Garfieldminusgarfield is swell.

boot in your ass.

Homemade tortillas (homegrown veggies)

Fourth of July spurred a lot of magical jokes, including Ernest Goes to Concentration Camp (look for it next summer at your favorite theatre!).

Carne Asada for food–you know, the normal 4th selection.

Followed by an epic badminton tourney (we didn’t have enough badminton rackets, so we used the awesome tennis rackets as well).

Blockus and…other things were also popular.

cooookkkkoutttttt

I stole my parent’s grill!  Ryan doesn’t like the fact that the grill itself isn’t attached to the stand, but how else would I have shoved all of the elements into my little car?  I must be into thievery today, because I also took these pictures from Nicole’s flickr.  Take that!

Food prep–check out the awesome hand-lettered sign my dad took from an abandoned hotel in the 1970’s.

merry-nade make me happy!

Atomic Donkey Turds

Carne Asada, grilled bell peppers, homemade tortillas, donkey turd

flamingoed

I recently moved into my new house and started working…a lot.  The other night I came home from work and was greeted by…a flock of flamingos!  Their beady, glass eyes glimmered in the moonlight as I stumbled through the field of flamingos.  Ah, those glorious, beaked beauties.

The Conservatory also got a new sign in the bathroom after someone decided to leave treats in it.

The Old Sign:

The New Addition:

electrolux appliances: IT’S WHAT I’D COOK IF I COOKED.

Recently, I’ve noticed an outcropping of commercials for Electrolux, a Swedish company, which for the past few years has been attempting to save it’s faltering global image, and which launched an advertising campaign this April, introducing its new line of products to the US. If you have not yet experienced the glory that is manifested in these ads, they feature Kelly Ripa, a day-time soap star, who co-hosted the Regis and Kathy Lee show for a stint. Yet I shall continue, lest I digress.
The first two commercials are generically bland—showing the “perky” chested Kelly Ripa entertaining as all good American trophy wifes should—trotting around in jeans and heels, making pizzas and ribs at the same time, washing stemware, and, true to the ways of the past, high-fiving small children and dogs! Truly, the glory lurks in the third commercial in the series, dubiously dubbed, “The Cupcake Queen.”
Ah, The Cupcake Queen—apparently a self-made woman. The scene opens, pert Ripa clacking away in a clearly expensive, New York high rise, shiny Electrolux appliances shimmering and twinkling in the moonlit kitchen. “Just because a woman is single doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand the right appliances can help you find your McHottie.” Okay, fair enough. Computer, telephones, and possible Xerox machines have all helped some find their “McHottie” (don’t pretend you don’t remember that last office Christmas party…you know, the one where you wore that short skirt and they ran out of chairs so there was no where else to sit…).
The camera then cuts to Busty Betty and her burgundy buddy, downing goblets of wine in a modern (yet classic) living room. “The Cupcake Queen. She’s in a position in life that’s a single woman’s fantasy!” I’ll buy that. I would love to be able to afford an overpriced, finely stocked condo. Really, who wouldn’t! To all self-made women, I tip my hat! But wait, there’s more!
Dulcet tones ring out from above–Hark, what’s that I hear? The doorbell!–and off dashes the rosy host. Coyly, she opens the door to find–A STRANGE MAN SHOVING A PLATE IN HER FACE. No words are exchanged as our daring doll dashes off-scene, only to return seconds later with an oversized cupcake in hand. “She lives in a building filled with hot guys…[insert clips of random shirtless men with plates]…and they ALLLL have a thing for her cupcakes.” Forget the fact that this immensely attractive woman is single, living in an overpriced, well-furnished flat. BITCH HAS A DOUBLE-CAPACITY-ELECTROLUX-WALL-OVEN, anndddd she can bake. Until she purchased that oven, she was unemployed. True story. I was there.
Oh, but it’s not over yet! It’s now chipper Kelly’s turn to answer the door, while our hesitant heroine takes a much deserved break. “So you see,” Kelly knowingly informs us, “if you have the right appliances, they’ll be after your cupcakes all night long.” The door opens, and…enter the dumpy delivery boy. Clearly peeved, Kelly snatches the clipboard from his outstretched hand and glares menacingly at her chuckling friend. Oh Ripa, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.

Since Electrolux is a stingy bastard, they won’t allow anyone to embed, so to truly experience the glory, you’ll have to click HERE.

Guh.

Finals exams have descended. The back window on my car has been utterly shattered by an errant baseball, while I was suffering through my Constitutional Law final. You see, today was by far the most rainy day of the year, so logically it had to occur the day before. Death to everyone.

Two exams left, then I begin caulking, grouting, painting and finishing random surfaces in NewHouse™. After that, house-warming and birthday. I think Lisa might be out of town, but we are taking pseudo-roadtrip later in the summer, so I think that can make up for it. It’s time for a trip to the springs in Sulpher, maybe that can be birthday destination.

Oh self-importance, how I love thee.

The worst feeling in the world.

Fisticuffs, after a bout of crying blood, was treated to a trip to the vet’s office. During the car trip he acted like any normal cat, panting, crying, and generally being a pussy (!) about the whole ordeal. His plaintive wails got the better of me, and I reached into the carrier to pat his blessed little head. Suddenly it struck. The most unsettling, sinking feeling in the world–and it was surprisingly warm.

Severely irritated, Fisticuffs had turned around while my fingers were crammed through the front grate of the carrier, braced himself, and took a huge, festering shit on my hand. The smell tore through the car before I had realized exactly what had happened. Keep in mind that I drive a standard, and my right hand was now trapped (less I spread peanut buttery goo about the car) in the carrier. In a display of my awesome genius, I managed to single-handedly (!) summon a napkin (accio napkin!) across the car, while maneuvering onto an off ramp, and popping the car out of gear with my elbow. By the time we arrived at the vet’s office, Fisticuffs had rolled around in his feces, caking himself in it, and pressing it out of the side of the carrier, like play-dough through a pasta machine.

I fear I will never recover.

The aftermath.

Marital Rape, Part Deux

So I’ve been inspecting my traffic count, and couldn’t figure out where all the hits were coming from. Under search terms, the items to which this crappy blog is linked include, “anteaters,” “marital rape,” and “buketz.” I ran a google search for marital rape, but the entry was nowhere to be found….until clicking on images.

What should appear, but Pua! A mildly creepy image for marital rape, i guess–but almost fitting.  I imagine being violated by an anteater would be slightly unsettling.

McWORLD!

…it could happen.

Mail fraud is fun for everyone.  Tippy just received a letter with a McDonald’s “Reading Railroad” game piece instead of a stamp.  This will teach everyone to doubt me and/or trust the thoroughness of the robots at the post-office!

square america

This site is a collection of vintage snapshots. You should probably go look at it (especially you, Colin). It makes me pretty happy.

Square America