I didn't think I'd have anything to say today. Well, I don't really. Luckily, Scotthead sent me this link of interest on Ali G. "Thank you, Scott" and "Dammit, I love Borat". So there you have it. Otherwise, I got nothin'.

I think I am dazed and confused. Really scared. In the past week, I have gotten:

- one new, red garbage can

- rid of an unused health club membership
plus dismissal of 3 months' accrued fees

- Free Play of all games at the local Jillians,
until my arm cramped from too much Galaga

- lots of things I needed On Sale

- errands done

- sleep

- exercise

- My Way, in general, with life.



Eek?

Even more links, even less talk!

I yammo mui busy-eeto right now, but I have linkies for youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Enjoys-es!


many, many cool Interactive cards

Hashai.com

and

illville

More links, less talk:

Here are some fugitive links for a fugitive Monday. I'm not even sure what I was going to say about these now, you lucky thangs! Enjoy:

complaints.com

viceland.com

tidelandthemovie.com

What is EPIC?

collectivegood.com

Let The Eat Cake! Sweepstakes

Ever catch yourself wishing that you had the glamorous, carefree life of a celebrity, even if it was just a dumb one? And then you see a picture like this and you think, "No. I'm good. Thanks."

Link from my favorite show's blog, best week ever







And: Thanks for the link, M!




Manolo says, "This is a one funny piece of a blog."

This is almost as nice as the Paris Hilton pencil holder or the Nicole mug warmer you made me last January 14th.

Almost one year ago! My, how time flies when da ho's get dey own shows.*



*That was too easy, huh? Well, I had ta.

Domo Origami, Mr. Robami.

One of the best presents I got this year (besides The Beatles book, thank you, Bhead!) was an Origami Calendar.

Foldy-foldy every day. Soon I'll be an Origami Sensei and have one more interesting-yet-non-paying talent. Or maybe I should rephrase that as "at least one." Ahem.

Get one!

I wanna party with this person!

But they are too busy reading books. Check this out! I wish I could read books this fast. No, really. This person eats books for breakfast, lunch, mid-afternoon snacks, and then a light dinner. Sometimes dessert. And they still have time to blog reviews about those books. Man. I am so impressed, and so completely worthless at the same time.

Ravenous Reader

Can you see me waving?

You...yes, you. I'm waving a hearty "hellooooo" to you from USDA Hardiness Zone 7!

Sure, it was snowing two weekends ago. And today it's only like 30 degrees F. But this weekend, it's going to be 60 degrees. That means I have to phrekin jazz myself up about redoing The Yarden.

The gay man across the street may have the most superfly trees on the block, but when it comes to my Yarden compared to his, he comes across heterosexual. (In all fairness, he saved his mighty gardening talents to grow tiny, cherry tomatoes which dangle between the slats of his white picket fence, holding up his rosebushes next to his flowerbed filled with pink and yellow blooming things that I can't pronounce really, directly across the patio from his hot tub. I don't have to tell you he has outdoor speakers--white to match the trim on his house that I can see directly into and halfway up the stairs when it's dark outside, but that's another story.*)

The Yarden suffered some minor damage to the Canna plants (not to be confused with cannabis plants, dooooood) which in the end is a o k with me since all my canna plants just turned into frikklin Grasshopper and Wasp Motels. I can't handle bugs unless they are *cute harmless insects* like butterflies, caterpillars, and Hugh Grant.

For some other reason besides the bugs, the canna consistently annoyed Ron. I don't know if it was the height, or that they grow all over the place in no time, or maybe it was the hurtful names they yelled at him as he walked by. Whatever happened, this year I'll plant the mini versions and hope they grow to a normal proportion.

For any guys reading this far into the post, warning: you might be gay. If so: let's be friends! If you are a guy still reading and not gay, you are most certainly an enigma and therefore must be a friend of mine already.

So this weekend, I'm planning on getting extra-domestic and figuring what plant goes where, and I'm trying a new dog cookie recipe that I hope Otis will like. I know, I know: Dogs eat their own barf and lick their own unmentionables. But honestly, he does have a very selective taste. He knows how to eat from a fork, and currently he's working on learning a spoon.

Anyway, what's with this newfound and slightly-irritating domestication? Well, beats me. Maybe it was all that mundane talk about garbage cans.** It could be because I finally bought a new bridesmaid's dress (SquEEeEEeEEeeeeeeeaLLL!)for Katherine's wedding. Possible, but not probable.

I'll betcha it's most likely because I started reading this book, and I feel like a new female unit serial number 282394_FHCU_basicwhite from Zone 7.

Basically, I don't feel so alone anymore. I am coming to terms with myself. And to terms with the people in my house always messin' up my mad grip. This will probably surprise no one when I admit it. I can't deny it any longer and actually, I think this is probably the latest trend, but that's not why I'm coming out with it. It's basically so I can drive out the jive and unpack the love:

"Hello, everyone... my name is Bethany...and I am... a closet homemaker."

You thought I was going to say "alcoholic" didn't you? Hell no. I'll never come clean on that one. Even though I made alcohol in my closet this year. Hmmm.

Well, anyway...

Not a homemaker like Betty Crocker. Not Hazel the wacky housekeeper like apparently every living thing at my house thinks I am, but a person who understands the philosophy behind keeping the place you live, eat, and sleep in order to produce total tranquility and harmony, man. Oh and to prevent nasty crap like e.coli from growing in your kitchen sink. You know, useful stuff.

(Ok, I'll admit to being a wino that hugs too much and breaks wine glasses, but that's just the spazz coming out in me. Anyway...)

Ok, so that's enough of my Suzy Sunshine. I'm getting on my own nerves. I hope you have a grande weekende and may the Force of Zone 7 be with you.


To anyone who read this far, I thank you, and will bake you cookies if you want.***




*Ooo. That even creeped me out when I read it.


** WHICH BY THE WAY I FINALLY MUTHER FLIPPIN' GOT! Pyrotechnics show at my house tonight at 8:00pm. You're invited for closet wine, ice cream cake, and dog cookies.

***See? Behold the upside to the new, exposed me: homemade frikkin treats for everyone.

What? Me worry?

Ron emailed this link to me. After this whole garbage can, stinky gym business, he may be planning his escape. Finally.

But it does remind me of my favorite joke in the whole world. Maybe it's because I can never remember jokes. None, except this one and one knock-knock joke.

Anyway:

Man wins the lottery. He flies home to his wife and says, "Honey, pack your bags! I just won the lottery!"

She says, "Oooo, what should I pack for -- the mountains or the beach?!"

Man says, "I don't care, just get the f*ck outta here."




(See? I try to keep it a family show around here, even after weaving yesterday's tapestry of endless obscenities.)


Last joke is a knock-knock joke -- you start it...

you: "Knock-knock!..."

me: "Who's there?"

you: ("I hate her.")

Update on Garbage Cans and Gardenhosers

This morning, the ol' dirty bastard garbage can flipped over and vomitted its contents down the alley and onto the next block. "Thank God, we're gettin' a new one!" I blurted. "Maybe no one will know where all this came from. Maybe I can shove all the disgusting evidence back in the can before anyone gets a positive ID on us..."

But the kitty litter, complete with clods of cat crap and (ironically enough) kitty-urine cakes, stayed nice and perfectly heaped in place, X-marking the spot of whose garbage can exploded in the gumdrop community.

You godless, lying customer service woman from Southern Disposal, worst waste management company ever. Yet again, I didn't get a new garbage can today, did I.

Ron: "Not only did we not get a new garbage can, but the lid blew off down the street and I had to go find it."

me: "How incredibly sad is this, that those @#$%er @#$%ers have ruined my entire god@#$%ed @#$%er @#$%in' day over a @#$%er @#$%in' garbage can?"

Why this is important:

I used to wonder why some people just snap one day, pick up an axe and bust up someone's desk until they were finally stunned to the ground by a gaggle of cops. Nevermind, where's my B B Gun...

And I was so close to finishing the day without any pain in my butt. That's what really twists the ole panties in a bunch. Speaking of panties...

And then, the health club calls. (Sounds better than "stinky gym," doesn't it?) Not my number, even though I gave them my new number. No, they call a friend of mine. For the third time. Even after they've got my work number now, which no one has but my mother and those meatheads. So I call them yet again to ask them kindly what this is all about (all the while thinking, how much money do they want to leave me alone for awhile). And customer-service Kurt got, basically, curt with me. WwwwwwWELL. And like a hormone-stricken little girl trapped in a man's body, he waited for me to say thanks at the end and then hung up in my ear.

So before my eyes started to bleed, I called him back and with that luxury you have only with a desk phone, I slammed the phone down in his ear.

I see a pattern.

I hate everyone today. Except anyone reading this.

And I'm confused because is this really over a garbage can? What? We drank 6-packs and ran our cars through the yards of people who cared whether or not they got a new garbage can. We toilet papered the trees of the people who cared about their yards and their garbage cans and their garden hoses.

Ok, so maybe I sat in the car while they papered the yards, but I was there, man.

But I had a point somewhere... oh yeah...

How can I get my dignity back even though I have become domestically-focused and mundane:

I wish that I could get, oh say, around one million dollars to stay home for good and take these customer-service people on full-time. Or anyone who needs a good smack. First I'd try by phone. Then I'd like to go around with a ruler and slap rude and/or inane people on the forehead for making other people's lives mundane. My new reality show: "Ruler of Justice. Gardenhose of Doom."

Only two more things that will make me feel better:

One more time, with feeling, slam the phone down on Kurt. Then go home and have a beer. Domestic, of course. Gimme a 6-pack, and I'll run ruts in my own yard.

Dontcha love being on hold so long that you actually forget what you called to complain about in the first place?

That's what usually happens to me. And I'll just tell you, it just ruins your credibility and bargaining power, too.

Call it stupidity or call it optimism, I've been on hold for a new garbage can from my garbage company for 6.11 minutes now. I've already asked them for one about 2 months ago. And what to my wondering eyes did appear: No new garbage can. Just a big, fat nothing.

me: "Hey, we're getting a new garbage can! I finally remembered to call those bastards. They told me to leave the old one out for a few days, and they'll replace it. Neat huh?"

Ron: "That's the spirit."

The real spirit is that I actually got excited over the promise of a new garbage can. My dreams as a little girl are all coming true.

First, a new garbage can. Next stop, Hollywood.

me (at Home Depot, with Ron, heaving potting soil and mulch up to a counter on my day off):
"And to think, I thought I'd be a rich, famous actress with a yardman by now."

Only problem with that is I don't like to act.

12.52 minutes on hold. Even though I still remember what I am calling about, now I have to pee. Nature wins out over patience and stupidity.

No. I cannot be that weak, can I? I mean, if you really want something in this world, you have to be able to stick with it. As small as my dreams and aspirations have become, I want a new damn garbage can. Is it worth renal shutdown? Perhaps.

14.12 minutes, and I am feeling sick just thinking about how stupid things like this are. But I'll be tied to a stake and burnt before I hang up. Or, is it smarter to actually hang up and try again later?

I read somewhere once: "In a hundred years, this won't matter. It barely matters now."

If I don't get a new garbage can soon, then in a hundred years, I'll come back to haunt every one of my neighbors' shiny new garbage cans. I can feel it.

Even though they'll all be innocently dead and our houses will be levelled to make a Super Giant Wal-Mart, I can feel the oncoming haunting in my bones. Even though my eyes are beginning to glaze over from the onset of kidney failure, I'm good.

Dreaming big is fine, but dreaming small is more practical. That sounds like something urine-filled/yellow-bellied weakling would say!! What has happened to me?

Ew. I referred to myself as "urine-filled." Oh well. To some, that's sexy and hails big bucks. I still to this minute do not know what a "flexy girl pee hole" is, but it's still the most popular search referral to this site.

So get an eyeful here of that wonderful Flexy Girl Pee Hole, whatever that may be, you frantically searching soul, you. It's not as exciting as waiting breathlessly steeping in your own tinkle in hopes you'll get a brand new garbage can, but I'll admit, it sure seems related somehow.

17.42 minutes. Oh my dear Lord: a human voice. She sounds sweet. Almost angelic. I recognize her. This is the customer service rep I talked to last time. How could she have done this to me? She sounds so sweet.

me: "yeah, I called to get a new one, like, two months ago."
her: "Oh my! You called back in August, that's longer than two months. Let's see..."

That's right. Make me feel special.

her: "It says they tried to deliver and failed, they called this number -- 468-0293..."

me (thinking "who the @#$%in' hell's number is that?"...hey WAIT a MINNIT...you told me to leave the garbage can out, no questions, no cops, and I'd get a new one...no cally calls on the phone! -- you're obviously trying to bamboozle me! WHY I OUGHTA --) : "huh. I don't know that number. Try this new one..."

her: "Thank you, ma'am. You'll receive a new garbage can tomorrow... Can I do anything else for you?"

me (Yes. Make me a rich, famous actress with a yardman): "No, that's it. Thank you very much!"

And now, it's tee time.

Hey. Someone out there is searching to know these things.