Archive for September, 2005

K why?

Published
by
untitled
on September 30, 2005
in Family
. 11 Comments

The last time I was at my mom’s house, I stumbled across something quite disturbing in her bedside table. No, it wasn’t one of her many trashy romance novels adorned with bosomy damsels and bare-chested rogue pirates. It was, of all things, a tube of KY Jelly. Worse yet, it was half-used.

I have always assumed that my sixty-something mother was an asexual creature. Afterall, she wasted no time in exiling my dad to the upstairs guest bedroom as soon as my brother and I left home.

I mean, what use could she possibly have for said motion lotion? Christ, I didn’t even think she knew what KY was. I mean, if she ever saw it in my house (one of my all-time fears, by the way), she’d waste no time in spreading it on toast. She’d croak, “Whatever this is, it doesn’t hold a candle to Smucker’s.”

Dr. Phil always says the best way to overcome your fears is to face them head on. So here goes — a listing of what she might have been using that KY for (and yes, feel free post your ideas, too):

  • A non-staining cold cream to ward off pesky wrinkles
  • A never-ending tube of Chapstick
  • A fragrance-free hairsetting lotion (so as to not cover up her beloved J.Lo perfume)
  • A handy, yet ineffective refill fuel for her Tropical Breeze-scented Glade plug-in
  • A high-gloss polish for her rosary beads

I’m probably going to hell for that last one. But if I need any help squeezing through the fiery gates, I’ll know who to ask for help.

Enter the Peacemaker.

Published
by
untitled
on September 28, 2005
in Family and Life
. 6 Comments

Our dog, he hasn’t been the same since we got the wireless fence. And we couldn’t be happier. Electricity. It’s a bitch.

Every now and then, he’ll be laying there, baking in the sun or smelling up the tower of pillows he has clawed down from their orderly placement from atop the couch. His collar (or the Peacemaker, as I like to call it) will randomly beep for no reason, as if he has stepped outside the permissible zone. He bolts up, looking around the room for an escape hatch. Oh, how we love to see him in that desparate state, as he scampers around, looking to outrun the inevitable zap (which never does come). He’s not getting shocked, mind you — just beeped.

Before you call PETA, you must understand the repugnant shit this dog has put us through. We have earned the little pleasure that we receive in watching him scramble. All those times spent hunched over a pee stain or a crusty old vomit stain in the guest bedroom, mopping it up as if we were his goddamnable hired help, I think he owes us a little entertainment. And let’s not forget the wretched tampon-eating incident. Since he’s incapable of performing a pom-pom dance to “Holla Back Girl” or throwing even the crudest of shadow puppets on the wall, this is the form his payback will have to take. If you’ve ever woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and stepped on a dog turd halfway there, I know you hear me on this one.

The untitledlife Stroke-a-thon.

Published
by
untitled
on September 26, 2005
in Site News and untitled
. 4 Comments

If you are anything like me, you are going about your daily life, picking dog poop off the floor and skimming lint out of the dryer screen, quietly wondering if this is your life’s destination. As it turns out, the prom is never as glamorous as you imagined. You expect champagne and alas, you get Night Train. You hope for “Endless Love” and you get “Unskinny Bop.” You plan on “Sixteen Candles” and you get “Carrie.” Ahhh, such is life.

Sharing my thoughts and hearing that I’m not the only one having them, I feel like I’ve found my peeps. And it’s a great comfort to me, knowing that I’m not alone in this world, in an intellectual sense. I put my naked thoughts and opinions up here, not sure if I’ll offend, bore, provoke or entertain.

Every day, I read each comment and e-mail. And yes, I visit your blogs, too. You taking time to peruse my rants and share them with others, it matters to me. To thank y’all, I’ve created the untitledlife Stroke-a-thon.

How will this all work? First, know that these rules are subject to change at any time. I’m heading into unchartered territory (for me, anyway), and I will have to see how the strokin’ goes.

There are two ways to get added to the untitledlife Stroke-a-thon.

  1. Link to untitledlife from your blog. The untitledcrew pays attention to track-backs in Technorati, but a faster route would be to send me a note. Be sure to include your blog name and URL.
  2. Forward any post using the “E-mail this Post” link (Look for the blue link followed by the evelope icon after or before each post). There are fields on the form for the Stroke-a-thon. Just follow the instructions, and when you send the post, I’ll get an e-mail with the information about your blog or website.
  3. If you have questions about any of this, just ask.

We gots to take care of each other, those of us not in that sanctimonious circle-jerk of mega blogs. We gots to share the love.

UPDATE: If you have a del.icio.us account, Flickr account, or other website you’d like me to link to, just follow instructions for number 2 above.

Turd is the word.

Published
by
untitled
on September 23, 2005
in untitled
. 4 Comments

I just discovered that the word “turd” is not in my Word dictionary. A little ironic, when you consider who is steering the Microsoft ship.

Nailed.

Published
by
untitled
on September 21, 2005
in Family
. 6 Comments

My mother. What a piece of work. Every two weeks, Her Royal Roundness squeezes herself behind the wheel of her trusty 4-door steed and tools off to get her acrylic fingernails re-applied. I have never understood her obsession, her willingness to drop $40 odd bucks a month on what looks like cheap guitar picks pasted onto her wrinkled Vienna sausages.

I’m starting to think it has less to do with fingernails, and more to do with having another person rub her hands and fuss over her for a half hour (or however long it takes). I’m starting to think this whole fake nail thing is the equivalent of a Catholic massage. Anything involving nakedness and scented oils, well, that would be positively Protestant.

Woman, you could put that money in your grandchildrens’ college funds. You could donate it to charity. You could buy a lifetime’s supply of chili, sauerkraut and Beano and let the battle rage inside your lower GI. But no. You have chosen to spend your money on something far less meaningful (and entertaining). You best start praying to the patron saint of acetone, for I sense that karma is whipping up a wicked-ass nail fungus with your name on it.

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