Ladies and Gentlemen....Alex Trebek, Drunk

Because it's a Monday, and because watching and posting this is more fun than making the beds...I give you, Alex Trebek, drunk. I never knew there were such cracks in that cool Jeaopardy exterior. Now we know. Happy Monday.

80s Hair Salon Artwork: Why?

As a fan of hair cutting and general hygiene, I would like to send a message to all of the hair salons out there who think it's a good idea to post "chic" 1980s stylized posters, ala Patrick Nagel, as artwork in their businesses.

Ermm-hmm. (That was throat clearing.)


Dear Salon Owners Everywhere:
It scares the bejeezus out of me when I see those 80s-style posters hanging framed in your shops--or worse, as part of the awning that hangs over the exterior of your sad little business. The women in these paintings are TERRIFYING, and no one wants their hair. Let me say it again: No. one. wants. that. hair. The butch, spiky black hair with kabuki makeup is frightening to children, and frankly, to most adults (even if they won't admit it). Ask yourselves, has anyone ever once come into your shop, pointed at a poster and said, "THAT! That is what I want. Make me look like that woman!" No. Of course they haven't. Don't be stupid. So why have these posters? I've been forced to look at them in hair salons since roughly 1988, and they never go away.

I'm afraid we've come to a point where I will walk out of a salon, just solely based on principle, if I see these images on the wall. Really. I passed one by just the other day because of a freaky 80s awning. I have to figure that whomever put them there either, A.) Lives in a cardboard box, eats tuna out of a can or shoe every night, and found those things in a dumpster somewhere, and therefore can't be a skilled stylist, or B.) Really thinks that it is 1987 and hopes that I will really like my new Dixie Carter look. No, no, no!


I've included a few examples below so that all salon owners can remain vigilant and purge their hair huts of all of these cockroaches of the hairdo world. It must end.

Hugs and Tickles,
Katie

Let me just say that if I owned a hair salon, I would name it The Coif Cabin and would have artwork more like this:

Memorial Day: A Day to Honor White Pants

That's what Memorial Day's for, right? The whole thing about wearing white pants until September? Well, to toast white pants, this year I plan to drink a lot of hard cider until I pass out, stinking of sunscreen, hot dogs, and dog saliva.

Before I begin this ceremony though, first, I would like to take a moment to remember all of the brave white pants that have served bravely and fallen in the line of duty...especially those cute little ones with the ties that I tore the ass out of two summers ago. Your memory will live on.

Muah ha ha!

So, friends, now that I am back in the blogger's saddle again, I'd like to start by taking a little poll:

Was it wrong that I gave my sister's phone number to the Republican Party, or just funny as all get out?

What's that? Funny you say? I agree. Come on, let's do the evil laugh together...

The Michigan Republicans and The Case of the Mysterious 616-827-7054

In full confirmation of the concept of hysterical irony, I've recently begun receiving frequent phone calls from one "telemarketer", more or less. This number--616-827-7054--likes to call me just when I'm on the can, when I'm finally getting a tiny nap to supplement my four hours of nightly sleep, or when I've got eighteen things cooking (and by that I mean Pop-Tarts and microwave bagel dogs). And in each case I'm usually desperately awaiting a phone call from someone I actually need to talk to, so I answer the phone each time.

And who's on the line? The Michigan Republican Party. They'd like for me to take a survey about who I'd like to vote for! Well, sometimes they would. Most of the time their automated doodad disconnects the call just as I get to the phone. But now and then they actually follow through on the call they've made. And they'd like to know who I would vote for. Me. The registered Democrat. The tree-hugging Liberal who is on the books for donating to Obama's campaign multiple times.

The "616" number, as I've grown to call it, is the bane of my day. Every day. That's right--the Michigan Republicans would like to consider asking me my opinion on average about 1-2 times a day....e-v-e-r-y day.

So the only paranoid, overly dramatic conclusion I can jump to is that the Michigan Republicans have apparently waged war against me. They know they can eat away at my soul with these phone calls. Break my spirit.

I La-La-La-La-LOVE This Video

Oh, it must be my birthday already, because I just discovered one of the most disturbing and enchanting videos ever. I think when I finally develop a television show about my life, this will definitely be the theme song.



Can you just imagine the rolling credits now? ...And Natalie Portman as Katie

I still stand behind my original assertion that Star Wars Jazz Trumpet Solo is still that greatest YouTube video. Ever. But you have to admit there's something very special about this one and its hypnotizing beauty. Oh, that handsome, handsome man. Enjoy!

Playhouse From Hell

So today I was scoping out some goods on Craig's List, particularly giant plastic playhouses for my toddling daughter to hide in so she doesn't see mommy getting drunk on wine every afternoon.

Now, some of these playhouse offerings are pretty ridiculous - tables are missing, phone receivers are missing, plastic faucets have been broken off, and water trapped in the walls is growing black mold in at least half of the houses listed.

But that's not the worst of it. Oh no. There is one listing today that made me wet my pants a little when I read it. I laughed until Diet Pepsi burned in my nostrils.

This is an honest-to-Elvis Craig's List listing in SE Michigan, word for word:

Little Tikes Playhouse - $15
White, pastel blue & pink playhouse/cottage w. pretend oven range inside. This had a yellow jacket's nest in it over the summer. Husband plugged up the hole, but there is no way to really take the nest out unless you cut apart the plastic. You can't really see it. We don't believe in using pesticides so it has not been sprayed. Queen yellow jackets can survive in the nest over winter so you'd want to be sure to get rid of her if you can or if you don't mind spraying chemicals, spray it. It's only $15 due to the nest.

Yes, all you need to do is hire an exorcist, light a couple matches, and wear a gas mask, and you're good to go! Fun for the kiddies! You see that yellow jacket at right? It's laughing. Laughing at the idea of eating your children right now. Laying in wait inside that playhouse. But at least - thank god - you can't see her (as the ad graciously reminds us). And you can't see her nest pulsating and growing inside your child's cherished plaything. Because if you can't see deadly insects, then they don't exist.

Why - you might ask - why wouldn't someone just banish this playhouse to the pits of landfill hell? The garbage man won't object - because apparently the queen is overwintering right now!!

And WHAT hole did the husband plug up exactly? And WHAT did he plug it with? A gasoline-soaked rag??

But no. They don't throw it out. These people who walk among us in society, who are neighbors and family to somebody honestly thought, ya know? I bet someone might pay us $15 for this puppy!

Super Happy Most Excellent Picture #12

Because it makes me giggle uncontrollably, and somehow never gets old.

"McCain the Bogeyman"

Palin the Ass

I've made no secret of the fact that I think Sarah Palin is a twit. She's a condescending characature of ignorant Americans that loves to talk, even when she doesn't know what to say.

And to me, that makes her dangerous. Scary, scary, bad dangerous. Dick Cheney dangerous - just with less knowledge and experience. Kind of like giving a toddler a blow torch. A toddler who likes to kill animals and is bent on religious purification and expansion of power.

But I don't want to be a voice of doom and gloom from over here on the Left (and god forbid I wouldn't want to sound like a Republican fear factory), so maybe I can present to you a kinder, fuzzier view of the Sarah Palin story as it could unfold....in a ha-ha, god please don't let it happen, kind of way....

Plus, since I'm getting in my digs here at this nutjob, I'll just say it. She kind of looks like a used-up ex-porn star. Hey, my husband said it. I didn't. I just didn't like the way she kept flirting with me at last night's debate. For the love of god, quit winking at me! You still have to buy me dinner before I'll go to bed with you!

Get me Some Vicodin, I've Got Production Restraint Pox!

We're back again to play our favorite celebrity gameshow: "Guess the Real Reason For Going to the Hospital!"

If this is your first time playing, here's how it works: When you read about a celebrity being hospitalized (or canceling a performance) for "exhaustion"or "dehydration", we all make guesses as to what's really wrong with them. (After all, if they hospitalized people for exhaustion, moms of small children would never be off of a gurney!)

Ok, today's contestant is.....the scary, the challenged...Janet Jackson!

The overexposed celebuwhore cancelled the second concert in a week last night, all part of her "Rock Witchu" tour. I lie not. I can't make up this lame as anti-rock shit. The first concert bail-out was in Detroit because of "production restraints". Today's excuse? A sudden and vague "illness" that struck her during soundcheck in Montreal. Apparently this "production restraint fever" was so intense that she spent the night at a hospital. In the fake maladies ward of St. Bullshit Memorial Hospital.

Now players, gather 'round, grab a pencil, and pick from one of these game choices.

Was Janet really hospitalized for...

A.) Drug Overdose

B.) A Vicodin Prescription that Gave out in Tampa

C.) Slumping Ticket Sales

D.) Last-Minute Plastic Surgery

E.) Sexually Transmitted Disease

F.) Shameless Attempt to Duck Court/Legal Obligations

G.) Desperate Publicity Stunt

H.) Psychiatric Evaluation

I.) Impromptu Drug Rehab

The clock starts....n-....NOW. You have 30 seconds to make your choice. Go! Na-na-na-nana-na-na-na (it's the Jeopardy! theme, just go with it...) Na-na-na-ne-nah--nanananana, Na-na-na-nana-na-na-na, Nah! Ne-nah, Ne-nah, Ne-hah, Bom-bom!

Ok, time's up! If you answered H.) Psychiatric Evaluation, then you deserve an ice cream cone, because that's my guess! And no other real reason. Hey, it's my game.

Janet's peeps are very tight-lipped on this one. So until the walking sideshow ages another ten years, finds her money has dried up much like her hootchicoo parts (or Papa Joe has stolen all her money and slapped her around) and she writes a tell-all describing the event of the past week, we are left to only guess and wonder. I owe myself five bucks when that time comes if it turns out to be a Vicodin jag. I knew I should've guessed B!

Tune in next time for "Guess the Real Reason for Going to the Hospital!", and thanks for playing!

You Can't Spell Debate without B-I-N-G-O

Hey all you political nuts, with your pre-decided views on who's already won the debate, who you're voting for. Since you're not going to be listening to the debates to help influence your decisions or for any real political insight (because we all know that the people who haven't made up their damned minds yet aren't watching the debates tonight, they're eating their hair in the corner about what flavor of mac-n-cheese to eat for dinner), I thought I'd share with you a way to spice things up a bit.

It's Presidential Debate BINGO!

Most of us will be playing this BINGO as a drinking game, and I encourage you to do the same. Especially if you're aware of the state of our country. It'll make all the bullshit go down easier.

Much to my delight, there are multiple types of BINGO cards available for tonight, so please pick one or all to distribute among friends (or your collection of stuffed animals if you're all by yourself. Sad.).

Just click on the images to travel over to the sites where you can print them.

RULES FOR PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE bingo:

1. Take a sip each time you cover a square
2. Take a big drink for every BINGO
3. Pray that you don't go blackout!

The Wonder Years

Here it is! Your ticket to hop in the way-back machine and catch a glimpse of Meri the Strange throughout the years! Its a magical ride!





1952








1964









1966






1982







1984





I think I've aged really, really well, all things considered. I was smokin' hot in '66. Sure I made some bad hair choices, especially in 1982. But I think I rallied and pulled off the cheerleader 'do pretty well in '84.

Now I have to get back to studying for that test. That's right! I'm STILL in school!

Don't You Forget About Me

Yes, there are about a thousand household chores and other responsible things I should be doing with my day.

But instead, I found this amazingly distracting website that turns back the hands of time for all of us who really felt we didn't live up to the style potential we could've in high school. The site is called Yearbook Yourself, and well, I think you get the idea of what it does.

Just upload one dorky picture of yourself. The less flattering the better. Then play around with different poses, and voila! You've wasted an entire afternoon and look really, really stupid.

I loves it.





I personally think I'm rockin' 1976. What do you think?

Ok, Meri the Strange, now it's your turn. Let's see what kind of school spirit you have. I challenge you to upload a few of your own yearbook photos. Rah-rah-rah!

The Great Golden Girls Game!

Gather 'round, gather 'round! I am about to unveil a Golden Girls spectacular of thrills, chills, and excitement. It gives me great pleasure - nay, embarassment, to introduce to you a game I have invented for those lonely nights when all you want to do is have a slice of cheesecake around a Miami wicker kitchen table with a few old broads.

Here is a game to help you rank and discover what truly is the GREATEST Golden Girls episode of all-time. Or you can make it a drinking game. Which is probably a lot funner. But I don't know if I want Rose Nylund flashbacks the next morning with lipstick smears all over the screen, so it's your call.

Here's what you need to play:

A love for Dorothy, Blanche, Sophia, and Rose
A few episodes of The Golden Girls ready to roll
A pen and paper*
(*you may substitute a bottle of Goldschlager or a box of wine if you do not own a pen and paper)

Now, start your engines and away we go! As you watch a series of episodes, you'll need to keep score of each episode's happenings, and here's how to do it.




The Great Golden Girls Game SCORECARD!

Mark points on your scorecard for the following Golden Girls moments:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1 pt. - A late-night dessert is eaten in the kitchen while discussing a problem

2 bonus pts. - If that dessert is cheesecake

1 pt. - Every lover or group of lovers that Blanche mentions by name, date, position, or profession

4 pts.- If the girls scream in horror after discovering two people in bed together

2 pts. each - Every time Sophia says, "Picture it…." followed by a location and year

1 pt. - Each time Rose mentions a St. Olaf resident (not her, Charlie, or their kids) by NAME

3 pts. - Each time Rose mentions a St. Olaf pet or livestock by NAME

1/2 pt. - Each time someone says "Shady Pines"

2 pts. - For every family member that comes to stay with the girls

1 bonus pt.- If the visitor is one of Blanche or Rose's daughters, and the daughter acts like a total bitch

2 pts. - Every time Dorothy asks a guest to leave the house

1 pt. - Every time they have to call 911, or fear that Sophia's dying "Maaa!!!"

2 pts. - Each time Sophia makes a farting joke


2 pts. - If Stan comes to the house

1 bonus pt. - If Stan brings the monkey cone with him

6 pts. - If any of the four girls sing or dance during the episode

2 pts. - If Sophia talks about a Sicilian curse

4 bonus pts. - If we see Sophia put a curse on anyone!

2 pts.- Each time Dorothy is mocked for getting pregnant as a teen

4 pts.- If there's a wedding (whether or not the bride backs out beforehand)

5 pts.- If "The Cheeseman" is mentioned

-3 pts. - If they help a wayward child/person in need

-1 pt. - If Carol, Barbara, Dr. Westin, or Dreyfus appear, in what is surely a sad spinoff tie-in attempt
-8 pts. - If it's a clip show!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you are strange enough to try out this scoring system (and you just know I am!), please be sure to enter the score for each episode in the message board, along with the episode title (or at least a recognizable description). Together, we CAN truly discover the GREATEST GOLDEN GIRLS EPISODE EVER!!

McRoad Rage

Today I was going through the drive-thru at a popular fast food McChain. I don't want to name McNames, but my dining experience was less than McSatisfactory. First of all they had the two-lane drive-thru. This means that all of the McBastards driving SUVs take up so much room that neither lane can move up enough for the next person to order. Of course, today of all days I was in a huge hurry to get back to work. I placed my McOrder and went to move up. As I was inching up, I heard someone say "Woah!" It was the guy in front of me. He said it the way cowboys say "woah" to their horses when they want them to stop. He was a hick with a handlebar mustache in an old junky jeep. And he was "woah"-ing me. Who the hell is he to "woah" me?!? Luckily, the weather was nice today and his window was down and I was able to first tell him off, then proceed to say "woah" in a mocking tone every time he inched his car up in line. It provided a lot of amusement for me!

Now, regarding my McFast food experience, I'd like to throw two questions out there into the universe:

First of all, when the automated greeting plays at the menu, (you know, the one that says "Welcome to McFast Food Restaurant, would you like to try a McSuper deluxe combo with cheese?") are you supposed to (a) reply to it, then wait awkwardly for the real person to ask for your order or (b) ignore the automated greeting and just place your order after it is done without waiting?

I usually do (a) but I always feel kind of dumb replying to an automated greeting. Yet it does ask you a question. I feel rude not replying in case the real person can hear me. When the real person does come on, sometimes they sound impatient when they ask me what I want, which makes me wonder if I'm not supposed to wait for them to come on the speaker and ask.

My second question is why is it that when I ask for no pickle, no mustard on my McCheeseburger, those McBastards give me extra ketchup and onions? Just because I don't want pickles or mustard doesn't mean that I automatically want more of the other crap!

Just thought I'd McAsk.

Daewoo-hoo!!!

I recently saw the movie "Pineapple Express" and was super-psyched about a particular aspect of the ending. Now, this isn't a huge spoiler, as I'm not going to reveal any other details, but if you are one of those whiny people who freaks out about knowing anything about a movie they have not seen, stop reading. Ok? Good. Now, at the end of the movie, a certain character kills another character by smashing into him/her with his Daewoo and then yells out the line, "You just got killed by a Daewoo Lanos, mother fu%$er!" I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee my pants. It was not just the line, it's the context. I have a Daewoo Nubira, and for years people have made fun of me for having this wierd car that no one had ever heard of and that almost no one else owned. Ok, ok, the Daewoo is kind of the Edsel of its day. However, now all of you can bow down to me because the Daewoo has achieved pop-culture fame and will go down in history as a bad-ass weapon in a very funny movie! Go see it and show some respect next time my car comes screeching by!

Suck it, Dream Cruise!

Ok, as I sat down to write this blog, I first tried to think of an eloquent title. But after wasting an hour of my life in hellish traffic, it all comes down to the above sentiment.

For those of you not local to Detroit, aka the Motor City, we have an event here called the "Woodward Dream Cruise". It is supposed to be a one day event that allows the middle-aged to remember the good old days when they used to "cruise" up and down the main thoroughfare in the metro Detroit area, Woodward Avenue. All of the grease monkeys and blue collar types dust off their classic cars for the event and thousands of people line Woodward and just watch these classic cars drive South. Then North. Then South. Then North again. Yeah. It's that exciting. It's supposed to be full of fun and nostalgia, but in reality it is just a huge waste of time and gasoline. Picture a rush hour traffic jam and then throw in some classic cars. That's about it. And it goes on for days. It is supposed to be one day. But really, it lasts about a week.

One week. One full week of gridlock traffic and stupid over-the-hill men and their granny wives pretending to be sixteen again in big shiny cars going way under the speed limit so that people can see their big shiny cars. (Hmmm...could these guys be compensating for something else they're lacking? I think so.)

One full week of morons lined up alongside the road chugging beers and sitting in lawn chairs watching intently and taking pictures of whatever they may see, be it cute young girls in teeny tiny tops, bright red classic convertibles, or me, in my non-classic car, screaming at the top of my lungs, having a nervous breakdown. Today I think I actually scared a few of the on-lookers.

I hate you Dream Cruise, I hate you!!! All you do is cause traffic and crowds and noise and pollution and litter and disorderly conduct!! Every year the hellicopters hover over my house so that I feel like I'm living in a war zone. Every year I worry that I'll be screwed in case of a medical emergency because no ambulance is going to be able to navigate through the sea of stupid that is Woodward Avenue on Dream Cruise day.

Someday I will move far, far away from Detroit and then every year on Dream Cruise day I will drink a glass -- ok, a bottle -- of wine and eat some chocolate and think about how peaceful it is to not be surrounded by thousands of boozing, cruising morons.

In the meantime, I'm Meri the Strange. Go fu@% yourself, Motor City!

I actually DO loves it. Huh.

I think I was wrong. And that doesn't happen often. I actually think I misjudged Ms. Hilton. First I accidentally discover that her debut musical album isn't so bad (must wash the shame away...I scrub and scrub!), and then I see this video she's made "running for president". And all of a sudden I have respect for the girl. She has humor, she has timing. And I actually think that there may be a few brain cells rattling around up there.

Think I'm crazy? (I mean, more than usual?) Well, watch this video and judge for yourself. I think it's the best political ad I've ever seen. Bravo, Skankerella. Bravo.

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

Bad Kwame, Bad!

Well, I'm sure any of you detroiters out there have already heard the happy news. Our beloved (ha-ha) Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick is in jail. They threw him in the slammer this morning for breaking his bond and going over to Canada. Wait. What? Seriously? After ALL of the crap that this guy has done to not only break the law, but flaunt his law-breakin' ways, he gets arrested for a bond violation? Geez. It's like Capone getting busted for tax evasion!

In honor of this momentous occasion, the city of Detroit (ok, maybe just the Woolly part of the city of Detroit) has officially named today Hoosgow Day!

Now, I'm sure they're going to throw Mayor McCheese in his own plush cell complete with cell phone, pimp clothes, and plenty of booze and women. However I'm going to picture him in a rat-infested cell being eye-balled by big guys named Bubba like a fresh side of beef. It just feels more like karma that way.


Happy Hoosgow Day!

Dum De Dum Dum...Wha?

This is exactly what I was saying aloud to myself as I pleasantly waited for the results of my 'How Evil Are You?' test that was posted on Woolly's sister blog, Woollymom.com.

The "wha?" part comes from the result. My sister, who is like me in almost every way, was 56% Evil. I figured, hey, I'll be right around there. Maybe a smidgeon higher. But just a smidgeon.

Then I see this:

You Are 72% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care. Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

How Evil Are You?

Seriously? I'm that evil? Man. Who knew that people feared me. And who knew that I would secretly find that cool. At this moment I am torn between being ashamed of myself and being oddly proud. Take the test yourself. I know you'll enjoy it!

Giraffe Sweatshirts and Bunny Shoes

As I was wandering aimlessly through the mall the other day lamenting the fact that I have no money to spend on anything other than gas and bills, I happened upon the most adorable little clothing article. I immediately knew that it would be the perfect addition to my new fall back-to-school wardrobe. In fact, it would be the only addition to my new fall back-to-school wardrobe. This item was none other than a Giraffe Sweatshirt from Pacific Sunwear or "PacSun" as you cool kids call it. I am not cool. Maybe the proof is that I love, love, love this sweatshirt. Not only could I walk around looking like a giraffe, but this sweatshirt was so soft, it felt like buttah! My friend scoffed when I showed him the sweatshirt, but I know its cool and that someday we will be together.

Upon exiting the store, right in the middle of daydreaming about winning the lottery and being able to do fun things like dye my hair blue and own a giraffe sweatshirt, I remembered another cool animal fashion that I had recently been dreaming of. In the same mall, just a few stores down, I had spotted Bunny Shoes! Way cooler than bunny slippers, I think you'll agree! The store no longer has them, but I found them online. And someday they will be mine. Oh yes. They will be mine. Or, you know, they'll be out of stock by the time I save up the money for them. And before you speak up about a certain holiday with a big jolly fat guy, I've already planned what I want for Christmas. These goodies would have to be pushed back to Christmas List 2010.

No someday, dear readers, I will walk proudly across my college campus sporting bunny shoes and a giraffe sweatshirt. I believe in miracles. Send out some good thoughts for me, though, too. You know, just in case all the miracles go to the stupid people with incurable diseases and family tragedies and such.

Evil, Thy Name Is Sylvia

It's been a few days since I have posted on my new beloved blog because of some very sad personal things I have been going through the past few days, which I will share with all of you when I am ready.

In the meantime, I would like to give a long overdue shout out to a wonderful man named Robert S. Lancaster. I don't know him personally, but I am very familiar with his work. He is the creator of one of my favorite internet sites, StopSylviaBrowne.com.

I'll cut to the chase here: Sylvia Browne is the devil. She pretends to be a psychic and scams misguided, grieving families out of their hard-earned cash. She doesn't even do a very good job of hiding it!

I have hated Sylvia Browne for ages. I can't believe how successful she continues to be. It's disturbing. StopSylviaBrowne.com is amazing, though. It debunks her in a way that is so thorough and even-handed, even the most devoted of her fans will have trouble explaining the inconsistencies.

Please visit the site and spread the word. Sylvia Browne is pure evil and must be destroyed (DISCLAIMER: Of course I mean professionally and financially destroyed. I in no way wish physical harm upon her.)

And Now For A Public Service Announcement...

I encountered something at work today that really bothered me. And, yeah, I know, lots of things bother me. But this one really takes the cake. In fact, I'd refer to it as my 'pet peeve' were it not for the fact that one of my biggest 'pet peeves' is people who use the phrase 'pet peeve'...

Anyway, this woman I work with--we'll call her Schmenny--came into the office and decided to loudly broadcast tales of the dream she had had the night before. Apparently it involved some of her co-workers (not me, thank god!) and she felt the need to unburden her soul right there and then.

I couldn't really tell you what the dream was about. It started with her picking up someone for carpool -- "isn't that funny, 'cause we don't even live near eachother" -- and then there was some stuff about the office looking different and some old co-workers that weren't supposed to be there. "...and Bonnie was in Nancy's office and then we...and then she said...wait, then I asked where Nancy was because Nancy wasn't there. She said that she had decided to get her old job back and now Nancy was out sitting by us. I asked Nancy if she cared. No, first Gina walked in and then I asked Nancy if she cared about her job and she said..."

Yeah.

Unfortunately I'm going to have to leave this one on a cliffhanger, because at this point my ears started to bleed and shortly afterwards I blacked out for a while.

I am now going to share with all of you the secret of life. This is it. The big one. The one you've been searching for all of your life:

(drum roll)

No one cares about your dreams but you.

That's right. When you tell anyone else about your dreams, I know you're sure that they're interesting to hear about. Everyone thinks their own dreams are fascinating. They're not. They're wierd and poorly narrated and there is no point to them for the listener. You might as well start randomly reading names out of the phone book. If your listener laughs, they're just placating you. Inside, they're praying to god that it will end soon.

So for the love of all that is holy, people, STOP telling other people about your dreams! It is painful! Keep them to yourselves!!!!!

Cer-azy Coloring!

Suck it, Smurfs! Finally we have a coloring book that gives us hours of doodling fun, AND the magic of a history lesson all rolled into one. I know many of you didn't think I was a fan of the Bible or that Jeebis guy - but now I've realized that Christian history is way cooler than I ever thought. All thanks to the magic of coloring! Go, Jeebis, go!

NO To Carrots!

I love beauty products. They're just fun. Even when they don't make me more beautiful, they're still fun. For example, I have this night cream I bought a sample packet of. It smells like cocoa. It does nothing noticeable for my skin. But I still love it because who wouldn't like to apply cocoa-scented cream to their face at night?

For years now I've been following the advice of magazines for my beauty product purchases. I've listened to the "geniuses" at Vogue, In Style, Lucky, Cosmopolitan, etc etc. And do you know what I've found out? The lesson I've finally learned? They know NOTHING about beauty products!!

One magazine recently raved about the brand Yes To Carrots! It is praised for being all natural and amazing for your skin. Now, I get really excited about beauty products, especially trendy ones with funny names, so I immediately went out and bought the Yes To Carrots brand hand lotion, body butter, mud mask for hair, mud mask for face, and makeup remover. Yeah, I got a little carried away.

After trying all of these products, the results are as follows: The hand lotion is ok, but I've tried better. And the smell is kind of blah. The body butter is just the hand lotion in a different package. Not buttery at all! The mud mask for the hair did nothing. The mud mask for the face was ok, but there are cheaper alternatives that work just as well. The makeup remover is the worst of all and, ironically, it is the one I still use. It constantly leaves makeup on my face after I use it. But I am determined to finish the bottle because I can't stand to waste any more money. So night after night I use it and then have to follow up with something else to get my face truly clean.

Bottom line: Say NO to carrots and never, ever listen to magazine beauty advice. Next time I'll tell you about the hair remover they recommended to me. I'm still trying to get the smell off.