What am I doing?
I'm trying not to eat all the French Vanilla Cool Whip.

I know, I know.

Nothing special about Cool Whip, right?

Trust me, it's never meant anything to me before

either. Kind of a superficial topping for desserts

that probably don't need toppings to begin with,

but in this case?

Fine, leave it all for me then,

being that French Vanilla is a seasonal flavor.

I don't even like Cool Whip,

but this...this tastes like coconut cake.

They don't need to make tv commercials for this.

They just need to walk door-to-door and

make people try a spoonful, just one spoonful.

Besides the Frito's Scoops in the house, too,

along with Jalapeno Cheddar Doritos

(thanks a lot, Ron),

I don't know how I am managing

to leave any of this for any one else.

I think it's the proximity

of the three to each other.

It's creating a confusion shield

with just enough interference

so I can't choose between any of them

and can't hear anything
but static when they call to me at night.

Lucky, lucky me for that.

Crikey. It's Christmas already!

Now what am I doing?

Crashing through the holly tree

in the front yard as I try

to string the lights around it.

Considering I have thrombocytopenia these days,

this is probably not

the smartest thing I've done lately,

but it could be one of the bravest.

I'm thinking of wrapping myself in tin foil

like a baked potato, not only for protection

but also because the neighbors have come to expect

this sort of thing from me.

Wish me luck and send me platelet transfusions.

On second thought,

just send me French Vanilla Cool Whip instead.

And bring some chili cheese dip from my Fritos.

And some rare brisket for the anemia.

What the hell, it's a party!

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:

"Untitled, but Bjorkish"

How did I get so busy just catching up?

Maybe I'd catch up quicker
if I wasn't so distracted
by bb-blog and swissmiss.

Oh hell, why fight the urge,
I love 'em.
And after a bubble bath and a devotional,
what are Sundays for anyway?

Enjoyyyyy.

Okay, I'm home.

Back in the office now,
but now, it's Friday.
So, I asked the boss for a half-day off.
And since I'm my boss now, I said "yes"
because I'm such a nice boss.

In fact, I think I'll give myself a raise.

And charge a bunch of
personal travel charges to the company,
call it new business,
and do all my *holiday shopping* online,
during regular business hours,
between pretentious yoga fad-du-jour classes,
and walk around,
gloating to everyone in the company,
my captive audience,
how I have one-upped them all,
and finished my shopping
before they all have,
(but to be honest,
it's easy when it's for,
like,
only two people actually)...

Nah, wait wait wait...
I know I'm way-hay more decent
to stoop to that crooked behavior.
That sounds exactly
like an ex-boss I had.
But still, to this day,
I can't really call her my boss,
because out of every year I spent there,
she was not the boss of me.
And she knew it.

But I will stop to compliment myself
on what a truly golden asset I am
to my own company.

My company will also pride itself
on never, ever using PowerPoint,
will donate a bare minimum to start
of 10% income
to a few charitable causes
starting with causes that feed the hungry,
will recycle,
will value its employees
(No, really.),
will conserve energy and resources,
will not act like something we are not,
will not sell something we don't understand
or love,
will be able to explain our name
and our beliefs,
will fill up bird-feeders and take care of strays,
will allow office dogs
(even if they make an oopsie-poop in the hall),
will not refer to dog duke as oopsie-poop again,
will meet like-minded people
to form lasting, working relationships
versus grubbing up "clients"
for The Money and
the shameless schmoozefests,

(Basically,
my company will do things exactly the opposite
of how I've been made to do them
the past several years.)

and,
instead of desperately threatening them
to prove my authority,
to leverage them into respecting me
or please Dear God please just like me,
constantly scaring them into working
for me because the market is small
so where else will you work if not here,
I will motivate them
because they motivate me.
And will hope they like me
because I don't suck.
Because at my company,
no one will suck.
My company will be good company.

And everything we make is good.

And everyone who works there is happy.

And so far,
I'm the only one who works here,
and I meet all the requirements, above.

Man, so.
So much for taking the day off.
Time to knock-off early instead,
to make something cool.

And, to give thanks to God
that I am finally home.

Damn. No scanner.

But.
I'll get back next Tuesday with a Scribute.
Try not to cry tooooo hard...Mom.

I'm away from my computer until then,
but I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving,
or just a bang-up, smash-up, wonderful day.
Unless I can't stand you,
and in that case,
you 4-6 people know who you are.

The rest of you are gold.
No. Platinum.
Enjoy!

This was another Scribute, just untinted.

...

Is it really Thursday already?

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



To be fair,
Ron came up with that thought, not me.
But I do agree.



Oh look,
people are suing Borat all over the place...
now the good people from Glod,
I can understand.
But the drunk frat boys? Please.
That just reinforces the useless point,
now they know how it feels
to be a girl at a frat party.


Thanks for the links, Scottshead!


Newsflash:
Two more links of interest on Borat,
just in from our embedded journalist in Glod.

And the voting results are in.

N State Senate District 29:
60 of 60 precincts reporting (100%)

Ophelia Ford (Democratic): 29,954 votes
Terry Roland (Republican) 11, 428 votes
Me (Aries): 1 vote

Thanks for the write-in voting support, Ron!

At this hour, we're not sure of
just how many Ophie supporters are deceased,
so to be fair, I may still have a chance.

Oh, I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist that one.

This week's Tuesday Morning's Scribute to 10am:



(This Pip did. Aw, mannn.)



Three Blind-Drunk Mice

This is research I would gladly fund.
And, I'd bring them a nice cheese plate to go with it.



And finally, Happy November everyone!
Ok, so I'm several days late to wish you that.
But I've been a wee busy, aiiight?

But never too busy for you. Awwwww.
I knew you'd understand.

Hope you made it through the Halloweeners.
This year, I actually enjoyed it.
This year, I didn't get the usual suspects,
the 16 year-olds about 5' 9", sporting
napped-in t-shirts and droopy-drawers,
lazily holding out crumpled pillowcases
and with little or no effort,
booming a testosteronic "trikk'o'treeeet"
into my living room as they scope the joint
for anything plasma.*

If you think I'm being harsh,
not me. I have witnesses.
In my book, unless there is
an overactive pituitary gland involved,
trick'o'treaters should not be taller
than the adults handing out the treats.
I'm just sayin'.

*Oh, and looking in my joint for plasma?
Boy! You and me both, kid!
So deepest apologies, and here,
have two fun-sized Snickers instead.

No.
This year,
I got actual trick'o'treaters.
Babies dressed as tigers,
and Hello Kitties,
and ninjas, and
the scariest creature of them all,
brides!
I got sweet little kids who asked nicely and
didn't violate my candy bowl
faster than a clawed, naked mole rat
could dig tunnels to a blinding sugar-high,
like the very first and very last
"Memphis Halloween" I had
which broke me and my friend
that night of ever again extending a candy bowl
ripe with free, assorted chocolate
to the t-shirted zombie teens.
Never again, we vowed,
with our blushed cheeks and doe eyes.
No. That scared the red wine buzz
out of us both that night
after the second crushing whirlwind
of squealing, fighting albeit younger kids
(eek, did I just say "albeit"?)
ran from us after they beat our door
like it was a police raid/drug-bust operation,
then pillaged our candy buckets,
and ran, leaving us pale,
paler than normal,
with nothing
but a few crushed nougats.

It reminded me of the first and last time
I fed an unappreciative billy goat.
First and last, people!

It was a well-fought struggle,
and even though they gave it a good try,
they did not physically rip the bucket
from my sweaty hands
as they ran away screeching
"mine mine mine!"
down the sidewalk off,
slugging each other into the bushes,
all the way to the next apartment complex.
Heavy on the complex at this point.

"Www-ELL! Turn off the lights
and pull th' blinds, Mable,
we're off duty as of nnn-NOW,"
my first and beloved gay friend
(we'll refer to him as Disney Scott)
ordered me to do
as he lit up a menthol 100
and took a solid, exaggerated,
exasperated drag from it,
resulting in an impressive half-inch ash.
"So much for quitting smoking tonight!
What in the name of God's Fresh HELL was that?!"

It was about this time I'd also wondered
for the second time that week why had I taken
the extra effort involved to move myself
and my sleeper sofa to Memphis, too.

The first time, I was visiting
the local WalMart in West Memphis, Arkansas,
just across the river
from my apartment.
And I drove home too stunned to cry,
thinking only of the stern-looking menfolk
with "shiny-beady catfish eyes"
(as described by my second and beloved gay friend),
wearing sleeveless
down-filled hunting vests as shirts.
I prayed the banjo music I was hearing
was only an autonomic nerve reaction
sparked by the chemicals involved with fear.
And maybe these men weren't so stern,
but it was just the unified eyebrows
that made them look so serious.


Oh, this post just sounds too scary to continue.
I should bring it back to a positive note,
but I am out of coffee,
and you've fallen asleep reading this.
Well, in retrospect, the kids towering over me
without costumes and slugging each other
into parked cars was terrifying,
which I guess is a vital part of Halloween...

Nevermind, on to more important things.
Off to store for more coffee and chocolate milk,
and apparently, I need to take a shower and vote.
Right after Ron tells me
who to vote against instead of vote for.
Ew.
I'm not good at this voting stuff.
It's all too scary.