Reality check.

I don't like to post about most personal stuff. I don't see this blog as an online diary, but today, I found out some news that I feel like I need to write about. But I'm going to keep names a secret.

Less than two months ago, I participated in the American Cancer Society's Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk. At the event, there were lots of women wearing shirts with the names of loved ones printed or written on them, and at one point, I was asked to wear a sticker and had to fill in the blank after "I'm doing this for..." I didn't know what to write. I didn't know anyone who had breast cancer. As far as I knew, none of my close friends had a mother who had gone through the ordeal. The women in my family are fine. I remember thinking,"Ehh...I don't know who I'm doing this for. I'll just write 'All Women'." The sad part is that it never crossed my mind to feel FORTUNATE that I didn't have anything to write in that blank space, the way I nonchalantly decided on 'All Women.'

Today, I have a name to put in that blank.

This morning, I found out that someone I am friends with and at one point in my life, was a mentor, has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Ever since I found out, I've been sitting at work, staring at my computer screen, unable to think about anything except repeating the word "cancer" over and over again in my head. My first thought was "Why her? Why now? This isn't fair."

My second thought was fear. She isn't that much older than me. If it can happen to her, it can happen to me. This is the first time something like breast cancer has hit so close to home, and I'm not dealing with it very well. It's kind of funny. I've been reading the blog she started about battling her cancer and she's generally upbeat and has maintained her sense of humor through the whole situation. And here I am - on the other side of the country and a complete wreck because I can't do anything to help.

As cliche as it sounds, I've had the biggest reality check of my life today. In a matter of seconds, every perception I had about being a woman changed. Cancer happens. It can happen to anyone. It can happen at any time.

The one thought I find solace in is that I know this friend is strong. In fact, she's probably one of the strongest people I know. She doesn't take shit from anyone, so this cancer better watch its back. She'll kick its ass before it even knows what happened. Ninja style.

Good vibes and prayers are being sent to California. Great big, ginormous panda-infused vibes...

Thank you Dunkin Donuts for making me look stupid.

I realized last night that for the majority of my adult life, I have misspelled the word "doughnuts." How could someone with a college degree in English misspell such a common word, you may ask. Well, here is a little secret: I only made it to the school spelling bee once in elementary school (5th grade), and I was kicked out in the first round. I don't even remember the word that got me disqualified, but I think that was the complete shock and mortification that sunk after realizing I hadn't even made it to Round #2: Verbs.

However, I now believe there is another culprit at large. When you break down in scientific terms exactly what constitutes a doughnut, you have some dough that is in the shape of a nut. Why not put the two together for fun?! But in 1950, William Rosenberg decided to unleash the ultimate mind fuck when he named his store Dunkin Donuts. Why he chose this spelling, I don't know. His first store's name was The Open Kettle, so I would assume if spelling wasn't his forte, he would have chosen Thee Opin Kettel. I can only guess that Rosenberg thought that Dunkin Donuts sounded catchy, and maybe he wanted to save on typewriter ink - donut is arguably shorter than doughnut. He obviously wanted to take the "ugh" out of ordering ink cartridges for his machine. Well, "ugh" is the noise I made when I realized how often I misspelled doughnut. Thanks Mr. Rosenberg. Your thriftiness has made me look like a dumb ass.

I can only guess that my early adoption of Dunkin Donuts' doughnut holes as a staple in my diet led to me believe that doughnuts was actually donut. Most people would believe that letting your six year old eat at least a dozen doughnut holes isn't a good idea, but it was the 1980s and EVERYBODY was eating doughnut holes. Ahhh...the Reagan years: A time where kids weren't fat, regardless of the fact that they ate McDonald's breakfast meals and Dunkin Donuts doughnut holes. Those were good times.

So Mr. Rosenberg, I'm telling you today that I might still have the inclination to leave out the "ugh", but I now know better. I'll be damned if your tasty donut holes trick me again. Dammit...

Vermont bound.

I'm pretty stoked because in one more day, I'm heading to Vermont for the first time ever. My good friend and road trip buddy Allison is visiting from San Francisco, and we've decided to head up north. Plan on the secrets of maple syrup to be revealed upon my return.

Also, if I can find a baby moose to bring back with me, you better believe I'm going to have a new pet.

I voted!

For the first time ever, I voted. And I have to say, I haven't been this excited about something in a long time. Seeing all of my neighbors in line at the polls and showing a genuine enthusiasm reminded me how lucky we are to live in a country where we have the rights and freedoms that we, and I'm as guilty as the rest, take for granted most of the time.

Well, I'm proud to say that I voted for Senator Barack Obama as of 7:45 a.m. this morning. Obama/Biden 2008!

On the eve of the presidential election...

I have a feeling that I'm going to witness history tomorrow. It's strange - something makes me excited and uneasy. It's an actual physical feeling, and I'm finding myself trying to absorb everything I can on what is about to happen.

No one really knows who is going to win. I remember four years ago thinking that the international newspaper I was reading had a typo in its headline as I could not fathom that Bush had come out victorious. But something about this year feels different, and I hope that I'm right.

Although I have always been proud of my country and my heritage, the overwhelming sense of national pride is something I'm finding difficult to contain. No matter who you support, Republican or Democrat, the amount of passion that people have shown for this election is something to behold. I don't know a single person who doesn't care about the election tomorrow. Friends of mine that have otherwise shown no interest in politics are proudly announcing that they have registered to vote for the first time in their lives and that they can't wait to cast their ballot. And that's something to be proud of in my book.

If all goes well, I'm looking forward to the direction my country is headed in. I'm ready for the rest of the world to once again see how amazing we truly are, and I know that Barack Obama is going to get the job done. See you at the polls!

Ho-hum.

I realized today that I'm really breaking one of the cardinal rules of producing a blog. That is that I have no discernible theme.

I think "insanity" or "rambling" could be considered a theme, and not just amongst the padded cell crowd.

I haven't watched this much Saturday Night Live in...ohhh...ten years?

Lorne Michaels must be thanking his lucky stars for the creative genius known as Tina.

Blog milestone.

Now, I'm willing to admit that this was probably because of the videos I was posting and not my universally amazing writing skills, but So I saw on the subway today... had over 1,200 site visitors during the month of September.

So thank you readers. This Monday afternoon ego stroke has almost made up for the fact that James Madison makes me feel fat.

When the 4th President of the United States screws up your whole day.

On this brisk New York Autumn day, I, in no way, shape or form, thought that the fourth President of the United States of America would make me feel fat.

Well, thank you very fucking much James Madison. Mission accomplished! To get a better idea of what I'm talking about, click on the chart below.

Seriously, Saturday Night Live is bringing their A game.

This just can't get any funnier.

Check it.

We're getting closer and closer to election day.

If you haven't registered to vote, you have until October 10th! Get on it already. Visit www.rockthevote.org/ to sign up today! And remember to watch the presidential debates tonight!

My dreams are reverting to Tiger Beat territory.

I had a dream last night that I was dating one of the Jonas Brothers. I'm not sure which one of the three it was because frankly, they all look the same to me.

If the Jonas Brothers come to town, I'm going to arm a small group of my friends with tranquilizer guns and this warning: shoot me down like an elephant if I mention purchasing tickets to their show. I'm waaaaaaay too old to be supporting a group that makes the front page of Bop! Magazine.

New favorite political joke...

What's the difference between Joe Biden and, say, a schnauzer?

1. Um, foreign-policy experience?
2. Pinstripes?
3. Hair plugs?

God bless the women of Saturday Night Live.

This is one of the funniest SNL sketches of all time.

Two realizations.

Today, I learned that Amy Winehouse is only 25 years old. Man, that makes me feel good about the way I look for my own age. The wrinkles I'm starting to notice around my eyes when I smile don't seem like such a big deal when I see Ms. Winehouse's mug.

Secondly, I forgot how amazing The Great Gatsby is. While visiting Newport, Rhode Island with one of my best friends, Ms. Jessy Adams*, we saw a screening of the film version of the novel. I hadn't read the book or seen the movie since my freshmen year of high school, so after seeing the film, I thought I'd reread F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterpiece. I'm only two chapters in, but I realize that as adult, I have a whole new appreciation for this book. Perhaps it's my Nick Carroway-esque migration from the Midwest to the East Coast that I can identify with, but this time around, I simply can't put the book down.

*It should be noted that Ms. Adams was a fantastic host. She made sure to haev all my favorite foods on hand, as well as a kick ass air-conditioning system. She also understands the importance of visiting stores like Target while vacationing away from New York as everyone knows the Target in Brooklyn sucks.

Something needs to be said...

I'm not a political person. Hell, by not voting in the past two elections, I'm part of a majority that should be held responsible for the past 8 years of my country. I'm not proud of this.

But this election is different. For the first time in my life, I care about voting. I'm passionate about a candidate and his policies. I'm ready for my country to change, and I believe Obama is the man to do it. More importantly, I'm terrified of the alternative. The Republican alternative.

Accordiing to the statistics, as a middle class white woman, I should be championing for Palin.

I should be opposed to Roe vs. Wade. Who CARES if it's my body? Who CARES if I'm raped and don't want to carry my attacker's child? Palin doesn't. She wants to reverse Roe vs. Wade and let individual states decide on what's best for my uterus. This might not be the most eloquent response, but are they fucking crazy? Why would I support the ideas that my body isn't in my control?

And another slap in the face - she wants an "abstinence only" sex ed policy. Does anyone honestly believe that just because you tell teens NOT to have sex they won't? Give me a break. Teach kids to be responsible. Teach kids to be safe. Teach kids to think for themselves instead of demonizing sex. Tell them the risks and what they can do to protect themselves. I guess if you're a teenage girl that chooses abstinence as your personal choice towards sex but then end up getting raped and get pregnant as a result, you can thank Mrs. Palin for your bastard child that reminds you every day of how you were violated in the most soul stealing way one can imagine. And not that I agree with the media scrutiny around her daughter's pregnancy, but I have to say that perhaps if this girl was given a proper dose of sex education, she would have at least made the father of her child wear a condom.

And what are her thoughts on homosexuality? Well, she can't say. She stutters a lot and dances around the question. But considering that she refers to the United States as a "Christian America," it looks a little bleak for all my LGBT friends. If Palin is in the White House, you better wave goodbye to any progress and civil rights you have fought hard for because I doubt a woman that believes in carrying a rapist's baby is going to champion any of your causes.

Gun control. She's against it. Duh. Surprisingly, I sit on the fence personally when it comes to this issue. HOWEVER, do i believe the average citizen needs a semi-automatic rifle? No. Palin does. And why does she believe this? She doesn't want to violate anyone's 2nd Amendment rights. The fact that this woman believes that everyone is entitled to own a gun but then turn around and say that women can't decide what to do with their own bodies is disgusting.

And now this Palin character is making it really personal. Rumors are swirling that she attempted to ban Harry Potter in her town's public library. She tried to ban the most beloved children's book of the past fifty years. She tried to ban a book that inspired a generation of readers. Don't mess with the Potter lady! Don't even go there!

Do I believe the book ban rumors? I know they are just that - rumors. Am I educating myself on Palin's policies? Yes. Does my further investigation of her make me even more enthusiastic about voting for Obama in November? You better believe it.

Rhymes are not always accurate.

Whoever came up with the saying "Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before liquor, you've never been sicker" was full of shit.

Holy crap my brain just imploded.

I'm warning you, watch this video at your own risk. Fork in the garbage disposal? Lost contacts? A man named Kiki?

It is highly plausible that I am a gay man after watching this video.

Hookah Hokies.

While walking to the subway in the East Village this afternoon, I overheard a conversation amongst three of the most generic lookin women I have ever seen in my life. They were standing in front of a hookah bar. This is what transpired:

Fat Chick: "Have you ever tried hookah?"
Horse Face: "No, you?"
Four Eyes: "I haven't. I've seen enough people who have tried it and that's enough for me."

I was a little confused. Hookah is herbal fruit. It's essentially like putting your mom potpourri in a bong and smoking it. Four Eyes made it sound like it was some sort of maniacal, orgy-inducing drug. I mean, c'mon - the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland was a hookah smoker - if you can't mold yourself around a beloved Disney character, what can you aspire to (Fun Fact: My personality is an exact imitation of Baloo from The Jungle Book and Tinker Bell from Peter Pan)?

To read more about hookah, go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hookah

It'll make you feel far more mentally superior to these three women if you read the Wikipedia entry.

A break from my normal snarkiness...

Below is another reason why I'm a proud Kansas Jayhawk:

KU Doctors Perform Surgery for Malian Child
Jun 10, 2008
http://www.kumc.edu/news/publish/KUMC_Highlight_20/KU_Doctors_Perform_Surgery_for_Malian_Child.shtml

A team of physicians and nurses from the University of Kansas Hospital and University of Kansas Medical Center, with the integral assistance of a local aid group, is doing its part to ensure that stateside technology has an impact on lives in faraway lands. A recent operation and tumor removal, restoring hope and life for a 7-year-old boy from Mali, speaks to the global reach of local nurses and doctors.

Boi, the young child from Mali, was flown to Kansas City after a team from the Medical Missions Foundation serving in a nearby village was alerted to his predicament. A tumor had grown on the right side of Boi's face, recently expanding in size to the point where it would soon obstruct crucial air and food passageways.

“Within two months he would not have been able to eat or swallow, and would have died,” said Dr. Douglas Girod, one of the surgeons who performed the operation. “His father sold all their possessions trying to take care of it locally, but Boi needed better technology.”

The daylong surgery removed the tumor completely, and the surgeons used bone from Boi's legs and skull to rebuild his facial structure while closely monitoring Boi's vital signs throughout the dangerous surgery.

“It ranks among the most complex surgeries I've ever been a part of, but there were a lot of us working,” Dr. Girod said. “It was tough even with three surgeons, and the reconstruction was difficult.”

The surgery was a heartwarming example of collaboration and good will, bringing together numerous donations, surgical prowess, and pure generosity. Local civic groups raised the funds to pay for Boi's hospital bills, and the doctors all donated their time, allowing Boi to receive this essential surgery before it was too late.

“It was very rewarding from our perspective,” said Dr. Girod, who along with his family personally hosted Boi and his father. “He's still dealing with some healing issues, but we were just glad to be a part of it.”

I'm not saying Cloverfield, but I'm gonna have to say Cloverfield

Earlier today, I was tipped off about an incident that took place on Long Island this morning. Apparently, this thing washed up on a beach in Montauk:



Are you thinking "What the eff is that?" I am. And I've been staring at the photo for little over an hour. Oh, it's also 4:15 a.m. This is what I do when I can't sleep. I geek out about possible monster carcasses and blog.

So what do you think it is? Rumors are circulating that the creature is a dead dog. If this is the case, I don't ever want a dog. I would never be able to look at it the same way. And if the thing ever got pissed off at me, I would naturally assume it would take the form of whatever washed up on the beach at Montauk and eat my face off.

Others are saying that the monster is a turtle, minus the shell. If this is the case, I now understand why turtles have shells in the first place - they are uggo. Fuggo actually.

I'm going to go with the hypothesis that this is a retarded version of the monster from Cloverfield. Or maybe it's the baby of a bigger monster yet to come. All I know is this - monsters can read blogs so I'm obviously on the list of people to eat if this thing ever emerges from the ocean, I'm hightailing it overseas. They've dealt with Godzilla. They can certainly deal with this.

The meanest thing I've ever said is...

"Man, The Diary of Ann Frank doesn't hold a candle to Project Runway."

- Mary Ann, 2008

Batman is WHOA!

Unless you have been sitting in a dark room with no contact what so ever with the outside world, you are probably aware of the Batman craze sweeping the world at the moment.

I for one have been a Batman fan since my youth. From the original 1960s t.v program which I would watch in re-runs every day during the summer at my granny's house to the Batman: The Animated Series which I would watch every day after school all through out my time at Harvest Hills Elementary and Kenneth Cooper Middle School, I have held Batman up high as my super hero of choice. I remember thinking that Michael Keaton was my one and only in the second grade. I remember thinking that Prince was a musical genius for his contributions to the 1989 film. I remember the hype around Catwoman and the Penguin and all the McDonald's marketing behind Batman Returns. Damn, this whole franchise kicks ass.

And five days ago, I had my socks knocked off by The Dark Knight. Holymolyeffinghell. That movie was awesome. Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker is still scaring me at night. I don't have anything else to say. Except for awesome. And that I'm typing all this while watching the 1989 Batman film. And I've been pacing the house all night wishing I had my shipment of books that are currently in Oklahoma as one box contains a collection of short stories all based on Batman. Batman.

Batman. BATMAN!

P.S. Let us all just shove that whole Alicia Silverstone as Barbara Gordon/Batgirl fiasco from the 1990s. That was just shameful.

Why I'm becoming a blow hard feminist...well...perhaps "blow hard" is a bad way to describe this transformation...

Regardless, I've discovered the following videos from comedian Sarah Haskins, and as such, I'm a bonified man hater! Sarah brings up some very interesting points on the topics of yogurt, suffrage, cooking and getting married. I don't want to sound brain washed, but I agree with EVERYTHING SHE IS SAYING!

Check out these videos - they are completely classic. I'm off to make some manchwiches...

Nostalgia sucks.

While walking home tonight, an ex-boyfriend from four years ago wandered into my train of thought for no apparent reason. I was listening to the Beastie Boys on my iPod and the next thing I knew...BAM! There he was right in my stream of consciousness.

I got to thinking about heartbreak and what exactly constitutes a broken heart. This boyfriend in particular broke my heart. Matter of factly, he is the only one that has the privilege of earning that title. And man...did he break it good. Nice and good. He might as well have ripped out the organ like Robert De Niro did in "Frankenstein" while attacking Helena Bonham Carter's character. That's what it felt like at least (disclaimer: This boyfriend did not look like a gimped up Robert De Niro).

Anyway, when I got home I looked up "heartbreak" on Wikipedia. There is actually a pretty extensive entry on the subject. They even have a list of symptoms (I had 18 out of the 20 listed after the aforementioned break up):

A perceived tightness of the chest, similar to an anxiety attack
Stomach ache and/or loss of appetite
Partial or complete insomnia
Anger
Shock
Nostalgia
Apathy (loss of interest)
Feelings of loneliness
Feelings of hopelessness and despair
Loss of self-respect and/or self-esteem
Medical or psychological illness (e.g. depression)
Suicidal thoughts (in extreme cases)
Nausea
Denial
Fatigue
The thousand-yard stare
Constant or Frequent crying
A feeling of complete emptiness
Feelings of being sad
Feeling of emptiness

However, my point is this: Wikipedia does an excellent job of summing up heartbreak by pin pointing how much it sucks. Kudos Wikipedia. You've done it again.

I have changed my name.

From now on, please address me as Optimus Prime Porch. Also, my pal Laurel is T-Rex. We have invented the most awesome robot-related theme dance/band, so as a result, we needed new names.

Thank you.

This might be something to be concerned about.

I just walked three blocks and noticed that for the duration of the walk from the video store to the loft I'm sleeping in, I repeated the word "weiner" over and over again in my head. For the entire walk. Just the word "weiner".

Anybody know a good therapist?

This is kinda sad, but...

It's amazing how my mood can improve after checking something as ridiculous as this blog's Technorati rating. So I saw on the subway today... is now ranked at 2,531,857. Previously, the blog was at 5,137,428 (you can read about that here).

Because a lot of folks out there don't understand/know about Technorati, let me explain. Basically, my ranking means that there are only 2,531, 857 bloggers out there that are considered better than me. And you know, I'm comfortable with that as I know that if it came down to a real life cage match, I would be ranked number one. I can bite and kick real hard and would "Technorati" the shit outta those other bloggers. I'm actually growling just thinking about.

Keep reading (and figure out how to use Technorati so you can become a fan of this page...or else!).

New catch phrase!

I'm currently staying with my best friend in a loft consisting of her and nine boys. It's pretty fun and kind of like I'm back in high school but my parents are super cool about me having friends of the opposite sex over late at night. However, I'm not living in some sort of weird orgy lifestyle - I sleep in the bed of my best friend since the second grade. It's about the unperviest thing in the world, so turn on your G-rated brains and stop being dirty.

Anyway, last night Emily and I stayed up until 5:30 in the morning talking about dudes and the same stuff we've been talking about for the past 20 years when we happened upon the best phrase ever. Complete disclaimer - Emily actually thought of this, but I'm hijacking her genius and calling it my own. I mean, I was clearly the muse in this situation. Without my physical presence she never would have had the creativity to think this up. And so, I shall introduce you to the best phrase ever invented in the history of the world and or space/time continuum:

"Your breath smells like farts."

ta-DA!

P.S. The picture included is of said best friend and me. We were most likely having another genius moment as this photo was taken.

Truf - Just because you scream into a microphone does not make you a comedian.

Speaking loudly into a mic doesn't make you any funnier either. I've learned this lesson again tonight after sitting through the SoundFix Comedy Night. I would like to pose a challenge to any comedian reading this. Try to do a routine that doesn't consist of the following words:

1. Vagina
2. Pussy
3. Cock
4. Asshole
5. Anus
6. Fuck

If you were really witty, you could keep all the profanity out. George Carlin is the only one who could use profanity in a clever way, so please, save us all a bit of time and don't try to rip off a legend. It's not that I'm offended by your language but more along the lines of being offended that I've wasted any time watching you perform such an uncreative act.

Truf - If I don't have a boyfriend in six years, I'm moving to South America.

Apparently, white guys find me repulsive. But...the South American Latinos are all about it! In the past three weeks, I have been hit on by a total of eleven delivery boys. The latest incident was last night while taking the elevator up to a friend's apartment, a delivery man said the following:

"I. Do. Not. Speak. Much English. But. I have to say. You are beautiful. You have boyfriend? Manfriend?"

He actually said "manfriend." Melted my heart I tell you. However, he lost points with the pony tail he was sporting. I just can't handle long hair on the dudes. Also, I have a bit of doubt in regards to his sincerity - I was sweating like a pig and there is a good chance I had a case of the B.O.

Oh lordy - I'm a Starbucks loser.

That's right folks - this marks the pinnacle of my lameness. I am actually sitting in a Starbucks "surfing the Internet" and "blogging," as the kids are saying these days.

HOWEVER, in my defense, the house I'm staying at has a wonky Internet connection. The aforementioned wonky connection as led me to this spot at Starbucks, so keep the smart ass remarks to a minimum.

I'll make this quick since I'm paying ten cents a minute for this Internet connection...

I ate at the famous Balthazar's today in Soho for the first time, and it was AWESOME! I ordered the ratatouille omellete* and I must say that I have never had a fluffier, non-greasy egg-related brunch food in my entire life. I'm pretty sure that (insert name of higher power that you personally believe in here) made this particular omellete as it was delicious. I also tried the Oyster Mary, a twist on the Bloody Mary. For those of you that think I ordered this because it's got my name in the title, you are correct. And may I say, I tasted fabulous.

After stationary shopping for the rest of the afternoon, I crashed on the couch for a Law & Order marathon before venturing out to Union Square to write this blog. Hot dog, I love New York!

*For those of you that guessed that my breakfast choice was 100% motivated by the movie Ratatouille, you are correct. Stop judging me! It was a good film!

Start spreading the news...

Today marks the one week anniversary of my return to New York, and can I say, I'm still on a natural high being fueled by the fact that I'm surrounded by friends in the greatest city in the world.

Apologies for not updating the blog. I've been busy catching up with people, etc. Also, I'm currently crashing in a Brooklyn loft with ten other people, so it's easy to get distracted when you have a handful of people to play Nintendo Wii with.

By the way, I've become addicted to Nintendo Wii.

I promise to post more regularly from now on. And expect a lot of restaurant-related posts to come your way. I forgot how much fun it is to eat out, and of course, there are some fabulous restaurants in New York. I'm hitting up Tea & Sympathy tomorrow, so I'll be sure to give you my two cents.

Also, upon my arrival back in Manhattan, I reached the pinnacle of bourgeois - I had afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel. It was probably the best afternoon tea I have ever experienced, so I highly suggest you check it out.

I ate Pizza Hut today.

But more importantly, I'M BACK IN AMERICA! Also, I've got so much to write about, so stay tuned in the coming days as I'll be updating the blog like crazy. I would do it now, but I'm so jet lagged from the 25.5 hours I've just spent traveling. Focusing on the computer screen and a keyboard would be like Chinese water torture at the moment.

Rhubarb.

On a scale of one to ten, with one being the worst thing since David Bowie rocking spandex in The Labyrinth and ten being the greatest thing since the Sue Simmons' "What the eff are you doing?" video, where would you put rhubarb? Prior to breakfast this morning, I would have put it at around 9. But post breakfast, rhubarb has plunged into its own little economic crisis, as far as Mary Ann is concerned. I now give rhubarb a 2.

Come on rhubarb. Stop messing with me and follow the path of the orange - consistently deliver tastiness.

Diarrhea television advertisements.

Does anyone else feel uncomfortable in the following situation:

You are casually watching television with friends/roommates when an advertisement comes on claiming such and such medicine can cure chronic diarrhea. Said advertisement will usually feature a cartoon or something symbolizing the awkwardness of the runs/trots/squirts/etc.

And have you ever noticed that these ads are always scheduled for the time when most people are eating dinner? Nothing says "Man, I really enjoy Thai food" like an ad for chronic bowel issues.

Also, I included this photo of the Hoff with puppies as it was one of the results that popped up when I did a Google image search for "awkward," as I find chronic diarrhea adverts just that - a-w-k-w-a-r-d.

Koalas.

They stink.

If you are looking for a clever blog...

If you constantly find yourself saying "Man, once I get done reading So I saw on the subway today..., I can't think of any other good blogs to read," then here is a suggestion.

Check out The Shortest Blog in the World. This is one of the funniest blogs I've come across, and as the creator says, it's fun size!

Say it ain't so Bill Murray. Say it ain't so.

After I read the news of Sydney Pollack's death earlier this week, I was reminded of how much I enjoyed his body of work, including Tootsie. I don't think most people remember that Bill Murray was in that movie, but he was. And that movie is one of the reasons that Bill Murray is one of my favorite actors. Lost in Translation, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore, Ghostbusters...they are some of my favorite films.

So Bill Murray - say it ain't so. The Smoking Gun is reporting that you're a wife beating, drug using, alkie. Please. Say it ain't so.

From all the stories I've read over the years that state that you aren't part of the Hollywood elitist crowd, that you don't even have an agent, attorney, or manager, I've become an admiring fan. So, please say this is just the work of an over dramatic spouse who is out to tarnish your reputation due to bitterness.

Ugh. I don't know if watching any of the Ghostbusters movies will ever be the same again.

Be sure to take the new survey!

What are your thoughts on voodoo? I want to know! Take the survey on the upper left hand side of this blog. Just don't get on Wikipedia to research the topic. And don't watch the "The Witches of Eastwick". It'll mess you up!

Whoa! Voodou is voodoo is hoodoo!

Some of you might be wondering why I've gotten on this voodoo kick all of a sudden. Well, I think someone has given me a voodoo doll (pictures to come shortly) in the guise of a present, so I'm during my public research just in case my plane back to America next weeks goes down in a hell fire of flames. If so, you'll know why. I've been cursed apparently.

Thanks to a kind reader of this blog, I was given the Wikipedia address to learn about voodoo, which is also known as "voodou". And some call it "hoodoo". Basically, it's scarier than I had originally thought.

Here is what Wikipedia had to say:

"Vodou has come to be associated in the popular mind with the lore about Satanism, zombies and "voodoo dolls." While there is evidence of zombie creation, it is a minor phenomenon within rural Haitian culture and not a part of the Vodou religion as such. Such things fall under the auspices of the bokor or sorcerer rather than the priest of the Loa.

The practice of sticking pins in dolls has history in European folk magic, but its exact origins are unclear. How it became known as a method of cursing an individual by some followers of what has come to be called New Orleans Voodoo, which is a local variant of hoodoo, is a mystery. Some speculate that it was used as a means of self defense to intimidate superstitious slave owners. This practice is not unique to New Orleans voodoo, however, and has as much basis in European-based magical devices such as the poppet and the nkisi or bocio of West and Central Africa.

These are in fact power objects, what in Haiti would be referred to as pwen, rather than magical surrogates for an intended target of sorcery whether for boon or for bane. Such voodoo dolls are not a feature of Haitian religion, although dolls intended for tourists may be found in the Iron Market in Port au Prince. The practice became closely associated with the Vodou religions in the public mind through the vehicle of horror movies and popular novels.

There is a practice in Haiti of nailing crude poppets with a discarded shoe on trees near the cemetery to act as messengers to the otherworld, which is very different in function from how poppets are portrayed as being used by voodoo worshippers in popular media and imagination, ie. for purposes of sympathetic magic towards another person. Another use of dolls in authentic Vodou practice is the incorporation of plastic doll babies in altars and objects used to represent or honor the spirits, or in pwen, which recalls the aforementioned use of bocio and nkisi figures in Africa."

Granted, my faith in voodoo dolls has waned since the 10th grade when my best friend and I bought a voodoo doll to represent our English teacher, who shall remain nameless. I pushed at least a dozen pins into that damn doll and this teacher never even once winced. Maybe it was a crap voodoo doll or something. I still hold out a glimmer of hope. And this is exactly why this creepy voodoo-esque gift is scaring the pants off of me. How do you get rid of a curse? Do I have to regift the doll? Can I destroy it (i.e. throw it on the subway tracks or burn it for warmth)? Anybody who is learned in the field of voodou, voodoo and/or hoodoo, please get it touch.

UPDATE: Voodoo exists - just not in doll form.

I found voodoo on Wikipedia. I was spelling it "voo doo." My mistake.

Here is what Wikipedia had to offer...

Voodoo
See also: Haitian Vodou, Louisiana Voodoo, West African Vodun

Voodoo is a religious tradition originating in West Africa, which became prominent in the New World due to the importation of African slaves. West African Vodun is the original form of the religion; Haitian Vodou and Louisiana Voodoo are its descendants in the New World.

Can that entry get any more boring? God. Snoozefest. I'd like to take this moment to ask someone to update Wikipedia. Jazz up the voodoo entry a bit. A little pizzazz never hurt anyone.

Weird. No voodoo on Wikipedia.

I've become addicted to Wikipedia lately. For example, I spent three hours on the site the other night. It's insane how addicting it can be.

Shockingly, they don't have an online article about voodoo, you know, in the black magic sense. They have a bunch of music-related posts (apparently the Spice Girls released a song called "Voodoo"), but nothing on the art of poking dolls with pins, etc. What's the deal?

Am I lame and just not able to find the info, even though it's probably in plain sight on Wikipedia?

Initially, I was going to write about grandmas...

...but I'm listening to my iPod and the Bob Dylan song "Shelter From the Storm" just came on (a song I listened to almost every time I walked home across the Williamsburg Bridge), and I've just finished trading e-mails with a friend back home. As a result, America is very firmly on my mind at the moment. The fact that I'm only one week and three days from coming back to America is finally starting to sink in. And man, I'm really excited, probably more excited than I've ever been about anything ever before.

My dad sent me a home made "welcome home" note today. I got a little teary eyed reading it and realized why I was coming home - my friends and family are way too kick ass to live THIS far away from. They don't make people like you guys and gals in this part of the world. That's for damn sure.

So to Mom, Dad, Sister, Emily, Jessy, Brian, David, Ryoko, Bradley, John, Alan, Matt, Damien, Peter, Allison (even though you live in San Francisco) , and everyone else I hang out with in Oklahoma and New York - we're in the final days. I look forward to seeing familiar faces in the airport and as I walk down Bedford Avenue or as I get on the L train to head home from work.

And yes, for the first few months I'm back, I'm going to be one of those assholes who swoons at the sight of the Empire State Building. Get ready. It's going be awesome!

Truf - Breathing through one nostril is never fun.

I'm currently nursing a head cold that won't seem to go away, and as a result, I have developed the fine skill of breathing out of one nostril. The other nostril could be described as skilled in the field of ambidexterity (if you consider my nostrils appendages) - it can both run AND remain stuffed up, all at the same time!

Only one week and five days until summer weather. Not that I'm counting.

I understand if you don't want to be friends anymore, and yes, this post has to do with the band ABBA.

Contrary to the super cool persona this blog resonates (stop rolling your eyes!), I'm not as cool as the cat's pajamas, which should be evident by the fact that I just used the phrase "the cat's pajamas." Well, here's another reason to think I'm not awesome. It's almost 10 p.m. on a Saturday night here in Sydney, and I'm at home waching a documentary on ABBA visiting Australia sometime in the 1970s. And to make things worse, I've just realized that I'm a fan of the song "S.O.S." Don't believe me? Well, I've found a video of the song and have posted it below (and I've already watched it five times). I understand if you can't be friends with me. This might be too much for some of you to handle.

Is this a bad time for me to go on about how much I like IKEA as well? I used to think that IKEA was run by a bunch of communists because let's get serious folks - who sells furniture called Leksvik, Kviby, and/or Malm? I'll tell you who - the Commies. But, after realizing that IKEA has one of the most delicious cafeterias in the entire world (try the carrot cake!), I decided that the Reds couldn't be behind this greatness (I'm referencing the carrot cake).

For me, Heaven is a Saturday afternoon at IKEA with ABBA blaring over their store loud speaker.

What. The. Hell. (how Snapple ALMOST got put on the same list as G.E.)

I've never believed any of those people on various street corners in major cities of the world that preach that the Apocalypse is coming. I've always written them off as "nut jobs" or "crazies" (although I do enjoy a sandwich board with fun sayings like "Repent or Die!" and the classic "God hates the gays! Repent!").

However, I'm beginning to think that those loonies may be on to something. Why you may ask? Well, I'll tell you: Wendy the Snapple lady is no longer Wendy the Snapple lady. PREPARE FOR HELL FIRE!

Newsday has reported that Snapple and Wendy Kaufman have parted ways after years of working together to promote the (most amazing drink in the entire world) brand. According to Wendy, she was unhappy with the recent contract Snapple offered her and decided it was time to part ways.

First off, here's a little message to Wendy - Do you remember when people like Chris Kattan and Molly Shannon left Saturday Night Live to persue an acting career? And do you remember how well THAT worked?

And to Snapple - What in the hell is wrong with you? Do you remember the summer of 2005 when your attempt to break the record of the world's biggest popsicle blew up in your face? Or shall I say melted? Well, I do. I have fond memories of slipping and sliding on strawberry kiwi syrup all along 17th street. If it hadn't been for Wendy the Snapple lady and her ability to distract me from almost everything within a ten mile radius, I would have slagged off Snapple for good (despite the fact that I'm about this close to having a chemical addiction to Diet Snapple Raspberry Iced Tea).

I feel like it's the end of an era. An era where a portly Jewish lady could whore out a beverage and I would buy into the whole concept. I imagine this is what it felt like when the Renaissance ended. Sigh.

I'll leave you with a classic Wendy the Snapple lady moment. R.I.P.

Writing with nothing to write about.

As the title of this blog posts suggests, I have nothing to write about. I've entered the "in between" period of my move where the only thing I can concentrate on is the fact that I'm going back to America. As a result, time has decided to stand still. Every time I look at my watch, I swear the little watch hands are flipping me off. It's the same with calendars. That little puppy on my desk calendar looks a bit too smug. It's as if he knows that I'm counting down the days (2 weeks and 3 days!).

By the way, who would have guessed that I would have a puppy calendar? I know. I know. I can be cuddly too.

Sooooooo...anything new from Sue Simmons? Has she unleashed more verbal massacres on any unsuspecting audiences in the past vew days? SOMEONE ENTERTAIN ME!

Truf - Light is not always better.

I'm talking about Sunkist Light soda. I just tasted Sunkist Light for the first time, and I have to say…well...it's light on a lot of things but certainly not bad taste.

I for one am a huge fan of not only soda, but the orange-flavored kind. Somebody got a Fanta they want to share? I'll take it! But if you try to give me a Sunkist Light in the future, I'll hate you. Will I still drink it? Well yeah. I never say no to free soda. But my contempt for you will be palpable.

Truf - The one day you don't live by the triple check rule when it comes to your fly being up...

...it will most definitely be down and it will take a man noticing your red undies and pointing out that your fly is indeed down for you to notice.

Normally, my routine consists of:

1. Pull pants up.
2. Button up.
3. Zip up.
4. Open bathroom door.
5. Recheck fly situation.
6. Wash hands.
7. Recheck fly situation.
8. Exit bathroom.
10. Recheck fly situation.

Dammit! The one day I skip steps #5, #7 and #10, I totally drop the ball. On a more positive note - the guy who pointed out my undies, well...I think we had a bonding moment. And not in a pervy way.

Sue Simmons - my new favorite news anchor.

For you New Yorkers, this is probably a bit old. However, I am still at the end of the Earth in the middle of nowhere and only heard of this yesterday. Please watch the following video clip:



I'm guessing you are probably thinking to yourselves that Sue Simmons is now my favorite news anchor. Well, you're right. Any women that curses like a sailor on live television earns my respect. And what a diva! What do you think Sue was swearing at? Leave your ideas in the comments section!

Michael Buble is about two steps away from becoming my archnemesis.

Two of my roommates are going to see Michael Buble in concert in a few weeks, and I realized only this evening that I can't say his last name without laughing. Immature? Well, of course. Completely appropriate? Sort of.

This guy is the hottest ticket in town for the over sixty crowd (with the exception of my two roommates). And before I go on any further, I want to say right now that I have seen my roommates' iPods and I know that they have pretty good music taste - except for the Buble. I can't get behind this guys. I'm sorry.

So exactly who is the Buble? In short, the Buble rips off Frank Sinatra. The Buble appears in Starbucks commercials. The Buble is adored by millions of grandmas the world over. The Buble has the worst last name ever imagined. If the Buble was from Florida, he would be my archnemesis. Your Canadian birth saved you my friend. Otherwise, you would have been on the list, right behind General Electric.

And as I wrap up this post, I would like to end with a message to the Buble himself: I'm watching you Buble. You might be buttering up the grandparents of the world, but I've got my eyes on you. When the geriatrics rise up and attempt to take over with their slow walking, canes and prescription medicines, I'll still have my eyes on you. Nobody tries to sell me Starbucks via the television without raising my suspicions. NOBODY!

Remember to take the survey!

Dear Readers -

You only have a few days left to take the survey in the upper left hand corner of the blog. Let me know what you think of the new (well, not so new anymore) site design. Also, if you have any suggestions about features, etc. you would like to see on the blog, leave them in the comments section.

Ciao.
Mary Ann

Oh General Electric, why are you stamping all over my heart?

For those of you that survived the summer when I became obsessed with Baskin Robbins’ ice cream cakes, I'm warning you - another siege is on. However, this time my focus isn't on delicious dairy/baked goods. This time, I'm taking on a 120 year old company. That's right readers - I'm talking about General Electric (side note: I'm not sure how many other companies have been around for 120 years, but feel free to educate me via the comments section).

General Electric can be likened to my second serious college boyfriend - he gave me heaps of things (attention, love, friendship, etc.), but then he took it all away (and no, that's not bitterness. It's fact - he dumped me. Feel better now?). But unlike the cheap jewelry and novelty gifts the boyfriend gave me, G.E. has supplied me with some of my most favorite home appliances, which include:

1. The room air-conditioner (1930)
2. The combined washer-dryer unit (1954)
3. The toaster oven (1956)

My fundamental happiness is dependent on those three appliances. Dont' believe me? For five months out of the year, you can find me almost every evening parked in front of my AIR CONDITIONER eating Baskin Robbins’ ice cream cake in my underwear. And what do I do when I wake up in a pile of melted ice cream and soggy cake? I have to WASH and DRY my underwear. And what do I do while I wait for my underwear to dry? I eat TOAST- my second favorite food in the world!

In my previous post, I also go into detail about how my favorite television program, 30 Rock, will be devastated by this sale of the G.E. appliance unit, so don't forget that background information either.

I've decided that the best course of action is to buy the appliance unit myself when it comes up at auction. The New York Times has reported that the unit's net worth is at least $5 billion. And on that note, I would like to officially announce my new charity, the "Don't Destroy Everything in this World that Mary Ann Loves" foundation. Money raised through this effort will go to saving G.E., saving baby ducks and funding my fabulous lifestyle (i.e. my ice cream cake habit).

And finally, a cautionary note. Let us all remember what happened when another treasured piece of history went up for sale. Of course I'm speaking of the Beatles' song catalog. If I know my history, Michael Jackson bought the rights to the music and the next thing we know, John Lennon is trying to convince me to buy a pair of Nike sneakers because apparently they'll cause a fitness REVOLUTION. Did the rest of you just barf on your keyboards? I sure did. Blargh.

Moving on up, To the East Side, We finally got a piece of the pie!

The Technorati pie that is! My blog just moved over 5 million spots on Technorati's blog rankings - So I saw on the subway today... is now ranked 5,137,428! Whoopee! We're in the top six million baby! This is just like when I won 16th place (also known as second to last) in my middle school's track meet!

I believe the significant jump in rank is due to the fact that someone linked to my blog posting on General Electric destroying my life. Thanks to the blogger who liked the story enough to repost it. It's kind of funny to see my ramblings posted alongside serious news posts. I guess there is a market for incoherent babbling.

For those of you with your own blogs, feel free to link my content, as today officially marks my unhealthy obsession with improving my Technorati ranking. Do I check the Technorati website at least five times every hour? You betcha! Is there a direct link between my personal self-esteem and how many Technorati fans I have? You better believe it!

It's pretty easy to become a "fan" of this blog - just click on the Technorati button on the left side of the screen and you can help catapult So I saw on the subway... to greater heights (as well as stroke my ego). Let's make this blog rank 5,137,427 by next month! Weezy Jefferson would approve!

A very special blog post for my dad

I would like to say a great big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dad as he is turning 63 years old today. He is probably the most avid reader/supporter of my blog, so I figured I would give him a little shout out - Hi Dad! See you in two weeks and six days!

I love you very much (and please remember to pick me up from the aiport at 8 p.m. on Sunday, June 8th).

P.S. The photo included is of my dad cheering on the Kansas Jayhawks to victory during the NCAA Basketball Championships. I was hoping to a use a photo of him that we lovingly call "Wally the Walrus", but I don't have a copy of it on my computer.

Halloween 2008 - too early to start planning my costume? NO!

I know some of you might think that since it's only the middle of May, it's too early to be planning a Halloween costume. Well, to you people I say this: I've been brainstorming Halloween costumes since February, so just deal with it and plan on giving me a prize for the most Halloween costume you've ever seen, come October 31st, of course.

So far, these are the options I've come up. In no particular order:

1. A chicken nugget
2. Marie Antoinette - pre-decapitation
3. Marie Antoinette - post-decapitation
4. A hot dog
5. The Incredible Hulk
6. A Kleenex
7. A blog (obviously, this blog!)
8. Linda Richman (Mike Meyers' character from Saturday Night Live circa early 1990s)
9. A cupcake
10. A skeleton

I know my lists ranges from high brow (Marie Antoinette - pre-decapitation) to "what the hell are you thinking?" (the rest of the list), but I think I can pull these costumes off. The Hulk would be the easiest, obviously. My luscious muscles can't be contained. But seriously, I'm sure I could manipulate my body fat to RESEMBLE muscles. And when I suck in my gut hard enough, it kind of looks like I have a one pack...which is only five away from a six-pack. STOP JUDGING ME!

Leading up to the final costume decision, feel free to leave your ideas for my Halloween costume in the comment section of this post. Please, nothing vulgar. I've already gone as the Virgin Mary post-giving birth to the baby Jesus, so trust me, you can't really beat that. (<-- Fun Fact: That costume is what secured my ticket to Hell).

G.E. just stuck a fork in one of the only things I truly love.

Today, The New York Times reported that General Electric would be selling their appliance unit. My response? Ah, HELL NO! And why do I stand opposed to the sale? Because of one reason and one reason only: One of my favorite parts about the t.v. program 30 Rock, starring Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin, involves a G.E. appliance unit. That's right folks. I'm talking about Microwave Oven Programming.

What will 30 Rock's Jack Donaghy do without the Microwave Oven Programming unit?! THE MICROWAVE OVEN PROGRAMMING UNIT!!!!!!!! I dare say, G.E. has just declared war on Mary Ann Porch. And Mary Ann Porch isn't going down without a fight.

I'm drafting a letter to the bigwigs at G.E. right now. This is what I have so far:

Dear General Electric -

Please do not sell off your appliance unit and destroy the one thing I enjoy out of life - Jack Donaghy's reign over the Microwave Oven Programming Unit on the hit show 30 Rock. You might not be aware, but I'm currently lying on my death bed. I can see the light. But I'm ignoring it because I'm watching 30 Rock on t.v. Ever heard the saying that "Laughter is the best medicine"? Well, that's what my doctor just wrote on my chart. Please don't eff with modern medicine and kill me.

XOXOXO,
Mary Ann
(1981 to :: a date that is in your hands, General Electric ::)

Readers, feel free to contribute edits/additions to this letter by leaving comments to this post. Let's fight the man!

Why I will not be humming the Folger's Coffee theme song "The best part of waking up..."

...is not Folger's in my cup. To begin with, I've accidentally given up coffee. I don't have a coffee maker at home, and I found that I developed an unhealthy penchant for Starbucks. I know. I'm ashamed too. However, after running late to work for about four days in a row, I didn't have time to run into Starbucks on my way into the office, so I sort of broke the habit. But I still like saying Starbucks. Starbucks.

Starbucks.

My dwindling coffee habit aside, I am now confronted with two distinct smells in the morning. And they sure as hell ain't coffee aroma.

The first usually hits my nostrils around 8:15 a.m. while I'm walking through Hyde Park. It's a fine blend of homeless man's urine and cow poop. I'm guessing the cow poop can be attributed to the fertilizer they are using in the flower beds of the park, but the homeless man urine smell most definitely belongs to a homeless man who I see every morning asleep on a park bench. I've nicknamed him Hobo Joe, the Pee Pee Man. Even when there is no wind to speak of, Hobo Joe's body odor miraculously makes it the good ten feet between me and his spot on the bench. Let me tell you - that smell will wake you up a hell of a lot faster than coffee as the speed you begin to walk to get away from the stench causes you to walk faster, faster heart rate, etc.

The second smell comes about five minutes after I get off the train in North Sydney. Right outside the train station is a fish market. Well, it's not so much a market as it is one seafood joint selling the raw goods. About half way into the shopping center where this fish stall resides, the smell of various different raw fish attacks my senses like a group of ants at a picnic. I can't run away as I'm surrounded by dozens of other train passengers. And inevitably, I get behind either a handicapped old lady who looks like each step she takes is bringing her closer to death (and at a snail's pace, mind you) or a group of teenagers/youths who are too busy gabbing and yakking to walk faster. I'd push either out of the way if wasn't for the divine fear of either being struck down by the hand of a supreme power because I mowed over a grandma or the fear of getting my ass kicked by a group of teenage girls. I think when it comes to the teenagers, I could probably take at least one of them. But if you've got a group of three or more, I imagine it would be like fighting a group of hyenas. I'm not willing to take the risk.

This story has a happy ending though. I discovered that if I overcompensate on perfume in the mornings and wear my black scarf, I can tuck my face down into said scarf (imagine a turtle retracting into its shell if you can't get a good mental picture of what this might look like) and just breathe in my delicious own scent instead of the invading odors I have been faced with the past few weeks. Because let me tell you something - I smell DAMN good. The baby Jesus is envious of my smell. True story. Starbucks.

Truf - Peanut butter on green apples is the best snack...EVER.

Don't try substituting red apples...unless you want a snack that, at its best, would be described as "crapple".

Also, the picture I've included does not do this snack justice. It was either this photo or a picture of someone's cat named Peanut Butter. Hey, even Google Image Search has its low points.

I never thought I would quote an Ozzy Osbourne song, but when the shoe fits...

I would say it's a sad day when I quote a man who once bit the head off of a live bat, but let me tell you - that's note the case. As of June 21st, I'll be a New Yorker again. A New Yorker in New York. That's right:

Times have changed and times are strange,
Here I come, but I ain't the same
Mama, Im coming home

Even though I hate that song, it's so true. At least those three lines. And yadda yadda yadda I watched The Osbournes on MTV when the show first premiered yadda yadda yadda. Geez...anything else you need to know? Fine. Fine. I like Robin Williams and STILL laugh when I watch Mrs. Doubtfire. So sue me!

Ahem. Moving on...

To all my New York friends, I will be back amongst you soon and I can't wait! Although I love you, my first stop is Chipotle for a burrito. You can meet me there if you want, but I won't be able to talk to you as I will be rejoicing in all that is Chipotle burrito. Deal with it. You knew the score a long time ago. If it came down to you or a Chipotle burrito...well...I'd have to think about it. Seriously think about it.

Regardless, I'M BACK BABY!

(and to celebrate, I've posted a photo of myself that may or may not have appeared on a Lower East Side bus stop in the winter of 2005.)

Two types of friends.

I've decided that friends can fall into two categories:

1. The type that pick you up from the airport.
2 The type that wouldn't pick you up from the airport, even if you asked.

100th Blog Posting!

I had hoped to have something amazingly funny or insightful to write for my 100th blog posting...but I have writer's block. Go figure.

But in better news, I have just added my Twitter feed to my blog, so you can now follow my random spontaneous outbursts throughout the day! You can check it out at the bottom left hand side of the blog.

Truf - I have the same sense of humor as most 10 year old boys.

I noticed today that whenever I rub my hands together, for example, to warm them in cold weather, I can not avoid making farting noises. My hands are incapable of silently rubbing together. And do I laugh every time I hear said farting noise? Yes. Yes I do.

(rubbing hands together right :: now ::)

This says a lot.

More to come later...

300 readers!

Hello Loyal Readers -

Today marks the 300th hit this blog has received. To the person from Dibble, Oklahoma who was the 300th reader, I applaud you.

To everyone else, you should shoot to be the next milestone. Read more often you lazy bums!

Eau de Taco Bell.

This morning on the train, the man sitting next to me smelled exactly like a Taco Bell restaurant. It was like he had sorted out the logistics behind bottling the distinct smell of "beef," cheap hot sauce and old lettuce of arguably one of the most disgusting, but at the same time delicious, chain restaurants in the world.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that someone breaks the code to bottling the scent of tater tots, hot dogs and Sonic hamburgers. Eau de Tater Tot will be my signature smell. That's right gentlemen, start your bidding now.

Truf - Fried Green Tomatoes, Steel Magnolias and Designing Women are still relevant.

For those skeptics that think the films Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias, as well as the television show Designing Women, are outdated and irrelevant, I'm here to tell you that you're wrong.

The idea of sassy Southern women is NEVER out of style, and in the immortal words of Carlene Frazier Dobber, "I've learned one thing in my life; never fry chicken when you are naked."

Thank you.

I wanted to post a quick "thank you" to all my readers. The feedback I've received on the new site design has been extremely encouraging and all your suggestions only make this a better blog. Keep up the good work reader!

UPDATE: Red Sea Hair Part Girl Strikes Again!

If you remember the post about the woman I saw on the train that had her hair parted all the way down to her neck, then you'll appreciate this.

I saw her again, and what's even better is her hair petting boyfriend works in the same office building as me.

I tried taking a photo of her hair because it was doing the same same weird parting thing, but she wouldn't turn her head in the right direction, thus not allowing me to get a clean photo.

Damn.

When the kangaroo punches back.

Since I moved to Australia, I have been waiting patiently to see some wild animals. I mean, isn’t the general perception of Australia that everyone commutes to work in a kangaroo pouch, and instead of dogs, everyone has a koala? Don’t dingoes eat babies EVERY DAY and the drink of choice is Fosters? And I have yet to see the headquarters of the restaurant chain Outback Steakhouse because seriously folks, that is obviously an Australian company.

Moving on, I finally got my chance to see some wild animals in their natural habitat (zoos are for the weak animals). While visiting Kangaroo Island this past weekend, I saw loads of beasts – koalas, echidnas, New Zealand fur seals, Australian seals, loads of birds, and of course, kangaroos. It was an amazing trip and I'm happy that I got to see such an amazing place.

The next day, I signed up for a wine tasting tour that took me to the Barossa Valley. After visiting the area, I still prefer the Napa Valley, but the Barossa is still very nice, as is Adelaide and I had quite a good time. However, while stopping for lunch, I made the fatal mistake of ordering kangaroo. I can honestly say that I had qualms about eating something I also wanted to cuddle, but I thought it was a chance to try something new, so I went for it. In retrospect, I should have gone with my gut feeling of “You like to cuddle puppies. Therefore you would never EAT a puppy. You don’t like to cuddle chickens because they will peck your eyes out. You can eat chickens.” Just after the first bite, the kangaroo meat in question lodged itself in my throat. At first I thought, “This is a bit embarrassing. Hmm…let me drink some water and maybe that will help. Well looky there…the water won’t go down. I’m choking.” At this point, the other diners noticed what was happening. A woman grabbed me from behind and started the Heimlich maneuver while another woman shouted at her that she was doing it wrong. One would think that I would be scared at this point. Perhaps it was the shame of not being able to swallow food properly at the age of 26 or maybe it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about what an awesome blog this incident was going to make, but I really wasn’t freaked out. Finally, someone hit me on the back as hard as one could imagine, the kangaroo meat dislodged and flew across the table, eventually landing on the floor. Oddly enough, the wadded up piece of meat kind of looked like a fetal kangaroo, which I believed is called a “joey.”

Despite the fact that my lunch had fought back, I finished the meal. Hey, I was starving and not much I could do about it. However, I chewed each piece until it could have been sucked through a straw if I had wanted. So what is the lesson to learn from all this? Don’t eat anything you want to photograph (seriously, who wants to photograph a cow?) and chew your food until it’s liquid. Also, for all the militant vegetarians reading this blog and thought that I would renounce my meat-eating ways, I guess you feel pretty gypped to know that I finished the meal. And I’m laughing my ass off about this.

When you least expect it, every clock is ticking down FOR YOU.

Last week, I was the last person in the office as I was tying up some loose ends in preparation for the long weekend we had in recognition of ANZAC Day (to my American friends, ANZAC Day is like our Memorial Day, but generally focuses on one specific Australian/New Zealand war-related tragedy). I had decided to walk home from the office that night to get some exercise, so after changing into my work out attire, I went back to my desk to pack up my purse, tidy up my desk and put on my walking shoes. While bending over to tie my shoelaces, I heard a noise. An ominous noise. As if I was in a film and the scene had suddenly gone into slow motion, I turned my head in the direction of the sound. On the wall, there are maybe seven or eight clocks, each noting a different time zone in the world by representing a city in which my company has an office.

The noise I was hearing was the synchronized ticking of all those clocks. It was as if they were trying to say “Time up Mary Ann…tick-tock…tick-tock….”, and obviously the clocks sound like Alfred Hitchcock or that scary, cross-dressing “Put the lotion in the basket!” character from The Silence of the Lambs. Needless to say I hauled ass outta there and all the way home. And when I say “hauled ass,” I mean walk really fast, because let’s face it, everyone knows my rule of only running whilst being chased AND only if I’m being chased by someone wielding a weapon that could cause some damage. So unless one of those clocks pulled some sort of Walt Disney Fantasia* on me and came to life and sharpened one of their clock hands into some knife-like weapon, I think I was probably pretty safe. Or was I?! No…I probably wasn’t.

*Come to think of it, I think I could have inserted any Disney movie where Fantasia is mentioned, as I’m pretty sure that every Disney film features a clock character. I’m going to do some research on this, but I think we can already exclude The Jungle Book and Pocahontas.

Krispy Kreme mania…or glaze-induced epidemic? YOU BE THE JUDGE! MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

On a flight to Adelaide, a total of six different passengers boarded a flight carrying boxes containing a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I’ve never seen such a consolidated group of people so enthusiastic about Krispy Kreme doughnuts…well…outside of the groups of Krispy Kreme customers I’ve seen inside the actual Krispy Kreme stores. There were enough people on the plane carrying Krispy Kremes that even one of the flight attendants mentioned so over the intercom system after demonstrating the safety procedures on the plane.

So as a result, I ask you, the reader, would you use one of your carry-on allowances to transport Krispy Kreme doughnuts from another state (in this case from New South Wales to South Australia)? As for me, I will admit that I had never thought of transporting large amounts of doughnuts across state lines, but after being on a flight in close quarters with such a wonderful snack food without the option to eat a doughnut myself (What self-respecting person would ask a complete stranger on an airplane if they could have one of their doughnuts when it’s obviously a prized possession that they are willing to carry across state lines?), I began to have a hankering for some glazed goodness. Who am I to say “no” to a doughnut? And that my friends, is why I was a fat kid.

Truf – Airport bathroom.

It is a universal truth that if you have to go to the bathroom at the airport and you hold it in until you learn that your flight has been delayed, you still shouldn’t go to the bathroom. Inevitably, if you go to the bathroom to relieve yourself, the airline will revert to the original flight time and you will have to rush. Truf.