I Always Wanted To Be A Camp Counselor

Ok, let's put this whole sordid Day Of bitter relatives, emotional blackmail, and turkey Thanks behind us, shall we? I would like to state for the record that I only heard the creepy music from Friday the 13th (ki, ki, ki...ma, ma, ma) a few hundred times instead of the constant loop it usually plays in my head when relatives get too close. You may be wondering if Jason Voorhees is trying to telepathically tell me to continue his killing spree (well we do have a Crystal Lake here). I wonder that too, sometimes. But then I remember that it was just a movie so I take off my hockey mask, put down my butcher knife, remove Uncle Dick's hand from my thigh, and eat some pie. Mmm, pie.


Anyway, now that Thanksgiving has passed and the month of Hellvember is almost over I can concentrate on the important things. Things that I have been unable to attend to as I have been hiding under my covers for most of the month. I think you know what I'm talking about.


Things Requiring My Immediate Attention

1. War must be declared on Luxembourg. Does anyone want to join my newly formed Country, Amnesia, and help? Well it's actually more of a cross between a country and an empire with a democratic monarchy and a motto of "Where Skull Bashing Is Law Of The Land", but you get the picture. Note to Luxembourg: Size does matter.


2. The canceling of 502 magazine subscriptions, including Lifetime (of Lifetime, Television For Women fame). It's unclear how I acquired these subscriptions, although I can almost see myself up late at night, delirious from the heat coming out of the HOLE in my living room, in tears, calling some 1-900-SubscribeMeToAllYourMagazinesBecauseIamSadAndPatheticThanks number. I need help. Yes, I do. And these magazines are getting in the way of my budding relationship with my mailman. I can sense his frustration at trying to cram all 502 of these magazines in my tiny mailbox (I swear this isn't a metaphor, no, no, no) even though he hasn't said anything to me (ever, except for those conversations we have in my head in which he tells me he begged to be on my route and then we ride off into the sunset together in his mail truck).


3. Finding a way out of my "evening" with 85,000 year old neighbor. I'm thinking it's too late to pretend I don't speak English/I'm really a man/I'm really Hannibal Lecter/I moved to Guam/I'm a xenophobe/or I'm one of the stars of The Cat In The Hat and so will be out of the country on a promotional tour for the rest of my life, but there has to be a way out. Maybe if I show him my glow worm collection? Show him my hockey mask? Pretend to have a crack addiction? (Did I say pretend? Who am I kidding?)


4. The firing of my Psychic Friend. I did what she said and screened all calls and didn't talk to anyone except her for the month, but if she's so psychic why didn't she tell me I was going to forget to turn the volume down on my answering machine and so still hear every damn phone call I didn't want to hear in the first place? Hmmm? And she didn't warn me about the Hellmouth in my living room opening up and vampires coming out and taking over my house or that I was going to acquire an unsettling addiction to fabric softener or that I was going to get fired from my job as a sports agent after writing that mission statement and have to start my own company with Renee Zellweger who had me at hello, and her son who is probably a serial killer because he knows how much the human head weighs and who just wants to go to the f@#king zoo. So yeah, she's fired.


So much to do, so little time.

Happy Thanksgiving (If You're Into That Sort Of Thing)

Whatever you do, do not, I repeat do not, go to the grocery store tonight. You will be trampled to death by people who accidentally ate their turkey last week/forgot the cranberry sauce/forgot it was Thanksgiving tomorrow/are just trying to get away from their in-laws for 5 minutes/will burst into tears when they realize the store is sold out of French fried onions, the necessary evil to the famous green bean casserole/will burst into flames when told to slowly back away from the yams (ok, maybe not that one, but wouldn't that be great?).
Just say no! No one really eats the cranberry sauce anyway!


Things For Which I Am Thankful

1. Tylenol PM - If Tylenol PM was a man (or a girl with a nice ass, let's be honest) I would marry him (or her) in a big cathedral by a priest.


2. Vanilla Coke - The sweet, sweet taste of Vanilla Coke is the only thing that would make me brave the grocery store on Thanksgiving Eve, or any day for that matter.


3. Socks - But not just any socks. Monkey socks, Cat socks, Cabbage Patch Kid Socks, and First Kiss socks. Gone is the day of wearing socks just to keep your feet warm!


4. Conan O'Brien - If Conan just had the Tylenol PM effect he would be THE Ultimate Man. Our children would rule the earth with their big-headed humor!


5. Conjugal visits - If not for these I, I mean some of my closest friends, might not have been born.


And you know, the usual stuff like my health, my family, friends, the hole in my living room, the psycho that reads this and e-mails me to say not-so-nice things, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, my god given ability to lie with a straight face, Tidy Cats Crystals, all things that glow in the dark, needlepoint that tells it like it is (I'm thinking of making the third one into a Christmas card), Hooked On Phonics because I can now spell "ark", and pants, because no one ever thanks the pants, damn it.


Enjoy the tryptophan, and if Uncle Dick hits on you again you have my permission to kick him where it counts.

A, E, I, O, U, And Sometimes Why

How does that saying go, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no whys"? Ok, maybe not, but let's pretend it does, you know you want to.


1. Why does my car only make that noise when I am alone in it, and not when I bring it in to the mechanic, thus causing him to think I'm completely off my rocker and/or making a desperate plea for attention because I'm in love with him (one of these may be true, but that's besides the point)? Do cars have a sense of humor and if so is this my car's idea of a sick joke? I am so not amused, car.


2. Why do I feel really tired, but when I lie down am unable to sleep and instead lie there thinking about the number of people that have seen me naked accidentally (as opposed to on purpose) and what the name of that movie was with the cheerleaders who robbed the bank?


3. Why did the Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum of the maintenance world leave razor blades on my kitchen floor after the "Jackhammering Is Fun" episode, are they trying to kill me so that they never have to seal up the Hellmouth giant hole in my living room?


4. Why am I supposed to take it as a compliment when someone says I remind them of that girl from Swimfan, you know, the psychotic stalker ("You love me, I know it!") one?


5. Why hasn't someone taken a hit out on Kelly Ripa yet, and why wouldn't I be surprised if she became Amazon.com's spokeswoman next? Let's all join robot hands and skip off into the robot sunset after washing our robot hair with Pantene and buying things we'll never receive off of Amazon.com, shall we? Won't that make a great slogan? I should go into advertising, I'm telling you. Well, advertising or the murder for hire business.


6. Why did TNT play Along Came A Spider 567 times this weekend? Did Morgan Freeman die? Why do I always think someone has died? The more important question is why did I watch it all 567 times and each time wonder if it would end differently (it didn't)?


7. Why does my dad call me after I get home from visiting him and ask if I got home ok? If I didn't get home ok would I be answering my phone? Wouldn't I be lying in a ditch somewhere unable to come to the phone? I think I will change my answering machine to say that. "Sorry I can't come to the phone right now; I'm lying unconscious in a ditch off the side of the road. What road? Good question, too bad I'm unconscious and unable to help you out there. Maybe if you watch CSI you can get ideas on how to discover where I am, like maybe I left behind a fiber untraceable to the human eye that will point you in the right direction. I guess that means you need to not have a human eye to find me. Maybe you could ask Kelly Ripa or any other Amazon.com employee for assistance. Anyway, leave a message at the beep and if I don't die of exposure or I'm not eaten alive by various wilderbeasts I'll call you back. Beeeeeep."


8. Why do I think I saw a commercial, or maybe it was an infomercial, really what's the difference, at 3am last night for a CD made by that Bachelor Bob guy? I could be wrong because I've never actually seen the show, just the commercials (Why do I only watch commercials?) so maybe it was some other freaky looking Bob guy who can't sing. I hope I was dreaming, because if not we are all doomed! Plastic dogs and plastic bachelors releasing CDs? Run for your liiiiiiives (Or just walk if you have bad knees, but walk fast, they're gaining on you).


9. Why am I not interested in anything unless it's something I can't have and if it becomes gettable I don't want it anymore? For example ("par exemple" for those of you who are French, because I cater to all here), I would really like to have Michael Vartan as my love slave and a monkey (but not as a love slave, more like a laundry and foot rubbing slave), but if you were to say, give me one or both of those tomorrow (you're too kind!), I would no doubt lose interest. Is this some sort of psychotic disorder? Why do I think this all relates back to that summer I ate nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?


10. Why do I suspect 85,000 year old neighbor man of slipping a roofie into the bottled water he gave me yesterday when I saw him shuffling around outside muttering "no drinking water, no drinking water"? He already got me to agree to spend an evening with him by throwing me off with that "did he say spend an evening with me or do you grow beets?" thing, it's pretty clear I'm a sure thing, isn't it? No roofies necessary. That's what mom always said.


11. Why does "Y" not get the credit it deserves? Why is it "and sometimes Y"? If I was "Y" I would be pissed. I would probably have the other vowels assassinated and assume Head Vowel position. But that's just me, and I'm in love with my mechanic off my rocker, so you should take everything I say with a few thousand grains of salt and maybe a high blood pressure medication, and then call me in the morning.

Monkeys Are People, Too

Ok, the zoo was closed. Actually there is no zoo around here. There used to be a "Wild Animal Farm" where I never met an ostrich or llama I didn't like. But they tore that down, something about my parents smuggling illegal animals over the border. Whatever. Two words: Wrongly Accused. But it's a tough case when it's you against 17 angry monkeys (my parents didn't think monkeys really liked bananas, they refused to buy into "the government's way of controlling us" and instead fed them potatoes. The monkeys didn't like potatoes and so were prone to riots, and the case against my parents was their chance at redemption. And bananas).
Anyway, I think you can see where I'm going with this.
If you're going to run a makeshift zoo out of your home, don't piss off the monkeys. Monkeys like bananas. The zoo is closed. My parents are in prison. I visit them often and out of spite for my lost childhood friends animals, I bring them bananas. The end.


Things That Are More Disturbing Than Irate Monkeys

1. My 85,000 year old neighbor asked me to "spend an evening" with him. I think that's what he said anyway. It was either that or he asked me if I grow beets. Either way, frightening. I think I said yes, too.


2. I'm starting to like the giant hole in my living room. I've taken to filling it with things. You know, like goldfish (both the kind that die swim and the kind that taste like a cheesy little piece of heaven), toothpaste (extra whitening so that when Pond Thing rises out of the depths of the hole to kill me I will be too blinded by his bright smile to feel any pain), socks, and two tubs of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. I don't think Pond Thing can believe it's not butter either.


3. I've think I've discovered a meteor that is heading straight for Earth. New Hampshire, specifically. Ok, not really. But I have discovered that while I used to like things, now I just like the idea of things. Take peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for example. Love the idea of them. Hate them. I would list more examples, but I only like the idea of examples and not actual examples. See?


4. Damnazon.com keeps e-mailing me to update my Wish List. This is how I know they are robots with a death wish. Unfortunately I looked and looked and could not find an item matching "Die, Amazon, Die!" to add to my Wish List, so all I ask is for the damn DVD I ordered 3 months ago! I know where you and your robot family live!


Monkey see, monkey do. I am going to Kalamazoo.

Gone to the zoo.

I Don't Really Own A Blow Dryer, But I Swear On Lucky's Life Everything Else Is True

By now you may have heard the rumors. No, not the ones about me and the guys from Cake. And no, not the ones about me cloning Lucky (of Lucky Charms fame). Those have all been grossly exaggerated. It's the other potentially sleep-depriving rumors I feel I should clear up for you.


The Myth: I'm stalking Phylicia Rashad.

The Truth: Technically, it was Mrs. Huxtable I was stalking. And that was years ago. If Mrs. Huxtable can forgive me, so can you.


The Myth: I watched The Good Girl and then One Hour Photo immediately after and didn't blow my brains out in a fit of despair.

The Truth: I did actually blow my brains out. It just happened in the nightmare following the viewing of the aforementioned movies and really I didn't have any choice, Jennifer Aniston was telling me she was carrying my baby and I believed her, and Robin Williams was forcing me to get in the bathtub so he could take pictures. You would have done the same, my friend.


The Myth: I hate oatmeal.

The Truth: I hate oatmeal. Cream of Wheat though, I'm all over that creamy, wheaty instant goodness. You just can't buy stuff like that. Well you can, but let's not get technical here, ok?


The Myth: I'm stalking Steven Tyler.

The Truth: My rules have always been that it's not considered stalking if it takes place in a grocery store or if the alleged stalkee's first and last name could both be construed as first names.
So no, I am not stalking Steven Tyler.


The Myth: I blow dry my hair while in the bathtub.

The Truth: Well it does save time. And what can I say, I like to live dangerously. It gives my otherwise bland day that added element of "Will I or won't I make it out of the tub alive?". And sometimes that's just what a girl needs to keep on keeping on. (Yeah, I don't know what I'm talking about anymore either, don't worry.)


The Myth: I am the one that sends you those e-mails about enlarging your penis. Yeah, you know the ones.

The Truth: If I was the one who sent those out, let's be real, a lot more of you would be getting them. And reading them. And buying the products. And being all that you could be. In the armyyyy. Except not in the army.


The Myth: I am Bret Easton Ellis's bastard love child.

The Truth: Bastard is kind of harsh, I prefer "illegitimate" or even "abandoned at birth because I didn't like Huey Lewis". Well that's what I would say if it was true, but alas, Mr. Easton Ellis and I share no DNA and I'm not really disappointed except that I bet I could pick up a lot of guys by using that whole "abandoned at birth because I didn't like Huey Lewis" thing. Sigh. Oh well, I can't win them all I guess.


Everything else you may or may not have heard is a flat out lie subject to interpretation.

Please Shoot Me

Hypothetically speaking, wouldn't it really suck if say, you were just about to drift off to sleep and the scene from Beverly Hills, 90210 where Donna (a.k.a. Tori Spelling, but really, who cares) get de-virginized by David (a.k.a. Brian Austin Green who apparently now goes by just Brian Green but who will probably be going by Brian Cougar Mellencamp Green by next week) popped into your head? Especially if you hadn't seen the show in a billion and one years and you never liked Donna and David in the first place, but just as you were heading into snoozeville (population: none), *BAM* there is Donna in her lingerie with David looming over her. Hypothetically speaking if that happened to me I would ask that someone please shoot me, because after that vision there is just no chance I would be able to sleep. Ever again.

So while I'm hypothetically awake, I give you...


Things That Scare Me Almost As Much As Donna And David Having Sex In My Head:


1. Pretty much nightly I worry that my toaster will come to life and toast me to death. I can't think of a more horrible death than being toasted, so I've taken measures to prevent this. Just unplugging it is not an option, because if it can come to life it can certainly plug itself in and I'm not entirely sure it matters if a Live Toaster is plugged in or not. It probably runs on adrenaline. Or butter. Whatever. So I unplug it and stuff bagels in it and then tape up the slots with duct tape and then I put it in a box which I also duct tape closed and then I bury it in my backyard next to the other appliances that scare me. It's only really an issue when I'm running late in the morning and misplace my shovel. Otherwise, it's working out just fine.


2. When I'm washing my face (because sometimes my face gets that 'not so fresh feeling', ok?) or brushing my teeth or doing secret things that involve bending over the sink I'm constantly afraid someone is going to sneak up behind me and bash my skull into the sink and kill me. This is probably the most normal fear I have. It may be a result of watching too many horror movies or maybe it's because one time someone actually did that to me and I died and dying is not as fun as you might think, especially if you have to clean up after.


3. Then there is the "I'm driving and the back of the car is on fire, I know it!" fear. I'm convinced that the back of my car is going to be on fire one day and I'll be driving along oblivious to it. I've taken to wearing a flame retardant suit while driving now in hopes to combat this (it's actually quite comfortable). And God forbid someone beeps at me for any reason, like say because I hit them, ran a red light, ran their dog/cat/wife over, whatever, I instantly assume they are trying to alert me to the fire at the rear of my car, pull over, grab that fire extinguisher I keep under my seat for just that reason and jump out of the car ready to go all Backdraft on it.


4. Dying to the tune of "Hungry Like A Wolf". This last one I'm not sure is so much a fear as it is a prediction of my future. I once saw this TV Movie in which Farrah Fawcett killed her kids while rocking out to "Hungry Like A Wolf" by Duran Duran. Ever since I have had this strong feeling that I, too, will be killed to that song. So if ever you invite me to your house and you're playing that song and you're wondering why I run out screaming, that's why. Or maybe I just don't like you. One of those. Of course I could be off base here, it could actually be that a wolf is going to kill me, but I hope not because while I've been on the alert for the song I haven't really been on the lookout for any wolves, which actually may be what they want now that I think of it. Nice work trying to distract me with that song, but I'm so onto you now, wolves!


I have to go hypothetically play with my Glow Worms or something now.

Oatmeal Is The Devil's Breakfast And This Is Why I Need An Intervention

You know how I was yearning for a drug addiction?
You know how they say "Be careful what you wish for"?
Yeah. I think I've become physically and emotionally dependent on eye drops. Not crack, or crank, or meth, or whatever drug it is you're on that makes you read this nonsense. Visine. I started using (is it horribly wrong that I love that phrase almost as much as "free-basing"?) when I became worried that I would get fired if people found out, I mean mistakenly thought, I was moonlighting as a stripper since I came in to work in my G-String my eyes were always so bloodshot in the morning. And now I've spiraled out of control. I'm using even when my eyes are not red or irritated. What's next, injecting it into my veins? That would give a whole new meaning to "Gets The Red Out", wouldn't it? This is my cry for help.


Ok, here's the other thing. I buy things off eBay. No big deal, who doesn't, right? It's all fun and games until you end up with these and you have no recollection of bidding on them or buying them or setting them up on that special display case you apparently bought so you could show them off to all your friends and you start naming them and then you realize they are your friends, and what's worse, they don't like you. In fact you're pretty sure they're poised to start a war against you, but you're too afraid to get close enough to find out since they must emit some sort of radioactivity to glow like that, and you get enough of that from your microwave oven.


Do you see a pattern here? Neither do I, but still I must be stopped! Before I hurt someone! So call Sally Struthers and get her to help me. Oh wait, she only helps the orphans, that's right. Well still, for the price of a cup of coffee a day you could be supporting my habit. Or something like that. And if you're wondering what any of this has to do with oatmeal, you're not alone.

Things I did not spend the day obsessing over.
Nope, not me, not at all.

1. The local adult movie (or as you may know it, PORN) rental place here is called "The Fifth Wheel". I did not spend all day wondering if there is more to the name, if it is some obscure sexual reference that I don't understand, and it most certainly was not bothering me so much that I googled it when I got home.


2. I (conveniently) forgot to mention in my previous post that when I was at the mall I checked out some girl's ass. More than once. In fact, I couldn't stop staring at it. Her pants were so tight and it was oh so round and lovely. Good thing I'm comfortable with my sexuality and none of the following thoughts occurred to me: Does this mean I'm subconsciously attracted to women? Does this mean I have some sort of ass fetish? How did she get into those pants anyway and is there such a thing as the Ass Master, like there is for thighs?


3. Did I shut the door when I left the house this morning? Not "Did I leave the oven on?. Not "Did I leave a candle burning?". Apparently the more important question is "Did I shut the door?. Luckily I've never failed to shut the door before so freaking out about this would be irrational, and what am I if not rational? I especially did not get to the point where I pictured my cats stuck out in the cold and serial killer neighbor guy strolling in and sniffing my underwear before putting them on and dancing around to ABBA in my bedroom.


4. Does peanut butter ever expire? Things that don't expire disturb me. And who names peanut butter anyway? Skippy, Jif, Peter Pan?? I am definitely a Peter Pan girl. But enough about me. I did not, I repeat, I did not ponder why peanut butter has a longer life expectancy than say, myself, and if maybe it has something to do with the name. Like maybe if my name was Skippy I would live forever. And taste of peanuts. Yeah. Didn't think about that.


5. Is the radiation that I feel leaking out of my microwave oven going to impede my giving birth to a one-headed baby one day? It's like a warm sunshiny nuclear breeze blowing when I stand within 50 feet of it, I swear. Not that I care! The more heads, the more to love is what I always say.


While I'm talking about things I didn't do today, I also didn't totally rock out to Bonjovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" in the car or tell everyone I met including the guy that pumped my gas that I was in Nam.

The Almost Post

I went to the mall yesterday. I realize the mall to some people is a sacred, holy place for buying sacred, holy things such as shoes and prom dresses and guns, or whatever you wacky people are buying. I am not one of these people. Driving home from the mall I started to think about how I wish I could medicate people at my own discretion. I mean how wonderful would it be to run around with a bunch of anti-psychotic drugs to inject or pass out as I feel necessary? Then I thought about all the people I would medicate. Many, many people. Then I thought I could probably save on medication and just medicate myself so that I could better tolerate breathing the same air as all these people. Just a thought.


Now for Instances In Which ALMOST Doesn't Count.

Brought to you by the letter A and the number 69.
1. Sex - Did you have sex? "Almost". Perplexing? Yes, because what the hell does that mean? He either did or didn't have his boy parts in your girl parts. There's not really an in-between here. Or if there is, no one told me about it.

2. Peeing your pants - I almost pee my pants from laughter (I had to put that part in there lest you think I have a bladder problem) on a daily basis. But I don't. So I'm not really almost peeing my pants, am I? I am not peeing my pants. This is kind of confusing because you can pee "a little" in some circumstances. Again though, this is not full on peeing your pants. Just to clarify. Yeah, I'm stopping now.

3. Love - Almost Love exists, for sure. I've had Almost Love. It's detrimental to the well being of both (or all three if that's your thing) parties involved. If you think someone almost loves you and you're waiting for him/her to realize you hung the moon, run, do not walk to the nearest exit. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

4. Limb severing - It's this fear of mine to wake up in a hospital someday and have a surgeon say to me "Yeah, we almost severed your limbs". If you almost sever my limbs, I don't want to hear about it, thanks. I'm sure everyone has this fear though, right?


I would add more, but I'm almost asleep, and writing what I already have has made me almost start to bleed out of my eyes. Nighty night.

Now Accepting Applications

Duties would include, but are not limited to, accepting blame for everything that has gone wrong in my life. Ever.
No experience necessary.
Leave your qualifications below and I'll call you to set up an interview.
Equal Opportunity Employer.

I Know You Want Me (To Adopt You), Don't Fight It

I want to start off by saying, because this just isn't said enough, I so wish I had thought of naming my band The Smashing Pumpkins before you know, they did. If I had a band, that is. And I really think having a band would help with my desire for a drug problem so maybe I'm on to something here. I could be the free-basing guitarist. Except I don't know how to play the guitar. So I guess that would make me the free-basing girl who's in a band but doesn't sing or play an instrument. Smells like a possibility to me.


Now for an example of why the world is going to hell. Listen closely so as not to miss anything. I was out having dinner the other night. No, that's not why the world is going to hell (well maybe it is, but that's between me and my therapist). Try to stay with me here. So I'm sitting there with my dinner companion (ok, my brother) and this little girl who is sitting at the next table starts talking to us. Her parents apparently forgot they had a child and so don't seem to care that she is telling us that her name is Madeline and she has 3 cars (one is blue, one is white, and one is silver!) and she's 7 years old and she wants some cake. Ever the conversationalist, I ask her if she went trick or treating for Halloween. Her reply? "Satan would kill me if I went trick or treating." Insert long, silent pause during which I, having been taking a drink at that exact moment, laughed, and having not yet mastered the art of laughing and drinking simultaneously, spit my drink out at my brother. She then says "And my friends. Satan would kill my friends, too. I have lots of friends". Ummmm, yeah.

Sure it's disturbing on many, many levels, but I'm so going to have to try that one out when I have kids. "Oh you want to go trick or treating little Susie?" (except I wouldn't name my kid Susie, no offense to any Susies. I'm more looking forward to giving my kids porn star names) "Well you can, but remember Satan will kill you if you do. So it's up to you, honey." I'm going to be the best parent. Ever.

Today Is The Greatest Day (And Other Lies To Get You Through The Day)

Elvis is alive. I saw him with my very own eyes last night. He even spoke to me. Words I shall never forget. He said "your movie is due back by 9pm tomorrow".


It's perfectly acceptable to forget a friend's birthday. He/She will realize you have things of importance too numerous to count on your mind and call you silly for even mentioning it two weeks late. He/She will not get mad and run over your cat/dog/grandmother or anything like that.


You should drink the water in Mexico. Yeah, I know, everyone says not to, but it's ok. Nothing bad will happen. Your intestines won't explode. And it's so cool and refreshing and you're so thirsty and you've been walking for 79 days in the desert and won't it just taste so good?


The television is the new book. Feeling guilty for passing over "Anna Karenina" for "Alias"? Please. No need to read a book anymore. You can learn anything you need from that box in your living room and it has pretty pictures.


Eating 5 million Reese's peanut butter cups will not give you a stomach ache. Yummy. Eat 5 million and one! And live in a world that doesn't know sadness.


You are The Good Guy and anyone who disagrees with you is The Bad Guy. Opinions, shmopinions, I say. We can't all be right. So clearly they're wrong. Bad Guy status = Exiled to Russia to make wooden dolls and forced to read only Oprah's magazine and the Yankee Candle catalog.


All good things come to those who wait. More than just a ketchup slogan. It's a way of life. So you've been waiting for 20 years to get that promotion so you can work drive-thru and not just the counter? I'm sure it will happen eventually, keep on keeping on. And yes, I'd like fries with that.


Time flies when you're not having fun. Sometimes I'll be not having fun and then look at the clock and it's just like wow, where did the time go? Especially when I'm getting a root canal or cleaning my bathtub or standing in line at the store and there are 5 screaming children running around and one of them puts gum in my hair. These moments just go by entirely too fast.