Gruesome discovery at home…

I posted this over at my work blog. But I just could not pass up posting it here. It’s not often you find a body part in your driveway…

Yesterday evening when I came home from work, I went outside to take in my garbage bins as I normally do on a Monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than the fact that the weather seemed to be shifting to the cooler side. First I took in the regular trash bin and then on my way back to get the recycle bin, I noticed something odd in my driveway, just outside of the garage door.

At first it looked to be one of those black sponge rollers. But it seemed moist, like clay or something so I took a stick and picked at it. But the more I moved it around, the more it seemed apparent that this was no sponge roller or piece of felt or mud or even doggie business. No this thing looked to have nostrils. And I was quite sure by the time I had rolled that thing halfway down the alley to get it off my drive that it was certainly a nose. Not sure what to do, I took two sticks like chopsticks and tried to pick it up. That took about 10 minutes as the floppy thing kept falling back on the ground. Finally I was able to move it near the creek by my house and I just stood there. Not sure what to do…

So I went upstairs and took a shower. Being that I’m supposed to be a journalist, my curiosity and need to “do the right thing” overcame me and I figured I should at least take photos of it. Of course by the time I was back in the alley, my neighbors were walking their dogs. I told them of my discovery (because I’m sure I was about to look really funny taking snapshots of mud and grass) and I kept reassuring them I wasn’t nuts. However when I tried to find it, I forgot where I hoisted the thing!

Did the devil spike my cookie?

While scrummaging around in my closet yesterday getting ready for the company Christmas party, I found an old fortune from who knows how long ago. It reads:

Be mischievous and you will not be lonesome…

Is it wrong that I took this to mean when it comes to men? I think I’ve been mischievous before and I appear to still be single. Let me check…

Yep. Single.

Anyway as I’ve said before the holidays are not the times many people are keeping up with blogging so I don’t know if anyone is even reading this, but I just had to write about this fortune. Not only is the scripture odd, but it’s not your typical fortune.

Most fortunes, even the really good ones you get from Pei Wei, always say something like being good to get what you want or paying it back or some other kind of funky foretelling. But to be mischievous? That sounds like an evil fortune. Did the devil spike my cookie? I wonder if I did something mischievous when I originally opened that cookie…

Does this mean I need to be all about sex and whatnot? Or does this mean that I’ve just got to kick up the sexy? I don’t know that I need to take cues from a fortune, of course. Especially one found on my floor that was possibly from two years ago that probably fell out of my jewelry box. But the coincidence that I found it just before that party is a strange one.

And I don’t know if I was fueled by it or not but I was up to a bit of mischief last night. The fortune was right. But I am pretty sure I was not alone with a potential suitor. (If that is even what “not being lonesome” meant in this particular case of odd fortune.) More like a fairly amusing night of my laughing too loud, sneaking an ill-gotten tequila shot with a coworker by the pool, talking inappropriately at a late dinner with other coworker friends and their boyfriends, and then a drive home — alone.

I have saved that fortune though. For a later date.

Halloween and all that jazz…

So here I am as Velma Kelly from Chicago. Not really sure if I pulled it off but it was cheap — and the costume didn’t cost much either. Haha. As for the bottle of SoCo. Nope, that’s not apple juice as many people at the “party” I was at asked me. That’s me partaking in the good stuff straight from the bottle. Have to stay in character.

My friend Micheal went as Micheal Vick — he wore the jersey and attached a stuffed dog to his leg. Hilarious. As for the festivities, not an earth-shattering night but the conversation was interesting — discussing everything from does it mean you are gay if you spent 10 years in prison and slept with a man to the luxury game of cricket. I’m hoping Halloween night will have some mischief for me to get into.

 

Sometimes you just have to say “f**k”

OK. We have all been that lady in Scranton . Yet another thing goes wrong in your humble abode, someone makes you angry, you burned dinner — whatever.  As you know, I willingly admit to cussing like a sailor when I’m not particularly pleased but I can’t imagine getting a citation for it! Sucks to be you when your neighbor is a cop. Here is the story from the Associated Press.

SCRANTON, Pa. – Talk about a potty mouth.

A Scranton woman who allegedly shouted profanities at her overflowing toilet within earshot of a neighbor was cited for disorderly conduct, authorities said.

Dawn Herb could face up to 90 days in jail and a fine of up to $300.

“It doesn’t make any sense. I was in my house. It’s not like I was outside or drunk,” Herb told The Times-Tribune of Scranton. “The toilet was overflowing and leaking down into the kitchen and I was yelling (for my daughter) to get the mop.”

Herb doesn’t recall exactly what she said, but she admitted letting more than a few choice words fly near an open bathroom window Thursday night.

Her next-door neighbor, a city police officer who was off-duty at the time, asked her to keep it down, police said. When she continued, the officer called police.

Mary Catherine Roper, an attorney with the American Civil Liberties Union in Philadelphia, took issue with the citation.

“You can’t prosecute somebody for swearing at a cop or a toilet,” she said.

Give me a f-ing break. It’s your toilet. And it’s over-flowing. And I imagine when that happens after real business hours that is more than just a little bit of an inconvenience. Sometimes you just have to say fuck! Or whatever explicative gives you pleasure. It’s better than violence. No one gets hurt. When you release it into the heavens, you become calmer. You get a warm fuzzy inside knowing that you are in touch with your anger without punching the nearest person to the toilet. Where’s the harm?

I think instead of the cop being the prick that he was, he should have helped her with the damn toilet. That is what is missing from this story —  the fact that there are no gentlemen left. I say that only slightly tongue in cheek seeing how many of you regulars are REAL men I’m sure. Care to weigh in, gentlemen?

somebody please tell me…

Why would anyone need Dane Cook window stickers? That is what someone was looking for to get to my blog. Granted I posted about Dane here. If you are seeking a Dane Cook window sticker, contact me. I think I can take a wonderful picture of a jackass and make something pretty for ya.

I lost my wiener at the State Fair.

I just stood there with the stick still in my hand as the fluff of buttery batter goodness stared up at me, all naked. I looked down and the rest of my wiener just laid there on the ground, cold and jilted. Oh well, I made up for it with a frozen lemonade later.

Yes folks. It’s fair time again and I will have to admit that this is only the second year I’ve been to the fair. My folks weren’t that into it when I was a young J. My father just claims he wanted to see the livestock but apparently I wasn’t excited at the idea of smelling pig shit. I’m finally braving the fair because having a media pass makes it a little easier and gives you a reason to go being that it’s kinda work-related. And of course the corny dogs are another motivation. But you can’t just go to any corny dog pagoda. No. No. It’s gotta be the one that has the word FAMOUS emblazoned on it. And little ketchup and mustard kiosks all around. It’s like a little wiener heaven.

Right out of the gate I have to tell you that the carnies that greet you and direct you where to park are sheer caricatures of themselves — people you would think of in a comedy sketch or something. Each with personalities topping one another. One older gentleman kept calling me baby as we drove though the credentials line. And one lady with no teeth flagged down my car as we were leaving, yelling at me “DON’T GO THAT WAY. HEY! DON’T GO THAT WAY!” We shivered in fear.

Anywho, back to the food. Don’t try anything called “fried cookie dough.” If you don’t believe me, here’s a picture of it. That stuff will turn your stomach. Luckily I just tasted my coworker’s batch. And that small bite was enough. You just can’t FRY everything. Why do fairs think they can fry everything? I mean I saw fried queso, fried guacamole, fried coke (which I tried as well and nearly ralphed at the picnic table. It swims in syrup at the bottom! How gross is that?) and at one point I was expecting to see fried chitterlings  (not impossible) or fried beer (hum, that wouldn’t be so bad.) Every year I think the fair tries to top itself on the yuck factor.

But my old standard turkey leg and funnel cake can never go wrong so this week I’m partaking — if anything just to erase last weekend’s food disasters from my brain. But damn this all gets expensive. For every dollar you spend on coupons you are losing like five. Wait. That’s not right. It just feels that way. I spent 10 coupons on a lousy margarita (not recommended if it comes out of one of those punch-type fountains) which really means I spent five bucks. What a waste. By the time I got on the Skyway I lost my 5-minute buzz. Just enough to half-way enjoy a mediocre car show where a NFL truck with a plasma, grill, and pigskin seats in the shape of footballs with little televisions in the headrests is what Texans call luxury.

Wait, back to food. Picture about 90 degrees out, sun blazing, and a parking lot full of steaming, spicy chili. Not really the best time of year for it but did I ever sample. I’m usually funny about eating a stranger’s food but for some reason free in the midst of State Fair highway robbery just appeals to me. By the time we waddled to my car, I was just thinking about the gut busting that would possibly follow that night. Hasn’t hit me yet. But hopefully if it does, it will wait until after work.

 

Now you are just having fun with me…

OK. OK. I get it. You can put some funky things together in a search engine post to get to my blog. And now that you see I will probably write about it, it’s even more of a thrill to see if I take it seriously. Can the owner of shoot all her clothes off, rednecks who date interracially and dating with women 60 plus please stand up.

I know you are just having fun with me now!

IN GROUND POOP CAN…

Someone please tell me why you would need one?

The trend of posting weirdo-isms is spreading because the things people type in search engines are just damn astounding. I just had to share this one on the fly. An in ground poop can must be useful for camping. I think this resulted from my post about dogs pooping on your dead senators.

Trapped in the closet…

Say it ain’t so.

My favorite channel on the planet IFC is going to air all 20 something parts of R Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet” saga on Friday. And yes I know it’s R. Kelly. I just hate how that looks for some reason. It looks too, I dunno, important. Anyway. OK, I am a fan of the kooky and sexually charged John Waters films they show on Grindhouse Fridays. And I think maybe it’s the tongue and cheek attitude of IFC that I love the most. But really? R Kelly? Well, it is amusing. I mean all kinds of people are in the closet — a husband, a midget (I mean little person but the video says midget), gay love, all kinds of phones ringing, R Kelly hitting strange pitches in his singing, a bad green screen effect of R Kelly driving and a “sex” scene with his clothes still on.

 OK, OK. I guess I probably will actually watch it…

Here’s an oldie but goodie: The first five parts.

I’m going to admit this is great cinema. I mean, R Kelly still hangs around after the husband comes home and is still there when the male lover comes in. And why does R Kelly have to keep waving the gun around and then keep using his stupid phone? However, Mr. Kelly may deserve an Oscar for playing like 50 parts of this saga — even the chick parts. Who needs Eddie Murphy?

I feel dirty for setting the reminder on my IFC program schedule.

Dogs can poop on your senator

I could just shoot myself for not listening and not taking out a pen and paper while watching the news last night. I admit that I was just relaxing, enjoying hanging out on a holiday weekend with my family and didn’t pay attention to the end story of the night — until I heard the words dog and cemetery.

My local news station did a story on a cemetery (and this is where I want to shoot myself) that received much needed care by using dog walker memberships, but I didn’t hear where the hell it was located! My parents were trying to remember the name of it and I have been frantically Googling to find the story which surprisingly isn’t even on the news’ site. It’s like the story never happened! I can’t blame them though, they did show a clip of a dog actually crapping on a grave site. No joke! Now you know why I could just shoot myself.

So on my Google search I did come across this. If this isn’t news to you, bear with me. But for those of you like little old me, I will tell you that the historic congressional cemetery (which is not government owned) in Washington, D.C. has dog walker memberships. Such memberships helped improve the cemetery in question on the story last night. But can you imagine?! I mean poop you can pick up but in this news story I saw last night (which I’m STILL trying to track down to see if it’s the same place in Washington), dogs were peeing literally inches away from tombstones! Read this from the rules and regs of the Washington organization.

Welcome to Congressional Cemetery. Despite its name, Congressional Cemetery is not a government owned or operated facility; it is a private, non-profit, burial ground. Please keep in mind that Congressional is first and foremost a functioning cemetery, not a “dog park.” Dogwalking is a privilege of membership in the Association. To ensure the harmonious use by all, we ask you to adhere to the following rules.

Oooh. I’m happy for the clarification between a burial ground and a dog park. OK before I give some of the rules, you know what rules are for? Breaking. And you know there just has to be some fun-seekers who will let their dogs crap on an old senator.

2) All dogs must be kept away from people visiting gravesites, burial services, ceremonies, group tours, grounds maintenance crews, and other non-dogwalking visitors and events. Aggressive behavior, barking, jumping, or snarling at visitors or other guests and authorized personnel will not be tolerated and may be grounds for revocation of dogwalking privileges.

I just had a great visual.

4) The Cemetery will be closed to all dogwalkers one hour before and after burials. Notifications will be sent by e-mail and a sign posted at the front gate. The Cemetery will also be closed to all dogwalkers from 9:00 am to 4:00 pm on certain holidays: Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

But what if I want to walk my dog on Christmas morn? I can’t think of a better place than a graveyard! Come on, please. It’s my privilege.

Am I wrong to think this is weird? No matter how long it’s been happening? And can someone in Texas please tell me what graveyard they featured last night on FOX News? I’m not so good a journalist afterall.

[By the way, I sure have been watching a lot of FOX News over here. WTF?]