Your Boyfriend Is Gay! And Other Such Truths.

That Simon and Garfunkel Song

Am returning home today.

Currently in the Portland International Airport watching the endless march of the oldsters who will be boarding the flight with me to Minneapolis.  Am under the firm belief that current population of incipent passangers on flight 590 to Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport have, to quote me Mum, "more pills than Carter".

Best line heard at PDX whilst disembarking from flight from Pasco: "But if I marry him, then I will have to have sex with him and then I will just feel like a hooker."

The Fresh Maker

Had a dream lastnight that upon returning home to MN, my entire life had turned into a Mento's commerical.

Somehow, this doesn't set me at ease.

My Kingdom for a Mouse!

What kind of world do we live in when your little compact line-retractable mouse is stolen in your old stompin' grounds!! 

The Nerve!

The Cheek!

Have decided will stalk around old site with murderous look on face in manner of bad Sly Stallone movie of the '80s. 

Will forgo on the face makeup.  Am never able to find the best shade of green for skin tone.  Must never look sallow while under florescent lighting.

Flem and Regret

Am still in the PacNW.

Am sick.  Irritatingly sick.

Am leaving Portland early as project went v. well indeed, but am unable to fly home early as that would cost too much so am happily spending the extra time in hometown wit da hometown 'mo crowd.

Have ingested far more cold medicine that is really prudent for me (don't care though).

Am irritated that am not able to get a hold of some one on the telephone line.  But email makes me (almost as) happy.

I want a dog.

Must remember to get a hold of the Sisters Grimm while in town as two of them celebrate a birthday soon and should really wish them happy birthday in person and such.

And now for some fun:

I'm afraid. 

Click on the image and you will find out why.

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And in this little tid-bit: It appears that an Indiana town, in an homage to the third (and most hilarious) Mad Max movie, plans to use pig manure to power their town.

Who run Barter Town?

Mastah-Blasta run Barter Town! 

Or at least Reynolds, Indiana. 

Too bad they can't make that crazy freak Mel Gibson shovel shit.  That wouldn't work though as he would probably try and do an epic movie in a dead language about it.

Glam Spock

Am wondering what has happened...  Wit has apparently left me.

Am desolate.

Am inconsolable.

It's inconceivable.

And a whole lotta other words that begin with "in" and sufficently describe my heartbrokenishness over the loss of said wit.

Will drink, perhaps too much in a fruitless attempt to find said wit.

Or somthing like that.

Oh, and those crazy Germans are at it again.

That Whale Bone is Poking My Gorges!

Left work in PDX (well, actually Hillsboro - but am not one to split hairs), took the boss to airport and then headed to pick up nephew for the trip to the ol' homestead.  This normally would take about 30 minutes, which was budgeted.

Normally...

In this case, normally turned from 30 minutes to 2 hours.  Thank you, Portland for reminding me why have decided in the past to not live there.

I FINALLY find my sisters new house in the miserable little suburb of Forest Grove after reading her crack-addict-like written directions all mushed together into one run on sentence/paragraph.  Collect the nephew and am off again.  When originally attempted to make it to Ye Ol' Homestead by 6pm turned into arriving at 9:15pm.

Am not bitter.  Swear.  Really.

Now am lounging at the bar of friends enjoying the company of those that have not been in the presence of me for a year or more.

On a completely unrelated topic...  WHEN DID NINE INCH NAILS BECOME ALL "HOUSEY"!!!!????

For some reason am feeling betrayed.

V.V. Betrayed.

The Endless Desert of the Gay

Ok,

Have finished the stent in Seattle and am now in the Hometown, and more specifically at the Mo Better 'Mo Bar owned and operated by my good friends.  The kids are, quite frankly, the only people that keep me sane in this pit when I am here.

And am (or have been) sittin' with my good friend Katie, an uber cool member of the Lesbetariate.  I have been pressing her and her partner Marcye (only one of my bestest friends EVER, and the Original Evil Twin Marcye) to join Friendster.  Todate, I haven't succeeded and plan on escelating my campaign to bribe level soon (will have to figure out what to bribe them with as they have everything under the sun...  perhaps a kitten...  they love the kittens)...

Now, on to the fun:

Am wondering what the actual conversation would have been if they weren't on national television?   Am thinking that there would be a comment about someone being someones bitch...  Will leave it to you to decide.

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One of these things is not like the other....  I think it's the guy on the left...  He has the look of a dirty old man about him.

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Now, apart from the fact that they look nuttier than my grandmothers fruitcake, they just look weird.  Just plain weird.  Like their heads are being held up by sticks strapped to the backs of their necks.  Or is it that perhaps one of them is actually one of the gentlemen pictured above.

Deeee-luxe

Best line heard in Seattle todate:

"I could have lived my whole life without hearing about some lesbians with ringworm in their cooter."

The Evil Twin wanted me to put up a picture of ringworm.  I have declined.

They're in the Air and Everywhere

This post originally had a very generalized overview of a dream that I had about my life flashing before my eyes as a mixed cast review of the Sid & Marty Kroft shows.  But, in the tradition of WWII dictators, and the current U.S. Administration, I have opted to censor the post in a vain attempt to not admit it's existence and yet let everyone know that it happened in the act of denying it (yes, very Vaticanesque as well).

Not to mention the fact that I am severely hampered from adding fun filled pictures and links to said not-admitted-to-really-exist-post as the Evil Twins computer is on the fritz and will not allow it.

Will attempt to venture out to the great and wonderful Emerald City in search of (in fantastic Leonard Nimoy narrated way) fun filled and quirky pictures to insert into next posting.

Also note that almost glued fingers together in child-like examination of glue tube that looked suspiciously like a Clorox Bleach Pen.  I know, I know.