Batting away criticism with a wave of his healing hand, the President squashed complaints from miscreant pests that he "flew off the handle" and harmed one of God's lovely li'l critters.
In prepared remarks, delivered with the aid of TOTUS, the president commented that he respects insects, welcomes their input in matters of pesticide control, standing-water breeding grounds, and refuse centers, such as New Jersey.
He pointedly noted, however, that he will ignore them and run roughshod over them like tanks over protesters in Tianenman Square, like the Soviets in the Velvet Rebellion, like Himself over the Constitution...
Billions of tiny little insect wings beat a raucous applause, even as B-52's poured DEET by the hectare over the quickly dying audience.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
2008 and before... This was us.
Our friend (and non-official official fambly member) Gabe was kind enough to take some lovely photos of our family for Christmas before he went gallivanting out to California away from us in December. I haven't had a chance to put these up before now, but here we are, in December, 2008.
Click on any of the photos above to see our new/old family album, which includes many of our never-before-published pictures. Can you believe it - we've been married over three years, and it has taken me *this* long to corral these!
Yes, the cobbler's children without shoes and all that. I know...
But here's the biggie: I uploaded our wedding photos today too!
Also for some fun and random, click on in for our 2008 version of Sauer Vignettes!
Click on any of the photos above to see our new/old family album, which includes many of our never-before-published pictures. Can you believe it - we've been married over three years, and it has taken me *this* long to corral these!
Yes, the cobbler's children without shoes and all that. I know...
But here's the biggie: I uploaded our wedding photos today too!
Also for some fun and random, click on in for our 2008 version of Sauer Vignettes!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
If I were the Unquestionably Grand Inarguably Divine Office of the President-Elect (UGIDOOTPE)…
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I would appoint only members of the opposition (who are also members of the Senate, which coincidentally is led by a majority of my own party but not sufficient a majority to have unfettered reign) to my cabinet and the various offices and heads of departments of my administration.
Those appointed would be representing states that have recently altered their primary color alignment to match that commonly associated with my own party. The governors of those states would also quite conveniently be members of my party.
This would all but assure loyal replacements in the Senate in states where such vacancies are filled by gubernatorial appointment, and take advantage of prevailing popular opinion in states where the seats are filled by special election.
I would then, of course, fire all my cabinet and department heads.
Audacious enough for ya?
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Rumored Updates
I heard a rumor recently that my husband would like to begin blogging more often. In honor of said rumored declaration, I have revamped our blog so that is again *our* blog.
In the event of any actual posts, I will, of course, notify readers of my blog that these posts are present. If they do not surface and the rumor is merely a rumor, do enjoy the new look as you're stopping by in hope.
In the event of any actual posts, I will, of course, notify readers of my blog that these posts are present. If they do not surface and the rumor is merely a rumor, do enjoy the new look as you're stopping by in hope.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Why I Shop At Wal-Mart
Unsettling though it was, I had to come to the conclusion fairly early in my professional endeavors that I am no mathematician. Fortunately, the law rarely requires me to calculate numbers: computers handle our billing, legal assistants figure out interest on judgments and filing fees, and the courts, well bless them all, they are chiefly responsible for gracing the world with formulas. The judges can't do the math either, so they make it easier on the rest of us by establishing open-ended solutions.
Speaking with people who are more adept at the numerical arts usually leaves nodding my head and agreeing with everything they say, so as not to appear more intellectually diminutive than I am. This, of course, is much better than my former tactic of one-upmanship that invariably resulted in my weighing in with something more than commonly unintelligible, like "BUT, if you phanubulate the incanculcatory formule-formulumam... summation, the divisor invariably quotates to the y-axis. So it's really all relative."
Mildly put, I'm dumb as a rock. I am, however, more than capable of minding, say, money.
I'm a Scrooge.
Face it: it's much easier to do the math when you have all "+" with no"-" thrown in to complicate matters. This, unfortunately, makes me no great thrill to shop with, to which my lovely wife can attest. I can indicate "no" in fourteen variants of the English language, not including facial contortions, posturing, and low-guttural expressions usually associated with gastronomically distressed porcine.
As we concluding our Christmas shopping (Okay, long aside here. Yes, I intentionally threw in the word, "conclude" since it's the case, and I'd like to laud Kelly for her efforts in getting us here, that is, a Conclusory Stage of The Game. This Conclusory Stage is noteworthy since it's... well, not July), we found ourselves in Wal-Mart last night, picking up a few essentials for the upcoming Jelly-Dip Bake-a-thon and Yogurt Fry. Being in need of a tablespoon, Kel found a set of four plastic spoons, one of which featured a handle with no bowl, it having been broken cleanly off. Knowing my Scroogesquian ways, she decided that we should ask for a discount on the set as we perceived it unlikely that another consumer would purchase them. (Upon reflection, I may have overestimated the perspicacity of North Charleston's populace: More than one person I've witnessed thus far would likely have assumed the broken handle to be a Gourmet Spoon-Swabbing Paddle and found it a bargain).
After having scanned our other merchandise, I asked our clerk whether they would be willing to provide a discount for the broken item, priced at $1.97. The exchange, roughly remembered, went as follows:
PETE: "We found this set of spoons already broken on the rack. Could we get them at a discount?"
CLERK: 'I need to ask my manager.'
After unsuccessfully attempting to call her manager, who was kneeling on the floor not eight feet away, "Martina, Martina, Martina, Martina, Martina," etc. ("Martina" likely thought there was a vaguely annoying repetitive anomaly with the HVAC unit), she finally persuaded a young, upwardly mobile manager-in-training to stop. For our purposes, we shall call him, "Bubba." Not once during the incident did Bubba look at us, despite standing approximately 1.5 feet away. It must have been one of those ten habits of highly successful managers.
CLERK: 'These people claim they found these broken on the rack.'
BUBBA: "Did you ask them whether they found one that wasn't broken?"
CLERK: 'No.'
Sensing a disturbance in the Force, I interjected, "I don't care that it's broken, I want to know if you'll sell it to me for a discount."
The Force began to quiver with the untenable burden that is Communication in the Modern World. In a tone of voice generally reserved for congregants at a wake, Bubba responded, "Uh... uh... tell them... we'll give them 10% off."
PETE: 'No thank you.'
CLERK: "How much is that?"
BUBBA: 'You don't know?'
CLERK: "You KNOW I'm not any good at math!"
PETE: 'No thank you!'
BUBBA: "Then WHY are you working as a cashier?!?"
CLERK: 'Don't you start on me now! I dunno what it is!'
PETE: "No thank you?"
At this heart-pounding stage of the negotiations, I'm delighted to say that cooler heads prevailed. Bubba, being the intelligent young manager that he is, emitted a snort of contempt that likely resulted in irretrievable damage to his sinuses. While annoyed at having had to sit through their spat, I was glad that he was going to put this ignoramus of a cashier in her place.
Except he didn't.
Instead he pulled out his ubercool, "For-managers-only-iPhone" activated the calculator, and, after what seemed like a painfully long amount of time said, "It's uh... forty-cents."
"No thank you."
Postscript. As my friend Gabe pointed out later, I should have just stopped their exchange much earlier by offering, "Five dollars. Ten percent of $1.97 is five dollars. I'll take the change in cash, please."
Speaking with people who are more adept at the numerical arts usually leaves nodding my head and agreeing with everything they say, so as not to appear more intellectually diminutive than I am. This, of course, is much better than my former tactic of one-upmanship that invariably resulted in my weighing in with something more than commonly unintelligible, like "BUT, if you phanubulate the incanculcatory formule-formulumam... summation, the divisor invariably quotates to the y-axis. So it's really all relative."
Mildly put, I'm dumb as a rock. I am, however, more than capable of minding, say, money.
I'm a Scrooge.
Face it: it's much easier to do the math when you have all "+" with no"-" thrown in to complicate matters. This, unfortunately, makes me no great thrill to shop with, to which my lovely wife can attest. I can indicate "no" in fourteen variants of the English language, not including facial contortions, posturing, and low-guttural expressions usually associated with gastronomically distressed porcine.
As we concluding our Christmas shopping (Okay, long aside here. Yes, I intentionally threw in the word, "conclude" since it's the case, and I'd like to laud Kelly for her efforts in getting us here, that is, a Conclusory Stage of The Game. This Conclusory Stage is noteworthy since it's... well, not July), we found ourselves in Wal-Mart last night, picking up a few essentials for the upcoming Jelly-Dip Bake-a-thon and Yogurt Fry. Being in need of a tablespoon, Kel found a set of four plastic spoons, one of which featured a handle with no bowl, it having been broken cleanly off. Knowing my Scroogesquian ways, she decided that we should ask for a discount on the set as we perceived it unlikely that another consumer would purchase them. (Upon reflection, I may have overestimated the perspicacity of North Charleston's populace: More than one person I've witnessed thus far would likely have assumed the broken handle to be a Gourmet Spoon-Swabbing Paddle and found it a bargain).
After having scanned our other merchandise, I asked our clerk whether they would be willing to provide a discount for the broken item, priced at $1.97. The exchange, roughly remembered, went as follows:
PETE: "We found this set of spoons already broken on the rack. Could we get them at a discount?"
CLERK: 'I need to ask my manager.'
After unsuccessfully attempting to call her manager, who was kneeling on the floor not eight feet away, "Martina, Martina, Martina, Martina, Martina," etc. ("Martina" likely thought there was a vaguely annoying repetitive anomaly with the HVAC unit), she finally persuaded a young, upwardly mobile manager-in-training to stop. For our purposes, we shall call him, "Bubba." Not once during the incident did Bubba look at us, despite standing approximately 1.5 feet away. It must have been one of those ten habits of highly successful managers.
CLERK: 'These people claim they found these broken on the rack.'
BUBBA: "Did you ask them whether they found one that wasn't broken?"
CLERK: 'No.'
Sensing a disturbance in the Force, I interjected, "I don't care that it's broken, I want to know if you'll sell it to me for a discount."
The Force began to quiver with the untenable burden that is Communication in the Modern World. In a tone of voice generally reserved for congregants at a wake, Bubba responded, "Uh... uh... tell them... we'll give them 10% off."
PETE: 'No thank you.'
CLERK: "How much is that?"
BUBBA: 'You don't know?'
CLERK: "You KNOW I'm not any good at math!"
PETE: 'No thank you!'
BUBBA: "Then WHY are you working as a cashier?!?"
CLERK: 'Don't you start on me now! I dunno what it is!'
PETE: "No thank you?"
At this heart-pounding stage of the negotiations, I'm delighted to say that cooler heads prevailed. Bubba, being the intelligent young manager that he is, emitted a snort of contempt that likely resulted in irretrievable damage to his sinuses. While annoyed at having had to sit through their spat, I was glad that he was going to put this ignoramus of a cashier in her place.
Except he didn't.
Instead he pulled out his ubercool, "For-managers-only-iPhone" activated the calculator, and, after what seemed like a painfully long amount of time said, "It's uh... forty-cents."
"No thank you."
Postscript. As my friend Gabe pointed out later, I should have just stopped their exchange much earlier by offering, "Five dollars. Ten percent of $1.97 is five dollars. I'll take the change in cash, please."
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Pass the mint jelly
In the throws of taking the California bar exam for the second time (and yes, I mean "throws" as if to say "In frustration Pete throws his MBE/essay/PT book or laptop or neighbor's cat across the room with tremendous force.") I have decided that I must find another hobby. When one says one desires the life of an academic one must take into consideration professional certification exams and the nightmare that is preparing for them. Otherwise one is a muttonhead.
I am a muttonhead.
Truncated holidays, little to no personal time with wife and daughter, littler time to commune with one's pillow, ballooning churlish figure, being the only individual in recorded history personally boycotted by representatives of the United Farm Workers Union standing in solidarity with their coffee bean-picking brethren whose labor loads have increased tenfold since I started studying again--these are just some of the factors that have caused me to consider afresh my roster of recreational activities. And while I find the personal letters of admiration and support from the presidents of Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, Folgers, Maxwell House, PepsiCo, and some slave driving coffee plantation owner named Jorge amusing, I truly doubt this Bar exam process is worth (a) the suffering I put my family through; (b) the frustration expended every other day by my wildly varying state of emotional stability; (c) the money spent in caffeine, travel, caffeine, fees, caffeine, study materials, and caffeine; and (d) the energy necessary to bellow orders at the picketers to stop bashing my car with their signs. Dudes, it's just bean juice!
Lucky for me I'm a muttonhead. Otherwise I might experience some disapprobation over this situation. Fortuitously I am the possessor of an indefatigable spirit of German élan; ergo I’m a muttonhead that wants spread his penguin-like wings and ... flop? Eat raw seafood! Er… swim in arctic waters…?
Perhaps the analogy needs some massaging. Unfortunately, nature and genetics have robbed me of this opportunity altogether and I must now pass through life as a hunky (read chunky), god-like (read Bacchus), corporate caffeine captivated cretin.
Does whacking picketers constitute a hobby?
/s Muttonhead
N.B. The next time you see Kel, give her a hug. It's pretty hard on her to care for the baby AND Piper during this time....
I am a muttonhead.
Truncated holidays, little to no personal time with wife and daughter, littler time to commune with one's pillow, ballooning churlish figure, being the only individual in recorded history personally boycotted by representatives of the United Farm Workers Union standing in solidarity with their coffee bean-picking brethren whose labor loads have increased tenfold since I started studying again--these are just some of the factors that have caused me to consider afresh my roster of recreational activities. And while I find the personal letters of admiration and support from the presidents of Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, Folgers, Maxwell House, PepsiCo, and some slave driving coffee plantation owner named Jorge amusing, I truly doubt this Bar exam process is worth (a) the suffering I put my family through; (b) the frustration expended every other day by my wildly varying state of emotional stability; (c) the money spent in caffeine, travel, caffeine, fees, caffeine, study materials, and caffeine; and (d) the energy necessary to bellow orders at the picketers to stop bashing my car with their signs. Dudes, it's just bean juice!
Lucky for me I'm a muttonhead. Otherwise I might experience some disapprobation over this situation. Fortuitously I am the possessor of an indefatigable spirit of German élan; ergo I’m a muttonhead that wants spread his penguin-like wings and ... flop? Eat raw seafood! Er… swim in arctic waters…?
Perhaps the analogy needs some massaging. Unfortunately, nature and genetics have robbed me of this opportunity altogether and I must now pass through life as a hunky (read chunky), god-like (read Bacchus), corporate caffeine captivated cretin.
Does whacking picketers constitute a hobby?
/s Muttonhead
N.B. The next time you see Kel, give her a hug. It's pretty hard on her to care for the baby AND Piper during this time....
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Love Languages
I have not quite figured out why it is permissible within my household to form a posse and gang up on me but when such possefication is directed at Kel, she curls up in a ball and squeaks, "Don't hurt Piper's mommy!!!" Cute, but irritating in the sense that all efforts to tickle and/or otherwise benignly institute assaults on her person are effectively estopped by my laughing.
Of course, being an American of German extraction, I know that not all disputes are effectively resolved through physical means. Negotiation is also useful. So please, gentle reader, offer me advice on how to respond when, in a moment of conciliatory gentility, I attempted to talk through our differences rather than resort to said physical resolution and was met with, "NO HABLO SPRECHEN ZIE FRANÇOIS!"
Leaves me wondering who this self-contained U.N. chap named François is and what he's doing tickling my wife....
Of course, being an American of German extraction, I know that not all disputes are effectively resolved through physical means. Negotiation is also useful. So please, gentle reader, offer me advice on how to respond when, in a moment of conciliatory gentility, I attempted to talk through our differences rather than resort to said physical resolution and was met with, "NO HABLO SPRECHEN ZIE FRANÇOIS!"
Leaves me wondering who this self-contained U.N. chap named François is and what he's doing tickling my wife....
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Drawn and (not quite) Quartered
Today I announce the greatest financial achievement of my already-too-prolonged existence.
I got money from the government.
I’m not talking about welfare, nor am I referring to the income tax refund all schlepps and schmucks are entitled to. Nosirree. I’m talking about genuine, bona fide, “We OWE you money, dread lord Sauer. Not only that, we’re paying interest on what we owe.”
Read literally, “We are your financial slave, do unto us as seemest just to thee!”
To the tune of $.23.
Now I realize this amount is not quite a quarter of a dollar. But this $.23 represents my financial prowess, scilicet, control over the Commonwealth of Virginia’s Department of Taxation.
On behalf of beleaguered and overtaxed citizens everywhere, I invite you to relish this moment with me. I also invite you to take advantage of my beneficence and lower-than-usurious interest rates on all personal and business loans.
Sign up today and get a monogrammed ice cube.
I got money from the government.
I’m not talking about welfare, nor am I referring to the income tax refund all schlepps and schmucks are entitled to. Nosirree. I’m talking about genuine, bona fide, “We OWE you money, dread lord Sauer. Not only that, we’re paying interest on what we owe.”
Read literally, “We are your financial slave, do unto us as seemest just to thee!”
To the tune of $.23.
Now I realize this amount is not quite a quarter of a dollar. But this $.23 represents my financial prowess, scilicet, control over the Commonwealth of Virginia’s Department of Taxation.
On behalf of beleaguered and overtaxed citizens everywhere, I invite you to relish this moment with me. I also invite you to take advantage of my beneficence and lower-than-usurious interest rates on all personal and business loans.
Sign up today and get a monogrammed ice cube.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
Mocha Clean
On Saturday night, we painted our bathroom. After the Attack of the Soot-Belching Fireplace, we had waited and waited for our house to get repainted while the painter was trying to figure out how to adopt a child from Russia. Our landlords had told us that if we let him paint the whole house white, we could paint the bathroom any color we wanted.
So, almost two years later, we finally got around to covering the soot-stained, dingy white that has been clashing with the cream on our tub, toilet, and sink since we moved in. We went with a mocha, and it is finished. Before Weebix gets here. And before I ran out of energy and time.
What do you think?
So, almost two years later, we finally got around to covering the soot-stained, dingy white that has been clashing with the cream on our tub, toilet, and sink since we moved in. We went with a mocha, and it is finished. Before Weebix gets here. And before I ran out of energy and time.
What do you think?
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Monday, June 11, 2007
Productive
On Saturday, Pete and Kate and I cleaned. Or rather, dejunked.
It wasn't a very thorough job, because I got way tired by about 1pm. I haven't been so tired in years. Not since I was really sick.
But we organized one dresser, several boxes, one and a half closets, the refrigerator, and the underside of our bed. I boxed up the maternity clothes that don't fit anymore (I'm down to just a few outfits now, with no motivation to go buy any more maternity clothes--I can see the end, when I'll be wearing jeans again!), and cleaned out a whole box of the clothes I hid away when I got pregnant.
I hope it doesn't bug me too much over the next couple of months that we left it somewhat unfinished...
It wasn't a very thorough job, because I got way tired by about 1pm. I haven't been so tired in years. Not since I was really sick.
But we organized one dresser, several boxes, one and a half closets, the refrigerator, and the underside of our bed. I boxed up the maternity clothes that don't fit anymore (I'm down to just a few outfits now, with no motivation to go buy any more maternity clothes--I can see the end, when I'll be wearing jeans again!), and cleaned out a whole box of the clothes I hid away when I got pregnant.
I hope it doesn't bug me too much over the next couple of months that we left it somewhat unfinished...
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Snapshot
I was surfing through one of my weddings today and ran across a rare snapshot that occurred during a brief break in the wedding schedule. Wow, I have gained a lot of weight, but hey, I guess it goes with being pregnant... :-P
I forget how fun it can be to just have random shots of each other. Sometimes I have to get out of this whole photographer mode and just have fun!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
A Pet Peeve
No, that's a misnomer.
It's not a pet, people, it's a monster. Its tentacles have oozed into every level of our culture, from advertising to news articles to blogs to personal emails to published "works" of literature.
I refuse to accept it.
Tell me, do YOU know the difference between "it's" and "its"?
Pete calls me a grammar Nazi. You can call me a grammar freak. I don't care.
The technical term for "it's" is contraction. It is two words joined together by an apostrophe: "It" and "is." (Raise your hand if you know what an apostrophe is.)
You use "it-apostrophe-s" (it's) when you want to say, "It is cold outside." "It is your turn to do the dishes." "It is an abomination that so many people get away with using the contraction it's as a possessive pronoun." (Each "it is" may be replaced with "it-apostrophe-s.")
It's awful!
But this brings me to the second part of my rant.
The technical term for "its" is possessive pronoun. Notice the very OBVIOUS lack of apostrophe.
You use "its" when describing something that belongs to or with something. "Its paws were white." "The church has missed its calling." "Proper grammar has released its hold on our American society."
I may not be able to change the world, but this is ONE thing I should very much like to see corrected.
*rides off into the sunset, muttering wildly...*
It's not a pet, people, it's a monster. Its tentacles have oozed into every level of our culture, from advertising to news articles to blogs to personal emails to published "works" of literature.
I refuse to accept it.
Tell me, do YOU know the difference between "it's" and "its"?
Pete calls me a grammar Nazi. You can call me a grammar freak. I don't care.
The technical term for "it's" is contraction. It is two words joined together by an apostrophe: "It" and "is." (Raise your hand if you know what an apostrophe is.)
You use "it-apostrophe-s" (it's) when you want to say, "It is cold outside." "It is your turn to do the dishes." "It is an abomination that so many people get away with using the contraction it's as a possessive pronoun." (Each "it is" may be replaced with "it-apostrophe-s.")
It's awful!
But this brings me to the second part of my rant.
The technical term for "its" is possessive pronoun. Notice the very OBVIOUS lack of apostrophe.
You use "its" when describing something that belongs to or with something. "Its paws were white." "The church has missed its calling." "Proper grammar has released its hold on our American society."
I may not be able to change the world, but this is ONE thing I should very much like to see corrected.
*rides off into the sunset, muttering wildly...*
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Oh, oh, pick meme!
Da da da dum dum da da du--GAAAHHHH!!??!! Wha-!?! Who-!?! Where!?! Can a guy not loll about in blissful ignorance without being mercilessly memed? Thanks to Kelly, Gabe, and JoMoe, my days of mendacious bandying about whilst at least looking like I knew what I was doing are over. For lo, I am tagged, and I wax silly, alack, alas, and AFLAC...
At several recent gatherings with friends or family, and a few photo shoots come to think of it, misguided souls have pounced on me with no introduction whatsoever and started out a conversation with, "Say something funny!" Apparently, the disconnected (and disconcerting) stringing together of puns and snarky snippets is amusing and makes comic fodder for certain assemblages. Granted, so is tossing a cat in a blender, but from my perspective this sort of demand is the equivalent to waltzing into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and demanding that the president invade Canada. Why? Because it's amusing, of course!
On to the meat of the meme. I am supposed to assert seven random facts about myself and conclude my post by attempting to guilt-trip or blackmail seven other unfortunates into spilling their own guts with seven more facts about themselves (or else the seven curses of the seven Belching Zambian Whooping Yaks will descend upon your household to the seventh sign of the seventh sun of the seven keepers of the seven Gates of Panthuzaleh!). The presumption, I believe, is that you pass this around until ultimately all the unsolved murders, robberies, and halitosis plagues are admitted to at which point the Feds will pounce. Mind the black helicopters, folks, and watch your heads: This can only end in tears. At any rate, three hits does not mean that I'm about to list 21 embarrassingly revealing facts and 21 illustrious acquaintances. While there isn't enough bandwidth to manage my catalogue of idiosyncrasies, I doubt I KNOW that many people.
Fraud in the Factoid: The People vs. Pete (Round One) - I am not funny. I have on more than one occasion been completely stunned by the nonsense that comes out of my mouth (I'm a rather avid and unfortunate spouter of Spoonerisms, so I'm prone to dyslexic burblings that make absolutely no sense whatsoever). Due to the fact that I have opened by pie hole at the critical moment in the past, however, people assume that what escapes is necessarily funny and they commence laughing. I am grateful when that happens but really people--listen to what I say before you laugh--it's most likely not that funny. Gabe-the-patient-former-flat-mate will confirm this for you. Most of the time, he's kind enough to wait for the laughter die down before whispering, and I quote, "What in the name of all that is quasi-toothsome did you just utter?"
Fraud in the Factoid: The Insurance Company vs. Pete's Dad (Round Two) - I'm the only person I know who has been to the hospital twice in the same day for the same exact thing. For those of you who wonder, no, I did not have twins.
In other medical news, I have had stitches 12 times in 11 places on my personage on 7 different occasions with no resulting infections. I've been the ER more times than I remember thanks to a weird food allergy, and I've only broken one bone and THAT only occurred because I kicked a wall in anger after losing a terribly played game of basketball. It's the last time I remember physically perpetrating an act of violence against a wall. Ceilings beware...
Fraud in the Factoid: "Give 'em the Lazy eye" (Round three) - I have
iatrogenic oculosympathetic palsy. Knock yourselves out on that one.
To every girl who ever thought I was leering, every guy who thought I was about to pass out, and all of you who put up with me, this should at least explain the weird looks you got from me. I blame society for the rest. At least that's what they told me at the Happydale Home for the Turgidly Inane...
Is this sounding egocentric yet? It's disturbing me how frequently the term "I" appears. There's no "I" in "team," but there is a "crab hem wren" in "bench warmer."
Fraud in the Factoid: A generous tip (Round four) - Not that anybody out there didn't know this already, but I love fencing. Fencing is absolutely the coolest sport in the world. In what other sporting event can a guy don a pair of knickers and be taken seriously? All those who raised their hands for "Golf" may go soak their heads. In golf, you beat your opponent by whacking a little ball into a little cup. In fencing, you beat your opponent by whacking him repeatedly until he yells, "Uncle!" at which point you whack him again for good measure.
Fraud in the Factoid: All things bright and beautiful (Round Five) - I have had at least five fish named in my honor by my very favorite little sister, Mary Jo. I was also the proud owner of three hamsters. Boris showed up on my doorstep claiming that his original owner was allergic to him, but it is far more likely that he was evicted because he was a rude and snarky little twit with an irritating fixation on nothing at all. The lazy old coot. Kezzie was my second hamster, and I named her Kezzie because of a fascination for names with "Z's". It was also better than "Bowser." Roadkill was my last rodent friend: my sister Laura found him while she was delivering the news on her morning paper route. She deftly scooped Roadkill into her bag and brought him home to be a playmate for Kezzie.
They hated each other.
Roadkill died from blunt force trauma and Kezzie was suspected of foul play until a fingerprint analysis and chalk outline of his corpse proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he died of mysterious causes. Kezzie lasted the longest of all of them, dying a beloved hamster. Her favorite pastimes were being thrown through the air and caught on a pillow, being saddled up to my Playmobil stagecoach to assist Black Bart in escaping the Sheriff, and escaping in the wee hours of the morning to snuggle up with my sister, Amy. They were great pals.
All of my hamsters were buried in fine plastic containers lined with the nicest fabrics generously donated for the occasion by Laura. They were all buried with full military honors in my mother's flower garden out by the shed because it hadn't occurred to me to flush them down the loo.
Fraud in the Factoid: More reasons to hate Silicon Valley (Round Six) – Silicon wrist rests are stretchy. Veeeery stretchy. So stretchy that if you peel away the plastic backing you can extend it from one end of room to another. Just- for cryin’ out loud, DON’T LET GO! I believe the incident sparking this revelation occurred shortly after the Great Memorial Day Republican Belly Flop Incident and shortly before the Avenging Ciabatta Loaf of Death Occurrence. Don’t ask, because I’m not going to tell you and the involved parties are either suspiciously unavailable or have expunged the incident from their minds.
Fraud in the Factoid: Happy? Birthday (Round Seven) – My birthday falls on the anniversary of the guillotining of Marie Antoinette, the execution of the Nuremburg war criminals, the start of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the first Million Man March. Excuse me for not hauling out the confetti and party hats, I'll be in my coffin if anyone needs me.
Fraud in the Factoid: Because seven just ain’t enough (Round Eight) –
Remember is a great organization.
And now those I am to tag.
Pope Benedict because I doubt the college of Cardinals is prone to passing this sorta thing around and the poor guy is probably feeling left out.
Scott Somerville, primarily because otherwise I'd have to got to a conference to hear seven of the most random facts I'd never heard before and probably didn't need to know but gosh I'm sure glad I know now.
Segolene Royal, because I just can't figure out how to say "loser" in French.
Lee Ann Bisculca, for various and sundry reasons, but if you know her, you'd agree it's a great choice.
The City of Oxnard because those municipal web sites are a huge waste of money otherwise.
My buddy Court who, I know gave me his blog way back when but I have now lost it, so no link to you out there in the blogosphere. He's one of my oldest pals/co-conspirators and I owe him for everything from putting up with me to introducing me to fine coffee to saving me from being another unsocialized homeschooler on homeschool skating Tuesdays to midnight rubberband gun wars, to dictatorial elections to theoretical theology... here's lookin' at ya, wherever you sign on. We'll always have Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla.
Dennis Kucinich… whaddya mean “WHAT!?!”
At several recent gatherings with friends or family, and a few photo shoots come to think of it, misguided souls have pounced on me with no introduction whatsoever and started out a conversation with, "Say something funny!" Apparently, the disconnected (and disconcerting) stringing together of puns and snarky snippets is amusing and makes comic fodder for certain assemblages. Granted, so is tossing a cat in a blender, but from my perspective this sort of demand is the equivalent to waltzing into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and demanding that the president invade Canada. Why? Because it's amusing, of course!
On to the meat of the meme. I am supposed to assert seven random facts about myself and conclude my post by attempting to guilt-trip or blackmail seven other unfortunates into spilling their own guts with seven more facts about themselves (or else the seven curses of the seven Belching Zambian Whooping Yaks will descend upon your household to the seventh sign of the seventh sun of the seven keepers of the seven Gates of Panthuzaleh!). The presumption, I believe, is that you pass this around until ultimately all the unsolved murders, robberies, and halitosis plagues are admitted to at which point the Feds will pounce. Mind the black helicopters, folks, and watch your heads: This can only end in tears. At any rate, three hits does not mean that I'm about to list 21 embarrassingly revealing facts and 21 illustrious acquaintances. While there isn't enough bandwidth to manage my catalogue of idiosyncrasies, I doubt I KNOW that many people.
Fraud in the Factoid: The People vs. Pete (Round One) - I am not funny. I have on more than one occasion been completely stunned by the nonsense that comes out of my mouth (I'm a rather avid and unfortunate spouter of Spoonerisms, so I'm prone to dyslexic burblings that make absolutely no sense whatsoever). Due to the fact that I have opened by pie hole at the critical moment in the past, however, people assume that what escapes is necessarily funny and they commence laughing. I am grateful when that happens but really people--listen to what I say before you laugh--it's most likely not that funny. Gabe-the-patient-former-flat-mate will confirm this for you. Most of the time, he's kind enough to wait for the laughter die down before whispering, and I quote, "What in the name of all that is quasi-toothsome did you just utter?"
Fraud in the Factoid: The Insurance Company vs. Pete's Dad (Round Two) - I'm the only person I know who has been to the hospital twice in the same day for the same exact thing. For those of you who wonder, no, I did not have twins.
In other medical news, I have had stitches 12 times in 11 places on my personage on 7 different occasions with no resulting infections. I've been the ER more times than I remember thanks to a weird food allergy, and I've only broken one bone and THAT only occurred because I kicked a wall in anger after losing a terribly played game of basketball. It's the last time I remember physically perpetrating an act of violence against a wall. Ceilings beware...
Fraud in the Factoid: "Give 'em the Lazy eye" (Round three) - I have
iatrogenic oculosympathetic palsy. Knock yourselves out on that one.
To every girl who ever thought I was leering, every guy who thought I was about to pass out, and all of you who put up with me, this should at least explain the weird looks you got from me. I blame society for the rest. At least that's what they told me at the Happydale Home for the Turgidly Inane...
Is this sounding egocentric yet? It's disturbing me how frequently the term "I" appears. There's no "I" in "team," but there is a "crab hem wren" in "bench warmer."
Fraud in the Factoid: A generous tip (Round four) - Not that anybody out there didn't know this already, but I love fencing. Fencing is absolutely the coolest sport in the world. In what other sporting event can a guy don a pair of knickers and be taken seriously? All those who raised their hands for "Golf" may go soak their heads. In golf, you beat your opponent by whacking a little ball into a little cup. In fencing, you beat your opponent by whacking him repeatedly until he yells, "Uncle!" at which point you whack him again for good measure.
Fraud in the Factoid: All things bright and beautiful (Round Five) - I have had at least five fish named in my honor by my very favorite little sister, Mary Jo. I was also the proud owner of three hamsters. Boris showed up on my doorstep claiming that his original owner was allergic to him, but it is far more likely that he was evicted because he was a rude and snarky little twit with an irritating fixation on nothing at all. The lazy old coot. Kezzie was my second hamster, and I named her Kezzie because of a fascination for names with "Z's". It was also better than "Bowser." Roadkill was my last rodent friend: my sister Laura found him while she was delivering the news on her morning paper route. She deftly scooped Roadkill into her bag and brought him home to be a playmate for Kezzie.
They hated each other.
Roadkill died from blunt force trauma and Kezzie was suspected of foul play until a fingerprint analysis and chalk outline of his corpse proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he died of mysterious causes. Kezzie lasted the longest of all of them, dying a beloved hamster. Her favorite pastimes were being thrown through the air and caught on a pillow, being saddled up to my Playmobil stagecoach to assist Black Bart in escaping the Sheriff, and escaping in the wee hours of the morning to snuggle up with my sister, Amy. They were great pals.
All of my hamsters were buried in fine plastic containers lined with the nicest fabrics generously donated for the occasion by Laura. They were all buried with full military honors in my mother's flower garden out by the shed because it hadn't occurred to me to flush them down the loo.
Fraud in the Factoid: More reasons to hate Silicon Valley (Round Six) – Silicon wrist rests are stretchy. Veeeery stretchy. So stretchy that if you peel away the plastic backing you can extend it from one end of room to another. Just- for cryin’ out loud, DON’T LET GO! I believe the incident sparking this revelation occurred shortly after the Great Memorial Day Republican Belly Flop Incident and shortly before the Avenging Ciabatta Loaf of Death Occurrence. Don’t ask, because I’m not going to tell you and the involved parties are either suspiciously unavailable or have expunged the incident from their minds.
Fraud in the Factoid: Happy? Birthday (Round Seven) – My birthday falls on the anniversary of the guillotining of Marie Antoinette, the execution of the Nuremburg war criminals, the start of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the first Million Man March. Excuse me for not hauling out the confetti and party hats, I'll be in my coffin if anyone needs me.
Fraud in the Factoid: Because seven just ain’t enough (Round Eight) –
Remember is a great organization.
And now those I am to tag.
Pope Benedict because I doubt the college of Cardinals is prone to passing this sorta thing around and the poor guy is probably feeling left out.
Scott Somerville, primarily because otherwise I'd have to got to a conference to hear seven of the most random facts I'd never heard before and probably didn't need to know but gosh I'm sure glad I know now.
Segolene Royal, because I just can't figure out how to say "loser" in French.
Lee Ann Bisculca, for various and sundry reasons, but if you know her, you'd agree it's a great choice.
The City of Oxnard because those municipal web sites are a huge waste of money otherwise.
My buddy Court who, I know gave me his blog way back when but I have now lost it, so no link to you out there in the blogosphere. He's one of my oldest pals/co-conspirators and I owe him for everything from putting up with me to introducing me to fine coffee to saving me from being another unsocialized homeschooler on homeschool skating Tuesdays to midnight rubberband gun wars, to dictatorial elections to theoretical theology... here's lookin' at ya, wherever you sign on. We'll always have Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla.
Dennis Kucinich… whaddya mean “WHAT!?!”
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Close to Home
Why we're not sure yet if Kelly will be a good mom... Weebix will be running to Daddy for comfort.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Non-Christian Bread
Spotted on a sign at a local grocery store:
"Breads of the World... baked from a variety of worldly recipes."
"Breads of the World... baked from a variety of worldly recipes."
Monday, April 30, 2007
Menus
I made a fun discovery last week.
I actually *can* still cook. And I still enjoy it! I ate only two meals last week that I didn't assemble myself, a sandwich I picked up at South Street Under on Thursday afternoon and a pasta dinner cooked by Pete on Thursday night.
I am trying to schedule my grocery shopping days for Monday mornings. Compared to the weekends I typically shop, the grocery stores are ghost towns! I enjoy pacing myself through the store with 3 1/2 hours to spare before I need to pick Pete up for lunch so he can have the car for the afternoon commute home. I save money, and I get to come up with fun, innovative ideas to knock his socks off! I am also learning to shop for two--not ten, as I would with my family when I was growing up.
Here is just a sampling of some recent menu items:
*London Broil with a red wine/garlic marinade, topped with fresh mozzarella cheese
*Beef stew in a (potatoless) vegetable broth and homemade white bread
*Cheesecake with a homemade blueberry/lime topping
*Marinated chicken, grilled outdoor style
*Corned beef Reubens with an italian dressing twist
*Fresh strawberries topped with a dash of sugar, a touch of lime juice, and a drizzle of half and half
*Strawberry/cantaloupe salad topped with sour cream
That's what I can remember at the moment. You see, I can post this, because I am finding myself very, very hungry recently. In fact, I am merely posting this before I head downstairs to begin dinner preparations. Because I am hungry again. And food is more important than I would have ever believed it could be.
YOU try gaining 28 pounds in six months!
I actually *can* still cook. And I still enjoy it! I ate only two meals last week that I didn't assemble myself, a sandwich I picked up at South Street Under on Thursday afternoon and a pasta dinner cooked by Pete on Thursday night.
I am trying to schedule my grocery shopping days for Monday mornings. Compared to the weekends I typically shop, the grocery stores are ghost towns! I enjoy pacing myself through the store with 3 1/2 hours to spare before I need to pick Pete up for lunch so he can have the car for the afternoon commute home. I save money, and I get to come up with fun, innovative ideas to knock his socks off! I am also learning to shop for two--not ten, as I would with my family when I was growing up.
Here is just a sampling of some recent menu items:
*London Broil with a red wine/garlic marinade, topped with fresh mozzarella cheese
*Beef stew in a (potatoless) vegetable broth and homemade white bread
*Cheesecake with a homemade blueberry/lime topping
*Marinated chicken, grilled outdoor style
*Corned beef Reubens with an italian dressing twist
*Fresh strawberries topped with a dash of sugar, a touch of lime juice, and a drizzle of half and half
*Strawberry/cantaloupe salad topped with sour cream
That's what I can remember at the moment. You see, I can post this, because I am finding myself very, very hungry recently. In fact, I am merely posting this before I head downstairs to begin dinner preparations. Because I am hungry again. And food is more important than I would have ever believed it could be.
YOU try gaining 28 pounds in six months!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The Egotaxical Pauper
My buddy Gabe recently posted about having an accountant do his taxes this year. Before the massive hordes who monitor this on-line platform of all things sacrosanct, obsequious and sesquipedalian rush to judge him for his betrayal of manhood, let it be known that he currently entertains the most maddeningly insane schedule of anyone I know, so hiring somebody else to do the taxes was actually an exercise in prudence. But it prompted a gigantic spike in my Pride Factor in knowing that I had crunched the numbers, flogged the calculator, and beat the deadline, filing our taxes all by my lonesome and without the aide of a Criminally Provocative Antagonist (CPA).*
HEAR YE, HEAR YE, I did it myself.
Yup.
By my lonesome.
Oh, and y'know what I also did? I also failed to re-file my W-4 at the beginning of the 2006 calendar year with sufficient withholdings, thus causing us to pay roughly $3,000 extra in taxes. Sigh. My Pride Factor has returned to its appropriate 'Pondscum' setting.
Oh, and he also scored one point higher than I did on the MPRE, so he's more ethical than I am to boot. Yikes, the PF has slipped below 'Pondscum' to an all-time low... 'French.'
* Let it be known I happen to like CPA's, my dad and brother-in-law are both accountants and many people equate the literacy rates of J.D. recipients and CPA's as roughly equivalent.
HEAR YE, HEAR YE, I did it myself.
Yup.
By my lonesome.
Oh, and y'know what I also did? I also failed to re-file my W-4 at the beginning of the 2006 calendar year with sufficient withholdings, thus causing us to pay roughly $3,000 extra in taxes. Sigh. My Pride Factor has returned to its appropriate 'Pondscum' setting.
Oh, and he also scored one point higher than I did on the MPRE, so he's more ethical than I am to boot. Yikes, the PF has slipped below 'Pondscum' to an all-time low... 'French.'
* Let it be known I happen to like CPA's, my dad and brother-in-law are both accountants and many people equate the literacy rates of J.D. recipients and CPA's as roughly equivalent.
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