I Take It All Back
Mood:  quizzical
Now Playing: "Interstate Love Song", STP
Okay, I take it all back. Today's not SO boring, but I will say that my interest has been piqued. It's all about this Rance dude everyone's been talking about.
He seems very bored, that's all. Some people have a gift for writing, some don't. I do, or so I've been told, I just don't exhibit it here on this blog. I'd rather work on my Chronicles and hide them away so no one can read them, because I crumble under 'constructive criticism'. It's my shit, I'll let my fan base read them when I'm damn good and ready, ie; dead.
But as for Rance, who cares? I've noticed the guy gets like 73 replies to his posts. He's well-spoken, I'll give him that, and I've read the articles about who he may be, but should we care? Isn't the good thing about blogging the anonymity?
I don't know, I'm starting to ramble away from the thought that originally sparked the entry.
Oh yeah....
I just don't see the reason for his popularity. I mean, he's entertaining, but I could give a rat's bumcheek about who he is. I may love pointing out the faults of the rich and ucka-famous, but to spend hours a day trying to discern the identity of a guy who says he's a Person of Infamy? Bah.
Entertainment, that's all. But if any of you can give me a few reasons about Rance's poop-ularity, I'd love to hear them.
Maybe I'm just not reading into it closely enough.
And since I've been watching TWO HOURS of I Love the 90's every night this week, I have a question to ask of anyone who dares answer:
What 90's trend did you jump headfirst into and now despise yourself for doing so, and what was YOUR most memorable moment of the past decade?
I will reveal my most embarrassing 90's moment in a later post. I wanna see if anyone answers me first so I don't look like a dork.

Yet Again, A Slow Day on the Homefries.
Mood:  spacey
Now Playing: "Gepetto", Belly
This is me when I was skinny and red-haired. One of these days, I will be that gorgeous again, but for now I have to deal with being Big and Beautiful.
Not for long, dammit.
So I've been using the Gazelle for a week, without documenting my progress, and this is why:
I broke myself the first day. Seriously. BROKE.
See, I didn't read the whole part in the manual about discerning 'Good' pain, like fatigue, from 'bad' pain, which hurts. The last time I made an effort to work out daily I was in boot camp, and that was ALWAYS pain, thus the whole 'no pain, no gain' mentality. I am a colossal idiot.
This thing is small, and fairly non-threatening. There are five exercises you do, with different positioning and whatnot, and you're supposed to do twenty reps of each exercise ONCE when you're first starting out. ONCE. A SINGLE SET. That's not very much. However, I forgot that my chubby yet attractive ass hadn't seen the gym in a while, so I figured I'd do at least 20 minutes, maybe 30, or do at least a mile on the meter, or maybe burn 150 calories. The problem? These things all occur at different time periods, thus I was working out for EVER. I did at least Five sets of three-count reps (owwww), until I had hit 30 minutes, 150 calories burned, and one mile done on the meter. I was sweating profusely and grumpy for a cigarette.
As soon as I stepped off the damnable thing, my knee gave out.
I have bad knees, hence no e-trainer for me. Really bad knees. I can barely jog, let alone run. And as soon as I set foot on solid ground---
THUD.
So now I'm sitting here with a knee brace on one leg, and an ACE bandage on the other, smacking myself for going the overexertion route. Starting next monday, I'm doing fifteen minutes a day, and that's IT. Not paying attention to the calorie counter, ignoring the mile-o-meter, just fifteen minutes. I'll graduate when I'm not landing in a heap on the floor after each session. Fucking COLOSSAL idiot, did I mention?
Saw a crappy movie yesterday while doing the dishes called Hearts of Fire, starring some skeezy-looking chick named Fiona and and an even-skeezier-looking Bob Dylan. BOB DYLAN? It also had Rupert Everett in it, and I was very amused because he played a rock star, and he played a crappy rock star. I didn't get much of the plot, but at one point Bob lays the whammy on Rupert.
How sad is that? If I ever met Rupert Everett, Shakespearean hottie that he is, I'd have to snicker and say 'dude, you got slammed by Bob Dylan'. Even Rupert probably wouldn't remember what I was talking about, but that's okay.
The whole point of my private jokes is that they're private. If it's just me that gets them, at least ONE person got the punchline.

Mood:  caffeinated
Just for my own amusement, I would like to mention that there is inded a person named Bumble Ward out there. You heard me, BUMBLE WARD. She's a PR rep for Quentin Tarantino and Sofia Coppola, and if memory serves correctly, Tim Burton. The reason I find this amusing is because I have known this for quite some time. Kevin Smith brings this up in "An Evening With Kevin Smith", while discussing his semi-ridiculous feud with Tim Burton. I just thought this was funny because I can draw a parallel.
We finally got new neighbors downstairs. Not that I'm happy, it takes away from my morning s with the music blasting at 7 AM, but it's not that big a deal. They have a baby. ICK.
Not that I'm con baby or anything, lord knows I'm getting closer to that time when negotiations start with the hub-unit, but there's just something about other people's kids....
I'm fairly certain I have no worries about them trying to play good neighbor. No one in apartments ever tries to get to know their neighbors, at least in this town.

The Wubbulous World of...Well Shit, It's Just Me
Mood:  a-ok
My blog is not boring.
I am.
It's not that my life is, I am more than content with my situation. But reading about all the exciting things people get to do on an almost regular basis makes me wonder what the hell happened.
In my own defense, however, I have to take into consideration the fact that my life is just starting out, with many more miles to go and tons more bridges to cross. I've been married less than a year, we don't have kids yet. We're in a small apartment that we both love, and have no plans on moving. The hub-unit will retire in three years, so we're not even thinking about that yet. Nothing really brave and bold going on here.
I'm not even that smart. Well, let me retry that... I am not a genius commentator on the state of the world today. I avoid the news, I don't talk politics, and I'm not really into the shit that's going on. I know, I should be concerned with what's going on in Iraq blah blah blah... I don't care. I'm very NOT into the military thing. After four years of ridiculousness I want nothing to do with them. It's not that I'm anti-military, but I'm very not interested in what they have to say about their jobs. Bless the guys overseas, but hey, they signed up for it. We all make mistakes.
(Sorry Colonel)
Maybe I'm just bitter and jaded because not all my life experiences were sunshine and fucking lollipops. I would rather inundate myself with pop culture vie computer and tv than the fight in Iraq. That's my problem.
And I can't stand stupid people. My morals, as everyone in my VERY EXTREMELY small circle of friends (pop. 3) know, are fucked. However, people that just do some of the most retarded things I've ever heard of seem to FLOCK to me and damn near DEMAND to be my friend. I'm loud, obnoxious, and I hold nothing back. NOTHING. If you're one of those fucktards that think I'm just SO the shit, I will tell you that you are an idiot. For some reason, that endears them even more to me. This is why I don't leave the house.
And for those people that think I'm cool now and can't imagine me any other way, let me tell youse something: It took me four years, almost five, to get this way. And when I say this way, I mean intolerant of dumbasses. I REFUSE to take part in the damb-assedness other people do. I refuse. I spent my entire time in the public education system trying to fit in with some group, ANY group, and I blew my fucking education. I spent all my time so wrapped up in attempting a social life that I wasted all the time I could have spent with my geeky dorky friends who accepted me as is. This unfortunate complex of needing to fit in lasted all the way through high school and well into my first year in the navy. Guess what? After the retardation factor went up in the people I was hanging with, I gave up.
Why should I pretend, and waste all my time trying to hang with the popular people when it's so blatantly obvious they're fucking stupid? So, I put a stop to it, and here I am. No jackholes need apply.
I am happy with where I am, and with the people I have in my life. I suppose this makes me boring, but then again...
Do I really care that much?

The Search For The Perfect Sofa
Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: "Marianne", Tori Amos
No one wants their Grandma's Couch.
You know what I'm talking about. That floral-patterned, overstuffed monstrosity that may have been great to sit in or jump on at Nana's place, but you wouldn't want in your own living room. I should know, I have a Grandma's Couch. A big ugly unwieldy oatmeal colored recliner loveseat. Ucka.
It is, however, the last piece of bachelor furniture in the house, and the hub-unit and I are both loathe to get rid of it due to the memories it carries (good for him, blurry for me...). This weekend, however, we decided to go looking, just in case. We're a hip young (well, I am anyway) couple, we should have cool furniture. On this island, that means scrounging in the sale section of Oak Harbor Furniture just down the street from us.
We kind of wanted to check out the Todd Oldham collection from Lazboy, because he's very cool and the unit has a major crush on his snap sofa. We actually found an ENTIRE living room set for 2500, and that's fucking GREAT, if you consider that the sofa alone is 1100. It was a rug, two tables, two lamps, toybox ottoman, recliner, chair and matching ottoman, and the sofa. I wanted it, and I wanted it BAD. However, there are several reasons why this was complicated:
1. I have a husband I have to consult now;
2. I don't have a job, and must rely on reason #1's income;
3. It was green.
I kinda liked the green, but the unit was a little skeptical because that meant the we would have to buy matching curtains and spend even more money which we didn't have. Which lead to the most daunting of the complications:
4. Financing.
The hub-unit had bad credit and fixed it, but now he has no credit. It was hard enough getting a loan for our car, and now we were going to attempt to buy an entire living room? Can you say "limited credit balance"? We were SO denied. We were both kind of upset, but it also made us heave a huge sigh of relief at the same time because we'd have to pay at least 250 a month if we wanted to make the 12 months same as cash thing. And believe me, you don't want the 12 months of interest tacked on just when you're so close to finish making payments.
Time to take it to the Internet!
Some random obsos:
Watched a marathon of the Surreal Life yesterday on VH1 in a countdown to I Love the 90's last night. I was more amused by Vanilla Ice than anything. He was ranting and raving, and I mean in an ugly, self-righteous way, about how he didn't want to be associated with the whole "Vanilla Ice" thing anymore. He said he didn't want to be as the joke anymore, how he wanted to be taken seriously and some such nonsense and that the cheese factor on the show was getting too high.
Hate to break it to ya, Rob ol' buddy, but EVERYONE on the show is just that: cheese. Tammy Faye Messner, Erik Estrada, Traci-fucking-Bingham for god's sake, are all caricatures. They're all extreme has-been's who may have made their way after fame and fortune, but will never regain their mass stardom. They've all been mocked constantly, and they always will be no matter what they do. It will always be in the back of our minds, no matter what they do. Sorry dude, but SUCK IT UP.
And by the way, I HATED the 90's.

More Shite From Go-Quiz! Gotta love those monkeys..
Now Playing: The Man Who Sold The World, Nirvana version

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From Go-Quiz.com


Right, I'm done for now. But I have a wonderful story to tell later today!

More Random Sillines Before The Serial Goofiness.
Mood:  bright
GOD, I LOVE this stuff! A whoot whoot to acharny for getting all this cool stuff and sharing it so that people like me can exploit it!

Drinking the Rum + Monkey!
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: "Wubba Wubba Woo Chuh", Hayleigh Ann
Found some names generators, I forgot how much I LOVE these things!!!

My crappy little elf name is Pelthound Granitebottom.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My Iraqi Leadership Name is al-Tikriti Khalifa Abd al-Khaliq Abd al-Karim.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My goddamn rock solid ghetto shiznit name is Fellatio Jaam.
What's yours?
Powered by Rum and Monkey.

My insulting name is Penisbreath Labialips!
What's yours?

You tell me, what could be more intriguing than name generator?

Random Silliness
Mood:  silly

My My mazabas names are is Tabitha and Caesar.
Take The Boobs Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Did the hub-unit too, and he got something even better.

My HUBBY'S Penis' new name is Uncle Wizzo the Magical Salami.
Take Name Your Penis
by badasstronaut today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

I think I'm gonna go searching for more name generators! Bye!

Alcohol: Only Fun For The Sober Guy
Mood:  surprised
So last night we went out to the Fleet lounge with some of the hub-unit's friends for karaoke night. I hate karaoke. A LOT. But, we haven't been out in a while, so I obliged him and told his friends to just get him really drunk and make sure he had a good time.
Oh, how he got drunk. The three stooges went up and sang a rousing round of songs, including "Secret Agent Man", "She Fucking Hates Me", and "Play That Country Music Cowboy". My hubby can't sing. He's so tone-deaf it hurts other people. But he kept pounding down the drinks, and I sat there and watched the new lows they hit with a sparkle in my eye. It reminds me of why I quit drinking in the first place.
Not that I'm a teetolar or anything, but I only drink once in a great while, and never that much because I like to retain control of my motor functions. If I do feel the few and far between urge to get seriously hammered, I do it in my own house.
And me, being the sober one, got charged with the dubious honor of taxi service. I drove one guy's girlfriend (in truth, my friend with the gallbladder thing) home because she needed to take her oxycontin and go to sleep. Then I took these two total strangers to the bank, and it was like packing a backseat full of drunk teenagers with little impulse control. Then I had to drive everyone home that night, and some of them lived out on the edge of the island...
I hate being able to drive.
The hub-unit, fit-shaced and amorous, got home just in time to vomit copiously for the next two hours. I don't think I v;e seen anything more pathetic than a naked man horfing his guts out at 3 AM, surrounded by curious kitties. It was bad.
So with the husband fucked out of his head, I got to play nursemaid. I'm not complaining, it was rather amusing.
This morning, he's huddled up on the couch sucking down water like he's been in the desert for a month and chewing aspirin like his head's going to explode.
I don't know about anyone else, but watching the drinkers suffer is just a continuance of the fun from the preceeding night.