Hypothesis: Interest in my life has plummeted

By you all, that is. Not by me. I'm not suicidal or anything. Though I am also rather disinterested in the tawdry daily toils of an office drone, so I suppose I can't blame you. As incentive to find me entertaining, here are five things I did today that may change the history of the world.

1) I wore a "Halloween Costume" that consists of my Eddie Guardado jersey, Twins hat, and Houseboy's baseball spikes. This makes bathroom trips an adventure in metal sliding around on tile.

2) I forgot to take my migraine prevention medication this morning, and my neck keeps cracking. Possibly unrelated.

3) I led a hostile takeover of Denmark under the rallying cry of "Hamlet for Benevolent Dictator," because I fell asleep to the Kenneth Branaugh version of the play last night and it invaded my dreams.

4) I bought the majority interest in the American Dollar, and I'm now using my control over this stock to make Argo Tea drinks cost less.

5) I changed my coworker's auto-correct option in Word so that when she types "the" it will come out "robrules." This accomplishes the dual task of a) annoying/confusing her and b) blaming an intern, which may result in his disembowelment.

Your guess is as good as mine as to which of these items will have the largest effect on our world today.

Everything about me rocks

I think it's important to blog about current events and share your unique viewpoint on situations with the inter-world. On the other hand, my biggest excitement this week was realizing that white people chips actually work on my migraine elimination diet.

So I ate about 43 bags of these while lying on my back on the couch and watching Veronica Mars episodes. The cats hovered around the ground near my futon, knowing that eventually I'd drop an entire chip and just not have the energy to reach down for it. And Houseboy wonders why they annoy him when he's home alone all day and don't bother me on the weekends.

My big plan for the whole weekend was to swap out my summer clothes for my winter clothes-- an occasion I look forward to every year as a recurring rite of passage initiating me into the followers of King Boreas for yet another winter. The breaking out of the tank tops that usually occurs mid to late April (my capitulation to Vulcanus' domination) is also a big event. However, in my potato chip stupor I forgot, and I had to dig a sweater out of the box under my bed for the forecasted snow showers (which haven't shown up yet) today.

So, now I'll have to save the clothing frenzy for this weekend, by which time it will be November, which really seems like pushing the envelope if you ask me.

Yellow angry folger rhythm

Update on the Christine Jennings situation. Houseboy did a little research using the Internets and found that she's running for office in Florida's 13th district. So, now I'm moving to Florida just to fuck her. Not in a sexy way, in a "I'm not voting for you and I'm spreading evil lies truthful facts about your suckitude" way. Plus, then I'll be there for Spring Training and also maybe down there they don't continue to air condition their offices into October, because my toesies are freezing off.

In other news, I'm reading this awesome book:

Which was given to me in an exchange of goods/services with my friend in DC, who will now be known as Sweetbread, because that's the pancreas, which is an awesome organ known for its fantastic book recommendations and knowledge of philosophy.

I'm also about to embark on the Migraine Elimination diet, which ought to make the Things My Houseboy Cooked for Me segment pretty interesting as for 2 to 6 weeks he tries to satisfy me using only potatoes and vegetables. Damnit if everything I say doesn't end up sounding dirty today.

Penis.

I hate Christine Jennings

I have no idea what she stands for, what her politics are, or any of that crap. All I know is her evil minions have figured out how to break every damn spam blocker in the universe and no matter how many times I try to train my e-mail to block out the "Christine Jennings for Congress" e-mails, I still get at least one of these a day. I hope her opponent isn't for puppy raping and baby factories, because there's no effing way she's getting my vote. Even if it means that Voldemort gets it instead and he unleashes the hounds of hell, because spam is way worse than murder.

Unless we're talking about:

In which case that's just a delicious meat food that saved my life on many Boundary Waters camping trips. In conclusion, Christine Jennings may or may not endorse blood sacrifices to her demon god. Spread the word.

Don't you want to be my friend?

I added the new blogspot feature called "Followers" so that you people could sign up to be my minions, but of course no one did, just highlighting what I think I've made clear before: I don't have friends.

I'm not blaming anyone of course, because as it turns out if you invite me to your wedding I'll forget to charge my camera battery and end up with only photos of your ass and my feet, because I thought that was cute and I'd had a few beers already. Sorry Hedgehog and new husband, Sonic (he suggested this name, so you can see that they're adorable together, even though they won't let me post the ass pictures here).

Here's the picture of our feet:


I'm hoping it's the perspective, but DAMN do I have some thunder calves. Also, finger toes, and that's not a perspective issue. You can't tell from the photos I took, but I was wearing this totally awesome dress that I bought on Etsy from this lady who makes them to your measurements. So I looked like a hot 50s housewife, which is one of my life goals.

The only other shot I got was this fun little video which mostly shows darkness, darkitude and some darkosity. But if you look closely you'll see the telltale signs of White People Dancing and then White People Waiting for the Next Song and Wondering How They Should Dance Until They Figure Out What Song It Is.

Hedgehog got Houseboy and I drunk and made us dance to Monster Mash. It was a graveyard smash.

Other than that I've spent this week inventing new smileys, like the Ice Grill :[] and new internet slang, like LUAS (laughing up a storm). Those are copyrighted, by the way. Ten cents for every use. Given my vast minions, I should be a millionaire any day now.

Darn it all to Heck

So, the Saturday before last I spent the whole morning at a "Safe Church Training," otherwise referred to in our household as "How to Not Rape Kids." It's a great training, and I would never say a foul word against the laudable pursuit of protecting kids. Because rape and molestation are bad. In case you ever wondered. But, I had to do this same training two years ago and found out at the end of this 2 hour meeting that they recommend congregations do it every 5 years, and if I'd known that I would have insisted that I still remembered all the finer points. Among these points is making sure that kids' parents or guardians pick them up after Sunday School, a rule I find annoying because kids' parents or guardians are all busy in the parish hall eating cookies and church coffee and chitchatting about Jesus and I'm left wandering around the church with their spawn looking for them. But I do it, because I am against child molestation, even in church. Anyway, I got to watch the awesome video where they interview former victims and perpetrators of abuse and play the "Is this an ok touch in church?" game and there was some tasty fancy tea and doughnuts, so among Saturdays it's not the WORST I ever had.

Immediately the next day of course I'm in the Sunday School room and being extra special careful to not let kids go to the bathroom alone or have the second graders sit on anyone's lap, and I get up to walk across the room, trip over a kid coloring a liturgical calendar and land hand-first on her ass. Darn it all to heck, I'm going to be in that training again next year, I can just see it.