Stroking the Keys

So....yesterday I discovered that cock and anal are the same key strokes on a phone.  You know, the old school ones with abc = 2, not the damn mini baby computer keyboard phones.  I haven't made it into advanced technology yet.  Anyway, i was writing..."Rock out with your cock out" and in the process of scrolling through words for the 2625 ( I use cock enough, you'd think it would save it by now) anal came through, but no cock.  How does that work?  Well, I thought it was all pretty ironic...i mean really, anal and cock are virtually the same thing on a phone - just 2625.  Who knew?  Well, I'm gonna start calling out 2625 on people...then I could really be saying either...you go figure it out.

Con Carne, hold the Carne

I hung out at my friend's house last nite.  We were drinking some beers and cooking dinner.  We tried to follow her mom's recipe for Enchiladas, but she being a white girl from Portland and me growing up on enchiladas from scratch...it turned into something entirely different.  I was responsible for the "filler".  While cooking the chicken, I started doctoring it up with spices, more cheese, and chilis.  She was responsible for the sauce, which was a bean based sauce with no meat, so it somewhat resembled chili - hence the con carne, hold the carne.  I was drinking beers through the cooking and eventually took over the shenanigans.  When it came time to fill and roll the tortillas, I discovered they were burrito sized; resulting in what looked like large chicken burritos with too much leftover tortilla.  I asked my friend for the sauce, thinking it would be just generic canned enchilada sauce; however I came to find that we would be covering our enchilada/burritos in the sauce resembling chili con carne.  Through the whole cooking process, her dog Bowie seemed to be confused by all the action in the kitchen - I'm guessing my friend doesn't cook much.  All in all, it was a great meal despite the hodge podge assembly.  Heavy, but great.  Chicken Burrito Chili Con Carne Hold the Carne Enchiladas were a hit!  Bowie even did tricks for them...  Next time I'm cooking...

bruiser

I am a bruiser...and not in the sense that I run around roughing people up.  I just collect them.  I try to find the rare ones with a plethora of colors - green, purple,  yellow; occasionally some blue.  Those are the good ones.  I counted them last night (at least the ones I could see).  I think I counted about 30...but that's not even accurate because some of them have expanded so much so that they have become one enlarged amoeba of a bruise.  My favorite is the black one on my inner right thigh.  It started out with a couple of lines through it, unfortunately it has now simply turned into a normal spherical mark.  I wanted to name her Stacy, but now she just doesn't excite me anymore.  I'll have to trade her in for a new one.

It is a little enjoyable for me to both get and maintain a bruise.  In the past two days, so many people have asked why I had them (it does actually look like I got beat down).  Well, gee, I ran out of accessories and thought I'd make a new fashion statement.  Don't ask me questions like that, especially because if I told you the truth you would look at me weird forever.  I told people that I just wanted to fight it out all weekend (as I was wearing a miniature pair of brass knuckles around my neck).  They looked shocked, so I told them I play rough (which is true)...but had to finish it up with ...football, duh.  What did you think I was talking about?  Again, they can't handle the truth; so I just tell them bits and pieces of what they want to hear.

I'm guessing I need more iron in my life.  Apparently the WHO (not the band) considers iron deficiency the #1 nutritional disorder in the world.  I mean if I'm going to do something, I want to do it right!  I hope they aren't going to quarantine me to Rwanda.  I don't think they have the conveniences that I so appreciate in life.  So I'm hopping back on the vitamin wagon.  I poured about a quarter bottle of those little red pills down my throat...tastes just like candy.  I think the bruises are disappearing already.  yippee.  Google me this....can you OD on iron pills?  Shit, it can cause loss of interest in sex and changes in skin color.  Isn't that what my bruises are doing already?  hmmm...off to pump the tummy.  The weekend is coming up soon...now, I get to start all over with my collection.

Heavy Brakers

Heavy Brakers make me a little agro...I mean just because you are on the 405 in morning traffic and you see a brake light 10 feet in front of you does not mean you gotta slam yours on.  Ease into it.  It is dangerous to all of us...but mostly you if I am behind you.  I am one of those girls that loves to maximize the sleep time, so I use my commute time for the make-up sesh.  (I know, I'm a great multi tasker).  PS...don't try and tell me it's dangerous...I already know.  I like to live on the edge.  I use the 405 as my personal dance floor...an hour commute has to have some sort of distraction.  I occasionally take it low, throw in a spin, and shake, shake it.  Anyway, when I am trying to throw some blush on and rock out at the same time and you slam on your brakes, I gotta do it too...and then we are just Brake Dancing...and not in the good way.  I have a confetti of make-up brushes throughout my car, I lose my beat, and I get all hot and flustered.  So....please peeps...learn how to effing drive in traffic!

little baby mini

The Long Beach Museum of Art is a great place.  They used to have the sculpture of the yellow baby (to the left) large and in charge on Ocean Ave.  I remember seeing the large, awkward yellow baby with an abnormally massive protruding head on my way home from work every day, but learned to tune it out, as if it were another palm tree, not even noticing that it had been replaced.  I was at the museum last nite for an event and my friend happily noticed the baby was no longer present.  I will admit I enjoyed the landmark aspect of him, front and center for the museum luring people to venture in (after all, I hate to see great places go under due to lack of funding); however he was a little obtrusive.  Naked, day glow yellow, awkwardly bulbous, and staring.  Later that nite at another venue, I was talking to a friend telling her of the awesome event I attended earlier at the museum.  She instantly proclaimed "oh yeah, that big yellow baby has a tiny penis".  All the times I have seen this yellow baby on my drive home from work, I never thought to look at the penis, but realized she was absolutely right.  Since we were at a Drag Queen Show, I immediately thought of where the queens put their things; which of course led me to plastic surgery.  I wonder how plastic surgeons specializing in gender reassignment feel about constructing little, tiny, baby, mini penises all day.  How do you explain your job in detail to people?  Do they come home from work and while sitting at the dinner table say, "Honey, I had a doozy of a day.  The penis I was working on didn't quite meet the standard length to be a penis.  I had to get some duct tape and play MacGyver.  I hope s/he still enjoys the entrance to manhood."  Too many questions... I need to meet one.

The Great ShakeDown

My company was a participant in the Great Shake Out this morning.  I have to say it was pretty anti-climactic...great build-up.  The past 3 weeks have been filled with the basic propaganda of reminder emails, signs posted around the office, even a safety tube to keep under our desks.  The safety tube consisted of a bag of water, face mask, whistle, and glow stick.  I was ready for the greatest rave of the year - get that whistle and glow stick going...we are shaking it out!  

Well, at about 10 am a man's voice could be heard over the intercom...God...is that you?  No, it was a PSA voice telling us what a great opportunity we would be partaking in - being part of the shake out...he may have even said I would be joining millions of other Californians (great, now I'm part of a club).  Nothing shook, no one checked to see if I was alive...is this what the BIG ONE will be like?

 I used the time as a photo op...see above.  I'm the one lounging.  At the end of the "shaking"  the PSA told us about things that could have happened - you know, glass from the windows flying at our faces wanting to gouge our eye balls and sever our skin, hanging lights swinging their open electrical wires around our legs, buildings collapsing, streets caving in, you know...the good stuff.  

I know how to hang out under my desk - that's called nap time; I didn't need the Great Shake Out to teach me that.  I really needed the practice on the emergency stuff...so I feel like when the BIG ONE hits I will either snap into action or have a light protruding from my forehead while smothered in a pile of concrete after being electrocuted to death - that will be a great story.

JUDGING

I think port-o-potties are one of society's most vile inventions.  While it's nice to have an enclosed excrement station when you are in public spaces, they also offer some vile offspring.  When I am on a pleasant walk/run in my neighborhood it should not be allowed for me to enjoy the fecal cocktail brewing on my neighbor's lawn whilst they add that second master bedroom and jacuzzi tub.  And with the way contractor's work these days, I must endure the hot stink aroma for months.  Secondly, when I am at a concert/outdoor sporting event I do not need to see the variety of poo sculptures awaiting my innocent eyes upon entry.  I feel like a judge in the World's Poo Fair - categories being: Grossest Concoction of VSP (vomit, shit, and piss); Best Shit Explosion (this being rivaled by Hollywood pyrotechnics); Tallest Freestanding Structure (the abrasive 100 grit toilet paper can not be a support of any kind); and finally Most Unidentified Smell (this concoction is so foul your poor nasal receptors can not even begin to decipher it's origin).  That being said, I can't wait for the upcoming December festivities of the X-Mas Parade and Boat Parade when the streets are lined with port-o-potties for the droves of people wanting to partake in the holiday drunken festivities.  I know this year will be the big winner for Most Unidentified Smell...yippee!

Giraffe-able

While nothing random or funny enough has happened to me thus far in the day...I found some enjoyment in this picture comparison of the one that had to concede.  I drew this giraffe on a wall in my parent's house more than a year ago before the wall was knocked down.  I saw this picture of McCain about a month ago and instantly saw the connection.  This Thanksgiving I am thankful for not voting a giraffe into the White House.  I don't think they like change and progress.  ; )

look what the cat dragged in....

I went out last nite with some of the factory owners and had a great dinner.  They wanted to follow it up with some time at the CD CLUB, which I thought was "seedy club"...sounded great, especially with it being Halloween.  I proceeded to dance on-stage, with the locals, and with the factory peeps, as I felt the club needed to get warmed up.  I had a great time, all the while knowing I had to get up at 5 am for a flight to Hong Kong.  About 1 am I decided to just pull an all-niter and go with it.  Well, I went with it...slept for about 45 minutes, got up and headed to the airport, which was an hour and a half ride in itself.  Upon arriving in Hong Kong 2 hours later and feeling greasy, exhausted, and irritable I had to take a one-hour shuttle ride to arrive at my hotel.  Finally, I could shower....so i thought.  God, I hate the easy route.  Of course, checking in was an adventure - my bank put a hold on my card (they have great fraud protection) and I thought I was going to have to wait it out until my co-workers got here.  But wait....I found a card that worked.  Phew!  That shower and bed were screaming for me.  I am seeing the light!...then Darkness....my room wouldn't be ready for an hour.  Are you kidding me?  I must have some bad karma that I haven't been handed in a while.  Off to eat, I suppose.  I sit at the local Starbuck's (I know...I was past the point of being adventurous, had to go with something I knew) and immediately a very persistent Chinese man begins talking to me.  What I thought to be a friendly conversation of hello...how are you...where are you from....quickly turned into "I want to take you to drinks tonite".  Excuse me...are you blind...do you see what I look like right now?  Well...he insisted upon giving me his number and reiterated at least 10 more times that I NEEDED to call him tonite.  I tried to explain that I am here for work and that I will be busy - so busy I will barely have time to sleep...uh, right.  I finished my lunch and being pleasant said good-bye, checked into my room, made them reassure me that they would NOT give out my room number to anyone, and finally made it; but then had to deal with the bank situation.  Finally, I can get to the shower and wash the day, nite, and everything else between China and Hong Kong off of me.  

Maybe I will call him later...might be interesting to hear about how he hacks his victims into tiny star shaped pieces before searing them and eating them.