I haven't been going to the YMCA. I haven't been taking happy nature hikes with the family. I haven't been swimming. I haven't been stretching. My diet consists of peanut butter on bread, macaroni and cheese and whatever else requires minimal thought and effort plus slides down my throat. I have been drinking more and more coffee each day to ward off fatigue, but it's not working. I look and feel shitty. I have no one to blame but myself. Please don't think I'm looking for sympathy; this is a confession. I can do better for myself and have in the past. I've just fallen into a bad pattern. However, if you have any words of encouragement feel free to leave them. Yelling at me will just result in me hiding under my bed, so please be nice.

I haven't been able to flesh out any of these ideas thus far, so if anyone wants to steal one, feel free.

1. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but in reflection not having any antidote on hand was a dangerous practice for a toxicologist.

2. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but in reflection not having any clean underwear should have kept her home, doing laundry, instead of at the Rattlesnake Saloon tossing back whiskey.

3. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but in reflection not having any jelly beans should not have caused a 25-year-old graduate student to throw a hysterical tantrum, yet here they were with a 250-lb man thrashing on the candy store floor.

4. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but in reflection not having any contact with the outside world seemed like a good idea at the time.

5. Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but in reflection not having any camping experience might explain why bears were able to gobble up all their food.

Oh, yes, it looks pleasant from the outside, doesn't it? Inviting, even. What an ideal family restaurant! That's what they want you to believe. Its innocent exterior belies the horror within. Listen to my tale, lest you meet a similar fate...

Okay, it wasn't that bad. But the service was intolerable. The food took forever. They didn't give us silverware. They didn't refill our drinks. They gave my two-year-old a plate so hot that, had she touched it, I'm sure her flesh would have melded to it. The food was merely passable, and that was just what happened to us.

I could see the following things happen: the cash register malfunctioned, causing a huge line of frustrated customers; wrong dinners were sent out and sent back; several people were not waited on at all; the people behind us had no drinking straws.

But my favorite part of the evening was watching the pies. A huge revolving oven with many shelves bakes the pies. The ubergirls and I watched as the pies went 'round and 'round. Suddenly, we noticed a change. The pies began to explode. The manager ran up and shouted "Raoul!" or some such name. A small, rat-like man emerged from the back. "I thought you told me you took the pies out!"

He shrugged insolently at her.

"They're..." she said, with a horrified glance into the ovens, "Exploding!" Rat man went back to the kitchen, leaving the manager to remove the pies with a large metal pie-removing device.

Now, prior to this, the Ubergirls and I had been discussing the possiblity that pie-making Oompah Loompahs worked in the back. I had composed a lovely song, to the original Oompah Loompah tune from "Willy Wonka," for Uberdilf's benefit:
What to you get eating at Bakers Square?
You get quite annoyed and you pull out your hair!

With Raoul's appearance from the back, our fantasy was shattered.

I was going to buy Nick a Bakers Square gift card for his birthday, but after that experience I couldn't bring myself to put anyone else through the misery we endured. Even Nick.

I will discuss the scary Children's Menu characters another day. One is dressed like a pimp, and called "Pie Spy." One is charmingly named "Crusty." All in all, they are an odd bunch.

I was awakened at 4:15 this morning by the sound of bouncing plastic. I also noted the absence of my fountain's gentle pitter-patter.

I leapt to my feet, with the following previous nocturnal disturbances in mind: "someone" had opened both fish food and turtle food and dumped them in the garden pond; my turtle mysteriously disappeared a couple of weeks ago; my goldfish are dwindling rapidly in number; "someone" has been using my daughters' wading pool as a bathtub. "Someone" was out there, and I was going to find out who it was.

Plus, I had a headache and needed a glass of water. We went out last night.

I turned on the back porch light, and my suspicions were confirmed: raccoons. Young, frolicking raccoons. There were about 4 of them, running up and down the cement stairs to the basement laundry room door, playing with my daughter's toys, and generally enjoying themselves. The fountain was off; either they unplugged it or they disengaged the underwater hose in their quest for the last remaining fish. After the earwigs' recent attempt on my life by shorting out my air conditioner, anything was possible.

One raccoon had a sand shovel and a bucket. He's the one who woke me up. He was scooping rocks in and out of the bucket. Another was joyfully examining every single plastic toy. Another, I swear to God, was examining a squirt gun. He was holding it correctly, like a human, looking down the barrel.

Watching them was more entertaining than the movie we saw: The Island with Ewan McGregor, Scarlett Johansen and Steve Buscemi. Do not see this movie. If you do, don't blame me. I tried to warn you.

It's Nick's birthday today! I hope he likes what I got him. He wanted a pie, so I'm sending a clown friend of mine to bring it to him in person.

He's a really good aim. He likes to give birthday spankings, too. Bend over, Nick! You're about to make a new friend!

As many of you know, Uberdilf is a tech guy. Among other things. He's multi-talented. But today's story involves his tech guy persona.

Some people got laid off at Uberdilf's employer yesterday, and one of his responsibilities is to check a departing employee's computer for pirated software or anything else that could be trouble.

One of those computers contained some minor share ware and some downloaded movies, including one that Dilf read as "Piegrape*." Puzzled at what "Piegrape" could mean, he clicked on it.

He soon realized that his mind's eye had inserted an "e" into the name (perhaps due to Nick's influence). The name actually read, with disturbing accuracy, "Pigrape."



*I wrote this without consulting Dilf, who told me this story last night at the dinner table. When he said "pi grape" I heard "pie grape" because I think of food before math. My husband must think of math before bestiality, which we all agree is a good thing.

I remember my worst date. I was picked up from work and driven to Burger King. Keep in mind, the only reason we stopped for anything at all was because the movie didn't start for another hour and a half.

He stepped up to the counter and ordered two Whoppers, large fries and a milkshake. When the girl behind the counter said, "Would that be all?" He said, "Yes. Oh, wait." He turned to me. "Do you want anything?"

I was wearing a dress and heels. In Burger King. With undoubtedly the biggest clod in the universe. I was set up with this guy by a friend. A former friend.

Not surprisingly, this guy was also the worst kisser. I had no intentions of kissing him, but when someone outweighs you by 100 pounds and sticks a Jabba the Hutt-like tongue in your mouth, it takes some physical action to disengage yourself. Think of the cat in Pepe le Pew cartoons. Luckily, one tongue thrust was all he got.

Let's talk of happier things.

Uberdilf's mother will be picking up the Ubergirlies at 2 p.m. on Friday. We are to pick them up sometime Saturday morning.

This means we have a date night. A glorious, wonderful date night. Just the two of us.

In celebration, I would like to share the recipe for my favorite drink: the Barbella.
Barbella

2 oz. Cointreau
1 oz. Sambuca

Mix ingredients with ice in a shaker and pour into a chilled cocktail glass.

If I ever opened a restaurant, which I will not because it is WAY more work than I ever plan to exert EVER, I would name it Barbella and serve French (for the Cointreau) and Italian (for the Sambuca) cuisine. And guess what my restaurant's signature drink would be?

Every woman is different, so I don't mean to speak for all women when I say: I don't find sexy men's underwear or swimwear attractive. Now, that's now to say I don't enjoy seeing men's bodies, but there's something about sleaziness that turns me off. I never enjoy male strippers, except on an ironic level. Maybe a pirate... but, I digress.

Here are three examples of items I don't ever want to see a man wearing in real life:


a unitard


Whatever this thing is


A sarong; for the love of God, gentlemen, never wear a sarong!

I am cranky and in pain. If anyone needs me, I will be huddled on my bed with a cup of herbal tea watching old movies. It better be an emergency.

I used to love a blog where a lovely girl would dress up her hamsters and pose them in interesting ways. But she stopped blogging, and I was sad. Now she is back, with a new blog. Everyone, welcome Bridget, aka "The Hamstress."

Yes, she's cute. But I think she's dating someone. I could be wrong.

I was going to write an amusing blurb about the naked tickler, who has been breaking into little old ladies' houses and tickling their feet.

However, I got sidetracked by the menacing cloud of African dust headed our way.

According to reports, "An enormous, hazy cloud of dust from the Sahara Desert is blowing toward the southern United States, but meteorologists do not expect much effect beyond colorful sunsets.

The leading edge of the cloud -- nearly the size of the continental United States -- should move across Florida sometime from Monday through Wednesday.

Ooh, pretty. Colorful sunsets, you say? Why, how wonderful! Only... that's not what they were saying about these clouds earlier.

From August, 2001: "Now a new study, partially funded by NASA, has revealed a surprising connection between red tides in the Gulf of Mexico and giant dust clouds that blow across the Atlantic Ocean from the distant Sahara Desert. NOAA and NASA satellites can spot such dust clouds en route from Africa to the Americas, raising hopes that space-based data could help scientists predict when red tides will strike the Gulf coast." Do you remember what red tides are? "It sounds like a story from the Old Testament: Without warning, the sea turns a shade of reddish brown, killing scores of fish and other marine life -- and making the water an unwelcome place for humans."

More recently, "Tests on airborne dust samples collected in the Caribbean were found to contain infectious spores of the [aspergillosis] fungus. Scientists suspect the spores had been carried on the wind from Africa, before landing on the ocean surface, sinking and infecting the sea fans. Enough had built up on the ocean floor for the disease to spread. Since then, several outbreaks have been linked to dust clouds."

Complaints about these dust clouds were reported by earlier scientists such as Charles Darwin. But if our vigilant media tell us there's nothing to worry about, I'm sure they're right. I'll just get out my swiffer and wait.

I went to visit my mom and dad today. If you haven't seen Disney's "Alice in Wonderland," I can't give an accurate description of my parents. If you have, then, my parents are the Queen and King of Hearts.

My mom has many fine qualities; she is generous, she is loving, she is often funny.

I have to remind myself of these good qualities on a day like today, when I saw her bossy, controlling, judgemental side.

I have to work on standing up to her without getting angry. If anyone has any advice, I'd appreciate it.

"Good evening. I'm your little old curator in this museum which we call the Night Gallery. There are horror stories and horror stories, elements of terror that take myriad forms. But this item has a built-in terror which can refrigerate even the most dispassionate amongst us. It has to do with a little beastie known as an earwig, a small bug that crawls into the human ear. And while inside it doesn't whisper sweet nothings -- it performs quite another function. Offered to you now on Night Gallery, a brand new nightmare which we call The Caterpillar."

Does anyone besides me remember Night Gallery? I do, and my parents are lucky I don't sue them for my therapy bills. Looking at the dates the show ran, I could only have been as old as 4 when I saw it. And it was one creepy show.

Rod Serling of "Twilight Zone" fame would take you into an art gallery filled with twisted paintings relating to the equally twisted story that went with it.

One episode was called "The Caterpillar," only it wasn't about a caterpillar -- it was about an earwig. An earwig that crawled into some guy's ear and started eating his brain. He screamed and writhed in agony.

I still remember seeing that, even though I have never seen it since its original air time. I remember other episodes, too; I'll save those for later.

Tonight I want to talk about earwigs, because they are truly evil, vindictive creatures. To punish me for killing some of their relatives that took up residence in an empty flower pot on my back porch, they tried to murder me today. They learned of Chicago's dangerous heat index, and shorted out my air conditioner. If you don't believe me, I can show you the repair man's bill.

"Found earwig in contacts, burnt contact points," reads the work description, with the ominous, "This could happen again."

But when? I sense this isn't over. Not by a long shot.

This person has an unnatural preoccupation with Barbie.

The answers are:
Black high-heeled sandals that are amazingly comfortable;
My ex-husband;
On a couch in a frat house with a wig between my legs.

Feel free to come up with the questions yourself.

I don't know what made me look up Doctor Who on Google today. I really don't. But I did, and I found out they're making a new Doctor Who movie. It will come out this Christmas.

My brother and I used to watch Doctor Who together every Sunday night on PBS. Starting at 10 p.m., Monty Python would come on, then Dave Allen at Large at 10:30, then Doctor Who at 11.

Sometime in the mid-1980's, I stopped watching. The last Doctor incarnation I remember watching was number 5. They are now up to number 10! Where have the years gone...

Anyway, maybe I'll take my brother to see it, for old time's sake.

Last Tuesday morning, the Ubergirls and I went to the park with Ubergirl Elder's friend and classmate Kailey, Kailey's mom and Kailey's twin infant brother and sister.

That afternoon, she was being rushed to Children's Memorial Hospital in an ambulance.
She had a brain tumor (non-cancerous, thank God) that was hemorrahging. She had emergency brain surgery. Luckily, the prognosis is good for a full recovery. I'm sure her family would appreciate any thoughts or prayers you could spare.

I received this news just a few minutes ago from a fellow preschool (soon to be Kindergarten) mom. She called just as I was cursing my non-functioning air conditioner. Suddenly, I didn't care whether it worked or not

Sugar dumplings, I do have a couple of stories brewing in my Uber noggin. But, alas, I have housework to do. Notably, laundry. I have discovered a disconcerting lack of panties in my underwear drawer. Among other domestic problems.

I will be back this afternoon, if all goes well.

LoLo returns in two days. Prepare the royal welcome.

I received my sewer bill in the mail yesterday. Along with my usual usage charge and due date, they sent me a newsletter, an invitation to tour the facility during their "Open House" on October 1, and a generous offer for them to deliver some of their "biosolids" to my home.

First, the open house. If I choose to attend, I will be able to view "first-hand" all the components of wastewater treatment. I don't want to speak for everybody, but I thought the flush toilet was invented to avoid that sort of thing.

Second, the biosolids. Again, I have to say "No thank you." According to the pamphlet, "The material looks like black dirt, but has a softer consistency, carries a higher fertilizer value (really!) and retains more water than typical black dirt...At this point in time, we do not recommend that it be used for growing edible crops." Mmmm... biosolids.

The Wastewater Treatment Center also extends an invitation to "youth groups and students for extra credit projects or merit badges." How badly did these kids misbehave? That's just cruel.

When I first starting dating DILF, I cobbled together an impression of him, as all new lovers do. He was an art major, a photographer, worked in advertising, liked jazz, was fairly well-read and enjoyed ethnic cuisine. He also was a computer and sci-fi geek. Throw in impeccable ethics, good manners and hygiene, and a love of playing cards, and I was hooked.

Certainly, all of those things are true. Early on, our dates included Around the Coyote, elegant little jazz venues and funky little restaurants.

But there is more to Dilf than meets the eye. When he and I started dating, he shared an apartment with his brother (who earned the nickname "Towel Boy." That's an amusing story for another day.) Sometimes, when I had to wait for Dilf for one reason or another, I would sit in his living room and watch TV with his brother. One evening, he was watching ESPN or ESPN II or ESPN:Voyager or whatever. On the TV was a hillbilly spectacle known as Swamp Buggy Racing.

Just as Dilf was entering the room and looking at the TV, I snorted, "I can't believe they're actually providing commentary to this, as if it were a real sport." Dilf and his brother looked at each other, and Towel Boy started laughing. "Oooh, a small flaw in the perfect woman!" he said. I looked up at Dilf's face, horrifed to see the chagrin on his face.

As we left I said, "You don't really like that stuff, do you?"

"Well," the slightly defensive Dilf responded,"it's interesting to see how different vehicles respond in different situations..." He might have said more, but I blocked it from my memory.

Fast forward to this afternoon, at the lunch table. Dilf is reading the local paper and notices the Du Page County Fair is next weekend. "This year," he declares firmly, "We are going to the Demolition Derby!"

If someone would like to volunteer to take my place, please step forward. Please? Lord help me.

Which picture is more disgusting:


This

Or this?

Thanks to Miss Kathy and Miss Lindsay for the photos.

VERSUS

















Ubergirls and I are going to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" today with my sister and my nephew.

I will report back later on the pros and cons of each film. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone.

Sometimes, I am unsure whether something is funny or offensive. Such is the case with
Mini Kiss, the all-little people Kiss tribute band, who is playing in my city this Saturday.

Now, I find the idea of anyone in a Kiss cover band slightly amusing. Like Evel Kneivel or any other actual human being (not fictional character) who has been made into an action figure, Kiss is more gimmick than substance. But, little people? I suppose an all African American, all Jewish or all female Kiss cover group would be hilarious as well, so, on with the show. I have decided they are not offensive; I am laughing at Kiss and not a minority group.

Remember the ThorGuard thing my Park District installed?

Despite the fact the park closes at 11 p.m., they continue to sound this siren at all hours of the day and night if a thunderstorm approaches. Nobody could possibly be in the park. Of course, now nobody nearby could possibly sleep, either.

I am going to rip somebody a new one at the meeting tomorrow. Don't think I've forgotten about their evil plot to cut down my trees and walking path to put in an astro turf soccer field.

And I'm prepared, my friends. Oh, yes.

Pierogi Fest 2005
July, 29th 11 a.m - 10 p.m.,
July, 30th 11 a.m. - 10 p.m.,
July, 31st 11 a.m. - 5 p.m.

Whiting, Indiana is holding a festival in honor of Nick's birthday. I didn't know he was so famous; of course, pierogi are a bit like bite-sized pies. Perhaps that's the connection. I think they just want him to dress up in the suit.

Whatever the reason for it, Pierogi Fest is tons of fun, or so I've seen on TV. I've never actually gone. Here's a summary:

"Whiting, Indiana's Pierogi Fest is a tribute to the community's ethnic heritage. If you have experienced an adrenaline rush when the Polka Parade turns onto 119th street, you are already a Pierogi Fest Goer. If not, this site will introduce you to the entertainment, humor, and sense of escapism that encompass the spirit of Pierogi Fest."

Don't tell me that I'm crazy
Don't tell me I'm nowhere
Take it from me
It's hip to be square

Huey Lewis predicted this would happen.

As my loveable sidekick Nick recently noted on his spinoff blog, nerds, geeks, dorks and dweebs of all stripes are now popular.

This upsets me on a number of levels. One, I truly, madly, deeply love geeks. People who have an interest are interesting, and that is the hallmark of a nerd. Whether it be music, gaming, computers or science fiction, nerds are passionate about their interests. They always have something to contribute to a conversation. Will these trendy people really love them like I do, or simply use them until they are no longer culturally relevant?

Two, people are not a commodity. Like sheep, we are herding ourselves into flocks known to the materialists who suck the life out of us as "marketing segments." Resist! Resist! Resist! You are human beings, with thoughts and feelings! What happens when another segment gets "popular?" Will geeks be dumped on the trash pile of history with harpsichordists, alchemists and the cast of "The Love Boat?"

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your viewpoint, many people still think of this image when they "Think Geek". You can even rent a nerd to hilariously embarrass you at parties. What an amusing stereotype! I think I will be "rent a crazy lady who viciously attacks your smug sense of superiority and your empty, black, damned-to-hell soul, you vapid, insipid idiot!" Look for my website soon.

I have never been called a "cunt" before today. I would like to celebrate losing my "cunt" virginity with all of you, my friends.

This is what Wikipedia says about "cunt:"

Cunt is an English term that refers to the human female genitals. In modern English the word vagina is considered more polite, though strictly speaking this word only refers to a specific part of the genitals. In Oxford, London, and other English towns and cities in the Middle Ages there were roads named "Gropecunt Lane" where prostitutes plied their trade; these roads were renamed by the Victorians.

"Cunt" is also used as a term of abuse: in American English, it is mainly directed at women, and tends to imply that the named person is extremely nasty and unpleasant in a way that bitch does not imply. It is generally considered the most offensive description one can attribute to a female.

Very interesting, especially the part about "Gropecunt Lane."

I also found a Cunt Circus, a Cunt Coloring Book, and a movie called "Cunt Dykula."

I hope we've all learned a little something about cunts today. I know I have.

Don't be alarmed, citizens. Be prepared.

According to stopaductions.com, we are facing grave peril. But take heart, we have the tools to fight the enemy. Read on:

"Since we are being invaded by an alien force from another world, we have a different kind of war. Our war with these beings is one of mind control, mind scan, and telepathic control, as reported by Budd Hopkins, David Jacobs and Raymond Fowler. I call this type of conflict 'telepathic war' to differentiate if from a 'technology war.' A 'telepathic war' uses telepathy as a weapon in addition to the machines of a 'technology war.' Until now, the creatures attacking us could do so at will: they could "switch off" people or render them powerless, manipulate people's thoughts and cause them to move against their will, project mental images to us, masquerade as a friendly or sexually attractive human, and scan our entire minds.


The thought screen helmet is our only defense in a 'telepathic war.' I call this device a thought screen helmet because it prevents aliens from performing any kind of mental control over us It blocks out all alien thought so humans can no longer be manipulated or controlled, and it prevents aliens from completing mental communication with us so people cannot be abducted.
The term "thought screen" is derived from the science fiction novels of Edward Elmer Smith, otherwise known as 'Doc' Smith. Smith had his characters use 'thought screens' to block out telepathic control. 'Thought screens' were used in his novels as a defense to 'telepathic war.' With a working thought screen, fantasy has become reality. We can fight a 'telepathic war'."

You can purchase the Thought Screen Helmet on the website for $35, or get instructions on how to make your own.

Good luck, and be careful.