Ok, so I must be nesting or something but I've decided to do the most hokey, dorky, and totally fabulous thing as soon as I have a real backyard. I'm going to get laying hens. Hooray!
I'm going to build a coop and raise two chicks into fantabulous egg-laying skanks. I'm SO excited!!! I even know what I'm going to name them already: Shikaka and Wehrenberg.
Wehrenberg, for those of you unacquainted with St. Louis moviegoing, is a set of theaters that has this awesome theme song in which they whisper the theatre name in terrifying tone about 13 times. That doesn't sound like a long time, but dude. Try it. Right now. Whisper "Wehrenberg" 13 times to yourself. See?! Creepy, but money.
Anywho, I'm very happy about my plans to have fresh eggs all the time from chickens that are spoiled rotten. I would secretly love to have a goat, but I just don't drink a lot of goat milk. Or, any at all. And cows are too big to really keep in your backyard. They need to make mini cows just for people like me who are closet wanna-be farmers. Oooh! And tiny elephants. How sick would that be?
I can't wait, y'all. Just thinking about this makes me squeal with delight and wiggle in happiness!
M(e) Theory
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So, evidentially, there are parallel universes. (Yes. I watch a lot of Science Channel. Eat it.) This is good, because in current reality, I'm entirely too lazy to get off my fat/hawt ass and do ambitious things. Things like not rotting on the couch whilst watching Dancing with the Stars. Sooo, news of the multiverse means that I'm actually accomplishing all of the bad ass stuff I should be doing elsewhere that I'm too lame to bang out here.
I'm so excited about this news that I felt the need to share with you all the superfly things that I am in an alternate universe:
A professional ballroom dancer named Pansy Piper.
Elementary school mashed potatoes with the kick ass yellow gravy on top.
A butch singer in a rock band who exclusively wears leather.
A soap opera actress who plays Olivia St. James-Cockfield-Applebottom-Bacon- Pujols-Pickles-Butkus-Drewpeacock-Fach-Shagger-Jezvahted-Beaver-Butts-Seaman-Shafts-Wang-Woodcock-Wong-Peters-Kuntz-Weiner-Scrodanus-Cox, the most widowed woman on day time television.
An exotic dancer with a pole routine entitled: The Stapler.
A giant squid. Squid RULE!
Head cheerleader for local basketball team, the Wet Wedgies.
Archaeologist and discoverer of the lost library of Alexandria, Cindy Anna Scones.
A marine biologist who leaves behind the perils of the world of men to live with the manatees.
Someone who has Bad Motherfucker written on her wallet.
Disgustingly wealthy.
In possession of a giant rack.
I'm so excited about this news that I felt the need to share with you all the superfly things that I am in an alternate universe:
A professional ballroom dancer named Pansy Piper.
Elementary school mashed potatoes with the kick ass yellow gravy on top.
A butch singer in a rock band who exclusively wears leather.
A soap opera actress who plays Olivia St. James-Cockfield-Applebottom-Bacon- Pujols-Pickles-Butkus-Drewpeacock-Fach-Shagger-Jezvahted-Beaver-Butts-Seaman-Shafts-Wang-Woodcock-Wong-Peters-Kuntz-Weiner-Scrodanus-Cox, the most widowed woman on day time television.
An exotic dancer with a pole routine entitled: The Stapler.
A giant squid. Squid RULE!
Head cheerleader for local basketball team, the Wet Wedgies.
Archaeologist and discoverer of the lost library of Alexandria, Cindy Anna Scones.
A marine biologist who leaves behind the perils of the world of men to live with the manatees.
Someone who has Bad Motherfucker written on her wallet.
Disgustingly wealthy.
In possession of a giant rack.
Why Does Everyone Hate the French?!
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Why is everybody always hater totting on the French? Are we really not over this whole WWII thing yet? Do we really still resent their lack of support for Bush's war on terror? (Is anyone in America even still doing a happy dance over this?) I just don't get it! I freaking love France like it was a Reznor-headed chocolate old fashioned doughnut!
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.WTF, people?!
It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
The reason I ask about this is because a lot of peeps I work with have been going to Paris to work on a project, and I don't know if they're just canker sore sucking morons or what, but they all come home bitching about France.For instance, this one stupid skank was complaining about how "rude" the French are and as an example of such, cited being shushed during a symphony. Um, hello! It's considered bad ettiquete to applaud during a symphony, let alone have a retarded convo about your greasy ass hair! Back me up here, Nick!
So, then they whine about how "mean" the French are when people don't speak the language in their country. This really asses my chaps because I'd freaking LOVE to know the last time these hosers were cool to a non-English speaker in America. I have seen people abuse taxi drivers here for not understanding complex English words, but when they go to Paris and yell, "Hey! HEY! Where's the Eiffel Tower at?" to strangers on the street, and a Parasian rolls their eyes, they act like they've been morally assaulted.WTF, people?!
It all sounds like a super gay double standard to me. I've been to France, I have very good French friends, and you know what? They kick ass. All I've ever had to do is know how to say s'il vous plait, merci, and excusez-moi and the French been absolute peaches to me. I'm sure if everybody just did some homework on the countries they visit (and recognize that all big cities are just a little less touchy-feely), they'd get to France and want to make sweet love to them all like I do.
Who's Yo Howse Keeper and Watchu Keep in Yo House
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Oh my gawd, y'all! I found The Coolest House on the Planet! It's not only huge, gorgeous, fully rehabbed, and perfection, but it has secret…fucking…rooms! So exciting, I actually peed my pants (just a little)! Seriously, babies, what could possibly be more tits than having secret rooms?
You start out walking around the second floor and going, wooooow, this house is a monster! Are there really four bedrooms on this floor? Then you open an innocuous door, expecting to find yet another mammoth closet, to discover a hidden flight of stairs. It's at this point where you have an adrenaline dump and your legs begin to feel like Ramen noodles because you're so fricking excited! And do you know what lies at the top of these secret stairs? An effing loft apartment! Like, a kitchenette, a full bath, a bedroom, and a living room that is bigger than my entire place!
Lawdy, I have to lie down now. I've worked myself into a froth over this amazing, glorious, gargantuan house. I know, I know. It's in the ghetto kinda, but I'm afraid I could totally deal with that! I just figure a good alarm system, a Doberman, and a Smith & Wesson ought to make me feel all safe at night. Now if I can just talk Octagon into buying it for me…
You start out walking around the second floor and going, wooooow, this house is a monster! Are there really four bedrooms on this floor? Then you open an innocuous door, expecting to find yet another mammoth closet, to discover a hidden flight of stairs. It's at this point where you have an adrenaline dump and your legs begin to feel like Ramen noodles because you're so fricking excited! And do you know what lies at the top of these secret stairs? An effing loft apartment! Like, a kitchenette, a full bath, a bedroom, and a living room that is bigger than my entire place!
Lawdy, I have to lie down now. I've worked myself into a froth over this amazing, glorious, gargantuan house. I know, I know. It's in the ghetto kinda, but I'm afraid I could totally deal with that! I just figure a good alarm system, a Doberman, and a Smith & Wesson ought to make me feel all safe at night. Now if I can just talk Octagon into buying it for me…
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