I hate it when people say "Merry Xmas". It's everywhere- on cards, on advertising, on signs by the side of the road, and spoken, too.
Look, it's Christmas. So say it that way. Whether you like it or not, Christmas was and is a religious holiday....the supposed day of Christ's birth. If you don't believe in Christ, then technically you're not celebrating Christmas. You're just getting a paid holiday and opening some presents. That's fine. But don't murder the name of a religious holiday so that it doesn't go against your beliefs. Just don't celebrate it. Make up your own holiday, your own name, be it on December 25 or otherwise. This holiday- Christmas- already has its own problems with true meaning. Let's not make it worse, and leave the very name of the figure we're celebrating out.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:05 PM
Friday, December 13, 2002
I could be downloading my free credit report right now. But I'm not. Imagine that.
Imagine a world where you never needed a credit report. Where you knew you were filthy rich anyway, give or take a few mil. Imagine a world where you never had to clip your toenails, and shaving was not necessary. Imagine that you could be anything, do anything, try anything. Imagine a world where the sky was purple, the grass was always greener on your side of the fence, and you never gained weight every time you ate a waffle. Imagine a world where Dubya was in remedial English, Mariah Carey never produced "Glitter", and there was a TV channel that featured only Adam Sandler's "Turkey Song" (Turkey for you and turkey for me)! Imagine a place where you would be free to frolic in meadows with bovine creatures and a chinchilla. Where you could wax your eyebrows at your pleasing. Without the wax.
Ok, you're done now. That's all. Have a nice evening.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:34 PM
Thursday, December 12, 2002
My first search words worth posting. I feel like I've passed some test. Anyway, someone found my blog by searching "Best ways for men to remove bags from under eyes".
And because I'm just nice, here's my answer:
First off, it doesn't matter if you're male or female. Suck up your macho-ism. Next, drink some water. Lots of water. Make sure there's a bathroom close by. Then be all bright and cheery and generally active. Poof! Your baggage should be in Omaha by now.
If all else fails, there's always Botox.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 7:34 PM
HOLY MOTHER OF SPOOT. Look, I know there's only 2 weeks or so until Christmas. But that's why they invented express mail. Because something like this cannot go unbought.
I also decided that "Jumping Jesus" is a great exclamation. It's an exclamation of surprise. For instance, if someone dumped a clay figurine of a rooster on your head while you are jogging, you could say, "Jumping Jesus! There are slivers of clay all around me, but no eggs!" And people would look at you in surprise. Unless I was a people, and I could look at you in admiration. And you know you want my admiration.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:22 PM
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
I have decided that every home/library/mental health clinic needs a futon. Couches are too informal. Loveseats are too stuffy. Ordinary chairs are so lonesome. But futons, man, those are hip.
When I grow up, I want a futon. It won't be orange, though. As nifty as orange is, it's a bit too bold for a futon. The Futon speaks for itself. Perhaps black. And I could have a nifty white slipcover for it, for the times when The Futon wants to brighten up. And I could name The Futon, as well. "Madonna" would work well. Then I could say things like, "I really need to sit on The Madonna". This would presumably get some amusing reactions. Especially if I converted to Cathlocism. Or developed a sudden interest in Ms. Richie. But with the latter, I'd have to be careful that people didn't think I'm some weirdo stalker, trying to develop some weird fetish for my idol that would result me getting a signed copy of Like a Virgin. I'm just not one of those stalker types, y'know.
Like a vegetable stalk. A stalk of celery. They're only good when accompanied by lots of ranch dressing, and when double dipping is permitted.
I'd allow people to double dip their celery stalks in the ranch while sitting on my futon, too. It could become one of its main purposes, other than just sitting there and looking hip.
"I really, really need some more dressing."
"Only if you sit on The Madonna, sucker."
It's nice to have some direction in your life.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:34 PM
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Dammit, I hate trying to deny denial. It just gets so messy.
This is usually because when you're trying to deny denial, you know it's true.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:02 PM
Monday, December 09, 2002
Scratch being a poet too. Not that it was ever a possibilty anyway, as I have a hard time reading even other people's work. Nonetheless, I tried the "Babble and hope it rhymes" technique, and ended up with this:
looking through packets of dying rhymes
one is forced to see with changing eyes
the past is fine, the process taboo
it's hard to seperate fact from fiction
when there is no true
travel through time
and implement doublethink
i'm guilty of thoughtcrime
i'm on the brink of everything
meanwhile the dolls grow dusty
they're waiting for full sight
i won't let the scar heal i'm throwing out the crust and he
still can't see with his own eyes
he's so preoccupied with the dying rhymes
Yes, I know the rhyme rhythm is off. Aside from that, whaddaya think? And don't be afraid to rip it. I need a heapin' dose of reality every once in awhile.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:24 PM
I have decided that I could be a very good children's author. All you have to do is throw random words together that rhyme and generally be insane. And repeat things alot. Example: "Red fish two fish one fish blue fish". This makes no sense whatsoever, but it kind of sounds happy-like.
I think I qualify. Except for the fact that I can't stand small children.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:36 PM
Sunday, December 08, 2002
This is so sad. And amusing. I love it so. I love it so much that this entire post is a tribute to it. The end.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:54 PM
Never, ever let me enter a bet.
Just tell me no.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:44 PM
So much to do, so much time to waste not doing it.
This is the worst time of the year, right between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Time seems to stop as you're recovering from one holiday and waiting anxiously for the next. Plus it's cold. It's like friggin' Narnia- always winter, never Christmas. Except they never mentioned slush in Narnia, nor the overabundance of sappy Christmas movies that take precious time away from bad reality shows.
You can see why I'm so unproductive.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:12 PM