelligent to not at all, really. It's important to remember, though: however dumb you think a lab may be, he or she is much smarter than you think. Much smarter.
We learned this yesterday with help from Bounder, who is a black lab who belongs to family friends Eddie and Jan, and who is very friendly but gives the impression of being of fairly average intelligence. This is a trick. Bounder is a genius.

A grand total of eleven humans returned to my aunt's house after shopping at kind of a craft and food market run by mennonites near where my aunt lives. So we came home with fruits and veggies and knitted stuff and baked goods and cheese and all kinds of things, among which were two dozen cinnamon sticky buns. With the humans homes, the four dogs were released and allowed back into general population to sniff the people and each other and get overly excited that we'd all come back after two agonizing hours of confusion. Concerned more about her human guests than the cunning plots of sugar-crazed dogs, my aunt put down the bag with the cinnamon buns and went to get drinks for people.

In the approximately seven minutes between putting the bag down and returning to the den, the unthinkable happened. Actually, you already know what happened. Bounder happened.

Bounder's enthusiastic nom-nomming of the cinnamon sticky buns only came to a halt when my aunt discovered him happily munching his way through the second dozen.

"Oh my God!" she yelled. "BOUNDER!"

Bounder succeeded in looking properly guilty for a little while. But honestly, what did he care? He'd just had eighteen cinnamon buns. And I bet they were great.

And so it happened that Jake, who is also a black lab and enjoys taking himself for walks whenever he feels like it, was re-installed as the canine voice of reason for the day, despite the fact that he had already that morning, taken himself on a walk. Sorry, buddy. If you wanted to keep the title, you should have eaten someone's breakfast. All of it.

Jake is probably a genius, too. He's very calm and reasonable, and he knows how to work the stove. This is a pretty hefty accomplishment, when you think about it, for a guy with out any opposable thumbs. But yes, as a teenager, Jake succeeded in turning on the gas stove at my aunt and uncle's home in Connecticut. More impressive still was that the house didn't just fill up with gas, because he managed to get the thing lit. Even more impressive was the fact that a wooden cutting board was sitting on the burner, and Jake managed to get that lit, too. And here's the proof that he's a genius: when he saw that he'd managed to start a kitchen fire, HE LEFT THE HOUSE. Didn't call 911 or anything, just saw what he did, probably thought, "uh-oh!" and left the house.

Because who would believe that a dog had started a fire by accident? Or at all, actually?