I was wrong.

I thought I wanted Fleetwood Mac's greatest hits but it turns out I just wanted Rumors. I don't know who's idea it was to record Little Lies but they should be shot.

Spade.

Sometimes I think I should rename this blog "Link List."

If I could say shitballs to the principal I'd be so happy.

How many days later, and I still can't get Cartman's voice out of my head.

"I've got a golden ticket..."

Late night visitor.

That black cat keeps trying to get into my bedroom. He even opens the screen door. I thought he had a collar, but last night I noticed he was without. I wonder if he lost it. Or maybe the owner is tired of him being such a slut.

Trying to get at my poor, innocent Fatty.

I already took in one stray black cat. I'm not taking another. Soon I'd have five. And who wants that much bad luck?

Now I guess I'll have to tell 'em that I got no cerebellum.

I put in a Ramones CD today, Their Toughest Hits. Which is kind of like listening to one really long Ramones song.

Oh, and what about those people who can't switch lanes without breaking? How do you feel about them?

Overkill.

I wrote "C shampoo" on my running grocery list today, to remind myself to buy shampoo for my son. Which is pretty lame because:

a. My son and I both have names that start with C, and

b. Like I'd use shampoo from a grocery store. Come on, now.

Ow! Quit it! Ow! Quit it!

Which one of you fuckers has the voodoo doll of me and would you please stop jabbing me in the ear with a pin?

Thanks.

Born to rock.

Last week, as I left my son's school, I saw a woman getting into her car near mine. She had on sweatpants that said "Rock Star" across the butt. In rhinestones. Like it was BeDazzled.

The way I see it, you're not a rock star if:

1. You're getting into your Honda CRV after dropping your kid off at school, and

2. You advertise it on your ass. In sweatpants.

Knock it off, lady. You're past your prime. Face it.

I like him, but...

Does anyone else think James Blunt kind of blew his wad with the first album?

I'm almost out of ice cream.

Skool.

My son came home with a book report that started:

Toy Story 2 is about toys that cum to life.

Smell it?

I went down to the corner store (market, if you prefer) today during my lunch. I walked in and vaguely noticed a smell, a chemical-ish smell, but didn't pay much attention to it. After I grabbed a box of just one calorie Tic-Tacs, I went to the counter. There I was assaulted, yes, assaulted, by the smell. It immediately entered my nose and mouth. I saw a Windex bottle tipped on it's side on the counter. (but even then, I knew somewhere in my head that it was all wrong for Windex) I made a noise that was a cross between "blech" and "yuck", which I'm sure you'll agree is impossible to type. Then an "ew" sound, which was one of those very annoyed "ew"s, not a cutesy, uptalk "ew". You know. With the extended "w" part. The Red Bull girl started laughing and I turned to her and said "I think I can taste it!" and she agreed. Of course, it was half a second after that exchange that I realized the smell was not the Windex at all, but the woman standing three feet from me. Which sucked, because I don't like to insult people. To their face. I much prefer doing it behind their back.

(if you're giggling, you're childish. yes, I said "doing it")

But half an hour later when I could still smell and taste the perfume, I didn't feel quite as bad. Because I'm sure every person she came into contact with thought the same thing as me, but I was the only one who voiced it. I sure hope she learned a lesson today. Inflicting asthma upon countless innocent souls with your excessive perfume usage is a bad way to get into heaven.

Animal Cruelty.

All day my cat has been crying for food. I keep feeding her, she keeps crying for more. She's been crying for food when there's still food in her bowl.

She just wants the attention, I think. Because she's dying of kidney disease, you know.

Despite the whole dying thing, I get a little crazy after four hours of meow-meow. I finally snapped and yelled "Fatty, if you don't shut up I'm going to kick you and throw you outside!"

And I hear my son from the other room yell "Mom, let ME kick her! Can I kick her?"

Which scares me and makes me laugh really hard at the same time.

I like to read a murder mystery. I like to know the killer isn't me.

When was the last time you had a random Erasure song stuck in your head?

It's physics.

I hate bitches with super long, French manicured nails in maroon Mitsubishis who think that if I'm not tailgating the car in front of me that I'm not going as fast as they are.

Bitch, back off.

Your insurance is way more expensive than mine.

Reading.

I am thoroughly addicted to Augusten Burroughs. I can't stop reading his book, even though a part of me wants to read slowly so it will last longer.

I read Running With Scissors and Dry. I'm almost through with Magical Thinking. I just ordered Sellevision and his latest book, Possible Side Effects. I highly recommend getting at least Running With Scissors. But you may as well get Dry while you're at it. Trust me.

Is it irony to be addicted to an alcoholic?

Sounds like Lydia got an A on the math test.

You know that song Jump in the Line by Harry Belafonte? Sure, you know the one, they played it at the end of Beetlejuice? Yeah, that one.

So, am I the only one who hears the line:

Senora's dance has no title
You jump in the saddle, hold onto the bridle

and thinks that sounds kind of dirty?

And yeah, the little hand motion Winona does during that part doesn't help at all.

I'm not dead, Cat!

I was driving behind some Honda today; the stupid chick was going like four miles an hour!
I say "Come on, fuckface, let's go!"
Then she goes to turn on the same street I was going to turn on.
I say "Oh great, because that's what I wanted to do, follow your slow ass all the way down Cox."

And then I giggled.

Because.

You know.

Cox.

It's funny, because, um...

Sitting with my dad and his cousin and her husband in the back yard after dinner in Idaho:

My dad tells a story about this one time he was at his neighbor's house and there was a commercial for Viagra or Levitra or some damn thing, and the commercial gets to that part where it says "if you have an erection lasting more than four hours contact your doctor."

(side note: hearing your dad say "erection" is weird)

So the neighbor turns to his wife and says "heck, if I had a four hour erection I'd call your sister!"

Laughter ensues.

Then I start giggling to myself and say "If you have an erection lasting more than four hours, get her some lessons."

But nobody laughs. Except me.

The Blog

There is a building at the corner of Hamilton and Leigh and it's called...get this...The Hamilton-Leigh Building. Really? They couldn't come up with anything better than that?

I suppose Building With Walls, Windows, and Doors would have been more obvious. Or The Big Building. I want to meet the guys who named that place. They must have huge imaginations.

"What should we name the new building?"

"Well, where is it?"

"It's at the corner of Hamilton Avenue and Leigh Avenue, sir."

"How about the Hamilton-Leigh Building?"

"Brilliant!"

"Uh, sir? What about the one at the corner of Olive Road and Dick Street?"