Yeah, but I still can't wait for New Year's Eve.

It's Ron's birthday so you have to eat cake, right? Or it's bad luck or something. Then on New Year's Day, you have to eat black-eyed peas for luck, and some type of green stuff for fortune, and pork for... the benefit of the pork industry, I guess. I have no idea what pork is supposed to symbolize. Maybe I should go look that up.

If I can get out of it with no jinxes, I won't mind skipping over the pork part. I'm almost right off meat these days anyway after watching one too many of those reality shows on the National Geographic channel where they send the city slickers off to live in Zaire for a week. Surprise, you have to KYOB (Kill Your Own Beast) if you want meat. And let me tell you, yarrow roots don't squeal when you slice them. So I'm thinking harder and harder about Going Meatless after January 1. Then after that, nothing but herbal tea and twigs for dinner every night. Until Valentine's Day. Oh well. Baby's workin' on some back. Some people pay big bucks for butt implants.

I have been alerted again that I have not been posting regularly. And this time, not by Michael but by Scott. Well, I bet everyone else is very busy doing holiday stuff as well. If not then... then... oh hell, I can't even idly threaten anyone today, I don't have the energy. Maybe it's the NyQuil. I feel terminal.

Poor girl. We have a new girl here at work, and she is sitting on the other side of my wall, exposed out in the open sunlight, just her and a desk and a very nice laptop, and she's trying to unwrap a breakfast bar or Little Debbie danish or something that crinkles when you open it. She is trying to unwrap it silently, like how you try to unwrap a piece of cellophaned candy during the lull of a church sermon. She seems nice.




I just love referrer tracking.

But when did I write about flexy girl pee holes?



10 Dec, Wed, 15:03:04 Google: "zombie chicken"

12 Dec, Fri, 17:34:16 Google: "barbie fashion plates"

13 Dec, Sat, 12:17:07 Google: game sheep dog shepherd ufo -wolf -nwolf fuck

13 Dec, Sat, 15:59:24 Google: picture of baba ganoush

13 Dec, Sat, 23:49:52 Yahoo: testical pinching

15 Dec, Mon, 15:28:53 Google: bonzi wells blackout

15 Dec, Mon, 21:25:24 Google: COGIC cult

15 Dec, Mon, 22:21:36 Google: racoon feces and toxins

17 Dec, Wed, 06:06:05 Google: shizzlOLATOR

18 Dec, Thu, 10:14:46 Google: "PROTESTANT CONSUMER"

18 Dec, Thu, 11:27:21 Google: "Eating snowmen"

18 Dec, Thu, 11:27:55 Google: "Eating snowmen"

19 Dec, Fri, 08:55:55 Google: bonzi wells oregonian blackout

23 Dec, Tue, 15:05:48 Google: "Skunk Skin Cap" +photo

23 Dec, Tue, 15:09:56 Google: "Skunk Skin cap" +photo

23 Dec, Tue, 17:29:03 Google: flexy +girl +pee +hole

24 Dec, Wed, 20:36:46 Yahoo: recluse spider damage pics

26 Dec, Fri, 14:02:58 Google: "steak" "stretchy pants"






Damn good product.

While I enjoy the theatrics that NyQuil brings as I dream of garish, psychedelic lobsters dancing upon severed poodle heads with nasally Boston accents, this stuff seems to work fairly well if you'd like to arm yourself against a nasty cold coming your way.

Yes, it has zinc in it, but no, it does not taste like sucking on a dirty nickel. Stop the plague that's slowly spreading round the world from on clogged throat to another with SootHerbs Zinc.

Scott thinks this is stupid, but I think it's kinda funny.




Hey. Wanna go see an arseload of pictures I took? Sure you do.

Why, why, why...

Aw man, two of Memphis' historic buildings up in flames... why-o-why couldn't it have been Yoko Ono's head instead? (Just had to poke her again.)

This is very sad news to me. Can't stand it when a cool old building or a gnarly old tree gets destroyed. Man, and I had just been to the flea market the day before, too. (No, I didn't do it.) That building was so fricklin' turn-of-two-centuries cool. Jack's is about three or four blocks from where I work now. I can hear them banging down what's left of it right now. (No, I didn't do that either.) I used to work right across the street from it, and even though it smelled extremely funky, sort of like a meat-market gone bad, like the ghosts of a thousand cows and pigs left an evil smeltergeist behind, it was a great place to buy malt liquor. And that probably explains why it burned red-hot.





Spread the AUTOMUSIK joy.


Transmission received from AUTOMUSIK. Please go watch, laugh, cringe and sit with me in Purgatory, if I'm lucky:


"Hello to Bethany


Welcome to [CHRISTMAS].

ENGORGE yourself to maximum capacity.

RELEGATE yourself to unenjoyable enclosed shopping facilities.

DEPLETE your storage of disposable funds.

REGURGITATE a specific amount of holiday cheer and fanaticism.

SPOIL a good time for someone other than yourself.

EMPLOY your sight in the following direction so that you may view something new and something redundant.

www.automusik.com

ENJOY the encapsulated movies contained within.

REMAIN clean."






Product review: Orbit Bubblemint gum.

It's surprisingly better and much less irritating than the commercials.







Luckily for some of you reading, this can't be delivered in time for your Christmas gift this year.

Unfortunately, I won't be able forget this website since I can hardly stop looking at this burning image, this most bizarre keychain. Keep in mind, if you ever need anything completely weird or stupid, odds are stupid.com has it. Here's a link to their Best Selling products. Enjoy.



ps: Ooo, I want this:





"...Liiiike myyyyyy loafers, former gophers..."

"Well, Smithers, I guess I owe you a Coke."

and "Look at ME, I'm Davy Crockett!"








Wow. Can you tell I have some kind o' time on my hands today or what.


Finally, a club made just for Ron. He'd be joining this Beer o' The Month Club if only it wasn't for that crazy little thing called The Law. Or does this only apply to wine and... brandy? Oh well, nevermind, my attention span is gone. Hear that test pattern...

Maybe Chapman just had really bad aim. Man, don't get me started. Right, Michael?


Speaking of nut-proofing your world:

> Google has implemented a new feature in which you can type someone's
> telephone number into the search bar and hit enter and you will be given
> a map to their house.
>
> The safety issues are obvious, and alarming.
> Test whether your phone number is mapped,
> go to www.google.com and type your phone number in the search bar
> with dashes (i.e.555-555-1212) and click Enter. Note, if your phone
> number is not public you should be fine.
>
> If you want to block Google from divulging your private information,
> simply click on the telephone icon next to your phone number. You will
> see a link where you are allowed to remove yourself or click here
> http://www.google.com/help/pbremoval.html


That reminds me: Ron figured out how to dump a telemarketer with four words. "This is a fax." Ta da. And after all those years of paying extra for Caller ID. And before Caller ID, pretending that whomever they'd asked for was dead. Simple is good.

Of course, it's not nearly as much fun as pretending to be a disturbed Asian woman who would get beaten again by "her Big Joe Master" if the telemarketer refused to please leave his phone number so Mr. Big Joe can call back when he get home from Bible Study Poker Game where he smell like smoky lady friends all night.

Man. I hope I didn't just offend any disturbed Asian women out there. Unless it was Yoko of course.

(Full circle.)

This will only be funny to those who happen to know Admiral Tea Bagger here personally.

But to those few and proud, it will be well worth it. So enjoy.

So Saddam finally came out of his hole.

"And you know that that means," said Ron. "That means if he saw his own shadow, there'll be 6 more weeks of winter."

I love Ron.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot like Loch Ness.

Thank you for sending this, Mike. You don't know how bad I personally needed that this morning. I woke up seeing red and green, in a panicked kind of way. It took a mini-meltdown and a hot shower to make it All Go Away as I am behind the proverbial Christmas Ball this season. And I thought it was just me. And it might be, but this picture makes me as happy as a picture of BigFoot would. I thought it was just me, but it's not. This is proof of what happens at Christmas to normal people, I am not imagining it, I am not imagining it...

Even though I get baffled snowblind at Christmas and even though some holiday stuff freaks me out worse than a clown, some tiny part or me, and it's really tiny, admires this yuletide gayness.

Now, if you're stepdad had chosen to be a Christmas mime here instead, I would have soiled my Old Navys in terror.

Cork Chair Contest.

Because I'd like to point out here that I am much cooler than Michael, who now apparently reads my blog and thrills at pointing out the sad fact that don't update it more frequently than I have as of late, here is a brand new, supercool link to a brand new, supercool cork chair contest supplied by my brand new, supercool friends at work. And for those keeping up with it all, this is not where Michael works. Therefore, he can't possibly be as brand new, supercool as me.

I kid. I kid because Michael is a swell guy. And because he pays me to say things like that.


As usual, Ron came up with a good idea.

This is the first year I have ever had to split holiday visits between in-laws. I've always heard it was difficult, but had I experienced this before, we'd have handled it better in the pre-nup agreement.

Oh damn, I forgot to get a pre-nup. I'll look into a post-nup.*

Ron saves the day though. At least he gives it a go. After this year, instead of opting to just scrap the whole "Family Get-Togethers for Holidays" conundrum entirely, he suggested a"Festive Olympic-Style Celebration" applied to Christmas.

"Basically, a committee votes on one place to meet every four years, and we're done with it until the next Xmas Olympics. Say in 2004, it's Aunt Franny's house in Idaho. Great, we all meet there, fa la la, and then don't have to worry about the next location until 2008."

In spite if it all, we have a good time dreaming.



*Gag. I don't like the word "nup", do you?



Michael is right. He does bear a striking resemblance to Steve Urkel sometimes, and I really do need to update here more often.

Speaking of that, does anyone know the key command for making screenshots on a PC versus a Mac? I don't want the whole damn screen. I just want to crop into a picture and take that screenshot, for the love of it all that is simple. I don't mind being bi-technical, but I really miss my Mac sometimes. But at least now I can open just about any file with just about any extension with just about no problem.

Maybe I should think of something interesting to say before I enter it here, huh?

Thanks a lot, Michael.




For anyone who enjoys starving puppies...

...then go somewhere else and throw yourself in front of a speeding bus after sliding down razor blades into a tubful of gin and salt.

But for those who want to feed some babies, click here. Sent in by h2odogmom. Thanks, Pearl Ole Girl! I love ya and miss ya, darlin!




My rare and touching moment of gooey holiday sentiment.

Since only God knows when I'll get to come back in an orderly fashion and post like I want to, and quite frankly since God shouldn't really care and is way too busy planning a birthday shindig for his kid anyway, please remember to enjoy the season. Do something nice for every person that you can, unless of course that person is a total tea-bagger. Don't get me started. And remember to do something nice for yourself that doesn't necessarily take a credit card to get the job done.

And may (insert your own deity here) bless us every one.

Awww. Every one of us except, of course, Michael.



PS: Tina Weezy if you are reading this, HaPpY BiRtHdAy tO YoU!!! Two days late now, and please send this feeble-minded girl your new address again. I freaking lost it like a mo-fo.

PPS: And Chip, maybe you are right about the Windex with Vinegar for smoky winders, but in my case, at least I found a good use for the bottle with a homebrewed mixture of Bleach-2-o. And, Jason Williams says Hey Backatchu and Peanut.

It's the little things in life that make holidays special.

Like man-eating snowmen and yodelling snowboarders at risk.
Shake and bake your holiday cookies right here.
Actually, the snowman seems to prefer women.

(Thanks to Scott the FisherPrice Hairdo Boy for this. Yer a good beeb.)



"Walkin' 'round in Women's Underweaaar."

Because it's just merrier than walking 'round a Winter Wonderland.

This is the time of year when I get excited and nauseated all at once. Or is it nauseous instead. It really doesn't matter: It's Christmas-time. Yes, in my little white yet genetically mongrelled Anglo-Saxon world, I am not in the least bit concerned with Hannukah or Kwanzaa, or Boxing Day for that matter. Why should I, unless of course it benefits me directly.

No, I was born and raised a Protestant consumer, and dammit, Santa better be stuffing a big bag of consumables down my fake chimney this year, and soon. I don't slobber all over Crate and Barrel catalogs all year long for nothin'. Bring me some over-priced hand-crafted marshmallows from Williams-Sonoma. Fetch me a lampshade from Pottery Barn that I'll get tired of in two months. I know who I am. Shut up and bring it! And make it platinum not gold, Mr. Kringle!!

I feel like that every Christmas. Spoiled and slightly pathetic because of it. Not just because I have to go shopping for myself before I can feel enough guilt to melt the credit cards for others. But also because I watch too many National Geographic specials about kids in Africa wanting a plastic comb or toothbrush for Christmas.

How confusing is that. I don't know how to relate to that at all, nor can I change the fact. I hate losing perspective. And also hate that I can lose it for a good 11 months at a time obviously.

So this year I've decided to ask Santa for a Sony PS2, and never actually watching tv again.

I kid. I kid because I'm a guilty consumer. Advertising made us all this way.

O holy shite!

"It's almost Christmas and I haven't finished my shopping." Just thought I'd officially say that since everybody in the entire country is thinking it. Last weekend, we stopped by Wal-Mart, and they have a big sign in the front that said "Only 4 More Saturdays til Christmas." Thanks, and Happy Birthday, Baby Jesus.







This guy better be good.

Because I just bought a Grizzlies knit hat, and I'm not walking around with "PunkAiss Supporter" emblazoned on my forehead. Am I? Let me check.... No. Not today anyway.

Bonzi Wells.

Here's another reason I hope this guy doesn't screw up.

"Bonzi can be an ass one day and Bonzi can be the deacon of the church sometimes," Bonzi Wells said.

He said this to a writer from the Oregonian. So basically, unless you are from Jamaica, Bethany can't stand people referring to themselves in the third-person. I'm just sayin. Bonzi better be a good player. I'm serious about my choice in headwear. Ask anyone. Plus, he better not blame anything on his 'blackouts', you know, like the time he tossed the bird to a couple of fans and then blamed it on a 'blackout". Why am I worried? Because I don't want to stop watching the Grizzlies because of some Jerry Springer show candidate. It's getting old, and it sounds like Dennis Rodman. Where is he now: Who cares. Man. Well, I stopped watching The Today Show, because I can't deal with Matt Lauer shaving his head and calling himself brave in his battle over middle-aged hairloss (oh please, I'd rather watch reality tv) or Katie Couric and her bad throwback references to the 90s, with catch-phrases like "two-snaps up" and "you go, girlfriend."


My Moment with Katie Couric.

Katie, what happened to the girl who told Bryant Gumble to shove his arrogance up his smarmy beanhole, monogrammed cufflinks and all? And we all know you're on tv, but maybe for a change you should try watching one. Look at it like this: It's a new century out there with a whole new world of catchphrases for you to toss around. Please put down the "Friends" DVDs, and enough with the "talk to the hand." It lost its punch shortly after its introduction, a lot Matt's flawed attempt at 'bravery' in the face of his impending, normal, middle-aged hairloss. When some sheik you've travelled thousands of miles to interview tells you on-camera to make sure and send his good wishes to Matt, because he understands his deep personal loss as he too is battling middle-aged baldness, do us all a favor: Throw your weight around. Even though you agreed with him and with his misplaced nobility, direct the producer to edit that horse-pie out. As the audience, believe me when I say, we get enough now to fertilize Jupiter. And there is no room at the inn.

If nothing else, just stop using words like "fabulous". It's not like the word "cool" as cool never went out of style. And to show there's no real, legally-binding, hard feelings, tell Matt to wear a hat as I may have one I can send him very soon.



Speaking of bad products besides The Today Show, Bonzi Wells and products like Bonzi Wells, let me go find a picture.





All I have to say is "just don't." It sounded like a good idea, it looks like it might work, but I tried it on every surface except the dog. It just doesn't work. They should be forced to recall and refund everyone's $2.83 + tax.

A good product: Let me go find one I'm thinking of...

Hey look, an old post that I never posted.

(Gee, I don't wonder why. Well I apologized to this girl in the end. And she turned out to be nice and wore cute shoes, that's for sure, but she still couldn't mount presentation materials worth dog splatter. So here ya go, while I search in vain for the lengthy, heartfelt post I just saved somewhere in this God-forsaken PC. I miss my Mac.)



I feel bad. I have turned into that bitter weird chick with the wet pony-tail who scares the interns by screaming "f*ck" as loudly as possible when the phone rings. Without the asterisk though. You know, the person that you vow you'll never be like as you enter, faithful and yet unbroken, into the greasy, corporate machine? I'm also fairly positive that she overheard me ripping on the absolute worst job she did mounting some printed collateral that I had to redo. Ugh. Well please, she is majoring in Fashion Design. Don't they have to mount things up for presentations anymore? Or do they just make them play with Barbie Fashion Plates all day until naptime. I apologize, but it looked like a trainwreck. Now she skitters past me in the hall like I'm a junkyard dog. F*ck. There goes the phone again.