- Our server has a badonkadonk. It’s snowing on Opening Day. I’m drinking $3 beer. Definitely an alright day. #
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Remember my Work Boys™ back from my employment days? I just made the connection that every last one of them is no longer with my former employer. And my Work BFF™ is another department. If I were still there, I’d be so miserable I’d come home crying more then I did when I worked there.
Twins Season Opener tonight! Bill, Katie, Matt, Jenni, John, Sarah, Stephanie and I (and some other people Bill knows) will in the outfield trying to remember Torii Hunter is no longer on the Twins, even though he’s standing out in center field right where he should be.
To save money, I’m going to start giving Riley baths here. Maybe. I have to convince him it’s okay to get into the bathtub, which doesn’t seem to be working very well. He doesn’t stink enough to the point where I want to throw him in there, but it’s getting close.
I upgraded to WordPress 2.5 yesterday. I absolutely love the new backend, so if you’re waiting around to do it, now’s a good time. It’s different, so don’t freak out, but I’m a huge fan. And, as usual, the upgrade went swimmingly well.
You know what word we don’t use enough in every day vocabulary? Gumshoe. Delightful. And Gentleman Caller.
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It’s probably public knowledge that I would have Justin Timberlake’s children. Or maybe child. Or maybe we’d just visit the orphanage in Namibia together. But you get the point. And while his acting make be only slightly better than the Arby’s bag laying on my desk, his music never ever lets me down. That’s why I was all school-girl excited when this whole Madonna/JT singing a song together rumor started circulating. And then I heard it on the radio.
4 Minutes to Save the World (I can’t promise how long that video will be available.) had a whole lot of potential in my pop-music lovin’ eyes, but it didn’t even come close to meeting the expectations for it, and now we’re going to be forced to hear it every 29 minutes on any Clear Channel radio station I stumble upon. It makes me a little sad.
You know what else makes me sad? The font they chose for the cover of the single. You’re throwing quite possibly the most popular (just not the highest selling!) female artist on a cover with Hollywood’s IT BOY and that’s the font you’re gonna choose? While I appreciate the generous use of Photoshopped drop shadows, you’d think the media department would have a little bigger budget… which was probably spent on making Madonna look more like Justin Timberlake’s sister than someone old enough to be his ma.
And I found this for you. It’s a video of the LYRICS of the song, so you and two of your friends can duke it out over who gets to be Madonna, JT, or Timbaland – and then all the words are right there for you. You can thank me later.
My grandma, bless her lovely soul, is a worrier – a really big worrier. And because of this, I don’t tell her things that she’ll worry about – more specifically right now, I didn’t tell her about my whole without a job thing. The times I’ve had a car accident, there are details that aren’t passed on to her, because really – things are fine and I don’t want her not sleeping or having the Pentecostal Church of God praying for me, because I had a little fender bender. I’d rather her worry about things like what to make for lunch and what kind of vegetables to plant in her garden this spring.
Somehow, through some grapevine, she found out I’m not working. I don’t know when she found out or how she found out, but she knows. She also knows I’m getting unemployment and pretty much anything and everything else that I’ve written… oh wait, right here on this blog.
So, when your sweet, sweet grandma calls you long distance once a week to see if you have a job yet, it starts to wear on you. Her calling doesn’t wear on me; it’s the fact that someone, and I have my suspicions who, went against my specific wishes of not telling her about my employment situation. I honestly love that my grandma calls me, but I’d rather her call me for other things – not because I know she’s constantly concerned on how I’m paying bills or buying food.
She called just now and the only reason she called was to see if I’ve found anything for work.
And now that I know I can’t write anything here without escaping the fear that it’s going to travel to my gramma’s non-computer using ears, you’ll probably notice an even bigger decrease in personal crap I feel the need to share here.
It sucks, because I’m going through a lot of things emotionally and a few things personally right now, and if you’ve read things here before, you know the best way I deal with shit like that is posting. And now, that’s just not an option. I haven’t decided if I’ll just post here even more sparsely or wind up blocking IP addresses so I don’t feel like I have to self-censor. I’m 30 years old. I shouldn’t have to be worried about what I write getting back to my gramma, ya know?
As I hope you know or will at least soon find out, I like to go out with my friends and have a drink or two. It’s my God given right as a 30 year old living in a city with a billion awesome bars to take advantage of this on a regular basis. And while we’re sampling the drinks from various establishments, we often toast to, well, anything, everything, and sometimes absolutely nothing. To us? Those toasts are just about so hilarious we can’t stand it.
Now we’re documenting them at the all new toastblog. The cool thing? Jenni taught us all how to post from our cell phones, so they get updated only a few moments after we clink our glasses together.
And it has an RSS feed. Just sayin’.
I completely forgot that I wanted to write about American Idol the nights it was on. Or maybe I completely forgot about it, because there’s not a single girl contestant left that I like. At all. And the last two weeks full of Beatles songs? Not impressed at all. But, because my list of shit to write about is getting entirely too long, I thought I’d start here – my thoughts on tonight’s performances. It’s the top ten, which means everyone on tonight’s episode gets to perform in the tour, the one that I’ve never really had any interest at all in seeing.
I hate the new stage layout, and I especially hate it when the crowd’s standing their waving their arms back and forth like they’re trying to flag down an airplane. I hate the one gigantic iPod/Ford ad that the entire show has turned into. And I would gladly give any of the judges my life savings (which isn’t much right now) to put a can of Pepsi on that damn table in front of them, even if it’s for five seconds. I do love two things: Ricky Minor and Train Wrecks, so I keep watching it.
The theme for tonight, which I read on TMZ earlier today, is songs from the years in which the contestants are born. There are an assload of songs in every single year, so it should be interesting to see how many of them pick the absolute worst song from that particular year. My guess? At least seven out of ten, especially given these kids are all at least a whopping two years younger than me. It’s too bad I’m not in it this year, because I could pick from songs from the Bee Gees ("Night Fever" or "How Deep Is Your Love") or Barry Manilow ("Copacabana or "Can’t Smile Without You" … both of which I know word for word), or some of my all time favorite songs (no lie): "You’re the One That I Want" (or anything else from the Grease soundtrack!), "Sometimes When We Touch", or even "Take a Chance on Me" by ABBA. 1978? Clearly a fantastic year for number one hits!
I decided to go get some Chinese food a couple of hours ago, mainly because the last thing I’d eaten was some toast after I woke up this morning. I don’t really know where the good Chinese places are around here yet, so I opted for what I know: Leann Chin. Clearly my most authentic option, I know.
In any case, I was walking out around the same time as a middle-aged lady. I jumped in front of her and opened the door, because I’m motherfuckin’ nice like that. As I stood there, with the door open, she stopped dead in her tracks and said: "You’re going out the IN door".
The only other patron in the place besides the two of us was a couple that were entirely too engrossed in their fortune cookies to worry about who was going in what door, so her declaration took me by a bit of surprise. I answered the best I could by telling her I didn’t think it really mattered, while giving her my polite chuckle. (Shuddup, you know you have one too.)
And then she goes on to tell me how people of my generation are always going in the out door and out the in door, and how we have no sense of "following clearly labeled instructions".
What the fuck, lady. All I want to do is go home, watch Flavor of Love 3, eat my five billion grams of sodium, and continue my quiet day. But instead, I have to endure the wrath of some lady, who’s clearly pissed off at every person in "my generation" that lives in Minneapolis, because we can’t read. Suck it, lady. You deserve absolutely no fortune in your fortune cookie!
I hope she goes home and Googles "Leann Chin" +Hennepin Ave +Minneapolis +complete stranger that was trying to do me a favor by opening the door and finds this.
I used to watch Crank Yankers all the time, and this is my all time favorite skit of all time. Tracy Morgan, please come hang out with me.
"Shouldn’t steal my stuff. I like my women hairy. Must have titties and a badonkadonk butt. Needs to have a clean ass. Gotta have strong legs, especially at the knees."
And the rest is entirely worth listening to, so do it.