Is it Hot in Here? Or Are My Pants on Fire?

It has been pointed out to me that after much anticipation and a shrewdly executed PR blitz to announce my triumphant return to the blogosphere, I conveniently stopped blogging after just one posting and took several months off.  I'm sure I had my reasons (holidays, travels, laziness), though none of these can really gloss over the fundamental fact that apparently I am, indeed, a liar liar.

And though it seems I just can't get the hang of consistent writing, I've decided to give it another go.  This time, though, instead of letting travel be the reason I don't blog, I thought I might try having travel be the reason I DO blog.  I'll be spending the next few weeks wandering around London - taking tours, drinking pints, and minding the gap.  Maybe I'll write about that.  Or, let's face it, maybe I'll intend to write about that but really just end up writing about nothing and apologizing for it later.  Only time will tell...

Playing Chicken With Marsala: A Brief-ish History

Many moons ago I discovered blogging. And, having nothing better to do with my time, I blogged and blogged and blogged. I carefully researched each entry, weighing in on the relevant issues of the day such as science, medicine, and forming a posse. Times were good. Readership in Brazil was at an all time high. Then one day, (possibly a Tuesday), I forgot to blog. And since remembering things has never been my strong suit, I never blogged again. Until now. When I started blogging again.

So...welcome to my blog! From now on I promise to try to remember to write words down on a semi-regular basis. And if you should happen to have a few minutes in between all of your Facebooking and assorted awesomeness, feel free to read said words. Deal? Deal.

Oh, and I've left all of my previous posts up in case you didn't already know my opinions about things like pirates and mayonnaise (I'll give you a hint...one of them is rad and one of them is very very not rad). Let the blogging begin!

Jennsin' for Marsala (Please Note: Jennsin' is Much Like Jonesin' Only Without the Desire for Nicotine or Someone Named Jones)

Some of you have noticed my absence. And some of you are, understandably, upset by it. If you either, a) Did not notice my absence, or b) Were not understandably upset by it, then you could at least fake it to spare my feelings. After all, I'd be upset if you turned up missing. In any case, I am forced to believe that if I typed out all of the sordid details of my whirlwind European vacation replete with lots of French cheese and loads of French women, several things would happen. For starters, I would be lying. And while I may be many things (lover of pirates, hater of mayo, taunter of injustice), I am no liar. Turns out I'm just really boring. Hence, the complete and utter breakdown of Playing Chicken with Marsala and my first set of Fan/Hate Mail. Here are a few of my favorites for your reading pleasure...

-OK, until a certain J. Marsala posts again, I've decided to, in protest, take to my bed and refuse everything except food and drink. You have been warned.

-MMMMMAAAAARRRRRSSSSSAAAAALLLLLAAAAAA!!!!! (This letter was shouted a la Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. Or, at least, that's how I read it. I suppose 'anonymous' could have written it differently, but since none of us knows how to reach him or her to inquire, we'll do things my way. So, as I was saying...Marlon Brando. Take that, 'anonymous!)

-Marsala...Just who the hell do you think you are anyway? While I don't need your stupid blog to make me happy (I've never even read it, so there!), I have a friend of a friend who reads it, and that stupid jerk is really upset at your apparent disappearance or kidnapping. What a stupid jerk! In any case, write soon or I'll kill myself...I mean, my friend of a friend will kill his or herself...

Well, my friends, stop killing yourselves, all three of your prayers have finally been answered. And now, to celebrate my triumphant return to blogging, please join me in a rousing rendition of the Welcome Back, Kotter theme song. Just in case you don't know the lyrics, I've graciously posted them in the comments section. I'm not quite certain, but I believe this might be some kind of copyright infringement, therefore, if I go another few weeks without blogging please kindly post bail. All together now..."Welcome back..."

Jenn Marsala is Taken to the Cleaners

You know how dry cleaners insist that they clean your clothes without employing any of the traditional soap and water methods usually necessary to remove odors and stains. I am suspicious. I want proof. And while we're at it, I would also like my $3.20 back. Dry Cleaners of the World, take note: No one puts one over on Jenn Marsala...

Extra! Extra! Read All About It! Sweet Pea and So-and-So, Friends Forever!

Several weeks ago, in a posting entitled You Are Awesome, I announced that, in an effort to get to know you better, one lucky reader would receive an exclusive "Playing Chicken" interview. Unfortunately, following through with things has never been my strong suit (In fact, if I had a nickel for every project that I've started and then given up on, I'd have damn near $3.20. Now, that doesn't sound very impressive, but, in all fairness, it is actually a lot of nickels. Man, I wish I had those nickels right now). In any case, today, I am finally making good on my promise. Today, for one special person, a glorious dream comes true. Today, Jenn Marsala will ask the questions. And loyal reader and frequent commenter, the Monkey King, will answer. Hooray, today! What follows are excerpts from the first ever "Playing Chicken" interview...

Sweet Pea (aka Jenn Marsala): Thank you so much for being here today. Let's get started. For many you are just a persona, tell us a little something about the real you.

So-and-So (aka Monkey King): That is an excellent question.

Sweet Pea: Thank you.

So-and-So: No, really. You are just a fantastic interviewer!

Sweet Pea: Thank you.

So-and-So: And I really admire your stance on the whole mayonnaise issue.

Sweet Pea: That's very sweet of you. But, um, the question...

So-and-So: Of course! It's simple really. I am a carbon-based life form of the primate family. I have opposable thumbs, a good sense of humor, I don't hate walks on the beach and I think the Pina Colada song is stupid. I can be impatient and arrogant, but I'm also likely to pick up the tab for lunch. I have a Political Science degree from Gettysburg College in Gettysburg, Penn., that's also the place where my great-great-great grandfather, General Alexander Webb had a really crappy time during Pickett's Charge. I also really like pudding. And Jenn Marsala.

Sweet Pea: Wow. That's awesome. You're so interesting. Why is that, would you say?

So-and-So: Well, I was born in the Year of The Wood Snake. Snakes are uncommonly attractive, and the consummate philosopher and sage. Insight, compassion, subtlety, and discretion are the sum and substance of this 6th sign of the Eastern zodiac. You were born in the year of the horse. Did you know that? Because I did.

Sweet Pea: Weird. Okay. So, um, the year you were born, Saturday Night Fever, sparked a national disco inferno. Did you have anything to do with that?

So-and-So: Before I go into detail, remember that I was young. Very young. However the lyrics to a song I wrote as an infant were picked up by the Bee Gee's. My original was called "Being Alive." Thanks again for interviewing me. I'm feeling so close to you right now.

Sweet Pea: Yeah, actually, I'm glad you brought that up. There have been rumors of your romantic involvement with a certain celebrity that will remain nameless for the purposes of this interview. Can you either confirm or deny these accusations? Can you also fill us in on any or all of the alleged dirty details...

So-and-So: Let's just say that neither I nor [name deleted] are allowed in the produce section of [name deleted] supermarket anymore. But enough about me. Let's talk about you.

Sweet Pea: But, aren't I supposed to be asking about you?

So-and-So: C'mon!

Sweet Pea: I see your point. What do you think about me?

So-and-So: You are the coolest person I've never met. You are also hot. You are a boon to all mankind, a fighter (or at least a taunter) of injustice and the unheralded inventor of the artificial pancreas. As a side note, I'm fairly confident that your favorite color is either green or plaid.

Sweet Pea: So, what I'm hearing is, if they existed, you would purchase several "Playing Chicken with Marsala" t-shirts to give as gifts for weddings and bar mitzvahs.

So-and-So: Not only that, but I'd hand them out at wakes and bris'. I am in love with you.

Sweet Pea: Excellent.

Important Author's Note: Soon after this, I ran out of questions and just stole some from James Lipton. I've posted these in the comments section so that, in the unlikely event the Monkey King never makes it on Inside the Actor's Studio, we'll all know what his favorite curse word is. While you're in the comments section, also feel free to ask him any original questions you might have come up with. And, lastly, as requested, your nominations for the next "Playing Chicken" interview will be considered at this time...

It's Not Easy Peeing Green

Sometimes when I pee, I wish that I had eaten asparagus.

Making Mountains Out of Molehills

Today has been a very difficult day for me. For several reasons. For starters, I am hungry. And while, after three days of diligent fasting, I still can't recall my famed dick hat story, I have managed to shrink my breasts by two, quite essential, inches (at this rate, inversion seems imminent). Secondly...actually, there is no secondly, but I'm irritated enough about the breast thing to make it count twice.

The thing that is really irking me, however, is this...Someone asked me what my most embarrassing moment was. And I had nothing. No unexpected wardrobe malfunctions. No mortifying moments involving vomit, a midget, and the Thanksgiving Day parade. You see, I've embarrassed myself loads of times, but never in the colossally red-cheeked, tail-between-my-legs fashion that would be the stuff of legend. What I do have, is a litany of mildly amusing awkward moments that, individually, always fail to impart the sheer awesomeness of the collective embarrassement I've experienced over the years. And because I love telling a good story so much, this really chaps my hide.

It also leaves me with only one logical solution. I must lie. I must concoct a moment so embarrassing, so rich with comic fodder, that telling the story will fill me with immense pride. Therefore, I am enlisting your help. Perhaps you've got a story that I can steal, or maybe we'll all just make one up together. Whatever the method, I want to make damn sure that the next time someone asks me, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" I'm ready to spin a fantastical web of deliciously satisfying lies...

Life in the Fast Lane

I started a fast today that, among other things, is designed to increase my mental acumen and memory skills. You see, lately I've been having trouble remembering things (Remember just the other day when I forgot which way the d and the b go? Well, I don't. But I read about it on my blog and it terrified me into action). So, I am fasting. In part, because getting fond childhood memories back has become somewhat of a priority for me. But mainly, because I used to know a really great story about a woman in a dick hat and several chimpanzees and now, sadly, I'm having trouble recalling the sordid details. And let's face it, if I lose this story, I'm nothing. Nothing!!!!!!

In other news, I am hungry. Would someone kindly send me a sandwich (sans mayo, of course. As luck would have it, food phobias are impossible to forget).

I've Got Jungle Fever (And Not the Good Kind)

I am a hypochondriac. Name a disease or chronic ailment and I've most likely already had it. Once I know the symptoms, self-diagnosis is mere moments away. For several hours yesterday I was clearly suffering from an acute case of Australian Spotted Fever. This morning, I spent breakfast with Diphtheria (which, I probably don't have to tell you, makes it very difficult to enjoy an otherwise delightful bowl of cereal). Needless to say, I tend to blow things out of proportion. Which is why I'm trying not to worry too much that, at present, I am exhibiting numerous signs of either Gingivitis or Hepatitis A thru E. On the bright side, my fear of testiculitis was completely unfounded. Guess I dodged a bullet on that one. Whew...

Mixing Up My Conquerors

Napoleon was short. Alexander the Great was gay. Attila was...a Hun. In the future, kindly remind me not to get into heated historical arguments after imbibing several glasses of wine. Otherwise, I'm just setting myself up for ridicule from those smarter and more vindictive than me. Stupid confusing conquerors.

Groove is in the Heart

Some people can not dance. If you are one of these people, you may or may not know it. My money is on "may not," as self-awareness is clearly not your forte. Neither is grace or rhythm. You are a drunken casanova with a penchant for 80's dance tunes and complete reckless abandon. And I adore you. Here are several reasons why I love and admire you...

1. The Hustle
2. The Roger Rabbit
3. The Electric Slide
4. The Robot
5. The Funky Chicken

So please, keep on shakin' your groove thing, despite your lack of proficiency. You may be a lousy dancer, but in the end, you will survive. Hey, hey...

bumd and bumder

This morning, while lying in bed and attempting to take a phone message, I puzzled for a full minute over which way the d and the b go. Evidence of a larger problem? Perhaps...

The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

Please, please be something along these lines...

1. Wake up
2. Cold pizza
3. People's Court
4. Nap
5. Lifetime Movie
6. Leftovers
7. Blog

Another productive day. Ah, the sweetness of success.

Lost in (Cyber) Space

If you go to Google and type in "Playing Chicken with Marsala," you won't find this blog. But, if you go to Google and type in "Playing Chicken with Marsala," you will find a passable recipe for Chicken Marsala and several articles about "playing chicken" with a possum/buffalo/or anteater (turns out playing chicken with undomesticated land mammals is rarely a good idea). In summation...glad you found us. Both of you rock.

Cracking the Walgreen's Conspiracy

An elaborate world of codes exists out there, and I want in. Codes are everywhere. They are written and broken and interpreted by cops and spies, and quite surprisingly, although, I'm sure not without good reason, Walgreen's employees. As further evidence that I have been left out of some nationwide memo, today I unwittingly displayed characteristics that would make an unassuming pharmacist declare me a "Code 10". When I inquired about just what might define a "Code 10," and why it was necessary to announce it over the loud speaker, I was quickly rebuffed. At which point, I used several interrogation tactics I'd previously seen on television (i.e. incessant singing of Don Ho's Tiny Bubbles). Even by Walgreen's high standards, she proved incredibly adept at dancing around the issue at hand. But, after hours of intense questioning, she finally crumbled. "Code 10" has no meaning she confessed. Turns out she just gets really bored filling prescriptions. And codes are fun. Indeed.

I'm Sorry Mama...

I cleaned out my closet this weekend, and was almost killed by an errant hanger and a pair of polyester pants. Several times, in fact, I cheated death in its varying forms...asphyxiation, exhaustion, embarrassment at the realization of past, or worse still, current fashion faux pas'. Eschewing sleep, sanity and even blogging I trudged onward like a woman possessed. And as I slowly unearthed the carpet that was inevitably waiting beneath years of neglect and slovenliness, I felt a tinge of sadness and loss. The time had come to throw things away. I bid goodbye to my favorite spandex jumpsuit circa 1993. And said ado to the fishnet stockings that I always swore I'd find an occasion to wear. With blinding clarity, I finally realized that the handcrafted wooden shoes I'd once purchased were not my wisest investment.

Now, as I sit here, with the weekend's purge behind me, I try to cope with the longing for my lost treasures. The grief will subside soon enough, I'm told. I'll find new clothes to love. New excuses to go another few years without a good spring cleaning. And, of course, I'll always have the memories. But deep down I know I'll cling to the kernel of hope that someday, somewhere, someone will enjoy my green taffeta cocktail dress as much as I once did.

Science on My (Back)Side

Science doesn't lie. It doesn't need to. If you ever find yourself in a heated debate with a scientist, odds are you will lose. This may come as a surprise to you, but they know more than you do. Much much more. After all, they can split an atom. What can you split?

As a rule, I like scientists. Penicillan was a good idea. Botox was inspired. And now the scientific community has impressed me once again by releasing the results to a study that says that laughter is a valid and efficient way to shed those extra unwanted pounds. Turns out if you laugh for a mere 10 minutes a day, you can lose up to five pounds over the course of a year! Now, I'm no mathematician (As a rule, I don't even like mathematicians.), but if I've run the numbers correctly (and I believe I have). laughing for 50 minutes a day can make you 25 pounds lighter by this time next year. Amazing! From now on, I am on a strict romantic comedy regimen. Goodbye, balanced diet and exercise! Hello, When Harry Met Sally! So take my advice (and science's), skip the gym, read my blog, and feel your backside shrink and shrink and shrink. Did I mention I love science?!

You've Lost That Bloggin' Feeling

Experts say it takes 21 days to form a habit. And to these experts I submit the following plea and apology...

I, Jenn Marsala, am deeply sorry for being completely remiss in posting yesterday. In my defense, I was kidnapped by pirates. Please still consider me for habitdom. Thank you.

You Must Be a Gemini

Today a friend rang me up to report on my daily horoscope. It predicted that my day would be both productive and exciting. Money would be flowing. An attractive new suitor would bake me a bundt cake. It predicted a banner day. It was wrong. And I bet whoever wrote that feels a bit sheepish just now.

So, in order to spare you, my readers, the same disappointment I endured today, I've done my homework and created a foolproof and completely accurate daily horoscope for you. In return, feel free to bake me a bundt cake.

Capricorn: You might eat a sandwich today. If you do not eat a sandwich today, you might eat one within the next 30 days. It may or may not be delicious.

Aquarius: Oxygen is important to you. You like it. You will use it today.

Pisces: You hate your job. If you are at work now, you wish you were somewhere else.

Aries: Spelling is not your forte. Neither is math. Today you will scrape by on charm and/or good looks.

Taurus: Watch your wallet today. When you get bored, watch some television.

Gemini: A secret crush on Jenn Marsala pays off. She admires you. Loves you even.

Cancer: Exciting things are in store for you. Today or eventually.

Leo: Fasten your safety belt. Look both ways. Be wary of masked madmen.

Virgo: You can read. If you cannot read, you will not be offended when I tell you that your butt looks big in those pants.

Libra: You are delightful. A secret admirer will bake you a bundt cake.

Scorpio: Love is in the air. You or someone you know might get lucky.

Sagittarius: It is a favorable day for communicating with others. Respond to a blog. Namely this one.

Range of Emotions One Experiences Upon Learning that One Has Missed the Annual Old Town Tustin Chili Cook-Off...Again.

Devastation. Possibly, a hint of indifference. But mostly devastation.

Jenn Marsala: Hipster and Cunning Linguist

This evening, in an attempt to feel youthful and/or hip I used the phrase "Don't be hatin'!" And although I'm fairly certain I used it in the correct context, something about it seemed desperately wrong. Go figure...

Conversation I Overheard While Waiting In the Bathroom Line at the Pixies Concert

Girl 1: Like like like like like like like!

Girl 2: Dude...

Girl 1: Totally.

And as I sat in silent judgement of their questionable social skills, I aged 10 years and became patently uncool. Bummer.

You Are Awesome

Odds are, I would probably like you. If I met you on the street, I'd probably say something like, "Wow! What an intelligent and articulate person. Such white teeth and nice gums. I wish we were best friends." I might invite you over for a pot luck dinner. Or ask you to join my book club. And most likely, over the course of our friendship, I would learn all about you. Your likes and dislikes. Your dreams and goals. Your best recipe for guacamole. I would speak fondly of you to my friends and/or coworkers, saying things like, "You should hear what happened to So-and-So. It's so funny/interesting/inspirational. That So-and-So really is a stand-up guy/girl (So-and-So is, of course, my nickname for you. You call me Sweet Pea)."

Unfortunately, and here comes the really sad part, I may never get to meet you on the street. You may never get to join my book club. I may never taste your guacamole. I'm afraid to say it, but the odds of a chance meeting between us aren't exactly in our favor. Depressing, but true. However, because I think we could really have something here, I've come up with a delightful alternative. This will require your participation and will, invariably, start us on the road to a long and happy friendship.

Write in and tell me all about you (or someone you know, I'm not picky. But then, you already knew that about me, didn't you). Submit a good story, interesting fact, or never before revealed secret about yourself, your grandmother, or your neighborhood grocer. And then (and here's the really good part), one of you will be chosen for an exclusive, "Playing Chicken" interview. Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Sweet Pea and So-and-So, Friends Forever! Full story to follow...

Monkeying Around

This afternoon I was propositioned by a giant banana. A very persuasive giant banana, at that. And because I just can't say no to mammoth sized fruit, I spent my afternoon handing out bumper stickers and posing for photos. For just a moment, with excited tourists to my left, a man in a banana suit to my right, and a feeling of self-satisfaction deep in my heart, all was right with the world.

We Surveyed...Three People?

So this is what failure feels like. Apparently, when I suggested that you, my loyal readers, pick the topic for Monday's post I was operating under several delusions. First, that you could all come to some sort of majority opinion. And secondly, that that opinion would only be discerned after many charts were made, and accountants were consulted. I envisioned experts from Ernst and Young pouring over hundreds or even thousands of suggestions. I received three. On a more positive note, two out of three of you (or 2/3's, if you will) think I am incredibly hot (this fraction comes directly from Ernst and Young. They are very reputable, therefore it is true). In the end, I picked one out of a hat. If you aren't amused, remember, it's all your fault. And do, please, participate this time...

The other day while playing the Family Feud Home Edition (now 2/3 of you also think I'm lame) I discovered a startling truth. To demonstrate, please split up into teams (boys against girls will do nicely, I think), and try to come up with the number one answers to these real-life questions from my favorite family-friendly game (remember to leave your answers in the comments section, so I can forward them on to Parker Brothers).
Let's play, The Family Feud!

1. Name something that jiggles.

2. Name something that rises.

3. Name something people do in bed that might annoy others.

4. Name something people want to take a shower after.

5. Name something people pass to one another.

6. Name a word or phrase containing the word "play."

7. Name something people aren't allowed to do at a public beach.

8. Name someone who's always "on call."

9. Name something people like to do when they're alone.

Mayo-Nays

I hate mayonnaise. A lot. And because I really can't abide it, I often seriously question the sanity of those who can. In my opinion, most people can be divided into two groups. Those who hate mayonnaise. And Lunatics.

As a mayo-hater I live in fear. Ordering a sandwich is a stressful occasion, as somehow, "No mayo, please" is frequently interpreted to mean, "Oh, mayonnaise! How delightful! Please give me extra! In fact, why even bother with meat and cheese? Load me up!" The odds of this happening increase exponentially when the waitress is, in fact, a mayo-loving lunatic herself.

In response to this rising epidemic, I have launched an anti-mayo campaign designed to restore good taste and decency to the culinary arts. Please join me in my effort to make ordering a sandwich safe again. And remember, dear readers, if you were anti-something, I'd join your campaign.

A Posse-tively Inspired Idea

I have decided to form a posse. Actually, the idea came to me several months ago in a flash of brilliance brought on by a chance encounter with a man dressed as a pirate and a woman in gold tennis shoes. "These people must be a part of my posse," I thought! But then I started thinking about other things, namely lunch, and forgot all about it. Until now. And now I've decided, once again, that I was really onto something with the posse idea.

Nursery Rhyme and Reason

I tend to kill things. Mainly plants (although, in all honesty, fish don't stand much of a chance either). The final numbers aren't in yet, but I think it breaks down something like this...

34- The number of plants I have purchased, named, and subsequently come to love.
33*- The number of plants I have somehow maimed, dismembered, or generally removed their will to live. (*this number is a bit sketchy, as I'm fairly certain the one remaining plant is either silk or on steroids).

Experts might say that, according to these numbers, I should feel nervous about the nanny position I just applied for. Hogwash! Certainly children are much easier to care for than your average houseplant. After all, they rarely wilt, and can tell you, with moderate accuracy, when it's time to be pruned or watered. Like I always say...why plant a seed, when it's so much easier to just raise someone else's.

Have It Your Way

This morning I woke up and drew several charts. One was a pie chart. The other was that other kind...you know, the one with the squiggly lines that either go up or down...does that kind even have a name? In any case, the results were both startling and conclusive. And my findings are thus...blog readership drops way way (I mean really abysmally low) down on Saturday, with only a slight upswing on Sunday (and let's face it, the upswing might just be a statistical anomaly). And while I don't like it, I'm chalking it up to you all having lives that, every now and then, don't have to include me. So, I will continue to write diligently throughout the weekends, knowing that most of you won't check back in until Monday morning.

Which leads me to my point (finally). Let's make next Monday morning really spectacular! And in order to make sure that that happens, I'm going to let you pick Monday's topic. Here are your options:

1. It's the Family Feud! I surveyed 100 people. Top 5 answers on the board.

2. Grammar-am-a-ding-dong. Part grammar bee. Part quiz show. And a whole lotta fun!

3. Choose your own adventure. Don't like either of my ideas (no, no, that's okay. I'll be fine), make up your own topic for me to wax poetic on (note from Jenn Marsala: Please do not vote for this rogue blogger's topic. It will only lead to anarchy).

Sooooo what'll it be? Will we go head to head in a little friendly family competition? Will we all learn why on earth i comes before e? Or will a rogue blogger lead us down a path of destruction.
Vote now, and let it be on your head...

It's A Mad Mad Mad Lib World

It is my belief that the readers of this blog are infinitely more intelligent and witty than the readers of most other blogs. They are better looking, per capita. Many posses super-human strength. On average they also have better singing voices. Yeah, you! And because you are all so smart, witty, incredibly good looking, and able to lift small vehicles while you belt out Hello Dolly, you have created some fabulous Mad-Libs. Below is the original. I think yours* is better. Go figure...

Jenn Marsala is Steamed (Then Lightly Sautéed)

(1) Jenn Marsala is upset. I mean her (2) panties are really in a twist. What follows is a list of her grievances against, well, everyone:

-(3) Six calls from the same persistent telemarketer before 9:30 am. She answers the (3) Sixth call. Yells, loudly...at someone from (4) St. Jude's Children's Hospital asking for a donation to save dying children. (1) Jenn Marsala is an ass. She is also going straight to hell. Possibly in a hand basket.

-Another phone call, this time from the boss. He tells her, somewhat cheekily, that her paycheck for somewhere in the vicinity of (5) $14 will be another 10 days late. Also can she work overtime on (6) Memorial Day? He wears a (7) very bad toupee, which she considers commenting on. Needs the (6) $14 and bites her tongue.

-Bites her tongue. Really hard.

-Pours a nice big bowl of (8) Cheerios. Out of the two containers of milk currently in the fridge, one is rancid. The other is completely empty. (9) Toast it is.

-Soon discovers she is also out of (10) toilet paper and (11) toothpaste. Wishes she had (5) $14.

-Decides a nap is in order. Suddenly, a neighbor develops a brief, albeit passionate, interest in (12) heavy metal guitar.

-Defeated, she retreats to the innermost recesses of her mind. Creates Mad-Lib for blog. Achieves sense of satisfaction and superiority, due to the fact that she knows what a dangling participle is. Take that, world!

*To see how clever my day could have been, you can view what everyone else came up with. Just open yesterday's comments window, place them next to today's blog, and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Mad Lib-eration

It has recently come to my attention that people love things that are interactive. According to this theory, if you do not love things that are interactive, you are hardly a person at all. At least not a person of any value to this particular blog on this particular day. Please visit again on Friday, when things will be excessively dull once again.

If, however, you do love things that are interactive (as my friend suspects you do), stick around and Mad Lib. Post your answers in the comments section today and return tomorrow to laugh and laugh and laugh. And please remember that a noun is a person, place, or thing. Knowledge of verbs, adverbs, or adjectives will be of no use to you at this time. And...go...

1. Girl's Name (First and Last, please):

2. Article of Clothing:

3. Unusually High Number:

4. Charitable Organization:

5. Unusually Low Number:

6. Holiday:

7. Ridiculous Article of Clothing:

8. Type of Cereal:

9. Food-Like Product:

10. Noun:

11. Noun:

12. Loud Activity:

Boys from Brazil, Behave

Apparently, I have become wildly and inexplicably famous among the people of Brazil. And while this craze has yet to catch on stateside, I suspect that like soccer and the bikini wax, I'll soon also be an American sensation.

Let's Be Astro-Logical Here

I caught someone living a lie today. And then, just because I was having a really bad day, I made her admit that her life was a sham. After all, you can't just go around pretending to be an Aquarius when you are clearly a Capricorn. That's like saying that Astrology is not a universal absolute that rules our lives with an unrelenting iron fist. Luckily, I am a Libra and would never go in for such rule breaking shenanigins.

(Excused) Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

If I did a survey and asked people to name their least favorite day of the week, I'm fairly confident that at least 56.4 percent of all people would say Monday. Which is, of course, correct. It has been proven by scientists somewhere, that Monday is not well liked (therefore it also has extremely low self-esteem. Unlike Saturday, which is very full of itself, indeed). Here's the part where my blog comes in handy for the 56.4 percent of you who are dreading Monday. I will provide you with an excuse to give your boss for missing work, and you, in turn, will stay home and read my blog instead. This one should do the trick...

Kidnapped by Pirates

If your boss, or his administrative assistant, should ask for proof, I would be more than happy to send you the weathered old treasure map that I oft faxed in when using this same excuse. Although I am fairly sure it leads to a rather delicious delicatessen on Fairfax.

You Learn Something New Everyday

Except yesterday. Yesterday I mainly ate pizza. In fact, if you divided yesterday neatly into three parts, it would appear thusly: First, think about eating pizza. Second, eat pizza. Third, eat more pizza. If I did, indeed, absorb anything (other than the aforementioned pizza), I can't recall. Today's shaping up to be equally productive. Right now I am thinking about hot dogs...

A Seperate Piece?

Just this morning I was taking a jaunt about the block when I happened upon an advertisement that would have me puzzling for the next several hours. Here is what it said...

Premier Construction

Specializing in all trades

"Call for the lowest prices in town AND piece of mind!"

Did you all pick up on the troubling bit? In case you didn't I'll type it again and this time I'll underline it, color it pink, and put it in a tutu.

"Call for the lowest prices in town AND piece of mind!"

Sooo easy to acquire piece of mind these days. I hear they're even beginning to hand them out to Republicans (of course you only receive one if you've recently done a kitchen or a bath remodel). Peace of mind, however, is much much more ellusive.

Funny enough, I spent a relatively short amount of time thinking about the mistake in the ad, and a disproportionately long time wondering if I should call them for some handywork (maybe a kitchen or a bath remodel). Or perhaps I'll just call and give them a peace of my mind.

Finally, A Reason To Live

Several months ago, I started a club. A safe haven where all of my unemployed friends could come together and make their days a little less meaningless and boring. And while we were all too lazy to actually organize any meetings, creating this club touched us all in a very deep and profound way. Here is the first and only assignment I ever sent out to our core membership...

There are a plethora of things to do today. Here are a few...

1. Go to the kitchen. Toast something. (See, we're being productive today already)

2. While in the kitchen, accidentally break some of your (or your mother's) finest china. Spend the next 10 minutes cleaning up the glass and cursing your ineptitude. (Time is enemy number one. Kill some with tedious chores)

3. Throw something away that you really like. (Goodbye favorite undies. Sayonara novelty Troll doll)

4. Whew, I'm tired already. But no napping yet! Shower. And then put on clean clothes. If you have a tuxedo or prom dress, now would be the time to wear it. (Wearing the same clothes day after day makes life seem longer. So put on a cummerbund and feel the hours slip sliding away)

5. Now that you are dressed, go on an outing...To the mailbox or lobby of your apt. No mail yet? Curse the mailman for holding up your whole day. Mail? Curse the mailman for none of it being for you (Because it isn't, is it? The truth is, people like us almost never get checks from anonymous donors. So stop looking for one, it will only depress you further).

6. Whew, very tired again. But resist the urge to nap or play dismal Elliott Smith ballads. Instead...skip. Or groove to the oldies. Or do Taebo with our friend Billy Blanks. (You can do all three if you like, but take it slowly. We're only trying to fill the day here. We're not trying to be heros)

7. You've probably worked up quite an appetite. What with all of that exercise and such. You've earned a Hotpocket. Don't have any? Eat some cheese. Drink a non-alcoholic beverage from a champagne flute. Pretend you are at a cocktail party at Buchingham Palace. Engage in witty banter with the toaster oven, refrigerator, and any other kitchen appliances worth talking to. (This will sharpen our social skills. Reminding us that real people are much better conversationalists than bread machines)

8. Play a boardgame. By yourself. Play both sides and see who wins. (This builds self-esteem, as, as a rule, you will almost always win)

9. Talk to a telemarketer. Ask about her day. Her relationship with her parents. What's her sign? Buy whatever it is she's selling. Ask if you can pay her in soup. (Meeting new people is key. And since we all know we're not leaving the house, this girl could be your new best friend or your future wife. Don't let an opportunity like this slip away)

10. Check your email. After all of this "thinking-outside-the-box" do something that reminds you of who you are...A loser without a job, in a very cool and exclusive club. (At this juncture you could also email me back. I'll be here. No really. Where else would I be? Work? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

Good luck and God Speed...

A Very Convincing Arguement

Him: Wanna do it?
Me: No thanks.
Him: C'mon.
Me: I see your point.

And "C'mon" takes it's rightful place among the pantheon of very convincing arguements (just adjacent to "Whatever" and "This tastes terrible. Try it.")

Bloggen ze Deutch?

Discovered blogging today and decided I must make it my next hobby. And while I'll probably give it up fairly soon in favor of some other bandwagon, here we are for now. Let's just enjoy this time together...

Here's the short list of things that I've recently taken up (and subsequently forgotten all about)
1. Knitting
2. Painting
3. Guitar
4. Jello-Moulding
5. Collecting state quarters
6. Cocaine (just joshing. I can't get off the stuff!)

So, that's it then. I've blogged. Now I'm going to get really coked up and mould some jello...