Some people need fashion help. Some people need a mirror. Some people have no hope. Guess where Britney Spears falls.
…But maybe naked is not better. Especially when the innocent people of Japan are invovled.
And his name is Kevin Federline. K-Fed claims to be broke, which I can understand since he’s had to pay to produce and distribute he own record, pay to fly all his mooching pals around with him, and pay for those rockin’ corn rows he sports. Those can set a person back… But he also claims to be “damn smart…”
Ok, I am done laughing now.
My two cats are fascinated with bodily functions. When I burp or fart, the instantly look around with mystified expressions on their faces. “What was that? Where did it come from?” After the immediate suprise wears off, they glance at each other, as if to say, “Wasn’t me. Was it you? No? Oh my holy God, it was the Big Lady!” Before I know it, I am engulfed in a cat love frenzy. “Do it again, oh please, do it again!” They must be the only creatures on Earth that like fart-ridden air.
A couple of nights ago, I was recovering from a mini-bout of sensitive stomach. I was in bed, sprawled out on my back. Anytime I lay in this position, Bionic Kitty takes it as an invitation to either kneed my bladder or sleep on my neck. Neither is exactly comfortable since she weighs just shy of 20 pounds. This particular afternoon, Bionic started with the bladder and after growing tired from her strenuious attemps to make me pee, decided to go take a nap. As she walked over my stomach, I farted. She moved again, and oops, I let another loose. It slowly dawned on her that she was instrumental in making noxious gas come from my body. Bionic Kitty had a field day dancing a perfect Samba on my stomach, while Number Two got high from sniffing around my hiney.
Lately, they have become even more fascinated with standard bathroom functions. It’s disturbing. If I head to the bathroom, Number Two races in and jumps onto the toilet ring. She peers into the throne to make sure the water is pristine and not swirling. She won’t get off the toilet unless I physically remove her. I’ve tried several times to simply shoo her away, tell her to get down, and I’ve even tried to start sitting on her to make her get off. But my glaringly white butt up close and personal is apparently not enough to make her leave her post. After all, she is a cat that likes smelly air.
Bionic Kitty has her own fixation. Right now, she loves to get into my pants. Literally. Whenever I utilize the facilities, even for the shortest intervals, she immediately tries to jump into whatever is resting down by my ankles. Bionic is no little cat, so this procedure often doesn’t work well. Her jumping abilities are hindered by her belly, her ability to fit totally down a pant leg is non-existent (unless it is a stretchy pair of work out pants), and she can’t grasp the concept of getting stuck, even after multiple uncomfortable encounters. Every time I pee, I have to deal with a cat flailing half in/half out of my pants. And with her partner in crime simultaneously trying to smash her head under my butt to look at the toilet water.
And if I close the door when I use the bathroom, they throw themselves at it. Hard. Until they blast it open with Bionic Kitty’s body weight. So, I just have to surrender to the cats invading my bodily function private time.
I have never had a Twinkie. Knowing they have a shelf life of about 900 billion years is not exactly appealing, especially when I think of my poor stomach trying to break down those nuclear-blast surviving chunks of cake. But the idea of homemade Twinkies is true Weight Watcher temptation.
Ha! I found it! And for the bargain price of $29. Life is good.
To my shame, I continue to be fascinated by Britney Spears. I can’t figure out why she’s still in the spotlight, except that she’s the biggest walking PR train wreck of all time (and she even beats Tom Cruise). I think she is now used as a cautionary tale to the people of the world. What she cautions against is a list too long to begin on my humble blog. Regardless, she’s scary. As two wonderful men so documented in a photographic spread of horror.
Why do guys assign gender to thier AV equipment?
A few weeks ago, a couple friends and I were bar-b-queing at a guy friend’s house. The men were out grilling and grunting, while the women were inside prepping condiments and saying intelligent things. When we asked for a cutting board to chop an onion, we were given this chopping thing from Pampered Chef. It was awesome! The onion goes in, there’s a little push push push action, and voila, chopped onion. And it even has an attached bowl thingie to serve the chopped onion in. In absolute awe, I stood and watched my friend chop an onion in about five seconds with no tears or smelly hands. I want one. I need to ask my guy friend’s mother where she got it.
It appears that Life After Saved By The Bell can be tough.
Then again, was life for Screech ever easy?