Summer is sneaking up once again.  I almost forgot, weakened by the oppressive humidity that couldn’t wait for the solstice.

Since the passage of seasons is about me (me! me!), I am reminded that I have not posted one single entry on this site this spring.  I must apologize for dissapointing all the folks who have landed here via google search for urine therapy.  (You’re not alone pimply people.  That’s how everyone winds up here.) 

It’s not that I haven’t been writing.  I just haven’t been finishing.  My quest to pwn WordPress customization has taken precedence.  Chances are good that PHP will be the death of me. This must be remedied before Spring bounds out like a lion so I am writing about the first post idea that popped into my head.

Let me put it out there: I have the perfect nose.  (My butt may be flat but I’ll always have that.)

I can’t take credit.  There are no late night infomercials offering a money back guarantee for "One Week to the Perfect Beak".  It’s all in the genes and my Mom, Jeanne, passed down an acute olfactory sense and aesthetically pleasing honker. While I don’t have my nose up in the air (figuratively or literally), this is my (formerly) secret point of vanity. 

I have a hard time watching "Brady Bunch" episode where that stupid football came between Marcia and her destiny with the dreamy Doug Simpson.

Is my fear in proportion to the threat? Nope. 

My brother bopped me with a laptop desk on my 11th birthday. ("OH! My nose!") I survived (physically) unscathed.

A few years ago I slipped on a patch of ice while helping a boyfriend move and bashed my snoz on a flower pot. I lived to tell the tale.

Will I still automatically duck and cover when seated behind Pesky’s Pole and Ortiz is up at bat? Yup.

Shallow? Yeah.

I’m okay with that.  If you need me, I’ll be splashing around in the kiddie pool.

Tags: Beak, David Ortiz, Fenway Park, good genes, Honker, Infomercial, Kiddie Pool, Laptop Desk, Marcia Brady, Marcia Marcia Marcia, Money Back Guarantee, nose, Oh! My Nose!, olfactory, Pesky's Pole, Solstice, The Brady Bunch, Urine Therapy, vanity

You have a problem. You’re vulnerable – desperately in need… of answers, that is. Who you gonna call? One of the ridiculously attractive professionals  standing by, of course.

A new website, headsethotties.com, is devoted to documenting corporate culture’s obsession with the sexy librarian type.  Headsethotties.com provides readers the opportunity to give customer service reps the Dewey Decimal points they deserve by rating the "perceived helpfulness" of each entry.

These bookish babes are waiting… waiting for you, big guy.

Ladies – don’t despair: they’ve thrown in a few competent cuties for us to ogle.

Tags: Attractive Professionals, Babes, Corporate Culture, Customer Service Reps, Cuties, Decimal Points, Despair, Dewey Decimal, Helpfulness, Hot, librarian, Naughty, Obsession, Sexy Librarian

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:

A guy walks into a bar, gets drunk off his ass, and later that evening the same ass is found… in the driver’s seat of a renegade zamboni.

Adam Patterson, a resident of Vacationland and employee of the Cumberland County Civic Center, is being held without bail, pending trial on charges of aggravated criminal mischief and D.Z.U.I. (Driving a Zamboni Under the Influence). Apparently he broke into the office after hours and decided to take more than the usual pack of pens and post-it pads.

While this particular crime may seem humorous, I shudder to think what would have happened if the ‘Capades were in Portland, ME.

It’s a cold, cruel world out there folks. Is anyone else wondering if the workmen’s comp premiums for skating mascots are gonna skyrocket?

Tags: Adam Patterson, Cumberland County Civic Center, Portland

Those who know me best are familiar with my affinity for the Google Image Search. FlickR is my pal too. It’s like Romper Room on crack for the visually oriented. I have several Firefox Plugins that have helped me achieve ninja status when it comes to tracking down an existing image that conveys my intended concept with artistic economy rarely afforded by words alone. As with most of my talents, it is my blessing; it is my curse. Several of the 31 posts in draft are unfinished because:

• I got distracted by the looking for the perfect accompanying image(s), found the image and lost the steam to take care of the minor detail of content. Forest – I’d like to introduce you to my close, personal friends – the Trees.
• The idea that I am trying to convey is so specific or obscure that even my might powers of keyword cross referencing are unable to turn up a match.

The former is why G*d created Adderall (BTW- thanks for that, Big Guy). The latter is why serendipity brought me my friend Sean (aka – Demonhood). A while back, I got it in my head that I wanted (nay – NEEDED) an image of a Rufeetini. Not one to turn away from a "dare to be great situation", Sean took the conceptual directives sent via IM and boldly assumed the role of the hero. Hopefully this is the first of many collaborations.

The Artist Currently Known As Demonhood

By day, this Santa Barbara based photog is an oracle of tech geekery at an area university. Able to photograph tall buildings in a single bound, nights and weekends are spent taking pictures of things the rest of us are too harried to catch the first time around. His lens captures delightfully quirky moments in the most poetic of ways. Check out his work and if you’re getting hitched in California, hire him to photograph your wedding.

Tags: Artist, California, Google, Santa Barbara, Sean

Heiress.
Socialite.
Panty protester.

Political figure???

Paris Hilton releasing yet another <ahem> viral video on National Underwear Day?  That’s ironic.

The fact that it’s hilarious? Now, that is H-O-T.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrxqY0BlgII]

In answer to the question of “Funny or Die?”, I say let them live.

Tags: 2008 Presidential Campaign, Funny or Die, Paris for President, Paris Hilton, viral video

Some people dismiss Brooke Hogan as the low-talent bi-product of a ‘wrestling match’ between her parents, Hulk and Linda. That may be true but don’t count her out just yet.

In addition to mediocre musicianship, she can now count time travel as one of her super powers.

You see, she just set the women’s movement back about 50 years or so.  Here’s a sampling of the chanteuse’s unconscientious objections:

You know what – I am actually not that much into voting. I think it’s kinda crazy that a woman is running, because I think that women deal on emotions and menopause and PMS and stuff.

Like, I’m so moody all the time, I know I couldn’t be able to run a country, ’cause I’d be crying one day and yelling at people the next day, ya know?

Needless to say, I take exception to the above statement regardless of whether or not it applies for yours truly.

Fatwah, leg drop, euthanasia… you decide. Regardless of methodology employed for the laying down of the smack, it’s time to chlorinate the gene pool.

Don’t take my word for it: see for yourself.

Tags: Brooke Hogan, Hulk, low-talent bi-product, time travel

Faneuil Hall is one of the better known landmarks here in Boston. If you’ve visited our fair city, chances are you’ve strolled the charming cobbled streets while picking up souvenirs to bring back to the folks at home. If you’ve lived here, it’s a safe bet that you’ve cursed the freakin’ stone streets while hobbling in uncomfortable shoes on the way to meet friends for an evening out.

I had one such evening on Saturday. There are not that many people for whom I’d brave the 40 minutes looking for parking in Boston around Faneuil Hall. Finsy is one of ‘em and her bachelorette party ended up in an establishment in Quincy Market. Ahhh… there’s nothing quite like the smell of urine and sausages on the first day of summer. I’d probably crawl on my tummy through broken glass for that girl. She’s well worth it.

Years ago I appropriated my life philosophy T-shirt ripping-off Buddhist philosophy:

Where ever you go, there you are.

In short, it was a really fun (albeit oppressively hot and sweaty) night of dancing for us. I had several of my signature drink: water on the rocks with a twist. Beverage-wise: I was covered but there was a group of fellow bar patrons who begged to disagree. Literally begged.

These gents had "extra" mixed drink of the green persuasion for which they were trying to find a good looking home. The optimist locked away in the depth of my soul wanted to believe that they had caught the spirit from Oprah’s philanthropy contest and just wanted to pay it forward. After 15 minutes of well-mannered refusals from my girl friends’ it became clear that this particular brood was simply too forward. It was past time to stop trying to give big and just go home. Accordingly, the dainty white gloves came off and my scrappy side came out to play. As great of a character reference as the tattoo on their ringleader’s flabby chest was, we were all pretty attached to remembering the next 12-14 hours. Note to self: there is no polite way to turn-down a free Rufeetini.

For the record, I doubt that there were any additives to the questionable drink in question. They were probably nice, albeit clueless, guys who unfortunately made it well into their twenties without learning that there are certain things you just don’t do:

FOR GIRLS: Do not accept drinks of unknown origin from sketchy men in bars. This goes along with watching your drink being poured by the bartender, never leaving it unattended and grasping the top so that your palm covers the top as you’re walking through a crowded room.

FOR GUYS: Treat every girl you meet as you would like your mother/sister/niece/daughter to be treated as they venture out into the big bad world. In other words, do not seek to disrupt someone to complying with the above rule. If you don’t act like ladies are meat to please you, they will most likely be pleased to meet you.

Do you see the possibilities of this brave new world?

1. Ladies won’t be so defensive and bitchy.
2. Dudes will have a better shot at actually getting laid.

Everybody wins. Let’s make this happen people.

Tags: bartender, Boston, Faneuil Hall

I have always been a fan of milk-flavored milk. It does a body good. Chocolate milk – that’s super-yum too. My roommate drinks a bottle of it a day for breakfast.

I opened the fridge this morning I noticed that the V-man went to Wilson Farms to buy the equivalent to a full cow of his lactose nectar. It was then that I was struck with one of those once-in-a-lifetime brilliant ideas. So brilliant, in fact, that I may be on the verge of being immortalized as a dairy oracle. Get this:

Peanut Butter flavored milk!

If put into the right hands will REVOLUTIONIZE the flavored milk industry. Quik – get on it ya silly rabbit.

Granted, it won’t be allowed within 100 yards of any school cafeteria but I still believe there’s a robust market waiting to be tapped.

BTW- did you know that some visionary actually found a way to milk peanuts? I wonder what that machine looks like…

I guess you can milk anything. It doesn’t even need to have nipples. (You’re off the hook Mr. Jinks.)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the beverage pioneers at Signs and Wonders are Evangelical Christians. They are clearly doing God’s work.

Tags: beverage pioneers, BTW, Wilson Farms

I know: you can’t get enough of my stories. There haven’t been so many lately.

Yeah. Sorry bout that. My technical difficulties will soon be detailed in a humorous and touching essay sure to please the whole family.

In the meantime, I contribute monthly over at Blog Me A Tale – a group blog that I am very flattered to have been tapped for as I respect and enjoy the literary stylings of every contributor. Keeping good company is key.

So, check it out. My submission for May will be posted under the wire before the clock strikes midnight on Saturday. Count on it.

I woke up this morning and checked the floor surrounding my bed, certain there would be tire tracks left by the truck that ran me over repeatedly while I slept.

Who knew knee surfing across a floor all day coloring all of the improperly filled knots of a floor with a Sharpy would deliver such a beating? Well, I knew but that doesn’t seem to make a difference to my poor, poor muscles.

Adding insult to my injuries, I stepped on the scale this morning. See- the past few months I’ve been wanting to gain 5-10 lbs. Yep- you read it right. I don’t like the scrawny “Please feed me!” look to which many women aspire. Apparently my midwestern “No-Carb-Left-Behind” tour has done the trick… perhaps a little too well. It would seem that I’ve overshot my mark. Bye-bye Dairy Queen. I’ll always remember the good times we shared.

Well- I currently have feeling in my lower back. Better get back to work and nip that in the bud.

Tags: Dairy Queen