Who wants to be a Millionaire?

Today as I was “Jack Johnsoning” (sitting, waiting, wishing – for all of you who don’t catch that slick reference to “working”), I made a very big decision. I will Jack Johnson for awhile, but then I’m going to get health insurance some other way, and be a full-time artist from home and have babies. Actually, if I have babies, ok, whatever. But if I don’t – ok, that’s cool, because I want to adopt a Downs baby, because there is no one in the world who has brought me more joy and happiness in my life than my baby sister who has Downs Syndrome.

I’m not kidding, that’s what I’m going to do.

And I’m going to be good at it – don’t scoff. Yeah, yeah, burn your bras – but I rarely even wear one (I always wear one when I Jack Johnson, thank you) – so I think that’s totally applicable. I can want to stay at home and with babies while still being a liberal feminist.

It’s not like I’m not going to work. I am going to be working at what I wanted to do in the first place – ever since, oh I don’t know – since I was BORN.

For someone who got severely large scholarships to extremely well-known art schools across the country, and never used them – I mean, come on. At this point in my life, just finishing school and getting my first “real job” – I feel like I’ve let myself down, which I have.

I’m not trying to sound sad and pathetic here, because that’s not EXACTLY how I feel…

But I do have a speech now. So here you go:

I HAVE A DREAM,
That SOMEDAY I will not have to let my dependence on healthcare dictate how I live my life or what I do for a living.
I HAVE A DREAM, that SOMEDAY I will be able to own my little house instead of merely renting it.
I HAVE A DREAM, that SOMEDAY I will add onto my little house and have a two story bungalow.
I HAVE A DREAM that SOMEDAY I will own a hot tub and a tiny greenhouse where I will grow beautiful orchids, poinsettias and veggies.
I HAVE A DREAM that SOMEDAY I will be a working-from-home artist and be very successful in doing so – because I BELIEVE IN MYSELF.
I HAVE A DREAM that SOMEDAY I will be a stay-at-home mommy, offering unconditional love for my babies in a liberal world – not only within the walls of my own home, but outside of it – in a government who not only sees everyone as equals, regardless of race, but of class and income as well.
I HAVE A DREAM that SOMEDAY I will have a tiny home on the beach, where one world lapses up against the other the epitome of the world’s perfect, cyclical harmony. And, I dream that there won’t be too many sand fleas.
I HAVE A DREAM that I will follow my heart and my dreams; that I will not merely fade into the background of the world around me – but that I will make a difference in the lives of others through living my dreams.
I HAVE DREAM that my dreams really CAN and WILL come true.

As dorky and quaint as that all seems, what can I say? I was raised a Disney child. I was raised on the “When you wish upon a star” and “A dream is a wish your heart makes” idea.
After all, one man, one mouse.

I’m one woman, three birds, two cats and a dog. (And let’s not forget the partridge in my pear tree out back.)

And what about all those people who win the lottery and go bankrupt the following year because they were idiots with their money? NOT ME.

Here’s what I would do if I won the lottery; let’s give it a dollar amount first: say, today’s 63 Million dollars.

Ok: So I get $31.5 Million from that after taxes.
1) Buy my tiny house. $125,000 tops.
2) Ad onto that house $350,000 tops. (This includes the greenhouse, hot tub and an invisible fence for the dog.)
4) Buy a little beach house on the gulf. $300,000 tops on cheap, beach front property. I’m not revealing my real estate hideouts because I don’t need someone snatching up my cheapo-beach house!
5) Set up a trust fund for my littlest sister, $1 Million.
6) Pay off my student loans, $60,000.
7) Pay off my siblings’ student loans, $72,000.

So that’s $1,907,000 I’ve spent.
Now, I’m left with $29,907,000.

I would be donating money, anonymously – I don’t want any recognition for these donations - *HOWEVER* WITH STRICT INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW I WANT THE MONEY USED – for food, shelter, care, etc. NOT for frilly parties these societies throw for different occasions.

For example, I used to work at the St. Louis Club, hoity-toity and treated us servers like a very bad word. NPR had a la-dee-da dinner there, and the last time I checked, they got all their money through beneficiaries and “listener donations” – hence the annoying pledge drives they do throughout the year… And they’re spending that money on some kind of extravagant even at the St. Louis Club? Ha! NOT MY MONEY! Plus, their director was a total bitch to me, so I’m not giving them any money. This is their loss for being “above” the public in their little to-do parties and her loss for being mean to a young server just trying to make it through Journalism School. Wait – isn’t NPR all ABOUT journalism? Huh… too bad she didn’t ask WHY I was a server, and just assumed I was so BELOW her that she could treat me the way she did. Screw NPR. (But I still listen to it! I’ll use them now, but they don’t get to use my money.)

So, I will donate $1 Million to each of the following organizations:
- The Humane Society
- Free Tibet Campaign USA
- The Animal Protective Association
- The National Down Syndrome Society
- The Dystonia Society
- The Special Olympics
- The National Parks Conservation Association
- The Muscular Dystrophy Association
- Smile Train
- Kids with Cancer

So that’s another $10 Million. In total, I’ve spent $11,907,000.
I have $19,593,000 left.

That’s over $10,000 – obviously – so let’s say the bank gives me 1.243% interest on that $19,593,000.
Ok, that’s $243,5409.90 per year in interest the bank would give me.
Then I’m living off of that.

Do I need even $1 million to live on each year? No way!
Do I even need $$243,5409.90 a year to live happily? No way! I don’t think I could even spend that amount of money each year! So, of course, I’d take good care of people who have been close to me in my life, of course pay off any debt my parents or grandparents have, take care of my parents as they get older as well as, if ever married, pay off any debt on my in-laws’ side and take care of them as well.

And I’d foster care tons of animals. And I’d love it.

And THAT my friends, is why I should be winning the lottery. To be a working free-lance artist and stay-at-home mother, as well as to take care of good people and those in need.

I think that’s fantastically reasonable and don’t understand why someone doesn’t think they could just give me that money so I could do so much good with it.

Oh well. C’est la vie. I’m buying a lotto ticket today.

Over and Out. And Megan's a duck face.

Haikus are stupid and so is this government.

Today is Thursday.
Challenging myself today
I write in Haiku.

Traditionally
Haikus are about seasons
Or about nature

They usually
Are written with allusions
And kind of cryptic

These are however
Not traditional haiku
Duh, as you can see

But I could write one
Right now, traditionally
About the weather

Clouds, billowing up
Mist, clear, sleeping in the dew,
Gray, dreary, pleasant

So there you are guys
That was just my real haiku
Inconsequential

The rest of these words
Will not be real, true haiku
But, in that format

In five syllables
Then in seven syllables
Then five syllables

Two haikus ago
I wrote inconsequential
In as the last word

That was just because
It fits with five syllables
But I can use it

I can use that word
In my blog on this Thursday
Starting a topic

That topic will be
Our stupid President, Bush
Inconsequential

Obviously that,
Is what he thinks his actions.
Governmentally

Are to the people
In this society of
which we take part in

He is very wrong
He enables the richest
The rest go to pot

I’m kind of having
Sentences which are broken
Up between haikus

But if you are smart
You are still getting the gist
Of this dumb entry

The only thing which
Actually makes this dumb
Is my decision

My decision to
Write this entire entry
In haiku format

I don’t want to write
Anymore political
Opinions right now.

(*Obama ’08!*)

So Moving On now,
I don’t really like Thursdays
But Fridays I like

This is really dumb
I’ve decided that this was
Not a good idea

So now I’m going
To end this entry because
I’m sick of haikus.

I get to go to the beach in 59 Days!

I have several topics to cover today. Here they are, in no special order, but probably the order I will write about them in anyhow:
1) robotic killer wasps
2) Cat Power
3) Peter Fand
4) cleaning out my purse this morning
5) a new potential collection item for my home
6) 59 days until I go to the beach
7) my best friend’s wedding (literally)
8) my personal thoughts on weddings
9) why I don’t get into the ocean

OK, to start with, in downtown St. Louis, where I work, there are these big metal round things with what appear to be rabbit ears coming out of the sides of them and little balls on top. I asked my wonderful, caring, much appreciated, and gorgeous boyfriend what he thought they were.

I was expecting an answer like, “probably some kind of sensor to detect cars for the traffic lights,” or even, “probably some kind of camera that takes your license plate picture if you run the light and then they send you a ticket.”

No.

This is what I got, “Well, you see, sometimes those little antennas on the side shoot out little robotic killer wasps. So you better watch out. I’m serious.”

Wtf? OK, I know it was early in the morning, but come on. Actually, let’s give him props for creativity and just hope he’s not right.

Cat Power, and I’m not talking about the super ability my adorable Russian Blue has to jump eight feet in the air and still not catch that bug he’s after. My Russian Blue who has been deemed merely No. 2 cat in the world (he was previously No. 1 until SOMEONE changed his mind and went for his maybe-to-be-girlfriend-but-definitely-ex-girlfriend-at-the-moment’s cat). Just letting everyone know, Baby has confided in me that his feelings are extremely hurt and his soul is just crushed about this news. He worked very hard for his gold and feels like he's been wrongfully out-catted to silver.

Cat Power, the musical artist – this is the topic I’m talking about. Have you ever seen Juno? She’s on that soundtrack. Sea of Love, that’s the song on the soundtrack – it plays when Juno’s actually having her baby and Jennifer Garner is seeing her adopted baby boy for the first time. It fits really nicely in there.

Anyway, I put an entirely different meaning to it whenever I listen to it, and I know this sounds super-entirely-corny, but every time I listen to it I totally cry. Not because of the Juno baby thing, even though that’s sweet and all, but because of my own personal reasons and events in my life (which actually has a very big Juno connection – no I was never pregnant and giving up my baby for adoption). Listen to the lyrics of that song. Sure, they're simple, but they totally make me bawl, and in a sappy way, not in a sad way.

This is ridiculous for anyone who may know me because if you really know me, you know I don’t cry. I am my mother’s daughter. Her life’s philosophy is, “Suck it up.” She’s one of those hardcore nurses. Living with several ridiculously stupid medical disorders my entire life, this “Suck it up,” and, “WhatEVER,” philosophy of hers has really become an ingrained part of my life’s philosophy as well. I can’t remember a single time in my life when my mother has cried at something as sappy as a stupid love song for any kind of reason (this is excluding the part in "Little House on the Prairie" when supposedly Jack the dog drowns in a flash flood - even though she KNOWS he comes back and isn't dead after all). And I follow in her footsteps. She’s the strongest woman I know, and if I can be one ounce as strong as she has been my entire life, then I will truly be the person I have always been driven to become.

But this stupid song makes me break down and lose it.

It's kind of like when (some) people look at wedding proposals on YouTube and start crying over them. Same idea.

And her other songs are awesome as well.

MOVING ON. (*OBAMA ’08!*)

Peter Fand. He's got several albums out, however, his newest one which is not out yet - Exporter I'mporter - is really going to be worth checking out. I have had the opportunity to listen to a before-released album and it's kind of like a Paul Simon deal. So that's cool. The boy toy says that his voice isn't strong enough to pull off some of the vocals he "tries" to do - but I disagree. And I can do that in this country without getting hit, and I take full advantage of that by disagreeing with a lot of stuff men say. They don't make babies by themselves, you know.

And what kind of gut-belting vocals does Paul Simon ever pull off anyhow?

I cleaned out my purse this morning, and now there are crumbies all over the carpet in front of my desk. The janitor will hate me.

Today my dad sent me an email letting me know that he will be going out of town tomorrow for a show in Milwaukee. Normally, when people go somewhere I ask them to bring me back sand, so I asked him to bring me back sand. He sent me back an email saying - FROM MILWAUKEE?

So, I asked him to maybe just bring me back dirt. I have stated before that I collect seashells, rocks and sand from places - but I could start putting dirt in jars as well. As if I needed more stuff in jars around my home, or more dirt for that matter. However, if he brings me back dirt, I suppose I'll start a dirt collection, would should be fairly interesting - maybe not to anyone else but me - but I think it'd be nice. Dirt has all different colors after all; just like sand! I think I'll just ask him to bring me back a rock instead.

Alright, I just sent him an email asking for a rock instead. My grandpa collects/used to collect rocks. He has them all sorted out by type, fossils, etc. and labeled. I think that's awesome. He used to be a science teacher, however, he did not teach geology - he taught horticulture.

My whole family's nuts. I love them.

Today, it's exactly 59 days until I get to go to the beach, which is all I want for my birthday (which is 11 days away) besides a card - since my wonderful, caring, sweet boyfriend is offering to take me there and pay for the whole thing himself. So what more could I want? Nothing at all. Except to possibly live on the beach, which I will someday do - I don't care how little my house is, how little insurance I will ever be able to get on it, or how much my mother warns me about hurricanes. Sorry mom, I'm going to live on the beach someday, even if it's just a second little house. It will be my little sanctuary and I will revel in it.

This is my favorite quote of all time:
"If you're lucky enough to live on the beach, then you're lucky enough."

This is coming from a born and bred Midwest girl of course, but it can't be helped. My mother is the strongest and most practical woman I know and I would be humbled to have her courage and strength, but my father is the one who has instilled in me the realization of all the beauty and dreams in the world which I remember to soak up and take with me always. I would never survive without that precious gift. The beach is from my father, thank you daddy.

One of my very best friends is getting married Aug. 1st of next year (2009) - Ellie. I've been asked to be a dual-maid of honor with my very good friend Jen. "OK," said I. So, there you have it. Now, in addition to trying to pin down a husband of my own I've got the responsibilities of helping to plan someone else's wedding. That's fine - I think I'll just freakin' elope anyway. Or, I'll have my sister be my maid of honor because I know she won't bother to even think to put together any kind of bridal shower or bachelorette party for me - because she knows I don't want/need any of that.

If I get married - everyone - this is important. I am going to register for gifts at Target, Macy's, and probably want Schnucks gift cards to help pay for my meds. Really, all I'm going to want is a food processor, a knife block set, and another set of sheets. Is this so hard? I think not. My house is small, and I can't fit too much more into it. If you'd like to give me a vacation to somewhere warm, I would be very willing to take you up on that offer as well. Also, I wouldn't mind it if someone wanted to buy my house for me, give me a greenhouse or a hot tub. And I'm really kind of interested in those tub-pool things that has that current that flows in one direction so you can swim "laps" in it without actually going anywhere... have you seen those infomercials? That thing fascinates me and I wouldn't mind one of those either. But see if you could get one heated, so it'd be like a hot tub and a lap pool all in one. THAT would be ideal. But I'm not expecting it. Heck, I'm not even engaged, much less planning a wedding yet - so don't get too concerned with my presents yet, OK?

OK, and my last bit from today: Why I don't get in the ocean.

I don't get in the ocean because I am afraid of mostly everything that lives in the ocean (except for sea turtles). I don't want anything that lives in the ocean even touching me because it feels gross and creepy and I'm sure it would be different if I were a mermaid and married to Michael Phelps, but I'm not so I don't like the ocean.

Also, there are many things in the ocean that might eat or harm me.

I feel I have a deal with things that might eat me and for this explanation, I am going to quote from an email I once sent my good man Charlie Brown:

"I don't eat certain things purely because I'm scared that if I eat them, they will have the fair right to eat me back. I know that's a little strange, but it makes perfect reasonable sense to me. Such as:
- Sharks
- Giant Squids
- Alligators or Crocodiles (although I did have "alligator on a stick" once - but I said sorry, sorry, SORRY to the great Alligator gods or whatever and it didn't even taste that great. In fact, it tasted exactly like chicken, which I am not even kidding about. And I will NEVER, EVER eat it again.
- Snakes
- Snapping turtles
- Jellyfish, but I don't think you can really eat those anyway.
- Large Predatory Mammals such as Komodo Dragons (which by the way are not mammals), Lions, Tigers and Bears, Oh my!
- Large non-Predatory Mammals (because they are underestimated and will still manage to impale or chomp or trample you, even if they don't eat you afterwards) such as Hippopotamuses, Elephants, Rhinoceroses, Baboons, and big Deer.

That's pretty much all I can think of right now in that field.

So, Over and out.

Don't get in the water!!!

I did not, in fact, discuss why I don't get in the ocean like I said I would.

I will later.

That is all. Over and out again.

Do not ever pee everywhere. Ever.

I have 63 days until I go to the beach, not counting today. I am very excited about this, even though I don’t get in the water for reasons which will be discussed shortly.

But first, let’s discuss (or rather I’ll discuss with myself through typing on this weird “blog” thing which is really just thinking to myself on paper – much like a journal – except much more ‘stream of thought’ like you’d do for a shrink…hmm…) how excited I am about going on vacation!
P.S. It’s not even thinking to myself on paper, it’s just on a computer, floating in space somewhere. That’s almost scary enough for me to consider NOT doing this any longer, but just writing crazy long, strange, and most likely exasperating emails to people I know. However, I’m doing it anyway. To save trees, and feel like even if total strangers are reading this, SOMEONE is, and not just deleting it from their inbox.

Boy do I love trees. But hey, I’m a Statesman! (woman!) We are known around St. Louis as “tree huggers,” which I’m not sure exactly how accurate that is – it wasn’t like Webster Groves High School were just a bunch of wandering hippies. I know plenty of people who came from OTHER schools (*cough, cough, LINDBERGH, cough, KIRKWOOD, cough, NERINX, cough* please excuse me while I clear my throat) who I would categorize in the “hippie” category much more than Webster. I am pretty much taking myself out of the equation here, because I am a little earth-recycling-gardening-blah, blah, blah-fanatical. However, (I type “however” a lot) I really did see more popped-collars in my time at DUB-G! than I saw someone actually washing out and recycling their soda bottle.

So how did we get this tree-hugging reputation? My best guess is that Webster Groves simply has a lot of trees in it and we “hugged” them with biodegradable toilet paper on, if not a semi-regular, then at least ONE BIG annual event. Ah, Senior Ladies Night.

For those of you who pretty much suck, let me explain Senior Ladies Night in Webster Groves: Step 1.- The Seniors for the year get out of school earlier than the rest of the students.
Step 2.- The Juniors for that year then proclaim themselves THE SENIORS
Step 3.- For unknown reasons, a traditional celebration began sometime back where the New Seniors deem a certain “secret” night to be Senior Ladies Night, where the New Senior girls dress in camo-black, stuff their cars with t.p. and various other property defacing materials which are confiscated by the cops if they get pulled over. (So someone always has backup materials strategically placed at their house to go a retrieve if this occurs. In my case, it was my parents’ screened-in porch.
Step 4.- The boys fight back, or at least they’re supposed to. Mainly, it was the popped-collar boys who pretty much sucked to begin with who did this. The others, well, they were high school boys, so they were either in a state of drooling on their pillows, drooling while playing some video game, or drooling while doing something I am not even going to elaborate on here – in both cases completely unaware of the shenanigans taking place in their front yards. That is, of course, until their mother screams at them to clean it up the next morning.
**ALSO NOTE*** the New Seniors often advertise a different night as Senior Ladies Night to dupe the school and the cops. This pisses off all administration – which is the point.
And of course, Mrs. G. makes Senior Ladies T-shirts for all the girls to order and wear the following day to school after staying up all night. It’s awesome.

Eggs are also biodegradable and we used those around town quite a bit as well. In doing so, this often ended up in peeling the paint off of cars – therefore leaving rust spots and turning our cars into your typical biodegrading high school vehicles.

Ok, I don’t care what you were just doing or reading, but go to this link right now and watch this, I am not even kidding:
What? Oh.

Alright, if you have followed my previous instructions correctly, you don’t know whether to laugh, kind of cry a little bit, or maybe you’re just totally weirded out, but I don’t care. You know it made your day a little better no matter what.

MOVING ON.

I was in the middle of a very important critique of how/why Webster Groves High School grads may or may not be called “tree huggers” for various reasons.
I’m now pretty much done with that explanation.

Alright, so the beginning point of this all was that I’m excited about vacation! My conversation about this excitement today went somewhat like this:

“I’m going on vacation in 63 days!”
“Aren’t you so excited about that?”
“I’m so excited about going on vacation I could pee everywhere, but that would be gross, so I’m not going to.”
“You would pee everywhere? That’s kind of gross.”
“Yeah, you know, like a dog gets excited and pees.”
“But, you’re a person, not a dog.”
“Right, that’s why I’m not going to do that.”
“Ok...good.”
“By the way, thanks for explaining to me that I’m a person, and not a dog.”

Here is another exciting bit of information for everyone:
Lately, as I have previously stated, I have been listening constantly to www.iheardeadpeople.com. Well, today, I switched it up and switched back to www.allnumberone.com.

This station plays all the number one hits from 1960 up until today.
For weeks, YEARS seemingly, “I Kissed A Girl” by Katy Perry was the current number one hit, which they play every two hours. Today I checked, and many of you will be happy to hear it’s changed. (I was a little sad…) However, you people who are happy that it changed, will probably NOT be happy to hear that the number one song in the nation now is “Disturbia” by Rihanna. SO HA HA!

I just listened to “I’m too sexy” by Right Said Fred. Have any of you actually listened to that song – not just mimicked it in social passing? It’s friggin’ hilarious. I’m proud to say I listened very closely to the lyrics, and it they made me want to laugh and get up out of my chair and dance. Or “catwalk”, or something – anything. It was great. I am so happy it was a number one song once!
It made me almost as happy as seeing Beyonce at Burger King.

One last note: Mariah Carey had WAAAAAY too many number one hits, and it my personal opinion, I don’t think any slow song should have ever made number one on the charts. Not perky, not fun, sometimes grotesquely sappy, and they just really don’t make me happy to listen to. That is why, I listen to dead people instead.

Kiss a girl today, and like it.

Over and out.

Everyone's an Olympian!

Happy Olympics everybody! In the midst of all this excitement, I started thinking, wow – I could never possibly do anything those people on the television in front of me are doing. Never, ever. And I couldn’t think of a single person I knew who could. Although I do know many talented people, (sorry little bro – there is no Olympic competition for farting), none of them could ever possibly compare to these crazy athletes!

And then I thought, wow, it must suck to be those kinds of athletes. You have no other life but that activity. However, maybe they like it. I don’t think I would.

Then I started thinking, everyone has GOT to be the best at something, even if they’re not internationally televised for it. Really, you all have something you do that is superbly above 8 billion other people out there. Even if it’s just, you know, sucking the most at doing something. You still are the best at being the worst. Really, that’s a good thing now.

However, if you have absolutely no talents or hobbies, which I hope is a rare occasion in any and all people, there is always one hobby that people can happily and easily enjoy on a regular basis. This hobby is deemed “People Watching”.

Today, even though I am proud to say I have a lot of things I like to do (such as many various old-lady activities like “yarn crafts” and “Weather Channel watching”), I was people watching.

The very best thing about this hobby is the critique you are allowed to do of absolute strangers from afar, without even knowing them! It’s great. It goes like this, “I don’t know you, I probably don’t want to know you (because of _____ which I have just observed about you), but I’m going to label you anyway.”

Today I want to talk about labeling people who wear big or long t-shirts with short shorts. Wow. Not a good combination.

I saw a lady wearing these articles of clothing today. What can we label her as? There are many things in fact: Maybe she has no fashion sense whatsoever. Maybe she likes the double-look reaction people give her as they check to see, if in fact, she is wearing pants; that would label her as attention seeking and therefore maybe sex-deprived, or even so far as a nymphomaniac. But honestly now, wearing that, I would not have any desire towards her. But that’s just me. On the upside, maybe it’s her laundry day and she had no other choice but to wear the last two items of clothing in her closet. The downside to giving her this advantage of optimistic and hopeful doubt is that we must conclude that she’s pretty much a dumb-dumb. Not like delicious and savory little bits of high-fructose corn syrup niblits on a stick. Like the kind of person who doesn’t know any better to NEVER GO OUTSIDE ON LAUNDRY DAY. But perhaps she was forced to do so, like she had an errand to be run ASAP. This, friends, is severely (and I cannot stress that enough) unfortunate.

If you even happen to be in her situation, it will suck for you. Friends, PLEASE PLAN for laundry day. Think about what you have to wear in comparison to what you must leave your house for.
If there is anyway possible to not leave your house wearing this outfit – do so. I mean ANY WAY POSSIBLE. Get someone else to run your errand if you are in this position – friend, relative, a kid you see out your window – I mean it. Put your bathrobe on, hang out your window, flag the kid down and give him a couple of bucks to do whatever it is you think is so brutally important that you must leave your house in your no-no outfit. In fact, if you absolutely must leave the house, just wear your big, fluffy bathrobe. I mean this.

But, she might be the best at going outside looking like she has no pants on. And maybe that’s what’s she’s going for. “I’m the best optical-illusion pants wearer in the world!” Think about it. Now don’t. It’s gross.

On another note, let’s talk about the REAL Olympics. And we’re NOT talking about any “China screwed up our national anthem on purpose” or “China’s only publicizing and endorsing Communism with their opening ceremony” rants. Why? Because those conversations are stupid.

So maybe China screwed up “our song” on purpose. Yeah, right. Whatever. If you think that, you’re dumb too. Why….would they do that? For what purpose? Think about it. None. So shut up.

And what’s so wrong with Communism anyway? Have any one of you people complaining about the opening ceremonies read the Communist Manifesto? I’ll bet you….What’s that? NO you say? That’s right. And Mainland China – The Republic of China – is not even communist. They’re a single-party socialist government. So have a problem with that and stop ripping on the reds. Go vacuum your trailer or something. AMERICA!!!

So ON with the Olympics! Michael Phelps… Wowzers. That pretty much summarizes that one up.

In the words of a person within close proximity to me at this moment, “He’s like a fish. He’s not even like a real person.”

He was 19 years old when he won his first six gold medals, four years ago at the last Olympics, as you all pretty much already know about I’m sure. So now… four years later he’s 23, born exactly two months before me. That makes him eligible. Of course I would NEVER leave my boyfriend for a rich, ripped, gold-medal winning Olympian. I can barely swim one lap, and our children would probably have gills. The first component makes me incompatible with him and the second component just weirds me out (like women running around who may or may not be wearing pants, who knows? You can’t really tell. Freaks me out.). Obviously, that’s not the only reason I would never leave ol’ shnuggy-puts. So don’t jump on me about my Phelps comment, boys. Your bud’s still safe.

Besides, Michael Phelps is like Cary Grant. Women want him, men want to be him, and heck, even men want him too. So how could you blame me? I’m only human.

So that raises my final question here… if my attraction to Cary Grant makes me “only human”, does that mean that my dog is no longer “only a dog” since he got ‘fixed’ yesterday and therefore shouldn’t be attracted to other dogs? Think about that one too.

Over and out. (I’m so dorky. I don’t even care.)

Richness Revised.

I've just been informed that Apple did not actually create this application on their own.

It WAS evidently an application made by someone else, that was offered on their Website as an additional application you could buy/use. Like a Facebook application.

However, due to poor publicity thrown Apple's way (like my piece of well-thought-out Apple-bashing) the company has pulled it off of their site. Editorial discretion, always having the last word.

STILL... to offer any kind of application on Apple's Website it's a long, drawn-out process. So SOME dumbshit in Apple approved it. Way to go. BUT, it wasn't the whole company.

So, sorry for ripping you a new one there, Apple. I do love my iPod. However, you should considering keeping track of what your employees are approving from now on...huh?

Are YOU rich?

So, Fox News has an online article I was sent by a "good friend" - i.e. the boyfriend. The WONDERFUL, HANDSOME, LOVING, boyfriend I am so fortunate to have!

Seeing as how he just finished his anthropology minor (high-five!) - which I'm sure will come in very handy while he's playing the guitar, drums, or finishing up his journalism major which he doesn't even want - he thought I should blog about the article.

So I am.

The article states that Apple has come out with a new product - an 'I am Rich' screen saver for a person's iPod touch or iPhone. It costs $999.99 - and that's all it is, a screen saver of a little glowing red jewel which appears on the product to "always reminds you (and others when you show it to them) that you were able to afford this. It's a work of art with no hidden function at all".

WTF?

Also, my fair friends, it is not available in the U.S.

Here's the question my WONDERFUL, CARING, LOVING, HANDSOME, boyfriend posed to me:
What does it mean for society that the product featured in this story exists?

I'll add onto that question, since I'm a U.S. citizen, what does that mean for the society in which the product featured in this story DOESN'T exist?

Both answers suck.

It means, for the societies in which this application IS offered:
a) Apple thinks: if you DO have a shit-ton of money, that you're too stupid to always remember that, so now you CAN remember it whenever you look down at your super-expensive Mp3 and/or cell phone. That way, when you're in Harrods and you see 27 different pairs of Pravda and Jimmy Choos you think you ABSOLUTELY NEED, but think, "Damnit, it would be so expensive to buy all of them," - your problem is solved!
Just glance at your cell whenever you're in that situation and think "Oh yeah! I have a crap binge of a huge bank account - because I just spent enough money to feed a third world country for a month on a retarded-looking screen saver for my friggin' PHONE - and can afford ALL these shoes, PLUS 5 new gas-guzzling American-made SUVs to run over all those stupid bicycle-riders!"
b) If you're one of those people who DOES purchase the product you're a self-centered, arrogant ass. Period. And Apple was right - YOU ARE STUPID. Feed people a bunch of rice instead, OK?
c) Anyone, who unfortunately doesn't have a thousand bucks to drop on a dumb image, won't care about it. They can't afford it, THEY know it's stupid because they know the value of a buck since they're working full-time and trying to pay rent, and don't give a flying f**k about it.
Also, these people will lose a lot of respect for Apple, if they even care.
AND, they probably WON'T care about it, since they'll never even see one, because they're not going to be glancing at the screen saver of some one's dumb phone on the train or something - because the people who are dumb enough to purchase a piece of crap application like that "just to let the world know they're rich" will definitely not be riding the train to work. Guaranteed.

It means, for the societies in which this is NOT offered (i.e. the U.S.):
Maybe there's something wrong with their economy, and the application won't do well because there aren't enough rich people to buy it? Anyone? Bueller? Yes? Bush. **Oops! did I write that out loud?! (Obama O8!)**

Furthermore, it's odd... published by Forbes on April, 30 2008 - THIS YEAR - stated that the U.S. had the most cities in their Top 10 list of Cities for Billionaires. New York, L.A., Dallas and San Fransisco. But that's just billionaires. So really, it's not odd at all. Billionaires don't become billionaires by being stupid. And only stupid people would buy this application.

Maybe Apple should offer it to Paris Hilton exclusively. "Thanks white-haired Apple man, I guess this means I'm rich! Good thing I've got something to remind me of that now. I endorse this product, because, I think it's hot." Then, when she's sitting in her prison cell, the cop holding onto her personal possessions can know that she's rich - not because she's Paris Hilton, but because he can see her screen saver on her phone. Way to go everyone.

Russia's Moscow made the #1 city for billionaires... which is possibly connected to NPR's question on 'Wait, wait, don't tell me' show last Saturday "What is the most expensive city to visit in the world?" Moscow. And you want to know why? Toilet paper. There is never any toilet paper in their restrooms - so you have to buy your own.

Yet, since it's BILLIONAIRES I'm discussing here, I'm thinking that they are smart enough to not need to be reminded they're rich in Russia as well. Also in Mumbai, London and Hong Kong - billionaires - don't need to reminded that they're rich. So screw that idea.

And screw Forbes. A greed-driven publication marketing to the rich, about the rich.

Maybe Apple should market a "Hey, our economy's dieing out but I'm still driving/buying this monstrosity of a gas-guzzling elephant vehicle," bumper sticker to put on the back of Americans' cars. They'd make more money, it's more practical, and it could still glow red if they liked.

Over and Out.

Gold, Silver, Bronze...all mined by little children and you know it.

So who's excited about the Olympics? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Personally, I'm kind of semi-pumped about them. I prefer the winter Olympics, not gonna lie.

However, I felt as if I should provide everyone with a well thought out tribute to this wonderful occasion with a presentation of, what else, PANDAS!

I do not wish to overwhelm anyone with the fantastical excitement I'm sure you all are squirming with at simply the anticipation of not only the Olympics, but the Olympics in Beijing - which of course includes (and deserves) a tribute to the endangered Panda species.

So here you go, short but sweet for you Panda viewing pleasure:

Sneezing cutey

Politically incorrect in the United States, but evidently not in China.

A very semi-informative video on exactly why Pandas are going extinct, and how it's basically their own fault. Stupid bears.

Panda Mike

Sometimes Pandas get chilly too

This is my favorite one.

Well, that's about it for right now, I am, after all, an extremely busy person most of my life.

Over and Out.

I hear dead people, all day long...

And Megan said, "Let there be light." And there was...but was it good? As I was just getting used to our darkened office space - a "green building" sensing movement (or non-movement in this case) to turn the lights on and off. Energy efficient, right? Right. Well, then she had to move, OF COURSE turning on the lights and shocking my eyeballs. This is a regular occurrence. Luckily, I'm going blind, so someday I won't even notice.

That, my friends, will be a good day. Although some people would argue that, and their arguments would be justified. Just saying, don't like my eyeballs hurting. Who does? Just saying.

So as of late, I have discovered the best online radio station in the world, http://www.iheardeadpeople.com/. Their catch is that any song they play, some member of that group (or single singer if it's a solo song) is dead. Dead like my dad's dog, Rover, that I ran over with the lawn mower. And whoever came up with the stupid phrase "dead as a doornail"? That makes no sense. First of all, what is a doornail? I may just be stupid, but a doornail seems to me to be...a nail...which is in a door. Is that nail any "deader" than any other nail placed anywhere else in your house? And what nails are walking around, talking, living, breathing, reproducing, having little "nail lives"? Do they farm nails? Slaughter them to build our doors, window frames, walls, homes, etc.? No. They don't. However, they (human peoples) do do that to various other life forms, like cows, pigs, chickens, bunnies. The phrase would be much more appropriate if it went like this: "Dead as a skinned chinchilla." Sucks to be that chinchilla, and therefore, the phrase is much more effective. No one cares about nails - but chinchillas are cute and soft (the softest fur in the world, in fact) so people empathize with those poor creatures. Good people do at least. Maybe you don't empathize with them, maybe you're not a 'good person'. I personally do feel bad for dead chinchillas - yet, I don't claim to be a 'good person'.

SO, the conclusion to this is: Feeling bad for dead chinchillas = neither good nor bad people at all. I'm a hypocrite, and the doornail phrase sucks. Period.

Moving on, (I ordered my FREE Obama button from them btw...facebook.) I listen to this before mentioned radio station non-stop. Unless I'm doing something on the other side of my cubicle, getting more coffee, smoking, or "using the ladies room". Which I'm very paranoid about, but that's an entirely different story which involves opera singing, a surprise party in my basement, boxers, and a sports bra. It is in no way kinky or sexual. Just detrimental to the development of my restroom usage abilities. If I could listen to this radio station in the bathroom, it make help me. So, obviously, I'm listening to dead people - every thing's great! Not a bad song, and not kidding! Sometimes people exaggerate about these things, I am not. Ray Charles, The Who, Jimi Hendrix, Queen (right now - playing 'Fat Bottomed Girls' - hell yeah! That is my song!), Janis Joplin, The Beatles, all those other 'British Invasion' bands, Alice in Chains, Nirvana (duh.), mainly everything I've got on vinyl at home - with the exceptions of Simon & Garfunkel, Radiohead and Wilco. They are not dead. And will somebody please tell me who died in the Gin Blossoms, because I don't know who it is, but they play the Gin Blossoms on this station. Someone is definitely dead.

On a rather sad note, they played the Alvin and the Chipmunk's Christmas Song the other day - I had no idea Alvin the Chipmunk had died. I supposed every chipmunk meets his end someday, but seriously? Mice do too, is Mickey Mouse dead? Nope. I see him often, in person in fact. It's similar to chinchillas. "Dead like Alvin the Chipmunk". I don't care who you are or what kind of fur muffs you're wearing, you are saddened by that phrase. But it's true. He's dead. Sorry.

Since we are on the topic of listening to composers who have passed on, let's talk about people who have passed on which people all over the world are passing. Like in the bathroom. And it's in the form of Tums, made right here in ol' St. Louis. Tums are very similar to soylent green, except a little fruitier and it settles you're stummy nicely. But so does chalk. Chalk is not dead people, however, Tums are - I am pretty sure.

Tums - the target of my conspiracy of a bureaucratic empire of deception to grieving friends and relatives everywhere - simply being fronted by crematoriums.

Yes, indeed.

You see, TUMS backwards, is SMUT. I have been informed that smut does not mean people's ashes being packed with water into little round circles. Yes, I know if means yucky, sexual stuff. But in this case, you can't call wet ashes "mud" - no, these little blobs are people. And thus, must be given a name similar to "mud" but they are not mud. Smut. Backwards, that's Tums. Yes.

What are tums made out of? Calcium Carbonate. What are bones made out of?

Think about it.

Over and Out.