Satan's kittens from Hell

Who knew that my cats were little instruments of Satan? This guy asks the all important question: Is it okay for a Christian to own a cat?

Let's hear it for the Yalies..

In response to the violence at VT, yale has done this.

Yeah, makes sense.

The best song in the world

I just had a bologna sandwich. It was probably the best bologna sandwich in the world..you know the kind..the bread is white bread and just squishy enough to be almost sweet, Miracle Whip, Sauer's mustard, Kraft cheese and Oscar Meyer bologna. So I'm gonna write the perfect country song called, are you ready? "A Baloney Sandwich and a Bottle of Bourbon". It will win a Grammy for sure...

Aggravation in the grocery store

I went to the grocery store after work tonight for two reasons. One, I had no food, and two, it was payday so I could afford some new food. In fact, my kitchen was so empty that it was beginning to look like a third world nation around here (minus the flies).

So I spent about 30 minutes perusing the aisles, carefully selecting my boxes of macaroni and cheese, bananas, and various sandwich meats. But the bulk of my time was spent searching for the Holy Grail that is Pralines and Cream ice cream. I swear to Sweet Baby Jesus and Andrew W.K., almost NO ONE makes it anymore, only Mayfield, and that's fine, as long as I can get it when the mood strikes. Now, there was no shortage of liberal, hippie, gourmet ice cream made by guys who look like the long lost brothers of Jerry Garcia and live in weird, foreign places like Vermont and probably listen to too much Phish. But what I'm talking about here is good, summertime-eatin' ice cream. This is not the kind of ice cream one puts chunks of Godiva chocolate in (while I will allow that there is certainly a time and place for that) or tops with wheat germ or what have you. I was THIS close to just buying the Blue Belle vanilla and making pralines to crumble over the top if it (not a bad idea..note to self...make pralines and crumble over Blue Belle vanilla...). But I found it and all was right with the world.

Almost.


I had to check out. Now, the Murder Kroger on a weeknight is iffy at best, so you can only imagine what it's like on a Friday night at 11.30. But I was overjoyed when I found a short line that had both a checkout operator AND a bagger. " WHOO HOOO! I won't have to bag my own groceries" I thought to myself. Boy, was I wrong..sort of..The girl who was "bagging" my groceries (and I use this term loosely) was getting off work at 12.30, had only recently broken up with her boyfriend, had broken up with said boyfriend because it turned out that he was the baby-daddy of her cousin, earlier had a ride home from work but didn't anymore because he was up in the club and didn't want to leave just when it was getting good to come pick her up, and still wasn't sure how she was getting home. I know all of this, because she was telling the cashier all of this as she was sort of throwing my milk, eggs, Crisco, Bisquick, and cheese into random bags, letting some items fall to the side. All of this was getting accomplished at glacial speed. The best part was when the cashier had moved onto the customer behind me and was sending her items down the little conveyor belt and Ms. Recently Dumped started bagging her groceries in my bags. As I was trying to sort out the mess and not show my ass, she picked up one of my yogurt cups and said "Where did this come from?" I said "it's mine". She then uttered the statement that will probably cause my aneurysm later tonight..."What is it?"....

All of this made me remember about when I was eighteen and worked at Woodham's IGA in Eufaula, Alabama. Of all the grocery stores in Eufaula, Woodham's was the bottom of the barrel. It wasn't the brand new Food Fair, nor was it the uber-middle class Winn Dixie or Piggly Wiggly. It was on the west side of Highway 431, across the road from one of the many housing projects that populated post New Deal rural Alabama. Believe it or not, people could actually smoke in public places at the time, the IGA being no exception. So it was not uncommon to see a woman pushing a grocery cart, one barefoot kid running along side poking things with the stick he'd brought in, a baby in the seat, and she'd be smoking a cigarette while leaning over the fresh produce. I'm pretty sure that this was about the time I coined the term "grocery store feet", but I digress...

But my career at the IGA wasn't all bad. It did have it's benefits. Like a regular paycheck. So my mom wouldn't kick me out again. And they sold beer. And I had a 19 year old boyfriend, who like most boys from Eufaula, Alabama, enjoyed drinking Budweiser. So he would come into the IGA, select his beer, and check out in my line. Easy enough, we always had beer for that night when I got off work.

Was I as bad at eighteen as Ms. Recently Been Dumped? I don't know. I'd like to think not, but the reality is, is that I probably was. Perhaps worse. I seem to remember many conversations with Kate, one of the other cashiers, about who would be down at Old Creek Towne and should we go...And I'm sure some thirty-ish woman looked at me with disdain and just wish that I'd bag her groceries...

Did I mention that I heard Whitney Houston's "I believe the children are the future" on the Muzak at Murder Kroger just before I got in line to check out? God, I hope Whitney's wrong.

They're too cute to stay mad at...

Just to prove that I won't hold a grudge...

Flaming Easter Candy of Death

I didn't elect to go to any of the opening night parties last night. Instead, I was more interested in just going home, watching a little TV, and cracking out a little on the internet reading mindless drivel. All, in all, my night was everything I'd hoped for.

Until I got a sweet tooth.

At some point in the evening, I grew bored with the overload of information I'd garnered from various newssites, blogs, RSS feeds, and various and sundry porn and decided that I needed a little sugar to make my evening complete. Not a huge amount of sugar, mind you, just enough to make me smile. Luckily, last week I cleaned Kroger out of their on sale Easter candy. I have a fridge full of the stuff. Everything from Cadbury Eggs to vanilla creme Hershey's Kisses to Marshmallow Peeps. And that's where the "fire problem" began.

Now we all know that one can manipulate Peeps in sadistic and inhumane ways to make them a little tastier. Put them in the microwave for just a few seconds, they get nice and squishey. Keep them in the freezer to make them a little more solid. My favorite way to torture the little candy colored birdies is to skewer them on a stick and hold them over the flame on my gas stove for a few seconds. This results in a caramelized sugar outside that is crunchy, and an interior that is gooey like the marshmallow part of a smore. So I did this, rendering unto me caramelizes little pieces of heaven. The part I forgot about, the MOST IMPORTANT part, I might add, is that this makes the marshmallow inside VERY HOT. I mean hot like a firebombed Al-Quida hideouot cave. And sticky. Sticky like napalm. I forgot about all of this, and bit right into said burned up Peep. It was delicious. And sticky. And VERY HOT. It burned the top of my lip, causing a second degree blister, due to the fact that this little benign candy had turned into a molotov cocktail of carbohydrates. I couldn't get it off my face or my fingers. It dripped down onto the burner of my stove, re-igniting the burner with one foot flames. It stuck to the counter. And now I have a huge blister on my top lip that probably has the appearance of some sort of bizarre sexually transmitted disease. But that's not what it is. What it is is the Revenge of the Peep. That'll teach me.

Sad events

I just can't be funny tonight (not that I really ever am). My thoughts and prayers go out to the students, faculty, and staff of Virginia Tech University tonight. I really couldn't process all the information yesterday, and simply chose not to even think about it. It's such an amazing tragedy, and certainly not the time for partisan commentary. So I really don't want to hear about how stricter or looser gun laws would have prevented it. The whole thing is terrible, and it's terrible for the friends and families of the victims and Cho Seung-Hui. If you have prayers for the affected people of this awful event, don't forget to include his family as well.

Peace out and remember to be good to each other.

New glasses

I got new glasses yesterday. Here is a picture of them.
















It's a good thing I did it, because this is what my old glasses looked like.


I'm guessing that the new glasses are made of glass from ground diamonds, only obtainable in the magical land of Oz, due to their cost. I can't afford to eat this week, but by God, I'll be able to see.

Speaking of eating, I did eat a cheeseburger for lunch. It was terrible, but it was round.

Crap

Crapola...I know that I should be attempting the Holy Grail that is sleep right now, but I'm really wound up. Maybe it's the Co-cola I had with all my bourbon earlier at the Mass of the Little Sisters of our Lady of Perpetual Excess...but I just can't seem to muster the will to go to bed. It's sort of like a throw back to when I was a little kid and felt like if I went to bed, I might miss something. I'm fairly sure that I won't miss anything here in Poncey-Highlands..well, it is an early Monday morning..not many hookers out here right now... It's funny, the Significant Other has a truck call in about an hour and a half and I haven't even gone to bed yet. How many times have I been on the other end of the deal, where someone I know just got off work, is all wound up, yet I've got an early set call or an uber-early work call? I keep thinking of this time when I was working in Master Control at a Fox affiliate (it sounds soooo Star Trek) and it was Easter...I was presented with an Easter basket complete with MANY Cadbury eggs..it was 2.30 in the morning..he was rushing home from work and I was rushing out the door late for work...How can one be late for work at 2.30 in the morning? ACCKKK!!! But I was late, and got reamed out that day by the other engineer for being late..my shift was supposed to start at 2 AM.....that shit sucked....that's why I try not to work in broadcast television...that shit sucks..

Thank God and Baby Jesus I no longer work in broadcast TV,
H

How to enter the "Douchebag of the Week" contest..

Here's a repost of Douchebag posting from Crackspace..just in case you were wondering..

Douchebags and Batteries
Current mood: aggravated

So I did a really asshole thing tonight. But I am nothing, if not an asshole somedays. Who could blame me? I was tired, cold, and wet and just trying to make my way home along the corridor of sin that is Ponce de Leon Avenue. Out of the blue I see this guy crossing the street. Now I know that it is not unusual to see someone crossing the street at ten thirty at night, but it was pouring rain and he wasn't crossing at the crosswalk. Some of you know that this is a pet peeve of mine. And he was crossing diagonally. Dressed head to toe in solid black. And he was doing THE ASSHOLE STROLL. You know what I'm talking about. The slow meandering across a busy roadway, paying no attention to oncoming traffic, that entitled walk that says "Hey motherfuckers! Your ass BETTER stop for me." Well, it was pouring rain (as it often does in Atlanta this time of year, or any time of year for that matter...), and just as he got to the south side of the street, I managed to hit a HUGE puddle of filth infested rainwater at about 45 miles an hour (about 15 miles an hour faster than I should have been going, but I did it on purpose, cause like I said, I was tired, cold and wet and those things make me cranky), thus splashing a wall of serious wetness on said pedestrian. If he thought he was wet before, he was definitely wet then. He stopped in his tracks to shout some obscenities to me, something along the lines of "dumbass white bitch..." but I just turned up "Catapult" by R.E.M. like a good little aging rock snob and made my way on to the liquor store, because, after all, tomorrow IS Sunday and we wouldn't want to get caught with our pants down, now would we? I feel better already....

At first, I thought Slow-ass Ponce crosser would win this week's Douchebag Of The Week award, but since he's now all wet and I've had some time to ponder, I realize that the coveted Golden Douchebag should go to Mr. Burgundy Nissan Altima In The Three Dollar Lot At 15th and West Peachtree. This fuckstick came about six inches from crushing me to a pulp trying to park his Japanese piece of crap in the pouring rain, thus backing me into a corner between him, an avocado green BMW, and a brick wall, all in the pouring rain. So concrapulations, Mr. Burgandy Nissan. You win the Golden Douchebag. Hopefully, next week, some equally dumbass ATLien will outdo you...

In light of Mr. Leisure Stroller and Mr. Burgandy Nissan, I'm starting a contest here at Holly's World O' Blogorama. Douchebag of the Week. Send me your nominations for said award, I'll see if they beat the idiotic encounters I have in my day to day life, and I shall confer upon the winner a shining Massingill Moment. Hell, nominate yourself if you feel like you deserve it! I'm sure that I've had that effect on people before. There really are no prizes, just the satisfaction of knowing that you've blown the whistle on a complete idiot and had it posted to Teh Interwebs (which is really just a big system of tubes...).

So after putting up with all of that, making my usual Saturday night visit to Greene's Liquor Store on Ponce (complete with its full company of weirdos and freaks..) I finally made it home to the squat, determined to make up a decent drink, listen to a little Wilco (cause that's just how I'm rollin') and mop my filthy kitchen floor with my new Swiffer WetJet. I bought it last night on a whim in Kroger, but didn't feel like putting it together since I'd spent the previous 12 hours listening to the Little Prince shout "Hold, Please!" into the God mic that it is my job to provide for him everyday. Upon opening the box of my new floor cleaning device and assembling it without reading the owner's manual (owner's manuals are for pussies, and I'm CERTAINLY not a pussy, plus it's really just a glorified mop...) I discovered that it needed four AA batteries to "squirt". Now usually AA batteries are not a problem for me. In fact, at work I'm known as the battery pimp, shouting from the rafters "For the love of the Baby Jesus and all that is Holy and Sacred, will SOMEBODY take these damn AA batteries!" It's illegal to throw them in the trash, you know. Plus it's wasteful. Well, I guess I'm simply a victim of my own success, because I realized that I could not lay hands on four AA batteries. I thought "Surely I have SOMETHING that takes batteries around here? I realized I did, so I went to an undisclosed location (and no, Dick Cheney was NOT there) and retrieved said batteries. I'm not sure how much voltage is left in them. Probably not much. Now that I've got a sparkling clean kitchen floor, had a few drinks, and can't seem to connect to Teh Interwebs (that series of big tubes) due to the fact that I steal my internet connection, I'm gonna want those batteries back.

My contest

Like I mentioned on my crackspace blog, go ahead and send me your "Douchebag of the Week" nominations...send pictures if you think they're applicable..and maybe you or your nominee could win your very own Massingill Moment..because who doesn't want to be the recipient of the coveted Golden Douchebag...

Peace Out,
H

Round Food

We seem to eat alot of round food in the entertainment production industry. Donuts (obviously), bagels, pizza, deli trays, hamburgers, and I guess tater tots are sort of round. So I was not surprised this morning to find the ubiquitous Krispy Kremes by the coffee station. I ate one. It was good. It was also round.

However, this evening we had a change of pace. One of our cast members and his wife prepared a company meal, and I mean a MEAL! A turkey dinner complete with cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, homemade potato salad, yeast rolls, and sweet tea. So I'm imagining a VERY slow show this evening. We'll see....

Thank you for visiting Holly's Donutorama.