Dancing Brave

Not A Good Sign If Muppet Me Is Better Looking

Because what I really needed was more procrastinatory material: Make A Muppet.

I ended up settling on this version of me:

Uncannily accurate, especially the big red nose.

I also made a version of Kevin:

Although frankly, of all of them, this is my favorite:

You know -- given my obvious penchant for garish headgear. Actually, with a minor adjustment...

There! I call her Blair Statler-and-Waldorf.

Beat Well And Bake For 30 Minutes At 98.7 Degrees

Don't worry, y'all, I'll get all the baby-making stuff out of my system once we've tried for a few months and I'm f'ing sick of it. But for now... Jess and I just had this conversation on IM and it's just easier to relay it that way.

HEATHER: So, I'm reading up on all these tips for conception, to help things along

HEATHER: And apparently

HEATHER: They tell you that lube is "hostile to sperm."

HEATHER: I... this isn't even really getting specific to say this, but I NEED LUBE, people. Most people DO. COME ON. GIVE A GIRL A BREAK.

JESSICA: All lube?

HEATHER: Well!

HEATHER: Not if you use... egg whites.

JESSICA: I feel like there must be some wack -- NO

HEATHER: Oh, but there's a SLIGHT RISK OF SALMONELLA.

JESSICA: I was going to say "wack European shit"

JESSICA: WHAT???

HEATHER: YES

JESSICA: YOU CAN NOT GET SALMONELLA IN YOUR VAGINA

JESSICA: I mean, you just don't want that.

HEATHER: They're all, "If you must use lube, use egg whites, although there is a slight risk of salmonella." WELL, SIGN ME UP!

JESSICA: Where did you read this?

JESSICA: WHAT IS YOUR SOURCE?

HEATHER: In my fertility book, and in a Fertility Friend mailing, which are separate but apparently equal. I saw it on Google somewhere too.

JESSICA: Oh, but I have solved your problem The Internet tells me: "They found that the Canola oil had no negative effects on sperm."

JESSICA: You can make a quiche up in there, with the oil and the eggs.

HEATHER: I cannot wait until I am making a womb quiche.

HEATHER: "Well, you're not PREGNANT, but brunch is ready."

JESSICA: Ha ha ha! That is gross. Take a picture of it for the baby book.

JESSICA: Your attempts to get knocked up have pushed us into gross-out humor territory.

HEATHER: I can't wait until we write the girl version of Knocked Up. About womb quiche.

 

No, Carl, Congratulations To YOU

I don't even have the words for the awesomeness of this: Change Is Beautiful.

Except to say that the guffaw Carl Weathers lets out at the end of the "Week 2" video may have changed MY life.

Kids Are Cute

So, Fug Madness on GFY has accidentally kept me much busier than I expected. Hopefully I can post a real entry later. But in the meantime, Kevin dug up this clip from YouTube and it cracks me up -- especially when she talks about "the shiny robot."

You heard the girl! Don't talk back to Darth Vader!

Oh, MARTHA

On her show today, Martha Stewart started talking about her Birkin bag, and she actually said the words, "I bought it for $1200 or $1400, which was a LOT of money back then."

I don't know which is more hilarious: the fact that she needed to stress just how much money "back then" she was able to drop on her Birkin, or the fact that she thinks $1400 is a pittance in today's currency.

Thank God I don't go to her for a dose of perspective.

Ditz

Cyclist: Excuse me, do you know what time it is?

Me: Hmm, well, it was 6 o'clock when I left my house.

Cyclist (shoots me a weird look): Yeah. Uh... thanks.

Arachniphobia

I'm currently engaged in a vicious mind game with a spider.

The other night, a bare five minutes after Carrie left, I discovered the little bugger -- except he's actually rather big; one of those with somewhat stubby legs and a thick torso, kind of like a gymnast -- sitting up near the kitchen ceiling, over my Crate & Barrel island (which is backed up against a wall at the moment).

Flush with the triumph of using the Swiffer to lay waste to an identical beast that was above my showerhead the day before, I grabbed the instrument of its certain doom and snuck it up there. But my first swipe only dislodged him, and he dropped.

Into nothingness. Seriously, he disappeared. I peeked behind the blinds, I looked under and on and behind the island, and I even stood on a chair to see if he'd landed atop the blind mechanism and was trying to lay low. Nothing. I smacked around up there with the Swiffer to scare him out, but nothing. Clearly this is not your ordinary spider.

I left for a bit to try and lure him into a false sense of security; nothing. I turned off the lights and went to watch the end of Cruel Intentions, hoping he'd creep out under cover of darkness. Nope. I then, and this is a true story, resorted to saying things out loud to the empty kitchen like, "I don't even want to KILL the spider. I just want to set it free outside," and "Seriously, I don't know WHAT it's so afraid of." But the bastard either didn't understand me -- A LIKELY STORY -- or somehow doubted the veracity of my claims. Can't imagine why. Might have been the giant flat Swiffer head that almost mated him with the wall.

To my eyes, he still hasn't resurfaced. Which means he's just Out There Somewhere, waiting to turn up in a place that will make my heart stop. (My mother once stood up from the toilet to discover a roach crawling up the interior of the bowl. There was, let's say, some screaming.)

All I can hope now is that when my oven repairman arrives in the next hour, the spider -- high on its wilyness thus far -- gets cocky and makes some kind of arrogant, fatal mistake, and Mr. Ug Cue K (this is what his printed name looks like on the work order, despite the fact that his signature looks like it says "Aleaaf") steps on him for me so that the spider clan clearly living inside my walls does not get angry at the loss of two of its own and revenge itself against me. But you know, I wouldn't put anything past these shady critters. I don't trust them as far as I can flick them with a Swiffer.

Cobbert Huskenberg? Really?

We just got a fairly hilarious e-mail at GFY that I'm compelled to share. It's from whatever company is marketing these "Sprays In The City" webisodes:

The new series follows the adventures of two gorgeous city sprays.  Spraychel, the captivating I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter! spray, and Spritzy, the feisty Wish-Bone Salad Spritzers Dressing, ask viewers to help determine their fates in the Big City Fridge.  With their fingers on the pulse of portion control, the sprays soon discover that life inside the Big City Fridge is filled with, love, gossip, and - - excess!   The new series features an all-star celebrity cast including Extra‘s Mark McGrath, Project Runway star Tim Gunn, and none other than romance icon Fabio. 

We were quite seriously rendered speechless. Then, of course, I had to go watch one. They are as terrible and hilarious as I had hoped. Spraychel the Butter Spray, upon finding out that somebody was getting between her and Cobbert Huskenberg (a giant corn on the cob) screamed, "THAT COB-BLOCKER!!!" before turning around and hissing at the cob-man, "GO SHUCK YOURSELF."

And the first episode is all about them trying to pick up movie-star vegetables at a club. It's... it's so strange. Seriously, it's... I mean, Tim Gunn, why? WHY? The Internet is an odd thing. An odd, wonderful thing.

F The Po-Po

It's a really pretty, warm evening, and boys who live across the street are playing outside, whizzing up and down the road on their scooters in a frantic game of Cops and Robbers.

I know this because one of them keeps yelling, "YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE, COPPER!"

And then, best of all: "MOVE ASIDE, Grandma, 'cause I've got the PO-PO on my tail!"

If Kevin and I ever have boys, at least they'll be amusing in addition to totally confusing.

Oops

I really enjoyed the Jancee Dunn book, but it's possible that the promotional copy I received had yet to go through its final, rigorous proofreading session. Because, aside from a couple other small typos in celebrity names, there is a rather hilarious error in which she refers to Star Jones' hag-fag Al Reynolds as "Al Michaels."

This prompted a lot of laughter from me when I imagined sportscaster Al Michaels trying to romance TV's most vapid, irritating, and shallow chat-show host. After a season of co-hosting with John Madden, I like to think Michaels would've jotted down all the accidental double-entendres Madden pops out with -- which Dan and I once parodied -- and used them all to woo his repulsive crush.

I especially cherish the idea of Al Michaels telling her, "Look at that sack. That is a thing of beauty, right there — sacks don't get much harder than that."