Overthunk

My new guilty pleasure show, never having been much of a country-western gal, is HBO's Deadwood. It's a tightly written, beautifully shot show revolving around the gold-prospecting culture in one of them there states where people used to prospect for gold. As with most HBO offerings, it's engaging, sexy and entertaining. However, for some reason, the purveyors of this Western omelette feel the need to pepper it with the occasional rat turd: namely, the F word. Now, lest you think me a terrible prude, I have fucking nothing against the fucking F word. Properly used, it can convey jest, life-threatening danger, or just a simple desire to fornicate. In this dusty jewel of a show, though, it drops from the sky to plop into every third or fourth sentence, disrupting the intricate cowboy/carpetbagger/strumpet stylings of the show's stellar cast. Tonight I watched two 57 minute episodes, and in the first I counted approximately 75 uses of a fuck-related word. In the second epi...

Round about song skip # 600... just a fair warning for those of you whom I may or may not have addicted to this programmable internet radio contraption. After you flip carelessly through the 600th song in one month, it informs you that you've reached the end of the line, and unless you pay $2.50 per month, you will have to forfeit ALLL the programming you've done thus far in favor of about 7 preprogrammed stations. While this is marketing genius, it is also somewhat akin to telling a black tar heroin addict that from now on, lemon lollipops and the occasional Vivarin will have to do. My response to its insolence? Well, after a week of Jonesin' for My Sweet, Sweet Station I gave in and shucked over the $2.50/month. So, lest you push the envelope one song too far, you're now armed with the truth.

. What does it matter that you are a fish of great quality, if no one's fishing? But then again, maybe that's an apt metaphor... maybe in the net, I'd be suffocated, trapped. But maybe, on the other fin, I'd be happier swimming in my own little pond than here in the big wide ocean. Anyway, now for some damned-helpful tips for you small fry. What not to do in the great game of Plenty O' Fish In The Sea: 1) Have blackly regretful thoughts about the past, to which there is no returning, while the future just keeps on bearing down on you like Obi Wan on Anakin. 2) Try to "keep up" with people you once dated, as they may be tracking your IP address. 3) Write blogposts that are just lame fishing metaphors, drawing even more lamely upon your lack of meaningful posts (repeated quiz postings). Ahem. Now back to our regularly scheduled pseudo-hilarity.

But apparently, I'm a Great Catch You scored 50% bitchiness, 70% sexual drive, 55% cleanliness, and 60% self confidence! You are a fantastically great catch. You are nice enough, confident, clean and super-sexy. Lots of people want to get their hands on you so the hard part about being you is trying to choose a partner worthy enough for you. The What Kind of Lover are You? Test written by steeni on Ok Cupid

You scored as Darth Vader . Darth Vader 78% Padme Amidala 72% Anakin Skywalker 69% Obi Wan Kenobi 44% R2-D2 44% Mace Windu 42% Yoda 39% Chewbacca 33% General Grievous 28% C-3PO 28% Clone Trooper 25% Emperor Palpatine 11% Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you? created with QuizFarm.com

Breathtaking.

Well, I've been tagged by NH (of The Unseen Blogger fame) so here goes: If I were a writer, I'd write fabulous, insightful books. Or movies maybe, which would be wildly imaginative (and hilarious no doubt). Or TV sitcoms that don't suck. If I were a musician, I would usher in a new era of girl-rockin' the likes of which the planet has never seen, like Heart + Guns N Roses + Pat Benatar + Smashing Pumpkins. Yeah. If I were a gardener, I'd plant a garden that was part Palace of Versailles, all neat and orderly, and part jungle, with lots of vines. I love vines. This garden of mine would most definitely have a koi pond, and secret passageways and grottos in which to hide. If I was a psychologist, I'd invent a cure for being inconsiderate and use it to repair marriages, work relationships, bad shopping experiences, and general malaise around the globe. Or take on a famous, troubled client, and fancy myself like Dr. Melfi. If I was a world famous blogger,...

Time: Yesterday, 4:00 p.m. Place: Griff's, an all-too sparse Big D hamburger chain that makes cheap, yummy fast food Why: HAD to have a corn dog (insert weiner joke here) What went down: Drive-thru guy (young, male person, somewhat tough looking): "What's that on your hand?" Me (34, pale, on my way home from work -- decidedly not even anything approaching cool looking) : "Oh, I just write stuff on it to remember." DTG: "Oh, you got a bad memory? M: "Yep." DTG: "Been smokin too much reefer?" M: "Nah, it's not that, I'm just gettin old." (thinking to self - not lately, don't tempt me) DTG: "Well I'm just kiddin', I don't wanna get in trouble, I don't mean to say you smoke reefer... but maybe you do." It is these side-dish situations, orders of fries to go along with the general meaning of existence, that produce questions that can never be answered. Was I bein...

Lo, it is said that absolute power corrupts absolutely... and this is assuredly true with online radio. Not too long ago, I happened across something known as Launchcast (via SBC Yahoo DSL, and no, sadly, I'm not getting any kickback here). It may not be the only customizable radio type thingy online, or even the best, but I am having BOATloads of fun with it. "How does this miracle of technology/musical tyranny work?" you may be asking yourself. Well, it not only plays songs, but it allows you to give separate ratings to an artist, a song, or even an album. Ratings begin with "Can't get enough," going progressively down to "love it," "like it," "it's ok," and my personal overwhelming favorite, "Never Play Again!" With this lowest rating, I can guarantee that I will never sit through Marilyn Manson's tired, rehashed tripe, Michael Jackson's wackadoo woohoos, or Kenny G's shittical saxophonical st...

In my semi-revered professional life, I get the dubious privilege of telling people what to do. A lot. It's the sort of thing that, even if one didn't desire it in the first place, becomes rather addicting, or at the least, customary. This is why pushy salesgirls pimping clothing store credit cards with 23% interest over and over after I've thrice refused and made it abundantly clear that I don't want the motherfucking 30% off my purchase today, goddammit, irritate me. It annoys me for several reasons, but perhaps the best and most important is that I SAID NO !

Agape at the selection of vodkas at the Centennial package store in a rather seedy part of town, I stood wavering between Grey Goose and Boru, when up sauntered a 6'5" Sam Elliot lookalike in a black fringed leather cowboy jacket, black boots and a grey Stetson. "Buy the cheap stuff, darlin'," he drawled. "It all works the same." And with that, he grabbed a bottle of Stoli off the middling shelf, paid, and for all I know, saddled up and rode away.

Last night at dusk, I was out for a walk in my bike shorts and t-shirt (I know, wearing bike shorts is a privilege, not a right, but they were all I had clean and it was getting dark.) Now, I didn't think these garments, nor my jiggling T and A beneath them, would be gauged as sexy by a passing hick rumbling past in a big ol' blue duallie, but by God, he screamed, "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" out the window, and I'm taking it as a compliment.

I'm starting to think that Pippin Peregrine Took (alias Pugpin) is secretly aware that his naughty behaviour is making him famous on the Interweb, because today, once again, he committed a heinous act. I decided to install some rocklike (i.e. plastic) borders around my front flower bed today. While I was doing that, I foolishly figured that the pup might like to get some sun. Because he can't be trusted to stay close in the front yard, I took him out and hitched him by his leash AND HARNESS to a bench I have out front, giving him the freedom to roam a bit, near me, but still safely secure. Or so I thought. While I was planting petunias, he was seemingly just kind of "playing" amongst the Japanese boxwoods, hibiscus and overgrown weeds. The next thing I know, the little Houdini has slipped his bonds and is trotting along the back fence towards the main road. On he goes, past all my neighbors' backyards, enjoying the sun, galloping along, and having a grand t...

Plotting... 

The look of innocence perfected. 

Just look at those ears aflapping and that panicked look as the Puggin flees his latest venture!! 

It recently came to my awareness that the evil deeds of the resident representative of puggery extend far deeper than I previously knew (how was that for a cumbersome hell of a sentence??). You see, my house is small, and the kitchen and living room adjoin in such a way that you could watch TV, over the bar, while washing dishes. Because of this, I have a couch beneath the bar, in the living room. Atop the bar is my rock collection ('cause I wasn't enough of a dork without also being a geology enthusiast). For some unknown reason, the Puppin enjoys hurtling himself against the back of the couch repeatedly until he can kidnap some rocks to hurry off somewhere with and chew. Ours is not to reason why, but merely to defend the igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic from the advances of a slobbery mammalian. So, I hear tell from my roommate that the other day, he had chastised the Puppin Mineral Menace against self-hurtling, and then dozed off a little while watching TV. Well, af...

Please, PLEASE, Errant Pugs: You, all of you, must immediately cease and desist wandering into people's offices and farting indiscriminately, and then leaving, without so much as a lick on the toe or a snorty passing glance. It's not nice, people having to work in Gaseous Pug-scented (new from Glade) air. I mean, really. Have a whit of couth, o wrinkly faced paragons of cute.

You scored as Buddhism . Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Buddhism. Do more research on Buddhism and possibly consider becoming Buddhist, if you are not already. Well, I'll be... but please, if I'm Buddhist, let me plaster pics of Siddhartha-style or even fat 'n' happy Buddhas on my walls. This one looks like somebody's gramma. In Buddhism, there are Four Noble Truths: (1) Life is suffering. (2) All suffering is caused by ignorance of the nature of reality and the craving, attachment, and grasping that result from such ignorance. (3) Suffering can be ended by overcoming ignorance and attachment. (4) The path to the suppression of suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path, which consists of right views, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right-mindedness, and right contemplation. These eight are usually divided into three categories that base the Buddhist faith: morality, wisdom, and samadhi, or concentration. In Buddh...

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