Okay, so tonight I went to the Chinese National Day here in Khartoum. I mean, I knew it was coming, I figured this would happen -- I chose shoes with lower heels -- BUT DAMNITT! I was (once again) a freakish giant.
WTF PEOPLE!? I'm 5'9" tall (Do your own math, I can't be trying to convert to the metric system -- I'm traumatized here!!!) It's not like I'm headed for the world record for tallness - In Montana I'm of average height - however, in DC, I'm effin tall -- But at Chinese National Day? I think I might have prompted the Chinese mission here to make a quick call to the Japanese Embassy to see if Mothra was on the loose! We're lucky Josh has not arrived yet...although he is not uber tall, once he gets here he will be the Godzilla to my Mothra. It's no wonder our relations with China are strained. They're all petite and adorable and I'm ....Let's just say, I'm NOT.
How humiliating is that?! Someone needs to send some damn whole milk to China!! I cannot continue to walk around town like this. I really hate to be referred to as that "big girl" over in the corner. (YES, I do realize I should not be in the corner but Damnitt, WTF?! Work with me here people!!!)
PLUS, (In keeping with the adding insult to injury theme of the evening ) there was press there (once again) and I live in fear that I am going to be on the Sudanese equivalent of "People" magazine and I"ll be the one they're claiming was the fashion don't with the big ole black box over their eyes - oh, we'll all know who it is. Isn't that MICHEL? OMG! That is soo hilarious (if you are not Michel)!!!
PLUS, the Embassy driver took me to the function tonight, and when getting out of the vehicle (onto the red carpet which SHOULD have been a cool thing) I ran my nylons on the running board. So then I had to walk up the red carpet and into the function with a big ole hole in my stockings.
Oh yes, you heard me. The person who represented the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA had runs in her nylons -- and they were NOT fashionably placed! U-effing-ganda is laughing at us right now!!! UGANDA PEOPLE!
That is NOT right...
I am so sorry you guys. the US of A is now a laughing stock in Khartoum. My stockings have derailed US policy. I don't even know what to do about this, other than what I did - which was yell "LIAR!" throw some business cards off to the side and run away.
What!? You got a better idea????
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Obviously, I Just Can't Do It....
Remember when I was all saying I was going to try really, really hard to be a better person?? How I was going to mind my mother and father and remember that if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?!
Well, Thanks a LOT mom and Dad! Now look what you've done!! NOW I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY!? So what the hell am I supposed to do now!?
Do you have any idea how very hard it has been for me to remain silent!? How very difficult it is for me not to throw out baseless accusations and digress into exaggerated hyperbole?? Frankly, I don't like this new and improved me -- it's not a good fit. It's UNPOSSIBLE for me to keep this up! If I do, I will simply end up a bitter, resentful, mute with a lotta opinions left unsaid.
That's not my way.
Therefore, I take back my vow of niceness -- my promise to be polite to others, kind to my fellow man, and not to make up shit for the sake of a story. My stories gotta be told! (Well, they gotta be told, but they're (frankly) boring if I tell them like they "really" happened. Nobody wants to hear that shit. Ergo, I will continue to make my stories "better.")
AS SUCH, heretofore, all my stories will begin with "No Shit! There I was...." I give fair warning that I will take credit for cool stuff other people do and write "by Michel" - usually in crayon - for anything worthy of notice. In fact, I should also demand that Little Debbie give me a kick back for all the new business I effing drummed up for that little whore. I believe it was me that started the Great Snack Cake Debate of 2008 where the merits of Little Debbie were held up to the more well known brands such as Hostess or Dolly Madison. (Or, maybe I just totally made that up, but it really would be a good topic for a debate. They should write that down for the next Presidential Campaign....) However, would it kill you to send me an effin thank you note Debbie (whom I'm not sure is likely that little anymore...her butt cannot remain unaffected by her tasty treats)??? I'm just sayin, One Might question your upbringing! A little kickback to the Little Debbie-less in Khartoum might go a long way toward your future of free advertising you two-bit ho.
SELFISH!
Obviously, it is clear that I might also have a future career in Politics. I seem to have all the required traits to be a successful one! Now, the only thing left to figure out is how I'm going to pull all this off without once again getting smoted. I suspect that the next time God decides to smote me, I will at least have had it coming!!
That seems fair.
Well, Thanks a LOT mom and Dad! Now look what you've done!! NOW I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY!? So what the hell am I supposed to do now!?
Do you have any idea how very hard it has been for me to remain silent!? How very difficult it is for me not to throw out baseless accusations and digress into exaggerated hyperbole?? Frankly, I don't like this new and improved me -- it's not a good fit. It's UNPOSSIBLE for me to keep this up! If I do, I will simply end up a bitter, resentful, mute with a lotta opinions left unsaid.
That's not my way.
Therefore, I take back my vow of niceness -- my promise to be polite to others, kind to my fellow man, and not to make up shit for the sake of a story. My stories gotta be told! (Well, they gotta be told, but they're (frankly) boring if I tell them like they "really" happened. Nobody wants to hear that shit. Ergo, I will continue to make my stories "better.")
AS SUCH, heretofore, all my stories will begin with "No Shit! There I was...." I give fair warning that I will take credit for cool stuff other people do and write "by Michel" - usually in crayon - for anything worthy of notice. In fact, I should also demand that Little Debbie give me a kick back for all the new business I effing drummed up for that little whore. I believe it was me that started the Great Snack Cake Debate of 2008 where the merits of Little Debbie were held up to the more well known brands such as Hostess or Dolly Madison. (Or, maybe I just totally made that up, but it really would be a good topic for a debate. They should write that down for the next Presidential Campaign....) However, would it kill you to send me an effin thank you note Debbie (whom I'm not sure is likely that little anymore...her butt cannot remain unaffected by her tasty treats)??? I'm just sayin, One Might question your upbringing! A little kickback to the Little Debbie-less in Khartoum might go a long way toward your future of free advertising you two-bit ho.
SELFISH!
Obviously, it is clear that I might also have a future career in Politics. I seem to have all the required traits to be a successful one! Now, the only thing left to figure out is how I'm going to pull all this off without once again getting smoted. I suspect that the next time God decides to smote me, I will at least have had it coming!!
That seems fair.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Dear Blogger,
What in the hell am I supposed to do with this?!!?!
I distinctly recall pushing "ENGLISH" when you asked me what language I would like to write my blog in (although I do admit that I briefly considered Navajo Wind Talker until I realized you have to KNOW the language to write in that language (which I kinda think is discriminatory). As such, I request that you fix this shit right now!!! I cannot work under these conditions!
Why you gotta ruin my flavah?
PLUS, What the hell do you mean, I'm "currently not following any blogs!?!" Do you know how long it took me to find those blogs?? THEN, I had to push that follow button and THEN you even made me push another button before it let me do it. There is obviously no respect for all the work I have put into this blog! Why I would literally come home and start typing nonsense that 4s of people PER DAY love to read. Granted, those people are my parents, Liz, and Dan, but STILL !
Haven't I been a loyal customer for all these 224 blogs I have posted?? Why, when I think of all the money I have poured into this blog (a figure reaching upwards of zero dollars) it just makes me sick.
It's like somehow you found out that I was waaay too lazy to leave you and try to create a new blog. I'm not sure how you figured this out, but I have just one thing to say to you: FOR SHAME!
If I weren't so lazy I would write a very strongly worded letter to the better business bureau. Obviously, you are benefiting from a very lucky coincidence!!
Best wishes,
Michel
I distinctly recall pushing "ENGLISH" when you asked me what language I would like to write my blog in (although I do admit that I briefly considered Navajo Wind Talker until I realized you have to KNOW the language to write in that language (which I kinda think is discriminatory). As such, I request that you fix this shit right now!!! I cannot work under these conditions!
Why you gotta ruin my flavah?
PLUS, What the hell do you mean, I'm "currently not following any blogs!?!" Do you know how long it took me to find those blogs?? THEN, I had to push that follow button and THEN you even made me push another button before it let me do it. There is obviously no respect for all the work I have put into this blog! Why I would literally come home and start typing nonsense that 4s of people PER DAY love to read. Granted, those people are my parents, Liz, and Dan, but STILL !
Haven't I been a loyal customer for all these 224 blogs I have posted?? Why, when I think of all the money I have poured into this blog (a figure reaching upwards of zero dollars) it just makes me sick.
It's like somehow you found out that I was waaay too lazy to leave you and try to create a new blog. I'm not sure how you figured this out, but I have just one thing to say to you: FOR SHAME!
If I weren't so lazy I would write a very strongly worded letter to the better business bureau. Obviously, you are benefiting from a very lucky coincidence!!
Best wishes,
Michel
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Holy Crap!!
I hate to say it, but the Sudanese are OBVIOUSLY smarter than we are!!! I don't know anyone back in the states who have trained their goats to do this:
I shit you not! That was taken on the bridge crossing the Blue Nile into Khartoum! (This is NOT photo-shopped - I don't even know how to do that - I kinda wish I did because I'd put my head on EVERYTHING and claim that I did amazing things like parting the Red Sea 2009-style!)
It's likely goat-abuse, but I think it is more likely Sudan's version of a shock and awe campaign -- because I had 'em both!!! Naturally, I almost killed myself, and likely caused an international incident while I tried to find my stupid camera, and then drive one-handed at approximately 2 mph (which is likely 76 km and hour -but math is hard! we'll obviously never know...) while I tried to focus the stupid thing - and it's a tad bit blurry - however, it's pure photographic GENIUS!
I should also note that I almost killed myself yet again (in a totally separate side of town, away from the first international incident) this afternoon when I was driving home. So you know how I told you guys all about the rainy season, right?? Well...what I have not mentioned previously (because it is frankly too horrific to talk about) is that the rainy season created a ginormous bug migration to Khartoum -- or maybe more bugs hatched -- I don't know, all I know is this place is one big effin' BUG FARM! There are so many mosquitoes (or malaria-mongers, as I like to call them) that the Sudanese government is starting to dust Khartoum with pesticide -- which I'm sure is environmentally safe, as well as safe for me to be misted with the stuff! ANYWAY, my point is - there are a hell of a lotta bugs.
So, I'm driving along, minding my own business, singing Brittney Spears at the top of my lungs when I feel something drop from the top of my head down my shirt!!! Then, I feel it crawling - so I did what any sane, mature person would do - I totally freaked out and start ripping my shirt off to get the monster out of my shirt. What I forgot, as it turns out, was that I was STILL DRIVING. Nobody panic though - I got the bug - and it turned out it was NOT (as I had feared) a scorpion. (It was a tiny little beetle bug. BUT it was hugely SCARY!!)
Anyway, let's just suffice it to say that today, I'm sure there were a few calls to the Sudanese police to report a crazy diplomatic plated vehicle. Therefore, I'm considering requesting a new car ...
I think it's for the best.
I shit you not! That was taken on the bridge crossing the Blue Nile into Khartoum! (This is NOT photo-shopped - I don't even know how to do that - I kinda wish I did because I'd put my head on EVERYTHING and claim that I did amazing things like parting the Red Sea 2009-style!)
It's likely goat-abuse, but I think it is more likely Sudan's version of a shock and awe campaign -- because I had 'em both!!! Naturally, I almost killed myself, and likely caused an international incident while I tried to find my stupid camera, and then drive one-handed at approximately 2 mph (which is likely 76 km and hour -but math is hard! we'll obviously never know...) while I tried to focus the stupid thing - and it's a tad bit blurry - however, it's pure photographic GENIUS!
I should also note that I almost killed myself yet again (in a totally separate side of town, away from the first international incident) this afternoon when I was driving home. So you know how I told you guys all about the rainy season, right?? Well...what I have not mentioned previously (because it is frankly too horrific to talk about) is that the rainy season created a ginormous bug migration to Khartoum -- or maybe more bugs hatched -- I don't know, all I know is this place is one big effin' BUG FARM! There are so many mosquitoes (or malaria-mongers, as I like to call them) that the Sudanese government is starting to dust Khartoum with pesticide -- which I'm sure is environmentally safe, as well as safe for me to be misted with the stuff! ANYWAY, my point is - there are a hell of a lotta bugs.
So, I'm driving along, minding my own business, singing Brittney Spears at the top of my lungs when I feel something drop from the top of my head down my shirt!!! Then, I feel it crawling - so I did what any sane, mature person would do - I totally freaked out and start ripping my shirt off to get the monster out of my shirt. What I forgot, as it turns out, was that I was STILL DRIVING. Nobody panic though - I got the bug - and it turned out it was NOT (as I had feared) a scorpion. (It was a tiny little beetle bug. BUT it was hugely SCARY!!)
Anyway, let's just suffice it to say that today, I'm sure there were a few calls to the Sudanese police to report a crazy diplomatic plated vehicle. Therefore, I'm considering requesting a new car ...
I think it's for the best.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Damnitt! That was WINTER!?
So the last few weeks were relatively cool...I think one day it was even in the low 90s at night. You could walk around outside and not feel like you were going to die, and in my book (the current one, not the book I had in DC) that's some kind of wonderful!!
The sad, sad part of this story is that apparently that was Sudan's winter. Today it was back up to 42 degrees celsius - and although I still have not managed to figure out what that means to us Americans with our Farenheit (the clearly superior way to measure temperature because I can understand what it means without having to go outside and go, WTF!?) - that's Effin HOT! Although at first you walk out and you're all, ooh, that's so nice! (because you were in the AC where some boy had control of the settings and figured that 52 was a good temperature for a conference room) but then within approximately 17 seconds you realize that you can look at your arm and see it turning the color of mahogany and the texture of luggage and you realize that perhaps you spoke too soon. Perhaps.
So apparently, winter packed up its bags and said "Screw you guys, I'm going home" to Sudan and I totally didn't take the time to treasure the moment or to get out and enjoy the holiday season. I realize - now that it is over - that I spent my whole Ramadan and 'Id holiday totally focused on how I couldn't get any food - even though we actually HAVE food in our houses and if I would just plan ahead I could get food -- but then once again my food obsession has RUINED EVERYTHING for me!!!
PLUS, I have also noticed that in my quest to find food - I was waaaaay successful. My pants are tight and apparently my ribcage is expanding and my arms are growing longer. Now normally, I would start my rambling excuses that Sudan is shrinking my shit and that they're totally trying to bring me down; however, I feel that I must admit the truth this time: I totally found food! (Check out that last sentence with the punctuation abomination! Oh yeah, I totally did that. I don't even care. What now smarties?) As such, I must now hide food from me and not just pretend to exercise, I might actually have to do it.
*GASP* I KNOW! That is SOOO not right!
Now normally, this confluence of weather and potential weight gain would likely send me into a tail spin of self-pity, however, this time is different. Why, you ask??
BECAUSE..... this time I have a blackberry and I no longer have to be humiliated when my phone rings and I answer my Nokia that came free with the cell phone plan while the 'fugees who live in the tent withe plastic tarp roof they just rolled up after the rainy season ended, check their email on their iPhones and then look at me with pity and shake their heads as I type each number 3 times in order to get the next letter (FORGET about the effin punctuation!) for my text message.
SO MY POINT IS (and I think I might have one) Blackberry's make everything better. And please...refrain from pointing out who much cooler the iPhone is - I KNOW this! However, I'm handicapped because my husband refuses to become a plastic surgeon and support my iPhone habit!
GREAT! Now I'm all depressed again! Shit!
The sad, sad part of this story is that apparently that was Sudan's winter. Today it was back up to 42 degrees celsius - and although I still have not managed to figure out what that means to us Americans with our Farenheit (the clearly superior way to measure temperature because I can understand what it means without having to go outside and go, WTF!?) - that's Effin HOT! Although at first you walk out and you're all, ooh, that's so nice! (because you were in the AC where some boy had control of the settings and figured that 52 was a good temperature for a conference room) but then within approximately 17 seconds you realize that you can look at your arm and see it turning the color of mahogany and the texture of luggage and you realize that perhaps you spoke too soon. Perhaps.
So apparently, winter packed up its bags and said "Screw you guys, I'm going home" to Sudan and I totally didn't take the time to treasure the moment or to get out and enjoy the holiday season. I realize - now that it is over - that I spent my whole Ramadan and 'Id holiday totally focused on how I couldn't get any food - even though we actually HAVE food in our houses and if I would just plan ahead I could get food -- but then once again my food obsession has RUINED EVERYTHING for me!!!
PLUS, I have also noticed that in my quest to find food - I was waaaaay successful. My pants are tight and apparently my ribcage is expanding and my arms are growing longer. Now normally, I would start my rambling excuses that Sudan is shrinking my shit and that they're totally trying to bring me down; however, I feel that I must admit the truth this time: I totally found food! (Check out that last sentence with the punctuation abomination! Oh yeah, I totally did that. I don't even care. What now smarties?) As such, I must now hide food from me and not just pretend to exercise, I might actually have to do it.
*GASP* I KNOW! That is SOOO not right!
Now normally, this confluence of weather and potential weight gain would likely send me into a tail spin of self-pity, however, this time is different. Why, you ask??
BECAUSE..... this time I have a blackberry and I no longer have to be humiliated when my phone rings and I answer my Nokia that came free with the cell phone plan while the 'fugees who live in the tent withe plastic tarp roof they just rolled up after the rainy season ended, check their email on their iPhones and then look at me with pity and shake their heads as I type each number 3 times in order to get the next letter (FORGET about the effin punctuation!) for my text message.
SO MY POINT IS (and I think I might have one) Blackberry's make everything better. And please...refrain from pointing out who much cooler the iPhone is - I KNOW this! However, I'm handicapped because my husband refuses to become a plastic surgeon and support my iPhone habit!
GREAT! Now I'm all depressed again! Shit!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Career Progression...
So I've been trying to figure out a way to get ahead at work - you know, without having to actually do something (because that's simply not my way). Apparently, my Plan B - where Josh miraculously becomes a cosmetic surgeon (OMG how cool would that be?!?! I get all teary-eyed just thinking about it) and then I quit my job and stay at home to pursue my life long dream of not having to work - is obviously not going to come to fruition. WHY? Because Josh refuses to go to medical school - telling me that "because you don't want to go to work is not a reason for me to go into a career field in which I have no interest..."
SELFISH!
So today I was trying to think of why Josh would be so hateful to me - forcing me to work, claiming I need to be nice to people, that I shouldn't bitch so much on my blog -- obviously, the man doesn't understand me and my artisitic (aka bitchy) ways. But then I thought, maybe it's not about me - maybe he has his own ideas for his future career options and perhaps I should think about how I can help him achieve those goals.
HAHAHAH!! OMG! I totally crack myself up! Not about me!?!? Priceless!
ANYWAY, since Josh isn't going to enable my future laziness, I figured out what it is I have to do: turn to a life of crime!! It's so simple, it is BRILLIANT! I was all excited there for about 5 minutes! I was thinking I could recruit Minoy and Liz into my semi-organized crime ring and we could start this big crime syndicate -- but then I realized two things: (a) that sounds like more work than my regular job; and (b) there is NOTHING I want to steal here!! As far as I know, there's no market for dirt!
Damnitt!! So now I'm back to having to go back to work tomorrow AND since Josh clearly is not going to fulfill my life-long dream of being married to a cosmetic surgeon, I obviously have to get up and pretend to exercise before I go to the office and pretend to work.
Where the hell is the humanitarian organization for people in my situation?? Someone should start a fund.
SELFISH!
So today I was trying to think of why Josh would be so hateful to me - forcing me to work, claiming I need to be nice to people, that I shouldn't bitch so much on my blog -- obviously, the man doesn't understand me and my artisitic (aka bitchy) ways. But then I thought, maybe it's not about me - maybe he has his own ideas for his future career options and perhaps I should think about how I can help him achieve those goals.
HAHAHAH!! OMG! I totally crack myself up! Not about me!?!? Priceless!
ANYWAY, since Josh isn't going to enable my future laziness, I figured out what it is I have to do: turn to a life of crime!! It's so simple, it is BRILLIANT! I was all excited there for about 5 minutes! I was thinking I could recruit Minoy and Liz into my semi-organized crime ring and we could start this big crime syndicate -- but then I realized two things: (a) that sounds like more work than my regular job; and (b) there is NOTHING I want to steal here!! As far as I know, there's no market for dirt!
Damnitt!! So now I'm back to having to go back to work tomorrow AND since Josh clearly is not going to fulfill my life-long dream of being married to a cosmetic surgeon, I obviously have to get up and pretend to exercise before I go to the office and pretend to work.
Where the hell is the humanitarian organization for people in my situation?? Someone should start a fund.
Monday, September 21, 2009
It's Almost That Time of Year!!!
It's almost Halloween!! I truly heart Halloween. Not even the month of scary movies with gory shit that freaks me out on TV can put me off this most sacred of candy giving out holidays!! (Plus, I don't have TV here, so it is even better this year!!) AND, if that wasn't enough to reel you into naming it the BESTEST HOLIDAY EVER, they also add in the extra bonus of someone always throws a kick-ass Halloween party where you are allowed to dress up like an idiot, get all drunk and obnoxious, and then claim it wasn't you because you were in the Cinderella costume because you're a gentle princess, not the drunken Cupid with the bow and arrows -- I mean, that would totally be immature and unprofessional! Although I totally am both of those, you obviously must have mixed me up with someone else. Someone that looks like me, but is not me. You know, that other guy -- DOOY!
Anyway, the Embassy here is going to throw a Halloween Party and they are having a costume party! And even though, I never speak to anyone in the Embassy unless I absolutely have to and/or I need something, I really think I can win this -- but obviously, it is not going to be on looks and charm. Therefore, this is why I need you guys! I need suggestions!!
Now before you guys (Otin) start throwing out things like "slutty nurse, slutty waitress, or slutty target checkout girl - please note that I am officially too old to pull off slutty -- and, dare I say it?? Perhaps a bit too chubby. Chubby slutty = desperate and lonely. Josh isn't here. I don't need labels!
Also, apparently last year, some rocket scientist decided it would be awesome to dress up like a pirate - but a Somali Pirate. So he gets all trashed at a pre-party (we don't mess around here in Sudan) and then rolls up to the gate dressed as a Somali pirate yelling and stuff. (Snaps for being in character, though)
Now, for those of you who may not know this, write this down: It is not a good idea to go to a function at a US Government installation, in a country known to have hosted Usama Bin Ladin back in the day, dressed as a terrorist with a plastic AK strapped to your back.
Apparently, the security officers and Sudanese authorities do not think it is amusing. They will let you know how unfunny you are in a Sudanese detention center. Your parting gift is a round trip ticket home.
Ergo, let's avoid any terroristy type costumes. For safety reasons.
SO, What do you got!? Those of us who are too lazy to think for ourselves need to know!
PS I've already started stocking up on Candy
PPS So far all I have found is that crappy arab candy that nobody really wants to eat so I likely won't gain 72 pounds like I do when I'm in the states and left unattended.
PPPS I also cannot go as Little Debbie (which makes me weep) because nobody here would know what the hell I was and I cannot walk around with a SIGN....
PPPPS Maybe I could....
Anyway, the Embassy here is going to throw a Halloween Party and they are having a costume party! And even though, I never speak to anyone in the Embassy unless I absolutely have to and/or I need something, I really think I can win this -- but obviously, it is not going to be on looks and charm. Therefore, this is why I need you guys! I need suggestions!!
Now before you guys (Otin) start throwing out things like "slutty nurse, slutty waitress, or slutty target checkout girl - please note that I am officially too old to pull off slutty -- and, dare I say it?? Perhaps a bit too chubby. Chubby slutty = desperate and lonely. Josh isn't here. I don't need labels!
Also, apparently last year, some rocket scientist decided it would be awesome to dress up like a pirate - but a Somali Pirate. So he gets all trashed at a pre-party (we don't mess around here in Sudan) and then rolls up to the gate dressed as a Somali pirate yelling and stuff. (Snaps for being in character, though)
Now, for those of you who may not know this, write this down: It is not a good idea to go to a function at a US Government installation, in a country known to have hosted Usama Bin Ladin back in the day, dressed as a terrorist with a plastic AK strapped to your back.
Apparently, the security officers and Sudanese authorities do not think it is amusing. They will let you know how unfunny you are in a Sudanese detention center. Your parting gift is a round trip ticket home.
Ergo, let's avoid any terroristy type costumes. For safety reasons.
SO, What do you got!? Those of us who are too lazy to think for ourselves need to know!
PS I've already started stocking up on Candy
PPS So far all I have found is that crappy arab candy that nobody really wants to eat so I likely won't gain 72 pounds like I do when I'm in the states and left unattended.
PPPS I also cannot go as Little Debbie (which makes me weep) because nobody here would know what the hell I was and I cannot walk around with a SIGN....
PPPPS Maybe I could....
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I Hate to Call Anyone a Whore...
No, that's not true. I totally love that. Seriously, it's one of my most favorite things to do...mostly because it shocks everyone when you're all having a conversation and everyone is kinda annoyed by the lady who orders the supplies because we're out of blue pens and are only left with crappy black or red ones and then everyone starts to get upset because they have to go to a meeting and have been named the "notetaker" (aka slave) and can't find a pen -- and that's when I like to yell, "That WHORE!"
Seriously. Try it once. It's priceless. I HIGHLY recommend it. *unless of course the lady who orders the blue pens is actually in the room, then I do not recommend it as highly. As it turns out, not "everyone" will think it is funny in that case. (As I found out later. I call that valuable lesson number 798.)
However, that was not my point - my point is that Momma Dog is knocked up again. WTF Mommy Dog!?
We now call her, "Smelly Pirate Whore." (I wonder if that will fit on one of those bone collar things you get in case your dog gets lost. I'm gonna order one of those. What? It's descriptive.)
Honestly, you start helping out with the care and feeding of one single mother around here and suddenly she just stops working, lays around all day and then has more kids because she thinks she's going to get some kinda welfare windfall.
THINK AGAIN SMELLY PIRATE HO!
Honestly though. What the hell am I going to do with another litter of dingos!? Why the hell can't one of them get a job!? Where the hell is their deadbeat dad!? Why are they more excited to get a piece of bread than a pig ear??
Is there some kinda day after pill for puppies?? If not, then Smelly Pirate Ho just earned herself an all expense paid trip to the vet. She is certainly not going to be a happy ho.
She'll probably sue me.
Seriously. Try it once. It's priceless. I HIGHLY recommend it. *unless of course the lady who orders the blue pens is actually in the room, then I do not recommend it as highly. As it turns out, not "everyone" will think it is funny in that case. (As I found out later. I call that valuable lesson number 798.)
However, that was not my point - my point is that Momma Dog is knocked up again. WTF Mommy Dog!?
We now call her, "Smelly Pirate Whore." (I wonder if that will fit on one of those bone collar things you get in case your dog gets lost. I'm gonna order one of those. What? It's descriptive.)
Honestly, you start helping out with the care and feeding of one single mother around here and suddenly she just stops working, lays around all day and then has more kids because she thinks she's going to get some kinda welfare windfall.
THINK AGAIN SMELLY PIRATE HO!
Honestly though. What the hell am I going to do with another litter of dingos!? Why the hell can't one of them get a job!? Where the hell is their deadbeat dad!? Why are they more excited to get a piece of bread than a pig ear??
Is there some kinda day after pill for puppies?? If not, then Smelly Pirate Ho just earned herself an all expense paid trip to the vet. She is certainly not going to be a happy ho.
She'll probably sue me.
Friday, September 18, 2009
WTF!! It's FRIDAY!?
What I would like to know is what the hell happened to the rest of my week!?!?
I've pretty much been in a lack of sleep induced trance-like state because it is the last week of Ramadan - 'Id starts probably on Sunday or Monday, and there has been a ton of invitations and social events here -- social events that start at like 10 pm and end at 0200 (for me, mostly because I get up and walk out because I'm worried I'm going to pass out in their house and then they'll freak out that there is a dead American Diplomat in their house, panic, and throw me in the Nile! And if the crocodiles don't eat me, a parasite will definitely get me. It's just better for all involved if I leave.) Anyway, the embassy - because it is still a US Government institution (and, therefore, is forbidden from using any common sense in its decisions) is open for business at 8 am and expects me to not only show up, but to be out of my pajamas and have combed my hair and brushed my teeth as well.
HATEFUL!
So anyway, after this weekend Ramadan is officially over! I will be able to get lunch! And this is a really really good thing, not only am I unusually crabby, the Sudanese are SUPER crabby. I am not sure this is what God/Allah had in mind when he started the whole fasting thing...I am not sure we were supposed to turn the whole schedule around and stay up really late to each a ton of food and then be extra miserable in the day because you're not only starving because you stretched out your tummy, but you're exhausted because you have not had any sleep.
But then, I'm not a religious scholar. How the hell would I know what he intended? I'm just guessin' here....
So, as I was leaving for work yesterday morning and noticed that even the dingos I've adopted are exhausted by the ramadan schedule. They weren't waiting to greet me and ruin the clothes I put on for work with their dirty paws. I was kinda worried that they were hurt or something, and then I saw this:
Is it wrong that I am jealous that they are pretty much homeless and don't have a job and can, therefore, sleep???
I really, really wish I was a dingo right now.....
I've pretty much been in a lack of sleep induced trance-like state because it is the last week of Ramadan - 'Id starts probably on Sunday or Monday, and there has been a ton of invitations and social events here -- social events that start at like 10 pm and end at 0200 (for me, mostly because I get up and walk out because I'm worried I'm going to pass out in their house and then they'll freak out that there is a dead American Diplomat in their house, panic, and throw me in the Nile! And if the crocodiles don't eat me, a parasite will definitely get me. It's just better for all involved if I leave.) Anyway, the embassy - because it is still a US Government institution (and, therefore, is forbidden from using any common sense in its decisions) is open for business at 8 am and expects me to not only show up, but to be out of my pajamas and have combed my hair and brushed my teeth as well.
HATEFUL!
So anyway, after this weekend Ramadan is officially over! I will be able to get lunch! And this is a really really good thing, not only am I unusually crabby, the Sudanese are SUPER crabby. I am not sure this is what God/Allah had in mind when he started the whole fasting thing...I am not sure we were supposed to turn the whole schedule around and stay up really late to each a ton of food and then be extra miserable in the day because you're not only starving because you stretched out your tummy, but you're exhausted because you have not had any sleep.
But then, I'm not a religious scholar. How the hell would I know what he intended? I'm just guessin' here....
So, as I was leaving for work yesterday morning and noticed that even the dingos I've adopted are exhausted by the ramadan schedule. They weren't waiting to greet me and ruin the clothes I put on for work with their dirty paws. I was kinda worried that they were hurt or something, and then I saw this:
Is it wrong that I am jealous that they are pretty much homeless and don't have a job and can, therefore, sleep???
I really, really wish I was a dingo right now.....
Monday, September 14, 2009
To Whom It May Concern in Washington, DC
It has come to my attention that the embassy in Khartoum is subject to excessively harsh mail sending restrictions, much more than the other posts around the world. I would like to bring this issue to your attention because I believe that there may have been some sort of mistake - that you could not have possibly meant to restrict the size of the outgoing mail to be smaller than a VHS box as the oh so friendly mail clerk here at post informed me. For example, instructed me that my T-shirt was "oversized" and would not be allowed in the outgoing mail from Khartoum.
At first I got all affronted because I was trying to mail an US Embassy, Khartoum T-shirt to this freak - I mean, my friend Otin - although God only knows why because I have recently found out that he likes those one "Chunky" candy bars. Remember that?? THAT SHIT HAD RAISINS IN IT! Grapes nobody wanted that were just left laying around until someone was like, "hmmm...I bet if we threw that into a candy bar, nobody would notice." and then realized it had to be a chocolate one because you'd totally spot that shit otherwise. When nobody -- except Otin apparently - liked that, they ended up throwing them in a fruit cake because they knew that nobody would ever eat that shit and its not like the Raisins are going to go bad - they're already dead grapes. What the hell were you thinking Otin??
However, because I tolerate all kinds of freaks and "respect" your right to eat all the shit I don't want - I was still going to send him the shirt because, Whatever! I don't judge! (OMG!! I couldn't even say that last sentence with a straight face!!!)
Then the monster pointed out that it was not the size of the shirt he was discriminating against, it was the size of the box - and he pointed out a VHS case (which I believe might have once held "Tootsie" in it) and told me that I was not going to send anything out of his office larger than that.
HE IS NOT THE MAIL FAIRY!!!
ANYWAY, I am sending this letter to simply highlight to you that (a) nobody uses VHS any longer and I'm not sure where in the hell we are supposed to get a box that will fit your specifications; (b) I have recently gathered a bunch of Africrap from around here that I was PLANNING on sending to people in order to buy their friendship. (*Why you gotta ruin my flavah!?); and (c) What the hell kinda training course do you send these mailmen to? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TRAINING THEM TO BE "POSTAL" in Sudan as well??
I don't think you understand what you have done here. You made them into a mailman and now these "mailmen" are starving themselves during daylight hours for Ramadan, essentially turning themselves into rabid beasts by 3 pm.
As such, I would appreciate your assistance to rectify this situation. Poor Otin will be sitting in tears awaiting his shirt. Little Blognut won't get her bracelet made of real, genuine "product" as the man told me as he lovingly pulled it out for me to see...(oooh. Ahhh...product!) Do you have any idea how rare materials made of "product" are these days??
In the interim while I assume you create your study groups and they draft their 30 page findings, I would appreciate it if you would send me some Kevlar. I'm no longer Afraid Sudan is going to get me, I'm now having nightmares about the mailman.
Thank you for your anticipated cooperation in this regard.
Sincerely,
Michel
At first I got all affronted because I was trying to mail an US Embassy, Khartoum T-shirt to this freak - I mean, my friend Otin - although God only knows why because I have recently found out that he likes those one "Chunky" candy bars. Remember that?? THAT SHIT HAD RAISINS IN IT! Grapes nobody wanted that were just left laying around until someone was like, "hmmm...I bet if we threw that into a candy bar, nobody would notice." and then realized it had to be a chocolate one because you'd totally spot that shit otherwise. When nobody -- except Otin apparently - liked that, they ended up throwing them in a fruit cake because they knew that nobody would ever eat that shit and its not like the Raisins are going to go bad - they're already dead grapes. What the hell were you thinking Otin??
However, because I tolerate all kinds of freaks and "respect" your right to eat all the shit I don't want - I was still going to send him the shirt because, Whatever! I don't judge! (OMG!! I couldn't even say that last sentence with a straight face!!!)
Then the monster pointed out that it was not the size of the shirt he was discriminating against, it was the size of the box - and he pointed out a VHS case (which I believe might have once held "Tootsie" in it) and told me that I was not going to send anything out of his office larger than that.
HE IS NOT THE MAIL FAIRY!!!
ANYWAY, I am sending this letter to simply highlight to you that (a) nobody uses VHS any longer and I'm not sure where in the hell we are supposed to get a box that will fit your specifications; (b) I have recently gathered a bunch of Africrap from around here that I was PLANNING on sending to people in order to buy their friendship. (*Why you gotta ruin my flavah!?); and (c) What the hell kinda training course do you send these mailmen to? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TRAINING THEM TO BE "POSTAL" in Sudan as well??
I don't think you understand what you have done here. You made them into a mailman and now these "mailmen" are starving themselves during daylight hours for Ramadan, essentially turning themselves into rabid beasts by 3 pm.
As such, I would appreciate your assistance to rectify this situation. Poor Otin will be sitting in tears awaiting his shirt. Little Blognut won't get her bracelet made of real, genuine "product" as the man told me as he lovingly pulled it out for me to see...(oooh. Ahhh...product!) Do you have any idea how rare materials made of "product" are these days??
In the interim while I assume you create your study groups and they draft their 30 page findings, I would appreciate it if you would send me some Kevlar. I'm no longer Afraid Sudan is going to get me, I'm now having nightmares about the mailman.
Thank you for your anticipated cooperation in this regard.
Sincerely,
Michel
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Dear Starbucks,
I know you don't know me - well, maybe you might recall that I was in your store approximately 2,432 times over the course of my stay in the WDC area, demanding random things (and for the record those dark chocolate almonds dusted with sea salt ROCK. Well done my friends!!) However, that is not the purpose of my letter.
I am writing you a letter on behalf of my friend Blognut. She was recently the victim of identity theft. (I KNOW, scary right?! You can totally sympathize, right??) Imagine her horror when she realizes that someone masquerading as her wrote you a letter telling you that she wanted to break up for some silly, nonsensical reason. I wanted to ensure that you understood that she is the victim in this case, none of that was true, and she has since taken legal action to rectify her loss of identity.
She is horrified that you may have thought that it really was her who broke up with you guys and that she would do so for such a silly, petty, reason. I mean, its not like you DISCONTINUED the pumpkin spice latte or those fabulous frosted holiday sugar cookies you make (because that, my friends, would mean war). No, the letter was obviously fraudulent.
In the interim, I just wanted to send you a letter to ensure that you didn't happen to take offense at any of the silly statements in that letter, and if you did, to know that it was NOT in fact Blognut. I know that a kind and environmentally responsible company such as yourself would never deny Blognut the Pumpkin Spice Latte or other tasty holiday beverages. Of course not! That would be petty and small minded.
Starbucks you're just better than that.
Therefore, I would appreciate it if you could remove her photo from your barista's most hated list of those who should not be served, and allow her to return to your stores. In times like this, when someone has clearly been a victim to a crime, we should all bond together and build strong support networks.
As I know you will undoubtedly feel very bad for her plight, I just know that she would be amazed and humbled if you not only allowed her to return to your stores, but also gave her a free Grande Pumpkin Spice Latte (not the non-fat one, I'm sorry to tell you this, but that is NOT GOOD! Apparently, the fat is a necessary ingredient. Please make a note of that for my future ordering because I may be on one of my "kicks" where I think I will be healthy and want to lose weight - that's ridiculous. I'll just be miserable and take it out on your store. It's safer for all around if you just nod and give me the real deal....)
Your most loyal customer,
Michel
PS I, too, would appreciate a pumpkin spice latte. Please open a starbucks in the US Embassy in Khartoum -- well, I'd wait until the new Embassy they are building is finished. The old one smells funny. It would be hard to work under those conditions. I assume, however, that you will send out someone from Seattle to make my coffee until such time as you can open your store in the new Embassy???
I am writing you a letter on behalf of my friend Blognut. She was recently the victim of identity theft. (I KNOW, scary right?! You can totally sympathize, right??) Imagine her horror when she realizes that someone masquerading as her wrote you a letter telling you that she wanted to break up for some silly, nonsensical reason. I wanted to ensure that you understood that she is the victim in this case, none of that was true, and she has since taken legal action to rectify her loss of identity.
She is horrified that you may have thought that it really was her who broke up with you guys and that she would do so for such a silly, petty, reason. I mean, its not like you DISCONTINUED the pumpkin spice latte or those fabulous frosted holiday sugar cookies you make (because that, my friends, would mean war). No, the letter was obviously fraudulent.
In the interim, I just wanted to send you a letter to ensure that you didn't happen to take offense at any of the silly statements in that letter, and if you did, to know that it was NOT in fact Blognut. I know that a kind and environmentally responsible company such as yourself would never deny Blognut the Pumpkin Spice Latte or other tasty holiday beverages. Of course not! That would be petty and small minded.
Starbucks you're just better than that.
Therefore, I would appreciate it if you could remove her photo from your barista's most hated list of those who should not be served, and allow her to return to your stores. In times like this, when someone has clearly been a victim to a crime, we should all bond together and build strong support networks.
As I know you will undoubtedly feel very bad for her plight, I just know that she would be amazed and humbled if you not only allowed her to return to your stores, but also gave her a free Grande Pumpkin Spice Latte (not the non-fat one, I'm sorry to tell you this, but that is NOT GOOD! Apparently, the fat is a necessary ingredient. Please make a note of that for my future ordering because I may be on one of my "kicks" where I think I will be healthy and want to lose weight - that's ridiculous. I'll just be miserable and take it out on your store. It's safer for all around if you just nod and give me the real deal....)
Your most loyal customer,
Michel
PS I, too, would appreciate a pumpkin spice latte. Please open a starbucks in the US Embassy in Khartoum -- well, I'd wait until the new Embassy they are building is finished. The old one smells funny. It would be hard to work under those conditions. I assume, however, that you will send out someone from Seattle to make my coffee until such time as you can open your store in the new Embassy???
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Just Thinking About it Makes Me Bummed!
It is officially mid-September. Why is this significant you ask?? Because!! That means it is now officially Fall!!! Fall is my most favorite season...ever! (Right behind Spring, Summer and Christmas.) Fall is the season where you can start layering your clothing, which means that you can finally disguise the muffin-top with a bunch of alternating waistlines created by clothing! Is it there? No...maybe there? Is that a lump or just another layer!? (SEE!! We NEED that kinda uncertainty when it comes to dressing - if you HAVE a muffin top, you understand me!)
Fall is also the season when all the great USG holidays start. Granted, they are all kinda lumped in there together which totally SEEMS like a great idea while you're getting them, but then you hit March and you're all WTF?! Not till the end of MAY!? My GOD man! Can the USG get ANYTHING right??
Fall is when Halloween - the most holiest of all holidays (because it involves free candy) comes around. Naturally, not wanting to be caught without something to give the kiddies (because I'm just naturally good around children) I will normally begin to stock up on said candy in September.
And then I proceed to hide it around the house.
Unhidden, it will call to me to test it for safety reasons. You never really can be too safe with our kids these days. Why what if it were POISONED!? You don't know - which is why I selflessly throw myself in front of the bag of chocolate bars - but not the Mr. Goodbar. That shit is yucky. No self-respecting kid wants that shit. (Interesting fun fact: I adore the Mounds bars, but not really the Almond Joy. I mean, I would totally eat an Almond Joy - don't get me wrong - but if it had to choose...I would choose Mounds. -- I'm just throwing it out there Mom and/or Mel....just throwing it out there.)
HOWEVER, the best candy bar ever - in the history of the world....is the 100 Grand Bar! Remember those?? They only seem to be available at Halloween. Liz and I used to buy bags of that shit and then hide it from our families (I was just pretending. Josh won't eat candy - but he would judge me if I were to say...eat a whole bag of those candy bars and then wake up on the basement floor surrounded by distinct red wrappers and the boys, who have red wrappers stuck to their fur. -- Kernel had a wrapper stuck to the side of his head. The little shit totally dimed me out by running up the stairs to greet him from his return from a camping trip with Jake. Et tu, Brute? I bought you a cheeseburger with no pickles or onions!! HOW COULD YOU!?)
However, the worst part of missing fall in the US of A is that fall is Pumpkin Spice Latte Season at Starbucks!!! Believe me! The Gingerbread or the Egg Nog Latte cannot even compare!! It is like drinking a little cup of heaven - although, if I'm going in, I totally get the biggest cup of heaven they have to offer! Everybody knows that my most favorite thing in the whole wide world is to get a huge cup of piping hot liquid pie, disguised as a tasty breakfast beverage! "What's that Josh?? Oh? This? Just coffee. Of course I got you a cup too! Cream, no sugar, right??" SUCKAH.
So right now I envy most of you guys - EVEN you guys in Canada because you also have access to tasty Starbucks beverages. So if you guys care for me - even just a little - you will go hold up a starbucks and then send me the pumpkin spice latte mix.
I'm just sayin... a true friend would do it!
Fall is also the season when all the great USG holidays start. Granted, they are all kinda lumped in there together which totally SEEMS like a great idea while you're getting them, but then you hit March and you're all WTF?! Not till the end of MAY!? My GOD man! Can the USG get ANYTHING right??
Fall is when Halloween - the most holiest of all holidays (because it involves free candy) comes around. Naturally, not wanting to be caught without something to give the kiddies (because I'm just naturally good around children) I will normally begin to stock up on said candy in September.
And then I proceed to hide it around the house.
Unhidden, it will call to me to test it for safety reasons. You never really can be too safe with our kids these days. Why what if it were POISONED!? You don't know - which is why I selflessly throw myself in front of the bag of chocolate bars - but not the Mr. Goodbar. That shit is yucky. No self-respecting kid wants that shit. (Interesting fun fact: I adore the Mounds bars, but not really the Almond Joy. I mean, I would totally eat an Almond Joy - don't get me wrong - but if it had to choose...I would choose Mounds. -- I'm just throwing it out there Mom and/or Mel....just throwing it out there.)
HOWEVER, the best candy bar ever - in the history of the world....is the 100 Grand Bar! Remember those?? They only seem to be available at Halloween. Liz and I used to buy bags of that shit and then hide it from our families (I was just pretending. Josh won't eat candy - but he would judge me if I were to say...eat a whole bag of those candy bars and then wake up on the basement floor surrounded by distinct red wrappers and the boys, who have red wrappers stuck to their fur. -- Kernel had a wrapper stuck to the side of his head. The little shit totally dimed me out by running up the stairs to greet him from his return from a camping trip with Jake. Et tu, Brute? I bought you a cheeseburger with no pickles or onions!! HOW COULD YOU!?)
However, the worst part of missing fall in the US of A is that fall is Pumpkin Spice Latte Season at Starbucks!!! Believe me! The Gingerbread or the Egg Nog Latte cannot even compare!! It is like drinking a little cup of heaven - although, if I'm going in, I totally get the biggest cup of heaven they have to offer! Everybody knows that my most favorite thing in the whole wide world is to get a huge cup of piping hot liquid pie, disguised as a tasty breakfast beverage! "What's that Josh?? Oh? This? Just coffee. Of course I got you a cup too! Cream, no sugar, right??" SUCKAH.
So right now I envy most of you guys - EVEN you guys in Canada because you also have access to tasty Starbucks beverages. So if you guys care for me - even just a little - you will go hold up a starbucks and then send me the pumpkin spice latte mix.
I'm just sayin... a true friend would do it!
Friday, September 11, 2009
I Shit You Not... (maybe)
So I am sitting in the car, minding my own business, right?? Paul and I are driving around Khartoum discussing very importanty Embassy stuff like the Comprehensive Peace Agreement and the lack of a Starbucks at the Embassy (guess which was mine??) and we're all seriously debating whether there could EVER REALLY be peace in Sudan without a pumpkin spice latte (I submit to you there could NOT) and Paul totally slams on the breaks...the armored vehicle travels approximately 1 more mile while it stops...and he goes, "Is that a fucking MONKEY?" I shit you not! He totally said the F-word! (AND, in front of me...a LADY! How RUDE!)
However, in his defense, it totally was an effin monkey! AND, it was totally right outside my house! I can only assume the little guy was there to throw some poo (I'm not actually sure what it is that monkeys say they DO). So anyway, we sit there for a while and stare at the monkey and then I realize I should probably take a picture of said monkey - so you would believe that I now have a monkey - but then Paul moved the car and he shocked the monkey, and then the monkey totally made a run for it and I could only get a picture of his ass as he ran away. (Shit! That was some kind of run-on sentence there.)
So this is the only picture I could get of my new monkey (whom I have now named Mortimer). He is the grey lump with monkey balls in the photo below...
(Yes, he's a boy! Don't stare at his butt! It embarrasses him.)
So anyway, I was telling Josh that I intended to start leaving out some fruit for Mortimer - so he doesn't have to rummage through the trash --DOOY! and Josh was all, "No! if you do that then Mortimer (he refuses to call him Mortimer though, he calls him IT) will get all pissed if you don't have something to feed him. Remember JOE in Costa Rica??
(Joe's so cute....)
Remember how you decided to feed him, and then you ran out of granola bars and then Joe was all pissed so he totally jacked our mini-bar?? Remember the bill for Joe's snacks? This is what is going to happen...
(WTF JOE!?)
So then he starts lecturing me on how Mortimer is all unsanitary and shit...CHAA! Like I'm really going to let a monkey into the house -- well, not into the bedroom! I mean, my GOD! that is Gross. (Only the living room and kitchen!)
But then he managed to convince me; he said, "Fine. Feed him along with the 5 homeless dingos you've already moved into the housing compound. Start your own damn zoo for all I care. . . (yes, we all know it is not ending there). . . I just have one thing to say to you about this: What do you know about Africa and Monkeys???
Well, SHIT! Now I probably gots the Ebola!
Quick! Somebody google the symptoms!! All I know is that my mouth tastes like pennies and I have to use the restroom. (Although, to be fair those were my symptoms when I had mesothelioma and also the Lassa Fever too. Shit! I'm a trooper. It's an effin miracle I'm still alive!)
The big question now for everyone is: Whom can I sue for this??
However, in his defense, it totally was an effin monkey! AND, it was totally right outside my house! I can only assume the little guy was there to throw some poo (I'm not actually sure what it is that monkeys say they DO). So anyway, we sit there for a while and stare at the monkey and then I realize I should probably take a picture of said monkey - so you would believe that I now have a monkey - but then Paul moved the car and he shocked the monkey, and then the monkey totally made a run for it and I could only get a picture of his ass as he ran away. (Shit! That was some kind of run-on sentence there.)
So this is the only picture I could get of my new monkey (whom I have now named Mortimer). He is the grey lump with monkey balls in the photo below...
(Yes, he's a boy! Don't stare at his butt! It embarrasses him.)
So anyway, I was telling Josh that I intended to start leaving out some fruit for Mortimer - so he doesn't have to rummage through the trash --DOOY! and Josh was all, "No! if you do that then Mortimer (he refuses to call him Mortimer though, he calls him IT) will get all pissed if you don't have something to feed him. Remember JOE in Costa Rica??
(Joe's so cute....)
Remember how you decided to feed him, and then you ran out of granola bars and then Joe was all pissed so he totally jacked our mini-bar?? Remember the bill for Joe's snacks? This is what is going to happen...
(WTF JOE!?)
So then he starts lecturing me on how Mortimer is all unsanitary and shit...CHAA! Like I'm really going to let a monkey into the house -- well, not into the bedroom! I mean, my GOD! that is Gross. (Only the living room and kitchen!)
But then he managed to convince me; he said, "Fine. Feed him along with the 5 homeless dingos you've already moved into the housing compound. Start your own damn zoo for all I care. . . (yes, we all know it is not ending there). . . I just have one thing to say to you about this: What do you know about Africa and Monkeys???
Well, SHIT! Now I probably gots the Ebola!
Quick! Somebody google the symptoms!! All I know is that my mouth tastes like pennies and I have to use the restroom. (Although, to be fair those were my symptoms when I had mesothelioma and also the Lassa Fever too. Shit! I'm a trooper. It's an effin miracle I'm still alive!)
The big question now for everyone is: Whom can I sue for this??
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Memories.....
Okay, so I thought I would share yet another story from my time in Pakistan. Pakistan was my first real overseas travel. (Canada does not count.) It was just me and Howard. At that time, Howard was the only man in my life. . . Howard was my kitty. It pains me to admit it, but I was a walking stereotype: single, bitchy, headed toward 30, and then (naturally) I adopted a cat that I swore thought it was people.
It is somewhat difficult to describe Peshawar, Pakistan to you guys. I'm pretty sure the smell is technically considered a form of WMD, only it's the kind that kills you slowly. (Seriously, that shit can go through walls!! Nobody was safe!) I was given a huge house - even though it was just me and Howie - the thing had 6 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms (I know, don't ask.....I'll just leave it at, you need them).
So anyway, we settle in okay (it was touch and go there for a while. I walked out on my balcony to see the view: It overlooked a family of 'Fugees. They used to keep chickens in their "house" of mud and wash their laundry in a bowl then hang the clothes on the mud fence. I was really tempted to offer them my washer, but then the smell wafted up, and my short-lived jaunt into caring about others and cultural sensitivity quickly ended. ) and then not long after I arrived, we had my first 'Eid. Due to the timing of my arrival it was the dreaded "little Eid" where they slaughter the goat or sheep for the feast.
It was like living in hell.
Picture what you believe to be what the end of the world would look like, aka Judgement Day (although frankly, with me, every day is a judgey day), but with the added joy of the smells of dead animals. Pesh had open sewers that ran alongside the roads and they were FILLED with entrails. There were these HUGE (and I do mean HUGE) crows that had big-ass gray heads...naturally, they would pick up said entrails. So you'd be driving along the road and pieces of dead animal would hit your windshield. EVERYONE found religion on this holiday!!
We were all praying for it to end.
So anyway, I was not ready to face anything that would have been attached to those entrails. So I had this gardener, Ali. He kinda looked like a scary, skinny version of Santa (only not so much jolly, more like crabby) - so I asked him where I could buy some chicken - you know, get the recommendation from the locals - it's what all the travel books recommend!! Ever-so-helpful, my gardener offered to get the chicken for me. Ever-so-lazy, I totally took him up on it. Later that night, my doorbell rings and it is the gardener holding a LIVE CHICKEN upside down by the feet.
me: *GASP!*
Ali: Memsahib (gesturing toward me with the chicken)
me: WHAT'S THAT??
Ali: Chicken, Memsahib.
me: I know it is a chicken, but WHY?
Ali: Chicken..you say you want fresh chicken?? Here is chicken.
Me: Not THAT fresh!
Ali: (annoyed, gestures with chicken)
Me: I....what.....I...
Ali: (sighs in annoyance) You want me to kill for you? I pluck.
So remember how I mentioned that I seriously hate birds?? Honestly, can't stand them..flying rodents! They freak me out - and I totally hated our chickens when I lived on the farm growing up. They used to peck at me when I went to collect the eggs. So I quickly learned that if I brought an egg with me, and threw it on the ground, they would all leave their nests to eat it and you could grab the eggs if you moved quickly! -- Oh yes, you heard me...the chickens would eat their own. It was like Silence of the Chickens! -- So anyway, I SWEAR TO YOU - at this point, the chicken stopped flapping and just looked at me...
I named him Fred.
Fred lived in my yard for a few weeks until I couldn't take it anymore - Fred was not potty trained. I told the gardener to take him home. I never heard from Fred again. I can only assume he is living happily as a free range chicken in Ali's yard...Kinda like the farm where Wilbur and Charlotte lived. I'm sure he's happy.
A little while after that, Ali came back with some chicken wrapped in butcher paper....just like I asked for in the first place!!!
What?
It is somewhat difficult to describe Peshawar, Pakistan to you guys. I'm pretty sure the smell is technically considered a form of WMD, only it's the kind that kills you slowly. (Seriously, that shit can go through walls!! Nobody was safe!) I was given a huge house - even though it was just me and Howie - the thing had 6 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms (I know, don't ask.....I'll just leave it at, you need them).
So anyway, we settle in okay (it was touch and go there for a while. I walked out on my balcony to see the view: It overlooked a family of 'Fugees. They used to keep chickens in their "house" of mud and wash their laundry in a bowl then hang the clothes on the mud fence. I was really tempted to offer them my washer, but then the smell wafted up, and my short-lived jaunt into caring about others and cultural sensitivity quickly ended. ) and then not long after I arrived, we had my first 'Eid. Due to the timing of my arrival it was the dreaded "little Eid" where they slaughter the goat or sheep for the feast.
It was like living in hell.
Picture what you believe to be what the end of the world would look like, aka Judgement Day (although frankly, with me, every day is a judgey day), but with the added joy of the smells of dead animals. Pesh had open sewers that ran alongside the roads and they were FILLED with entrails. There were these HUGE (and I do mean HUGE) crows that had big-ass gray heads...naturally, they would pick up said entrails. So you'd be driving along the road and pieces of dead animal would hit your windshield. EVERYONE found religion on this holiday!!
We were all praying for it to end.
So anyway, I was not ready to face anything that would have been attached to those entrails. So I had this gardener, Ali. He kinda looked like a scary, skinny version of Santa (only not so much jolly, more like crabby) - so I asked him where I could buy some chicken - you know, get the recommendation from the locals - it's what all the travel books recommend!! Ever-so-helpful, my gardener offered to get the chicken for me. Ever-so-lazy, I totally took him up on it. Later that night, my doorbell rings and it is the gardener holding a LIVE CHICKEN upside down by the feet.
me: *GASP!*
Ali: Memsahib (gesturing toward me with the chicken)
me: WHAT'S THAT??
Ali: Chicken, Memsahib.
me: I know it is a chicken, but WHY?
Ali: Chicken..you say you want fresh chicken?? Here is chicken.
Me: Not THAT fresh!
Ali: (annoyed, gestures with chicken)
Me: I....what.....I...
Ali: (sighs in annoyance) You want me to kill for you? I pluck.
So remember how I mentioned that I seriously hate birds?? Honestly, can't stand them..flying rodents! They freak me out - and I totally hated our chickens when I lived on the farm growing up. They used to peck at me when I went to collect the eggs. So I quickly learned that if I brought an egg with me, and threw it on the ground, they would all leave their nests to eat it and you could grab the eggs if you moved quickly! -- Oh yes, you heard me...the chickens would eat their own. It was like Silence of the Chickens! -- So anyway, I SWEAR TO YOU - at this point, the chicken stopped flapping and just looked at me...
I named him Fred.
Fred lived in my yard for a few weeks until I couldn't take it anymore - Fred was not potty trained. I told the gardener to take him home. I never heard from Fred again. I can only assume he is living happily as a free range chicken in Ali's yard...Kinda like the farm where Wilbur and Charlotte lived. I'm sure he's happy.
A little while after that, Ali came back with some chicken wrapped in butcher paper....just like I asked for in the first place!!!
What?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Greatest Google Results EVER!
I shit you not - I gots my own Wikipedia page! Have you guys googled yourself lately? Seriously. Do it!
My favorite part (and I think we all knew this was coming):
WTF Wikipedia?!
I probably should admit, though, that I do tend to wear my jammies on weekends if I gots nowhere to go and nothing to do. Getting dressed just seems like a whole lotta extra steps frankly. Why bother? I really don't see the point?!
========================================
My favorite part (and I think we all knew this was coming):
See also
Although I am a bit concerned that they highlight that the name is "usually given to Spanish footballers" and that:Gone in Michel, popular expression which can be used, in computer science, to describe a system that is going crazy and totally out of control
WTF Wikipedia?!
Deutscher Michel, personification of the German nation, usually depicted wearing a nightcap and nightgown
I probably should admit, though, that I do tend to wear my jammies on weekends if I gots nowhere to go and nothing to do. Getting dressed just seems like a whole lotta extra steps frankly. Why bother? I really don't see the point?!
========================================
Michel
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Michel may refer to:
People
- Michel (name), people with the given name or surname
- MÃchel (nickname), people with the given nickname (mainly Spanish footballers)
Places
- Bob Michel Bridge, Illinois, USA
Fictional characters
-
- Deutscher Michel, personification of the German nation, usually depicted wearing a nightcap and nightgown
- Michel Gerard, a character from American TV series Gilmore Girls
- Michel Vaillant, French comic book character
- Michel Volban de Cabelle, a character from the anime Glass Fleet
Other
- Gone in Michel, popular expression which can be used, in computer science, to describe a system that is going crazy and totally out of control.[citation needed]
- Michel, popular nickname for St. Michaelis church, Hamburg's signature icon
- Michel, German auxiliary cruiser
- Michel catalog (MICHEL-Briefmarken-Katalog), the largest and best-known stamp catalog in the German-speaking world
- Michel parameters in particle physics
See also
- The Korean Michel alias GFP (Gros Faux Propre) and his Gas factory (TB)dooda
Dear Effin New Guy/Girl aka FNG,
It has come to my attention that new arrivals to Khartoum may in fact need concierge-type service in order to facilitate a smooth transition into country. As a result, I would like take this time to make you feel at home, and to ensure that you do not (under any circumstances) continue to annoy me with your actions as you live in the same housing compound and work in the same building as me (and I have -- for no apparent reason, taken a strong disliking to you and declared you my new "arch nemesis.") As such, I have compiled a few Rules of the Road for you to use in this (and any subsequent) foreign postings where I might actually also reside:
- Most people at post do not send emails to ALL AMERICANS and ALL LOCAL HIRES in Khartoum inviting them to a party at your residence (especially when it happens to be in the same vicinity as my house). What you may not realize is that the email address "all Americans" refers to every. single. American. in. Sudan. I realize this may shock you, but there are actually a LOT of Americans in country - much more than will comfortably fit into our housing compound, and much, MUCH more than the single bottle of Rum you have to offer your guests. Equally important, most diplomats usually do not include the phrase "bring your own meat" in any invitation. In my experience, this can, in fact, be misconstrued.
-- You may not want to advertise that you purchase the milk from the local guy who rides by on his cart with the double barrels of "fresh, frothy milk" in the morning. Yes, I am sure it is warm, fresh and frothy. I am also equally sure it is not sanitary. Trust me, I grew up in Montana. We used to get that gallon jar of cow's milk, where we would let it sit for a day or two and let the cream rise to the surface THEN we would scoop it off, and then pasturize the rest of it before we fed it to the chickens...As my British friends like to say, "it's just not done."
-- "Making cheese" - although I am sure it is a wonderful pastime if you are Amish or from Wisconsin, it is not "technically" a hobby per se in America, and probably should not be trotted out in your first encounter with people - both American and foreign -- upon arrival. I mean, you can make beer as a hobby; although unless your name is actually "Sam Adams," many (and when I say "many" I mean, Minoy, myself and Liz) will not really buy into your "hobby." What I am trying to say is that although they may drink your "beer," it should be caveated that if you host a party for 67 people and only provide one bottle of Rum, they're going to (in theory), drink your beer and anything else fermented in your residence. Case in point, I do believe you were complaining that they drank your cheese juice. I think they probably thought it was booze. It is always important to keep in mind that we have desperate people here in Sudan; and desperate people drink unGodly things. However, you should also know that these same desperate people will probably not eat your cheese. (Especially after the whole "frothy milk" incident above gets out. I'm just saying, some people are not known for their discretion in these types of situations. It is really difficult to find good help these days.)
-- And finally, you should also know that your name (in Arabic) means something really REALLY UNappropriate. Further, a good rule of thumb, for when you introduce yourself to the locals, and their eyes bulge out and they seem to get that uncomfortable, won't look at you posture - it means that maybe (just maybe) you should google your name and Arabic. In fact, it gives life to the stereotype here. Further, it kinda makes your inappropriately overconfident manner seem crude and almost disgusting. I'm just saying -- google it and/or ask someone. You might also want to call yourself "Pat" from now on.
I hope that my suggestions for navigating living in Sudan have helped you in some small way. Granted, I am inappropriately bitchy for a diplomat living overseas; however, in my case, we prefer to call it "seasoned" in the foreign service.
I would also like to inform you that although I am currently not accepting applications for new friends at this time, I will keep your application on file and will immediately contact you should an opening surface in the future. Should you need anything further, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Best Regards,
Michel
- Most people at post do not send emails to ALL AMERICANS and ALL LOCAL HIRES in Khartoum inviting them to a party at your residence (especially when it happens to be in the same vicinity as my house). What you may not realize is that the email address "all Americans" refers to every. single. American. in. Sudan. I realize this may shock you, but there are actually a LOT of Americans in country - much more than will comfortably fit into our housing compound, and much, MUCH more than the single bottle of Rum you have to offer your guests. Equally important, most diplomats usually do not include the phrase "bring your own meat" in any invitation. In my experience, this can, in fact, be misconstrued.
-- You may not want to advertise that you purchase the milk from the local guy who rides by on his cart with the double barrels of "fresh, frothy milk" in the morning. Yes, I am sure it is warm, fresh and frothy. I am also equally sure it is not sanitary. Trust me, I grew up in Montana. We used to get that gallon jar of cow's milk, where we would let it sit for a day or two and let the cream rise to the surface THEN we would scoop it off, and then pasturize the rest of it before we fed it to the chickens...As my British friends like to say, "it's just not done."
-- "Making cheese" - although I am sure it is a wonderful pastime if you are Amish or from Wisconsin, it is not "technically" a hobby per se in America, and probably should not be trotted out in your first encounter with people - both American and foreign -- upon arrival. I mean, you can make beer as a hobby; although unless your name is actually "Sam Adams," many (and when I say "many" I mean, Minoy, myself and Liz) will not really buy into your "hobby." What I am trying to say is that although they may drink your "beer," it should be caveated that if you host a party for 67 people and only provide one bottle of Rum, they're going to (in theory), drink your beer and anything else fermented in your residence. Case in point, I do believe you were complaining that they drank your cheese juice. I think they probably thought it was booze. It is always important to keep in mind that we have desperate people here in Sudan; and desperate people drink unGodly things. However, you should also know that these same desperate people will probably not eat your cheese. (Especially after the whole "frothy milk" incident above gets out. I'm just saying, some people are not known for their discretion in these types of situations. It is really difficult to find good help these days.)
-- And finally, you should also know that your name (in Arabic) means something really REALLY UNappropriate. Further, a good rule of thumb, for when you introduce yourself to the locals, and their eyes bulge out and they seem to get that uncomfortable, won't look at you posture - it means that maybe (just maybe) you should google your name and Arabic. In fact, it gives life to the stereotype here. Further, it kinda makes your inappropriately overconfident manner seem crude and almost disgusting. I'm just saying -- google it and/or ask someone. You might also want to call yourself "Pat" from now on.
I hope that my suggestions for navigating living in Sudan have helped you in some small way. Granted, I am inappropriately bitchy for a diplomat living overseas; however, in my case, we prefer to call it "seasoned" in the foreign service.
I would also like to inform you that although I am currently not accepting applications for new friends at this time, I will keep your application on file and will immediately contact you should an opening surface in the future. Should you need anything further, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Best Regards,
Michel
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Early Morning Brush with Death....
No Shit! There I was.....minding my own business, taking a shower...and even though Josh is not here, I still decided I should shave my legs (it's waay too hot here for fur)! Well, as I was singing into the razor (NO! That didn't happen, but if it did...MY GOD that would have been even worse!! I see the danger now...), I decided to do a little happy dance to go along with the happy tune I was singing. (for the record, I have no idea why I am happy on a morning when I have to go to work. I can only assume I am still drunk or something). Anyway, while I did my happy dance, I somehow managed to drop the razor onto my foot. (This is not the first time this has happened to me. In fact, I'm starting to think it might be a regular hazard and I should probably take appropriate protective measures. Like hire someone to shave my legs for me. Okay Josh?? It's for SAFETY!)
Anyway, as all you girls know, it didn't hurt at first - simply surprised me. But as I stared at it, I realized that the razor somehow managed to shave off a what appeared to be replica of Sudan off of the top of my foot!!! Naturally, at this point, I stood very still and stared at it. The longer I stared, I could start to feel a little sting and then I knew what was coming.....
OH THE HUMANITY!!!
It was like a scene from Psycho! Naturally, all I could think about was the stupid stories my friends who are retired police detectives tell me constantly about how all the dead people they found in their career were always naked. That's right!! You heard me: NAKED.
My two biggest fears: Being found dead naked and/or dying in a food related incident. Or, worse yet: Dying in a food related incidient WHILE naked. OMG I just freaked myself out a little there.
So not only did I lose what appeared to be 3 litres of blood (or it might be something else, I can't really figure out the metric system! Although snaps to me for spelling it all British-like...) I now have an open wound that pretty much opens the door for Africa to not only touch me, but to just stroll on inside.
Welcome Africa!! Parasites and Amoebas to the left; flesh eating bacteria, please move to the right....No pushing...there's plenty of room for everyone.
Anyway, as all you girls know, it didn't hurt at first - simply surprised me. But as I stared at it, I realized that the razor somehow managed to shave off a what appeared to be replica of Sudan off of the top of my foot!!! Naturally, at this point, I stood very still and stared at it. The longer I stared, I could start to feel a little sting and then I knew what was coming.....
OH THE HUMANITY!!!
It was like a scene from Psycho! Naturally, all I could think about was the stupid stories my friends who are retired police detectives tell me constantly about how all the dead people they found in their career were always naked. That's right!! You heard me: NAKED.
My two biggest fears: Being found dead naked and/or dying in a food related incident. Or, worse yet: Dying in a food related incidient WHILE naked. OMG I just freaked myself out a little there.
So not only did I lose what appeared to be 3 litres of blood (or it might be something else, I can't really figure out the metric system! Although snaps to me for spelling it all British-like...) I now have an open wound that pretty much opens the door for Africa to not only touch me, but to just stroll on inside.
Welcome Africa!! Parasites and Amoebas to the left; flesh eating bacteria, please move to the right....No pushing...there's plenty of room for everyone.
SWEET, SWEET VINDICATION
Okay, so remember how I have continually been telling you how I am sweet, innocent, and simply misunderstood since I started this blog - and (frankly) how I have been wronged on so many levels and yet I just persevere through my everyday life? How I give and I give and I give and all you guys ever do is take, take, take?? Remember that?
Well...yesterday was my Grandpa's 100th birthday party -- and yesterday my name was cleared of a hideous crime for which I was not responsible!!! Yesterday, the truth came to light (and I missed it)!! Oh, how I wish I could have been there so that I could walk up to my parents and say, "What now smarties?!!?! Feel kinda child-abusey don't cha?"
I must admit that I was kinda bummed that I would miss it (not really because grandpa was 100 - I totally visited him like 2 times when I was back in the states -- in old people world, that's like 14 mos of visiting -- but because I have so many opinions to pass onto my family. Many are raising kids without the benefit of my child-rearing assistance. I am sure they would have appreciated my advice...), but then I received the email where we were told we had to pick up our color-coded shirt so that Grandpa could tell to which kid of his you belonged (we're a catholic family). There were literally hundreds of people there (to put it into perspective, I have 33 first cousins).
Ergo, there would be a bunch o'people I never met and then I would have been forced to explain - I'm Rod's kid - and the old ones would think I'm my mom and then it is just awkward when they ask if I am still dating that one guy from Wilbur and I have to explain that I am that one guy's daughter. Although, I must admit it IS fun to say that I'm that one guy's love child -- that nobody knew about until today...it's a family scandal! They're old...they totally would believe that shit.
Good times...
ANYWAY, today my cousin David cleared his conscience! He admitted to framing myself, my sister Mel (who frankly was a co-conspirator, but I'm willing to let it rest -- for now), and my cousin Doug! Wanna know how?? Okay, here you go:
It was circa 1977, my grandparents had installed a fancy new all glass shower and they were very proud of it. They invited mom, dad and aunt Dorothy and uncle Darrell to see it. Unfortunately (for my grandparents) they toted their kids along for the visit. Doug and I were about the same age - as were Mel and David, only older . Mel and David used to pick on Doug and I mercilessly. Doug and I were saints. We would sit quietly and color until my parents came back to get us. That's just how good we were. I do believe if the sunlight hit us just right, you could see our little halos.
One day, as Doug and I innocently colored our pictures to give to our parents, illustrating how much we loved them by drawing a mural of our families, Mel and David came running into the room and told us that we were needed in the newly remodeled bathroom! Doug and I protested that we were only going to sit here quietly and color until our parents were done visiting. But they would not let it rest! They FORCED US (at gunpoint I believe) to go with them to the bathroom.
Once we were there, they locked Doug and I in the shower, holding it closed from the outside. Doug and I only wanted to get out - but Mel and David (as they laughed manically) wouldn't budge! Then, David (unprovoked) threw himself at the door and totally broke that shit.
David (seeing the writing on the wall) then ran into the front room and threw the three of us under the bus. He told our parents that we were goofing around and that he had told us to stop, but we didn't listen to him and then we broke the shower door.
The three of us were spanked. David looked on with his Damien like stare....
Fast forward to September 2009, and David finally comes clean. That he was the one who actually broke the shower door. Although he still claims that we were also involved, he tried to pretend like he was the better kid by fessing up to his involvement.
Well David, we have your confession on tape!!! My sister Mel sent me a copy. I have already contacted my lawyer (I met her on the internet, she has a great blog) I am already looking for how to sue you for punitive damages for wrongful spanking or, perhaps, childhood trauma-induced post traumatic stress disorder --as I'm sure I have both of those. I'm also suing you, mom and dad - for wrongful punishment and slander.
Now I might be talked out of filing my lawsuit if, say, a box of snacks and maybe some pedicure products arrived at my house within 30 days. I'm just saying, a bouquet of pedicure products goes a long way toward healing childhood trauma. FYI, I prefer a deep-hydrating foot masque.
And for the record, I can totally fake all kinds of trauma! I was in Iraq during the war. Therefore, don't try to buy me off with any of that Walmart pedicure product. I won't accept anything less than Aveda! It's 30 years of trauma!! I have a whole shitload of highschool angst I can blame on you.
I think we can all learn a valuable lesson from this....NEVER, EVER admit to shit on videotape. There is always one jackass in the family who will hold it against you.
Well David, Meet Jackass!
Well...yesterday was my Grandpa's 100th birthday party -- and yesterday my name was cleared of a hideous crime for which I was not responsible!!! Yesterday, the truth came to light (and I missed it)!! Oh, how I wish I could have been there so that I could walk up to my parents and say, "What now smarties?!!?! Feel kinda child-abusey don't cha?"
I must admit that I was kinda bummed that I would miss it (not really because grandpa was 100 - I totally visited him like 2 times when I was back in the states -- in old people world, that's like 14 mos of visiting -- but because I have so many opinions to pass onto my family. Many are raising kids without the benefit of my child-rearing assistance. I am sure they would have appreciated my advice...), but then I received the email where we were told we had to pick up our color-coded shirt so that Grandpa could tell to which kid of his you belonged (we're a catholic family). There were literally hundreds of people there (to put it into perspective, I have 33 first cousins).
Ergo, there would be a bunch o'people I never met and then I would have been forced to explain - I'm Rod's kid - and the old ones would think I'm my mom and then it is just awkward when they ask if I am still dating that one guy from Wilbur and I have to explain that I am that one guy's daughter. Although, I must admit it IS fun to say that I'm that one guy's love child -- that nobody knew about until today...it's a family scandal! They're old...they totally would believe that shit.
Good times...
ANYWAY, today my cousin David cleared his conscience! He admitted to framing myself, my sister Mel (who frankly was a co-conspirator, but I'm willing to let it rest -- for now), and my cousin Doug! Wanna know how?? Okay, here you go:
It was circa 1977, my grandparents had installed a fancy new all glass shower and they were very proud of it. They invited mom, dad and aunt Dorothy and uncle Darrell to see it. Unfortunately (for my grandparents) they toted their kids along for the visit. Doug and I were about the same age - as were Mel and David, only older . Mel and David used to pick on Doug and I mercilessly. Doug and I were saints. We would sit quietly and color until my parents came back to get us. That's just how good we were. I do believe if the sunlight hit us just right, you could see our little halos.
One day, as Doug and I innocently colored our pictures to give to our parents, illustrating how much we loved them by drawing a mural of our families, Mel and David came running into the room and told us that we were needed in the newly remodeled bathroom! Doug and I protested that we were only going to sit here quietly and color until our parents were done visiting. But they would not let it rest! They FORCED US (at gunpoint I believe) to go with them to the bathroom.
Once we were there, they locked Doug and I in the shower, holding it closed from the outside. Doug and I only wanted to get out - but Mel and David (as they laughed manically) wouldn't budge! Then, David (unprovoked) threw himself at the door and totally broke that shit.
David (seeing the writing on the wall) then ran into the front room and threw the three of us under the bus. He told our parents that we were goofing around and that he had told us to stop, but we didn't listen to him and then we broke the shower door.
The three of us were spanked. David looked on with his Damien like stare....
Fast forward to September 2009, and David finally comes clean. That he was the one who actually broke the shower door. Although he still claims that we were also involved, he tried to pretend like he was the better kid by fessing up to his involvement.
Well David, we have your confession on tape!!! My sister Mel sent me a copy. I have already contacted my lawyer (I met her on the internet, she has a great blog) I am already looking for how to sue you for punitive damages for wrongful spanking or, perhaps, childhood trauma-induced post traumatic stress disorder --as I'm sure I have both of those. I'm also suing you, mom and dad - for wrongful punishment and slander.
Now I might be talked out of filing my lawsuit if, say, a box of snacks and maybe some pedicure products arrived at my house within 30 days. I'm just saying, a bouquet of pedicure products goes a long way toward healing childhood trauma. FYI, I prefer a deep-hydrating foot masque.
And for the record, I can totally fake all kinds of trauma! I was in Iraq during the war. Therefore, don't try to buy me off with any of that Walmart pedicure product. I won't accept anything less than Aveda! It's 30 years of trauma!! I have a whole shitload of highschool angst I can blame on you.
I think we can all learn a valuable lesson from this....NEVER, EVER admit to shit on videotape. There is always one jackass in the family who will hold it against you.
Well David, Meet Jackass!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Today, My Glass is Half-Empty!
Damnitt Sudan! It is LABOR DAY WEEKEND! What the hell is wrong with you guys?? Granted, I'm not really seeing much "labor" on other days , but you would think that you would really get behind this holiday (much like myself who also does not actually labor the rest of the year) and celebrate the shit out of it by resting. And when I say "resting," I mean resting from Ramadan and giving me some damn food! Let's face it! Three days on my own, unattended, and with nobody to offer me suggestions, I simply sit in my house and think about how hungry I am, but how I really don't want to cook anything! -- Ergo, I'm on day 2 of peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Not that they are not good and all - they were - however, now they kinda make me want to gag.
Also, what the hell is with the scratchy bread?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO IT?? It feels like you're eating a Brillo pad, which special chunks of rock thrown in for good measure. I assume you do the same kinda stuff we did in my family whenever dad would make spaghetti -- if you were unlucky enough to get the whole bay leaf, you had to do the dishes (Although now that I am out of the house and they are no longer the boss of me, I think I can safely say that there was more than one time I fed that shit to our dog in a lump of spaghetti. She had no idea. Her tummy told us later, mind you -but it was fool proof because there was more than one leaf in that sauce! Ha HA Mel. Suckah!) -- this little memory of me plotting, planning and implementing my plans makes me wonder when it was that I went from trying to take over the world, to lazy person who hates people and simply bitches about stuff? Hmmm...oh well. Guess we'll never know.
Back to my bitching...
Why the hell is America the only country that can make a coffee cup that is decent sized!? And when I say decent, I mean gallon sized. The size that coffee should be served in. I mean we count our daily serving in pots, right?? I do believe that the doc asked me how many cups of coffee I have a day and I converted my answer into pots for him. It's simply too difficult for him to have to do the math and figure out the accepted answer. 3 pots sounds so much better, don't you think??
PLUS, Please stop serving me hot drinks in small juice glasses! OR, because I'm not irrational, if you do not have access to "cups" (probably because of the sanctions, I can only assume or else why the hell would you put yourselves through that?), please invent some sort of finger pot-holder thingey so that I can retain what has not been burned off of my fingerprints from trying to drink your hot drinks.
And finally (for now), What the hell is this?
These are NOT dates! (Although it could be that dates are not the things I think they are - which is entirely possible.) I mean, it kinda tasted like a date at first, but then had this hideously crunchy sour inside! WTF fruit and veggie man!? What am I supposed to do with this??
Also, could you please be a lamb and make sure the stuff I buy is washed and bundled and could you attach some sort of sticker to them for me? I am not really sure, but I'm almost positive that placing some sort of label makes the stuff better. It's not just you, Mr. Veggie Man, just like like Mr. Meat Seller-Man (do you know him?) that I found not far from you on that one street with the Giant pile of burned up tires.... I also asked him to ensure that my meat is put on Styrofoam and wrapped in plastic wrap, with a price tag stuck to it...
I also made him promise that none of my meat would actually look like what it was...We had a very awkward moment there when he tried to sell me a leg of lamb that still had its feet attached. I think we both would like to forget that day ever happened!
I wonder if there is any peanut butter left??
Also, what the hell is with the scratchy bread?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO IT?? It feels like you're eating a Brillo pad, which special chunks of rock thrown in for good measure. I assume you do the same kinda stuff we did in my family whenever dad would make spaghetti -- if you were unlucky enough to get the whole bay leaf, you had to do the dishes (Although now that I am out of the house and they are no longer the boss of me, I think I can safely say that there was more than one time I fed that shit to our dog in a lump of spaghetti. She had no idea. Her tummy told us later, mind you -but it was fool proof because there was more than one leaf in that sauce! Ha HA Mel. Suckah!) -- this little memory of me plotting, planning and implementing my plans makes me wonder when it was that I went from trying to take over the world, to lazy person who hates people and simply bitches about stuff? Hmmm...oh well. Guess we'll never know.
Back to my bitching...
Why the hell is America the only country that can make a coffee cup that is decent sized!? And when I say decent, I mean gallon sized. The size that coffee should be served in. I mean we count our daily serving in pots, right?? I do believe that the doc asked me how many cups of coffee I have a day and I converted my answer into pots for him. It's simply too difficult for him to have to do the math and figure out the accepted answer. 3 pots sounds so much better, don't you think??
PLUS, Please stop serving me hot drinks in small juice glasses! OR, because I'm not irrational, if you do not have access to "cups" (probably because of the sanctions, I can only assume or else why the hell would you put yourselves through that?), please invent some sort of finger pot-holder thingey so that I can retain what has not been burned off of my fingerprints from trying to drink your hot drinks.
And finally (for now), What the hell is this?
These are NOT dates! (Although it could be that dates are not the things I think they are - which is entirely possible.) I mean, it kinda tasted like a date at first, but then had this hideously crunchy sour inside! WTF fruit and veggie man!? What am I supposed to do with this??
Also, could you please be a lamb and make sure the stuff I buy is washed and bundled and could you attach some sort of sticker to them for me? I am not really sure, but I'm almost positive that placing some sort of label makes the stuff better. It's not just you, Mr. Veggie Man, just like like Mr. Meat Seller-Man (do you know him?) that I found not far from you on that one street with the Giant pile of burned up tires.... I also asked him to ensure that my meat is put on Styrofoam and wrapped in plastic wrap, with a price tag stuck to it...
I also made him promise that none of my meat would actually look like what it was...We had a very awkward moment there when he tried to sell me a leg of lamb that still had its feet attached. I think we both would like to forget that day ever happened!
I wonder if there is any peanut butter left??
Friday, September 4, 2009
Downside to Hiring the Lowest Bidder....
I really hate to say this....but, my mother was right!!
It IS important to be able to read and write English.....Turns out, something could go wrong...
It IS important to be able to read and write English.....Turns out, something could go wrong...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
I Moved to the Ghetto to Get Away from the Hounding Reporters...
In the ghetttooooooooo......And his mama cried.....(Shit! now that stupid song is stuck in my head!)
Poor little baby child was born in the gheettoooooooo.....in the gheeeettooooooo...
But alas the do-gooders have found me!! Unable to leave me in peace, the so-called investigative reporters have outed me. Frankly, I am disgusted by what mascarades for journalism today! There are sooo many other stories that could and SHOULD be told -- why just the other day, I found a lady who I swear was an al-Qa'ida beautician here -- she was TOTALLY using enhanced brow removal techniques (in clear violation of the Geneva Convention -- or what I imagine should BE in the Geneva Convention if I had ever actually READ the Geneva Convention -- but seriously, when is that ever going to be applicable?? )
I will admit though, this al-Qa'ida beautician, was good. My brows were scared straight! That Bitch got them in line -- and believe me, they had it coming! Therefore, I'm not going to create much of a fuss. I WILL, however, demand anesthesia if/when my brows ever start to act unruly and I am forced to visit her again. I'm just saying...so her methods are unorthodox and maybe you don't want to know about them but she gets results! I need her on that wall (of brow threading material)!
So basically, because America is full of greedy, scandal hunting "investigative reporters" this lady and her chamber of torture continues threading willy-nilly...and me sweet, innocent me am being libeled (or is is slandered? WTF? I can never remember which is which - and it is really awkward to try to storm off in a huff if you have to hem and haw over which baseless accusation to throw out before you do!) by Amy and her crack team of reporters and peeping toms.
Do yourself a favor! Go read Amy's slanderous libel (ha! how 'bout that!?!) And then tell me you are not disgusted with the state of the American press these days!?
You will thank me for it.
Poor little baby child was born in the gheettoooooooo.....in the gheeeettooooooo...
But alas the do-gooders have found me!! Unable to leave me in peace, the so-called investigative reporters have outed me. Frankly, I am disgusted by what mascarades for journalism today! There are sooo many other stories that could and SHOULD be told -- why just the other day, I found a lady who I swear was an al-Qa'ida beautician here -- she was TOTALLY using enhanced brow removal techniques (in clear violation of the Geneva Convention -- or what I imagine should BE in the Geneva Convention if I had ever actually READ the Geneva Convention -- but seriously, when is that ever going to be applicable?? )
I will admit though, this al-Qa'ida beautician, was good. My brows were scared straight! That Bitch got them in line -- and believe me, they had it coming! Therefore, I'm not going to create much of a fuss. I WILL, however, demand anesthesia if/when my brows ever start to act unruly and I am forced to visit her again. I'm just saying...so her methods are unorthodox and maybe you don't want to know about them but she gets results! I need her on that wall (of brow threading material)!
So basically, because America is full of greedy, scandal hunting "investigative reporters" this lady and her chamber of torture continues threading willy-nilly...and me sweet, innocent me am being libeled (or is is slandered? WTF? I can never remember which is which - and it is really awkward to try to storm off in a huff if you have to hem and haw over which baseless accusation to throw out before you do!) by Amy and her crack team of reporters and peeping toms.
Do yourself a favor! Go read Amy's slanderous libel (ha! how 'bout that!?!) And then tell me you are not disgusted with the state of the American press these days!?
You will thank me for it.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Correction to My Last Post...
Okay, from the comments and emails from my last post, I clearly have to correct what I said - that post was from an Email that Liz forwarded to me off of the internet, not a story of a life-event that Liz told me in tears!! (Although, why you guys suddenly feel all sorry for Liz now, I have NO idea....) For the record, Liz is actually quite pretty! A drunk would never call her ugly. He might call her a "Beotch" (lord knows I do, even when sober) -- but she would probably have it coming.
As I have told you guys time and again, Liz is married to an orthopedic surgeon. Ergo, she is not ugly -- she is crafty! I have frequently asked if she wanted to trade husbands with me, but then she pointed out that three kids come with Dan, and then the deal didn't sound so great - so then (being the true friend that I am) I offered to simply trade hubby salaries. She said no.
It's really hard to find good friends these days.
Anyway, even despite that, Liz is my BFF and go-to grooming buddy. Back in the day - back when we both lived in the US of A and had access to state of the art grooming facilities staffed by foreigners who usually did not speak English, but could understand my beauty-gesture sign language, we would go get something done almost every weekend. (Apparently, both of us are descendants of Sasquatch) Obviously, I've always got Carnie side-show freak as an alternate career option should this whole foreign service thing not work out.
HOWEVER, when the hell did you guys get all PC on me?! Where in the blogstitution does it say that I have to be NICE to people.
I cannot work under these conditions!!!
When I told Liz about how you guys were a bunch of bleeding heart pansies (not you Blognut! I would never accuse you of that) she laughed and said that you all would DIE then if you knew about the work-conditions in the office back in DC.
-- I interviewed a young man for a position in the office. The last question I asked him was whether he liked cake and, if so, did he insist on having the corner piece? He answered that he loved cake and always took a corner piece because it has more frosting.
I threw him out of my office.
-- After some hooligans who were already government employees (and therefore could never be fired unless God wrote no less than three memos asking it to be done) cut out four corners of a birthday cake that Liz and I brought into the office and hid them from us.
I made them all sign and witness contracts stating they would never EVER pull that kinda crap in the office again.
-- I told the contract employees that they were technically not considered "people." Therefore, in the event of a fire they were not supposed to clog up the stairwells unless and until all USG Staff employees were safely out of the burning building. I also asked them not to use the restroom on the off chance that I might need to use it. (I don't like others in there with me.)
And, for the record, if you were not aware, contractors make a lot more money than me because they claim to be educated and a "specialist" in something or other -- therefore, I think we can all agree that (much like Canada) they got it coming.
-- I declared 07 April as "Sucking Up to Michel Day." Anyone who didn't suck up to me appropriately would be punished.
-- I named the office's pet fish "deputy chief." I put him in charge when I was out, rather than one of the aforementioned hooligans who took the corner piece of cake.
Now, I think I have adequately illustrated that my last post where you thought I was insulting Liz was really no insult at all. You should save your pity for the unfortunate people who have to work directly with me on a daily basis.
I suspect they have started some sort of support group and you can probably donate to it via the Combined Federal Campaign.
As I have told you guys time and again, Liz is married to an orthopedic surgeon. Ergo, she is not ugly -- she is crafty! I have frequently asked if she wanted to trade husbands with me, but then she pointed out that three kids come with Dan, and then the deal didn't sound so great - so then (being the true friend that I am) I offered to simply trade hubby salaries. She said no.
It's really hard to find good friends these days.
Anyway, even despite that, Liz is my BFF and go-to grooming buddy. Back in the day - back when we both lived in the US of A and had access to state of the art grooming facilities staffed by foreigners who usually did not speak English, but could understand my beauty-gesture sign language, we would go get something done almost every weekend. (Apparently, both of us are descendants of Sasquatch) Obviously, I've always got Carnie side-show freak as an alternate career option should this whole foreign service thing not work out.
HOWEVER, when the hell did you guys get all PC on me?! Where in the blogstitution does it say that I have to be NICE to people.
I cannot work under these conditions!!!
When I told Liz about how you guys were a bunch of bleeding heart pansies (not you Blognut! I would never accuse you of that) she laughed and said that you all would DIE then if you knew about the work-conditions in the office back in DC.
-- I interviewed a young man for a position in the office. The last question I asked him was whether he liked cake and, if so, did he insist on having the corner piece? He answered that he loved cake and always took a corner piece because it has more frosting.
I threw him out of my office.
-- After some hooligans who were already government employees (and therefore could never be fired unless God wrote no less than three memos asking it to be done) cut out four corners of a birthday cake that Liz and I brought into the office and hid them from us.
I made them all sign and witness contracts stating they would never EVER pull that kinda crap in the office again.
-- I told the contract employees that they were technically not considered "people." Therefore, in the event of a fire they were not supposed to clog up the stairwells unless and until all USG Staff employees were safely out of the burning building. I also asked them not to use the restroom on the off chance that I might need to use it. (I don't like others in there with me.)
And, for the record, if you were not aware, contractors make a lot more money than me because they claim to be educated and a "specialist" in something or other -- therefore, I think we can all agree that (much like Canada) they got it coming.
-- I declared 07 April as "Sucking Up to Michel Day." Anyone who didn't suck up to me appropriately would be punished.
-- I named the office's pet fish "deputy chief." I put him in charge when I was out, rather than one of the aforementioned hooligans who took the corner piece of cake.
Now, I think I have adequately illustrated that my last post where you thought I was insulting Liz was really no insult at all. You should save your pity for the unfortunate people who have to work directly with me on a daily basis.
I suspect they have started some sort of support group and you can probably donate to it via the Combined Federal Campaign.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tonight, I'm Tired....
Therefore, I'm simply going to post something my dear friend Liz sent me. She is always charming.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
I was shopping at the local supermarket where I selected:
-- A half-gallon of 2% milk
-- A carton of eggs
-- A quart of orange juice
-- A head of lettuce
-- A 2 lb. can of coffee
-- A 1 lb. package of bacon
As I was unloading my items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind me watched as I placed the items in front of the cashier.
While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, the drunk calmly stated, 'You must be single.' I was a bit startled by this proclamation, but I was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since I indeed had never found Mr. Right.
I looked at the six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about my selections that could have tipped off the drunk to my marital status..
Curiosity getting the better of me, I said , 'Yes you are correct . But how on earth did you know that?'
The drunk replied, 'Cause you're ugly.'
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