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What's The Deal With All These Fucking Cranberries?

2002-12-03 - 11:29 a.m.

Yeah, so it's so unbelievably whore ass cold outside. Very. Cold. Like chairlift is stuck and you're rocking back and forth over a rocky precipice all the while McLaughlin is trying to convince you to tap the metal staircase with your pole Cold. Yeah, THAT Cold.

I was going to launch into the most tired of tirades about my Thanksgiving experience. It sounds like it should be presented in IMAX doesn't it? Well, it shouldn't, trust me (even if we could get The Moody Blues to score it). It was pretty sucky. There was lots of swearing and lots of hoo-hoo-hooting at the television by people who I'm not even related to (a.k.a. - "face") and my Aunt Suzie who, and I think this says enough, showed up to dinner in a shirt that was emblazoned with the word "HOTTIE" in glitter. No, my aunt is not a 13-year-old girl. 13-year-old girls behave FAR better at holiday functions, trust me. Brad and Conner were, expectedly, lifesavers. My mother and Don left Thanksgiving night for Boston so I pretty much had to rely on my fellow Slopps for fun. God knows all my lame ass friends were either on the road for Thanksgiving or were home for such a short time that they couldn't do anything. [Mad phat Thanksgiving props must go out to Ratchel though, as she did contact me and wondered if I was as brain-numbingly bored as she]

Brad and Conner and I mostly passed the time by eating lots of junk food, watching a lot of movies, and hiding from other family members who sought to vanquish our fun. Oh, oh! PLUS, Millie the Model (a.k.a. - Brad) got his prints back from his modeling shoot. Oh, he is such a little pretty pretty princess. He made sweet sweet love to the camera. Then there was the matter of some other pictures that he actually took from a party he had not too long ago, but this is a family publication, and I don't want to go into that here. And as if I don't feel old enough whilst I skulk around this campus looking more and more like a non-TRAD every day, I felt ANCIENT when two of Brad's friends came over and I taught them (as well as Conner) how to play different drinking games. Conner played with soda of course. Brad didn't play at all; he just watched or was on the computer IM-ing all his bitches. But my fuck, they thought I was some kind of card playing magician! They had no idea what Asshole was, so I taught them the basic rules of that (which was almost like anytime I have to play it when Monique and Rick are around and they always need a "refresher"). And I made sure to teach them "Laconia Rules", and none of this bull-shit "triple on double", "throw-in social", and "magic card" shit that other play. I also taught them Kings, 8's, Up and Down the River, Horse Races, and the one that blew their mind the most - Whiz, Zoom, Bonk! I had to reach back into the catacombs of my brain for that old chestnut, but it was still a hit. Well, as much of a hit that anything that lasts over 2 minutes can be with a bunch of 30 second attention span high school punks. Ahhhh, who would have thought the quaint Batesian game Whiz, Zoom, Bonk would still be thriving today. Good times. Good times.

Oh man, two of my favorite episodes of NewsRadio were on this morning. The James Cann one, with Matthew's "Three cats . . . I wish. Just two." line, and Daydream which is the one where they are all hallucinating. Oh man. So good. Such perfection.

The College Football Bowl schedules were released the other day and some of them are so fucking stupid that I have to draw attention to them. Ok, there's the normal ones like the Rose Bowl, and some of the other originals have been slightly co-opted by companies making hybrid bowls like the Nokia Sugar Bowl, or the FedEx Orange Bowl. Ok, but the / Humanitarian Bowl in Boise? I think that's a little long for a title, not exactly catchy. There's the Chick-Fil-A Peach Bowl in Atlanta, which, while stupid sounding, does get points due to Chik-Fil-A's mention in the Ben Folds Five song "Army". (Speaking of BFF, yes Justin, I hate you) The Wells Fargo Wagon Bowl gets a chuckle out of me simply because I've always been a sucker for the Wells Fargo Wagon. So there's a few more clunkers like the ConAgra Foods Bowl in Honolulu, and the Continental Tire Bowl in Charlotte, but the winner of the lamest Bowl title BY A LONG SHOT, has GOT TO BE the Gaylord Bowl in Nashville. The Gaylord Bowl. Wait, maybe you didn't hear me. The GAYLORD BOWL. Seriously Clyde, I'd much rather be playing in the Bowl, or the Enron Bowl, or hell, I'll say it, EVEN THE Mad About You Bowl over the Gaylord Bowl. Although, I hear the players at the Gaylord Bowl like to turn the heat up really high and collect Groovy Girls. So I guess to each his own. To each his own.

Mmm, Chicken and Peaches. Nature's Finest Duet.

So work super sucks. Yeah. Super. I'm working 52 hours this week (or 49.5 depending on whether you use the metric system). 52 FUCKING hours. Plus school. Oh well. I'm so punchy. Last night I was super punchy. It's only going to get worse through Thursday. And now the mall's open until 10. And then it will be 10:30, and then 11. And then I will go crazy and scalp Santa in the Center Court while Kay Jewelers takes the left flank to try to stop me and Hair Excitement takes the right. They can't stop me though. You know why? Because I'm unstoppable. Although, a warm turkey sandwich with stuffing from Au Bon Pain is known to slow me down a little bit.

Ok, yeah. So the whole house/apartment thing. Yeah. It's still pretty weird. Ben's been gone for a while now and I definitely shouldn't be allowed to live by myself. Not that I'm ever there anyway. I leave at 9 and come back at 10:30. But he doesn't even come over to watch TV anymore. I know I'll be living with him again at the end of the month, but it's still just eerie living there with his room totally empty and all my books and Simpsons figures packed away and sitting in a box at the house. I do get to play the music louder at night now and with Ben gone I put a stop to his 11th Commandment stating, "Thou shall always wear a floral print Kimono when coming out of the bathroom". Don't get me wrong, the Kimono was silky smooth, but after a year and half of it I was starting to freak out.

I'm not sure if the Unicorn and Flowers entry will ever happen now. I lost my notes for it. They're not gone forever, but just lost somewhere in the vortex of my room. So I'll find them sometime in the future and maybe write it then, but don't be holding your breath.

Today's Uncle Bob was very good. They always are. But in today's he made a dig at Annalee dolls and why . . . sniff, sniff . . . he just warmed the cockles of my old Algerian heart he did. You should check it out, you'll be glad you did.

Man, I think time just stopped. That was fucked up. Figures it would happen when I'm in a fucking computer cluster and not the bank.

I cannot WAIT to go to work tonight. It's gonna be so much fun. What with the wrapping and the people and crying and musical tops and the killing. I love it there. I love it like I love fire ants staging re-enactments of Gladiator in my eye. Speaking of which, my right eye fucking exploded yesterday. It was fucked up. I was just standing there at work, tallying up the number of customers I was going to have killed when my eye started itching. I went and looked in the mirror and I was one Bloody McOccular. So I went to CVS to get advice on what I should fo for my eye from Wonky. I don't know if that was the smartest idea. It's sort of like going to Kate for advice on eating, or Jimbo for advice on shitting. Anyway, she told me to buy eye drops, which I did, and then I freaked out. I hate hate hate hate eyedrops. Seriously, I HATE THEM. I have the biggest fucking fear of them ever. I can't put them in myself because I keep shutting my eye and mewing pathetically. And then I just get the drops all AROUND my eye but not IN my eye. So one half of my face is all streaky with droppery while my eye just keeps on getting more irritated. And I can't have someone else do it or I start mule kicking in every direction until they back off. Disregarding all of that, I did apply some myself, and yes, I got it all over me, and yes, I cried like a little crying baby, which only made it sting worse. Man I suck.

Did I mention that Kate turned 21 on Sunday and she went out in tropical downtown Laconia for when she turned the big 2-1 the night before at midnight? She graced the illustrious Forever Young / Scum with her legal presence and I big round of applause that her group of friends managed to keep the Dart Trophy on the premesis. A greater feat than you can imagine considering a Space was there.

Alright, I'm off to work hell. All of you enjoy your fun in the sun splashing around with all the friendly Porteguese Man-Of-War. I hope they cripple you! CRIPPLE YOU! Man I'm hungry.

It's been real,


ps - Oh yeah. Cranberries. Right. I don't know. I don't like 'em. And it seems they must have gotten a new agent or something cause all of a sudden they're fucking EVERYWHERE. Cranberry chocolate macaroons at Au Bon Pain, Cranberry Mayonaisse (so fucking disgusting), Cranberry pudding, cranberry fudge. Please people, let's stick to the sauce for Thanksgiving, the juice for making Cape Cods, and the songs for warning us about Lingering and Zombie attacks, other than that, let's leave cranberries out of sight and where they should be: cleaning our nation's septic systems and pools. Amen

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