Well, Spam is a Meat

As most of you probably know by now, my email is a Gmail account. More often than not, I'm a fan of Gmail. The "not" generally involves those (usually brief) spazzes when Gmail is "unable to process request. Please try again in a few moments". I think it's cute that the trash can shows recycling tips, and the spam folder has Spam recipes. (OMG, some of those recipes...!)

I've been impressed with Gmail's success in capturing spams and dumping them into the spam folder. Unfortunately, I do have to go to the folder and officially trash them. Because I can't stand to have that bold Spam (8) offending my sense of order, I dump the folder several times a day. Occasionally, the nature of the spam does catch my eye. Of late, I've been besieged with male sexual organ enhancement products. What the FUCK? Of all the bullshit that could inundate my account, why this? [Don't be nasty, Sydpacker. Oh, what the hell - go ahead.]

The best of the worst:

• Stop blaming your lack of getting laid on everything under the sun. Maybe it's the moon...
• Sex can be one of the most enjoyable parts of your life. Um, duh.
• No more floppy dick. 'Cause floppies are, like, so old school.
• My wife loves the new size of my dick. She calls me Big Boy now. Better than "Vienna Sausage", no doubt.
• This email will make your dick bigger. Just LOL
• Stretch her out with MegaDik. Yikes!
• She'll hurt so good with MegaDik. That's better.
• Make your dick huge this summer. For the summer? Is this like tanning?
• Are you a stud in the sack or a dud at the back? At the back of...? Nm, I don't want to know.
• Do you have what it takes? Become a solid 8 inches. Yes, I said *8* inches. Could be helpful doggy style. Maybe that's the "back" reference...
• Get a visit from the Big Dick Fairy. Sounds rather gay.
• Do you ejaculate before or within minutes of penetration? Frequently. Is that a problem?

Thanks, Gmail. I've had my "fill".

Maybe in May

Is it just me, or has April just sucked, and sucked, and sucked some more? (If it is just me, I may have to switch to an every-other-month, or every-other-OTHER-month blog posting schedule.) Fortunately, I don't think it is only my perception. Crazy weather. Crazy people. It's all been distracting, and beyond dismaying. Hell, I even forgot to call my mother on her birthday, yet was timely in my efforts for Syd's Bitch and Wife of Weese. Just crazy.

So... Fuck April. (The month, Asshats. Don't be nasty.)

My point? There IS hope, people. First, American Idol has finally been liberated from Sangina. With a little luck, I'll be able to resume doing laundry in my OWN laundry room soon. The Orioles are over .500, a virtual miracle. And then there's World Naked Gardening Day! [Ya'll really need to open that link to see the header.]

Why garden naked? First of all, it's fun! Second only to swimming, gardening is at the top of the list of family-friendly activities people are most ready to consider doing nude. WTF? Haven't "family values" gone far enough?

More daring groups can make rapid clothes-free sorties into public parks to do community-friendly stealth cleanups. And mug shots are such a nice addition to any family album.

Gardening has a timeless quality, and anyone can do it: young and old, singles or groups, the fit and infirm, urban and rural. no, No, NO!

Do it inside your house, in your back yard, on a hiking trail, at a city park, or on the streets. Insert your own "do it" joke here.

...post your thoughts and images onto an Internet site... Um, that's called porn. Not that I'm maligning porn... oh, nm.

And for those of us that don't have a garden, might I suggest a little bush trimming to honor the day? After all, "All that's involved is getting naked and making the world's gardens--whatever their size, public or private--healthier and more attractive".

Coincidence that this date is concomitant with Cinco de Mayo? I don't think so.

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Please, Sir, may I have some more?

What, you want a post? Eh, what can I say; it was just one of those weeks. Er, two of those weeks. Whatever.

Without further ado, I present my one-and-only Season Whatever American Idol post. Yes, I watch the damned show, although this may very well be my last season thanks to the absurdity that is Sangina's continued presence among the "top" performers. I'm not going to rant about that, however. This post was inspired by none other than Mr. Phil Stacey, also known as Chemo Phil and Bat Boy. Harsh? I didn't make up those names, although I have no argument with them. I could go further and suggest that he looks like he has HIV or that he was recently liberated from a concentration camp...

Clearly, Mr. Stacey freaks me out. I appreciate his variety of hats, but they don't really do much to help his appearance in my opinion. This past Tuesday, the hat de jour brought this image to mind:

[Quick rant: Jeers to the F'ing American Idol site, that made me scroll through 139 of the 168 pictures posted from last week's performances in order to obtain Mr. Stacey's image. Ever heard of thumbnails, Asshats??? Haley's legs were nowhere near good enough to justify that. And I won't even mention Lakisha's teef.]

So, the question begs: what does Mr. Stacey want more of?

Please, Sir, may I have some more...

HAIR?
VOTES?
HATS?
T CELLS?

Additional suggestions welcome.

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Win Some, Lose Some

Going in to the Final Four weekend of the NCAA men's and women's tournaments, I can honestly say I suck at picking college hoops. One more time, just for clarity: I SUCK at picking college hoops. Actually, I'm still alive in a couple of men's brackets... but it was the women I was really interested in.

Ah, well. This was really my first year of sincere appreciation of college basketball, so I can accept my suckiness with aplomb. It helps that I'm drafting two fantasy baseball teams this weekend, of course.

Oh, and there's this:

I never claimed to be particularly knowledgable of celebrity doings, either. I'm not. But even *I* know Lindsay Lohan is an Attention Ho unlike any other. Skanky bitch did me proud. ;p

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Accessorizing

My version of coordinating accessories goes something like this: If I'm wearing earth tones, I'll wear gold jewelry and put my hair in either a brown clip or band. If I'm wearing black/gray/blue, I'll wear silver jewelry and a black hair clip/band. Simple. Low-maintenance, even. Well, I also coordinate the color of my eye liner, but that's not the point.

For years, I was the only one in the house that even owned hair accessories. That, of course, has changed with Suzanne's longer locks. I generally keep my hair accoutrements nicely snuggled together in a tray in the guest room, where I do my hair. Now that we "share" such implements, however...

W: Do you know why I can't find any of my brown bands and have to get a new one almost every time I need one?

S: No. I picked up a whole bunch of bands yesterday and put them... places. [waves hand about]

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Power Oops

Know what happens when one accidentally hits the metal sawhorse braces while using a circular saw on plywood?

(Hint: it makes a really horrid noise. The kind of noise that makes your teeth hurt.)

Yes, yes, that's right. It bends the teeth of the saw blade.

Obviously, we persevered. What kind of power tool dykes would we be if we didn't have extra blades on hand?

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Crowded House

Behold, someone's artistic rendering of how the bodies in the bed were arranged last night. The clear indication is that yours truly is a bed hog.

I don't know why my Dudley Dawg was given a beaver tail [giggle] or a deformed head.

For those of you who've met Suzanne, you'll surely recognize that images are not drawn to scale. I've never slept with a midget.

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For the Record

I'm well-acquainted with the mess associated with drywall work. Drywall dust gets everywhere.

I learned today there is something far, far worse, however: the black, dense, silty, kinda-like-printer-toner residue from the gaping chimney pipe where a former oil furnace once vented.

By itself, it's nasty. In a laundry room, where disconnecting the washer inevitably led to a little water on the floor, it's a nightmare. And that was before I tackled washing the walls and such.

I may very well have nightmares tonight. Nightmares of the world being overcome, one sooty black shoeprint at a time.

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Sometimes Bad is Bad

I get a lot of unsolicited feedback, both joking and judgmental, about my love affair with salt. Mmm, salt. Crystalline nectar of the Gods. In case this is news to you, I adore salt. I apply it liberally and frequently to a multitude of foods.


Yes, I'm aware that, like most addictions, this is not healthy. To date, however, my blood pressure is fine. When and if that should change, I suppose I'll have to consider cutting back. (I actually have an experience in salt deprivation, but that's another story for another time...)

Those that know me well have long since abandoned efforts to reform me. A delightful few have even gone so far as to bestow salt-oriented gifts: fancy french sea salt crystals, an engraved salt shaker, The Book of Salt, a salt-and-garlic grinder, a beautiful chunk of salt crystal from Salt Lake City... Yes, my friends, salt equals love in the WenWhit Lexicon. (Suzanne's devotion is evidenced in her tolerance of the three additional salt shakers I keep strategically located near my habitual berths throughout the house.)

The bottom line: salt is good.Except when it isn't.

I'm not referring to my health. I'm talking about this:

That's what my beloved little Baja looks like after a few days of commuting post-snow-salting. I KNOW the salt and sand is necessary, but trust me folks, it's a necessary evil. You Yanks know what I'm talking about. The salt so liberally spread on the roadways to defeat snow and ice makes one HELL of a mess.

In case you were wondering, my car is black.

Or it was.

Competitions Abound

March is a fun time for my not-so-inner sports dyke. This year, I'm competing in a couple of March Madness brackets (only one for $$, damn it), a Women's Tournament Challenge (how cool is that?), and even a celebrity league and bracket (c'mon, Lohan, be the little drama queen I KNOW you are).

It's also time to get serious about preparation for the fantasy baseball leagues I'm playing. First, though, I need to make my top 5 picks for the second annual American Idol pool at work. I sucked big time last year, but I'd still take Katharine McPhee and Chris Daughtry over Taylor Hicks.

Maybe it's a good thing that the Washington Post's Beer Madness bracket is only something I can see, rather than play.

Ah, spring is in the air.

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Snapshot

Nod to OCB for the link.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Surprisingly, I think this one is more "me" than most of the silly quizzes and surveys I've done.

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Hermit at Heart

On the phone with the Missus, stuck in traffic:

Wen: Traffic sucks. I'm going to be late... again.
Suz: [insert kind words of sympathy] So... you'd be pleased to know I turned down a dinner invitation tonight from our neighbor?
Wen: Oh HELL yes. Thank you.
Suz: [pause] But I gave him a "maybe" for tomorrow night.
Wen: [much swearing and bitching]
Suz: C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll go out, eat some good food...
Wen: I'm fine with going out to eat. Let's go. You and me.
Suz: [whine] He invited us to dinner.
Wen: [more cursing]
Suz: You sound like such a curmudgeon.
Wen: I FEEL like a curmudgeon, damnit.
Suz: Then do it for me.

And that's the bottom line. Of course I'll go. And I won't even bitch about it anymore much more. It's a small enough thing to do to bring her a little happiness.

I don't know why I feel so curmudgeonly about socialization. Our neighbor is very nice, easy enough to talk to, and a decent friend. It's not about him. Or Suz. It's certainly not an aversion to eating! It's me wanting to play hermit. I'd make a damned fine hermit, I would.

And yes, Zanne, I will almost certainly employ the same vehicle de extroversion that worked so effectively in Connecticut. Fortunately, I don't expect cameras to be present to document my state this time around. :)

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I Can't Resist

I know, it's nasty. I'm simply powerless to resist the affection, however.



Yeah, it's a mutual love thing.

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Because Knowledge is Good

If you view politics with an eye toward individual policies and stances rather than taking a "straight" Republican or Democratic line, The National Journal has published it's review of 2006 congressional voting.

"The ratings rank lawmakers on how they vote relative to each other on a conservative-to-liberal scale in both the Senate and the House. The scores are based on the members' votes in three areas: economic issues, social issues, and foreign policy."

It's an interesting read, even if you DO vote a straight party ticket.

Nearly Northern 'Necks

In case any of you proud Southerners were wondering, Maryland (where I work) is indeed below the Mason-Dixon line. Still, the area I frequent is fairly urban. SUVs, rather than trucks, dominate the roads.

This here feller in my office parking lot apparently got tired of the dirty, frozen piles of slush that are the plowed remains of the snow that f'd up our return flight from Connecticut on Sunday.

Or maybe he just wanted to have some fun. :)

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O. M. G.

My freaking blogroll notification of new posts is actually functioning. Hell must be freezing over...

Hell

AKA: Sudden Inspiration

I just saw Patti LaBelle doing a PSA regarding diabetes. She referred to food as "the enemy".

THAT is MY version of Hell. I know millions of people live with the realities of diabetes. My grandfather suffered from adult-onset diabetes. A cousin has endured insulin shots since my earliest memories. I suppose, in those circumstances, I could learn to adjust my diet to better suit the needs of my misfiring pancreas...

But... to consider food... Food, food, glorious food... the enemy...

That would be Hell.

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Nothin'

I got nothin'. No inspiration, no creative impulse, no bit of humor or insight to share. I wouldn't mind blogging, so it's not exactly an issue of motivation... but I got nothin'. The couple of half-finished entries languishing in my drafts will have to languish a bit longer. (See, Syd, it IS possible to reference blog fodder without talking about your "box"!)

Anyway, I'm pretty close to asserting that February sucks just as much as January. Perhaps a weekend of lesbian blogger fun is just what the doctor ordered. Maybe this month can be salvaged after all. In the meantime, try to appreciate that the pillow-fighting entry has been replaced. I know I was damned tired of looking at it.

Catch ya'll on the flipside. Is March good for you?

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Fight Like a Girl?

Somehow, beer.com fell off of my radar a while back. As I was reacquainting myself with the hot chicks games great links history of beer, I happened across a link for the Pillow Fight League:

Well, I guess I can't excuse my ignorance of the PFL with neglecting beer.com, since it's apparently been around since 2004. Maybe the more interesting point is that it was established in 2004 and is still an active, successful "sport". (The most recent fight was in Brooklyn on 1/19.)

The Official PFL Rules

• Women Fighters Only. No Exceptions. [So far, so good]
  
• Fights have a five minute time limit and are won via pinfall, surrender, or referee stoppage. If a fight ends at the time limit with no winner, a winner is declared by a three-judge committee. [Okay, reasonable enough]
  
• Punching, leg drops, clotheslines, submission holds, and other moves are allowed as long as a pillow is used to execute the attack. [Cool!]
  
• Preventing an opponents' pillow strike by holding her pillow results in a warning from the referee. Judges may choose to include these warnings as part of their judging criteria if a fight goes the distance. [Again, kinda makes sense]
  
• No eye-gouging, biting, scratching, hair pulling, or low blows. [Damn. Maybe it's not 'fighting like a girl', after all. What about bitch-slaps?]
  
• No rude, lewd, or suggestive behavior. [Why the hell not?]
  
• Loading a pillow with a foreign object such as a brick is strictly forbidden. [I guess that would kinda change the essence of the fight...]

Hey, if you're looking for a reason to go to Ontario in March, might I suggest getting tickets for the Boom Boom Room on the 30th? If you should, take pics. Please.

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Lily

I love deadlines. I especially like the whooshing sound they make as they go flying by.

~ Douglas Adams

January has simply kicked my ass this year. Not enough sunlight. Too many cold days. And yes, too many deadlines. This week in particular has been a bitch on wheels at work; the type of week when it seems Friday will never come.

But now it's Wednesday... hump day [heh]. The work week is 60% done. And it was the last day of this horrid month. I don't even care if it snows tomorrow.

January can kiss my lily white ass.