The 'Hood

After about a year and a half, I've finally found the perfect metaphor to describe our neighborhood. Have you ever been to a Ross store? Imagine: you're one of three white people in the whole place -- one has a day-old glob of Hostess fruit pie stuck in her teeth while she gophers her way through a mound of clearance throw pillows, and the other one's wearing a crispy Dolly Parton wig, a pair of knee-high leopard-print high heeled tramp boots and an entire Indian nation's worth of turquoise on her eyelids. There are clothes all over the floor, and unattended children burst unexpectedly from thick bushes of discount tube tops. The panels overhead are yellow and musty and rotting through so that the ceiling chihuahuas can escape, there's a trampoline in every department, and the poorly-maintained shopping carts and their twenty-inch rims are parked askew out front in a sea of empty blue drink bottles. That's exactly it, but our neighborhood doesn't have a spikey-haired lesbian wearing a "loss prevention" vest peeking in departing bags as they cross Colfax.

Thanks, Joe!

For modeling this hot little number...

You're the best!

Pants Ahoy

What a game six, am I right? It happened to be my first baseball game of the season, and that will make a lot more sense to you when I say that the thing I noticed other than the professional baseball players dropping fly balls (did you see David Freese making a sand castle in the infield?) was the pants. I disapprove of baseball pants. I like half baseball pants and tall socks, but the long baseball lounge pants sort of wadded up over the cleats get to me. You twinkies. Wearing lounge pants. You know what I wore when I played softball that one season? I wore very short polyester teenie weenie not-pants that sort of looked like this:

But without the man legs and with pasty bird legs. Pansies.

Couple other things:

Pujols. Tee hee.

Rangers manager Ron Washington has some lips. He has some flibbidy flobbidy lips. He breaks out a bag of sunflower seeds and, whoa, Ginny! Call the cops. It's like he's trying to keep a rainbow trout in his mouth. Which, you know, why would you?

Newsletter

A motorcycle gang feud erupted outside of a California Starbucks. You thought you got upset when the barista forgets your extra shot, you should've seen Bone Eater when the barista forgot his whipped cream.

Rick Perry and Mitt Romney don't seem to like one another. You'd get tired of another guy being in your Just For Men commercial, too.

The U.S.'s most powerful nuclear bomb is being dismantled. That's right -- they're draining the "Jersey Shore" hot tub.

Aerosmith frontman Steven Tyler knocked his teeth out. Sometimes when you're livin' on the edge, you slip and do that.

The mother of a missing baby admitted that she was drunk when the girl disappeared. Occupy motherhood!

President Obama has his Halloween costume picked out. He wants to go as something really scary, so he thought he'd dress as the future of social security.

Rick Perry might be a birther. It's true -- Rick Perry has had a nice, close look at President Obama's birth certificate, and no where on that piece of paper does it say the guy was born in Texas.

Martha Stewart's daughter says her mom pointed a glue gun at her head. But can you blame Martha when her kid's head looked so much like a pine cone?

One For My Homies

And they said nothing would ever beat the boobie.

What Beer Are We Washing Our Birth Control Down With Today?

A Great Divide Wild Raspberry Ale.

Kind of sissy. But way better than water.

Gimme a D!

I may or may not have mentioned that Levi blew out his back jelly earlier in the year. It was a fine time -- Levi was in tremendous pain and laid out on the floor under a heap of ice packs (turns out one's all it really takes), and I was delivering various things to him upon every sound of the sick bell, which sounded like a whiny version of my name. Anyway, because of this back injury, he must do core exercises and yoga on every other day, or he will crumple like a Denver Bronco. And there's this one yoga pose that requires him to do a lunge sort of thing and put his arms together over his head. It looks like this:

But without the finger in the corner of the frame, and from the front he really looks like a cheerleader, so when he strikes this pose, I always strike the same pose right in front of him and yell "Gimme an A!" Only, because one of my arms is crooked, I give him a "D", and I end up being the one who looks silly. Until Levi flips the page to the tortoise pose (i.e. Gumby run over by a freight train), which looks like this:

Then we start the cycle all over again -- pain, ice packs, sick bell. Life's a funny cycle.

Fail x3

You can hardly see what's going on here, but at least three terrible things are happening at one time --

1. I'm driving recklessly, not looking at the road in front of me, while I take a photo with my phone.

2. A man is riding a homemade tricycle (pay extra special attention to that fork weld).

3. The man has set a baby on the back of the homemade tricycle and secured it with nothing.

Let's try harder this week, folks.

Advanced Dog-Sitting

I've been doing this for a long time, and for a lot of different kinds of dogs -- dogs with cancer, dogs who drink smoothies, dogs who take 15 pills a day, dogs who drink salt water, dogs who are vegetarians, dogs who need neoplasene, dogs with hypoglycemia, dogs who get thirteen shots a day. But I've never done this for a dog who has or needs all of these things.

This is the daily schedule of a dog I'll call Terri Schiavo:

Michael Jackson's work table, preserved:

Boo kids! Yay beer!

It's 5:30, and, as is custom, I am washing my birth control down with alcohol.

Boo kids! Yay beer!

Newsletter

A high school math teacher in southern France sprayed herself with a flammable product and set herself alight in the school yard. She always said nothing would ever come between her and long division.

Paul McCartney got married over the weekend. He married her for love, and she married him for lunch money.

Recently freed Amanda Knox slipped out of seclusion for a shopping trip. Just for some of the basics -- milk, bread, and a length of rope.

An upcoming biography says Steve Jobs owned 100 black turtlenecks. To say nothing about the drawer full of hot pink underpants.

President Obama's approval rating is low. It's so low, he's starting to think about dating an intern.

Did you see the Republican debate Tuesday? And did you know Michele Bachmann was such a tremendous thumb wrestler?

Sarah Palin says the U.S. is due for a female president. Oh, weird -- I was sure she was going to say "a new memoir".

The Christmas Day underwear bomber says his underwear bomb was "a blessed weapon". It's nothing new -- a lot of guys look down at their underpants and think that.

I'm going to a pumpkin carving party this weekend. I think I'll just hollow out my pumpkin and say it's a presidential debate.

Iran says it failed to launch a live monkey into space last month. This after rumors that a Saudi ambassador was on a lunar holiday.

Bhutan's Dragon King has married a commoner. For once the dragon in a marriage isn't a mother in law.

Forgot to Mention

Thanks to a progressively technical trail and a genuine lack of skill, I ate some Red Rocks shit while "mountain biking" a couple of weeks ago. I lived to tell about it and to bleed onto my sheets for a week (not in the virgin way, but how much fun would that be?). I could poke my finger partway into my knee -- kind of a new thing for me. So here we go...

Oh, dang!

And once more with a handicap parking space in the background for effect.

What the Vacuum Hath Wrought

Remember that vacuum I said I wanted? I boughted. And, based on the below photos, turns out it was probably a good move.

Here's the take next to a bottle of tequila for comparison purposes. I would've used a penny or a pencil or something more familiar, but the tequila was already in my hand.

It's more upsetting when the dirt and hair is in the shape of something.

And even more upsetting if I include the original comparison object.

Wooly Bully

I'm always wanting something. Today I wanted a vacuum. Then, I wanted three Chipotle tacos. Then I wanted to buy moss rocks. Then I wanted to take my sweaty work pants off. And then I wanted to pick fleas off of my dog. What can I say -- I have some really fantastic days.

I also always want some new Icebreaker. If you don't know about Icebreaker, here's what you should know about it:

1. It's merino wool.

2. It's expensive.

3. It's worth it.

4. They sell underpants for $40.

5. They are not seven-way underpants so that the $40 is worth it.

But it IS worth it. I triple sheep dare you to try an Icebreaker anything -- a t-shirt. Socks. One sock. Your life will be improved.

Right now I want this Icebreaker cardigan:

It kind of screams won't-you-be-my-neighbor (which, coincidentally, I will be even if the dog I think you stole but that you told me jumped over your 6-foot-high fence barks me awake every morning), and I think I'm okay with that. Currently it is not improving my life. But I'm sure if I had it here with me, I would wear it seven ways and be friendlier and make your inconsiderate neighbor ass a peace casserole.

Newsletter

Vladimir Putin says he'll run for President of Russia in 2012. He swears he's fully qualified -- he's got experience, he's got charisma, he can see Alaska from his kitchen window.

Rick Perry says if he were president, he would stop drug trafficking and violence along the U.S./Mexico border. And also, every American would get a free racist pony.

Andy Rooney has stepped down from "60 Minutes". Well, it was less of a stepping down and more of a shuffling away.

Elmo and a Harry Potter DVD are expected to be the top toys this Christmas. If you don't count Tickle Me Ashton Kutcher.

I'm feeling really angry and unorganized and crazy today. I don't know if I should take an Advil, or if I should announce candidacy for president.

A two-faced cat has set a record for the world's oldest. And you thought you'd had the most fun you could have with a cat and a laser pointer.

Up to 20,000 shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles are now missing from a Libyan weapons depot. And you thought a piece of toast with the image of Nancy Grace's breast burned into it was the coolest thing you'd ever buy off of Ebay.