Category: Uncategorized

>Nurses are sadists.
Permit me to explain.

Whenever I’ve had blood drawn, the nurse performing the procedure inevitably applies the “cottonball/band-aid” combo post-blood-letting, which, at the time, seems harmless.

It’s when I’ve gotten home and attempted to remove said “cottonball/band-aid combo” that the question arises:

why??

I swear they have a deal with the adhesive bandage industry to produce uber-sticky band-aids for blood withdrawals. Sick bastards. The removal of the bandage causes much more discomfort than the procedure itself. Even when they do miss the vein.

I’m tempted to just leave it there to fall off on it’s own accord. Who am I to interfere with the life-span of the average doctor’s office elastic bandage?
I have decided to let it be. Why not? It seems harmless for now. It seems happy. Perhaps later we can watch the “Blues Brothers” movie together. I am hoping that if I work on our relationship it will help to facilitate the ease of its removal. The breakup will be difficult, admittedly – but I feel that it is best for all concerned.

We certainly hope you all enjoy the show. And remember, people, that no matter who you are and what you do to live, thrive and survive, there’re still some things that makes us all the same. You. Me. Them. Everybody. Everybody.

Superbowl, fools.   Got my hat.

 

 

Gee has her hat.  Gee isn’t quite as excited.

 

This is just the coolest damn thing ever. Wow. 30 years, man. Seattle’s been waiting for this for 30 years.  I’m too stoked at the moment to give a rat’s ass about punctuation or grammar. This is unreal. Damn I wish I was downtown right now.
And or all you punks thinkin’ of rootin’ for the Steelers…well, watch your ass. I’ll have Gee bust out…

THE NOSE

 

And I gotta tell ya…bein’ goosed by this schnozz is uber-foul. You have been warned.

Go SEAHAWKS!!!

>
Dammit.

I am invincible. I am not supposed to be sick. Somebody did not get the memo.

This sucks.

This is all my husband’s fault. He did this to me. He was sick all last week…hangin’ around the house…breathing…

So here I am. Runny nose, sore throat and icky phlegm-hacking-coughs that hurt like a sonofabitch. I think I’m dying.

Fortunately, in a fit of nostalgia, I DVR-ed “Pretty in Pink” and “The Breakfast Club”, and “Resident Evil” arrived in the mail yesterday. The ailment-entertainment plan is secure.

Dogs are providing no moral support whatsoever. Duke’s only contribution lies in his attempt to consume my snotty tissues. I think his motives may involve some amount of selfishness, but, we haven’t discussed it yet.

Ugh. Got the skin-hurt-thing. Just what the hell is that, anyway? Anyone?

I am in no mood to be social. Go away.

When Cameron was in Egypt’s land…
let my Cameron go…

>you let sleeping…

dogs lie.

Damn I love my dog.

>I seriously think we are literally floating away.

The Seattle area is now on it’s 24th consecutive day of rain.

The national news came on this morning while I was getting ready for work and searching for my galoshes, and when rain in Seattle is in the opening lineup, that’s some serious damn precipitation. They had to close some roads here in town because they were full-on bodyboarding in the river. But it’s all good. Bring it. Drop this mess on us all day today, tomorrow…hell, even Friday’s cool with me.

But not Saturday.
Absolutely not.

Granted sports and rain in Seattle are common bedfellows, but usually only in college football. Why only college ball? Because up until about 2000 the Hawks played in the – granted, I give you old and decrepit – Kingdome, which was…well, a dome, i.e., covered. In Seattle, this is a brilliant idea. They kept this philosophy when constructing Safeco field, better known as home to the Seattle Mariners. Open field, yes. But with a retractable roof. Another exercise in brilliance, I felt. (Here I must make note of the amusement that was provided by the relative ease of finding a photo of the Seahawks playing in the rain. Took all of 5 seconds. That’s some funny shit.)

But then.
In 2002.

They opened Qwest field.
It is a beautiful stadium. I will give you that. But why, oh why, would you build an open-air stadium for a sport whose season takes place in the rainiest months of the Seattle calendar? Baseball, sweet. Summer sport. Rainfall…not so much. But the fall and winter…bust out your umbrellas, boys and girls.
Okay, so granted, last year was a bit dry, but that was atypical. We were on the verge of water rationing last summer, yes. But I gotta tell ya…this year is more than making up for it.

I suppose I’m just bitter that my first playoff game is going to be viewed from under a ballcap and a poncho. My feet will be soaked, my refreshments water-laden. Perhaps I’ll bring some Kool-Aid and some of those freeze-dried MRE’s to enjoy during the game. Gelatinous fruit cocktail and Seahawks football are pretty much one and the same. What a tit-baby I am. Poor me. I’m going to a playoff game and I’m bitching. What the hell am I bitching about? Some people you just can’t make happy.

I did, however, recently learn that our tickets would fetch about $750 on eBay. Heh. Season tickets, bitches. And I ain’t sellin’. I gotta get some use out of this damn poncho. It’s not as if it has any stylistic purpose outside of sporting events. I was totally gonna Seahawk-out on my ensemble, but with this lame-ass poncho it’s not like anyone’s gonna see it. But don’t think I won’t jump on it if I get to the game and they have Seahawks ponchos. Given the stadium/Seattle situation, they should be required to vend them. They should have had a meeting with the designers and engineers. “Dude, okay. We’ll fulfill your whole ‘open air’ vision with the stadium, but only if we supply the spectators with official NFL Seattle Seahawks ponchos. We’re not bending on this”.
I shall find out Saturday if I need to write a strongly-worded letter to Paul Allen.
I’d even consider loading up Office on my mac in exchange.

But only consider. I didn’t say promise.

>Goddamn Safari. I was a quarter done with a slightly non-pathetic blog and it just decided to take a coffee break and bailed on me. Apparently it thought my blog was indeed pathetic, and was trying to save me the embarrassment. It can, in my opinion, go suck a mothball. I could give a shit what a poopin-out internet browser thinks of me. Or my blog.

What I was talking about at the time was how I was ten kinds of rockin’ out at the fact that today I learned that I will now officially be in attendance at the Seahawks/Redskins playoff game this Saturday. Thanks to my husband’s co-season-ticket-holder being away on assignment in Ireland I got his ticket by default. So since one of my kick-ass coworkers said she’d cover my shift this Saturday for me, I will thus be able to take my place amongst the most brash, drunken, old-school Seahawks fans at Qwest field. My husband has been at every home game all season, and has been witness to more drunken brawls than anywhere else in the stadium. I will, without a doubt, have a kick-ass time. Or maybe get my ass kicked. Heh. We’ll see…depends if someone tries to come between me and the pomegranate I plan on taking. But I don’t foresee beer-guzzling rabid sports fans getting all twitchy over a pomegranate.

Football is “the shit”. Granted, it is not quite “the shit” as basketball is considered “the shit”, but football is a smaller subset of the community pool of “the shit” from which different levels of coolness are measured and bestowed. However, there is an entire conglomerate of “the shit” of which basketball, and the Spurs in particular, are majority shareholders. But for now, football has its fair share of “the shit”, especially if the Seahawks hand the Redskins innards to them in a cappucino cup.

And oh hella-hollah HOOK ‘EM HORNS!!!! My husband and I were screamin’ so loud we pissed the neighbors off. USC can shove that up their Trojan boo-tays – beat ’em in their own backyard, even. How embarrassing. But hey, Vince young is “da man”. UT is “the shit”. But college sports pull from a separate “the shit” pool than pro sports, and as I don’t keep up with college basketball, UT has a monopoly on “the shit”. Damn I miss Texas.

And then my Spurs’ 5-game winning streak was trampled by those bastards Shawn Marion and Steve Nash. Damn the Suns. Steve Nash seems like the most unlikely basketball player. He looks like an auto mechanic. I wish he had been an auto mechanic. Then my Spurs would have won last night. Bollocks.

So, here you have the official Jen-blog sports report. If you want more details, go watch ESPN. I’m-a jus’ talkin’.

See. I go talkin’ ’bout Texas I start talkin’ like Texas.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

Pomegranates and technology do not mix.

I now have a very pink keyboard.
And fingers.
And random splatters both on and around my desk.
Since pomegranates are seasonal I have to enjoy as many as possible before February.

Don’t judge me. I refuse to compromise on my keyboard nor my choice in produce.

voulez-voulez-vous nyah.

>Winters where I live can be pretty brutal. Living in the Cascade foothills makes us particularly susceptible to kick-ass windstorms. For the last several days, we’ve been at the mercy of 35-mph winds with gusts ranging from 45-60 mph. Saturday night we lost power for 5 hours. Garbage cans and recycle bins have been careening down the parking lot. Roofing tiles are being wrenched from houses. Walking the dogs is like trying to run underwater. Christmas lights are even being torn from eaves and windowpanes. In the past we have had trees crashing through rooftops and blocking roadways.

However.

Despite the disabling winds that send your car swerving on the road.

Despite the objects flying at random.

Despite the trees bending dangerously in half.

Despite the inability to breathe with 60mph gusts flooding your nostrils.

There is…one man. Who despite the odds, perseveres, with super-human determination, to do what needs to be done.

That’s right.

My pal.
My buddy.
The man who seems to be a beggar to his own demise as he is out to destroy me every Monday morning at 7 a.m.

Dear God.

You ever see something so completely stupid that your brain, at the mere glimpse of it, begins to fold in upon itself?

Happened to me.

Sitting in my poofy oversized recliner, cozy by the fireplace, the scent of peppermint candles floating in the air, content at being safe and snug in my apartment whilst the trees are whipping violently in the wind and freezing rain is crashing against my windows.

Then I hear something.
Faint at first, then gaining volume…not quite sure what…

No no no no….can’t possibly be…

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The sheer incredulity of it sent my mind reeling. A leaf-blower. In a windstorm.

I think someone needs to re-evealuate his terms of employment. Who does that? Seriously? There have got to be some kind of labor laws against blowing leaves in a windstorm. I mean, at least consider the psychological impact. Doing a job that is so completely futile, trying to complete a task that can never be completed (at least for a few days)…I mean, that cannot possibly good for one’s mental well-being, can it? Do they offer psychological counseling for leaf-blowers in such a situation? This is just so impossibly ridiculous I can’t even function.

Leaf-blower in a windstorm. What the hell.

I think I have may created a new metaphor. “Screen door on a submarine” is SO 5 years ago.

Get with it people. Use it. Share it. Spread it like wildfire.

Meanwhile I will be questioning the future of the human race.

Leaf-blower in a windstorm.

Christ.

>In a very “nummy-toasty-post-hot-bath-cup-of-tea-listening-to-the-Dixie-Chicks-and-nibbling-on-a-pomegranate” spot at the moment.

Sooo…..

Colder than a witch’s titty out there. Windy, too. Lost the power a couple times at work today. I don’t know if you know this, but restaurant kitchens get very dark when the lights go out.

I have very frisky co-workers. It was good times.

Some drunk-ass shmoo from a wedding in the ballroom decided to wrastle with our Christmas tree in the dining room lobby.

The tree won, albeit a bit crooked now.

I am still not fond of cashews.

that is all.

>I like pistachios.

They rock.

I do not like cashews.

They indeed do not rock.

Buffalo Springfield is some good tune-age.