• While the $2 body splash from Dollar General may smell pretty, it makes for a thoughtless gift. A perfume that the man or woman has a special affinity for, on the other hand, can be a wonderful gift.
• While a sparkly bracelet or necklace is always a lovely choice, men have sustained mutilation and lost their lives over gifting fake engagement rings.
• While a pink satin feather-boa lined lounge robe would be a fabulous gift, a pink ______
• ... actually, I can't think of anything pink that makes a bad gift. I got pink tools for Christmas, and still can't believe how fabulously lucky I am.

There will shortly come a very clever story of travelling ails. I promise it will be laden with the wit and humor you've come to expect from Herbert.

Of course, the expectation bar has been set so terribly high, that one can hardly imagine more material as good as what you have already been given access to.

In the meantime consider spending a portion of your blog day...

...HERE. politically astute conservatives and liberals, yes. You'll both enjoy this. On the other hand, if you 

• can't walk and chew gum
• have a hard time understanding why the mainstream media keeps calling it Bush. After all, some people (like you) prefer the term Beaver, or pussy. 
• Wonder why you keep seeing a black woman on camera who's last name isn't Jackson
• Think that to get into the Electoral College you have to do really well on your SAT's and having a wicked extra-curricular resume' 

Perhaps you ought to take a pass. If thinking or paying attention to national events isn't your forte', here's a site that you might prefer.

About me:

The spunky Monkey is the original party animal! Charming and energetic, Monkeys crave fun, activity and stimulation. They truly know how to have a good time and can often be seen swinging from one group of friends to another, attracting a motley crew in the process. Always upbeat, they are considered minor celebrities in their circle thanks to their sparkling wit and that rapier-sharp mind. Perhaps surprisingly, Monkeys are also good listeners and tackle complicated situations with ease. This Sign's natural curiosity lends it the desire to become knowledgeable on a broad range of topics. Monkeys have a show-off side that loves nothing more than to dazzle their pals with all they know.

The Monkey tends to be rather accident-prone due to a certain lack of very high morals. This Sign's first interest is pursuing its own pleasure; this is not a malicious interest, it's just the way the Monkey is. However, this kind of carefree self-involvement can lead to all kinds of scrapes.

In love, the Monkey makes a fun, exciting lover -- but one that may have the potential to stray romantically. The good news is, the Monkey’s glib manner and witty repartee can often get this Sign out of a scrape. Perhaps not everyone will be won over by the Monkey -- but do you think the Monkey really cares? The Monkey's world, full of devil-may-care energy and revelry, isn't for everyone. Remember, though, it's not that this Sign is mean; it might just be a bit too curious for its own good. Monkeys often feel the need to try everything at least once, which can make for a merry-go-round of relationships.

The Monkey's love of self-indulgence can also lead to other types of trouble. This Sign may have limited self-control concerning food, alcohol and other pleasurable activities. It's party time all the time for the Monkey, yet when it leads to a monster hangover or a shattered heart (generally someone else's, not theirs), this Sign might actually show a touch of remorse. They won't flat-out admit the error of their ways, but at least they'll pull back and try to tone things down -- for a while.

Monkeys must try to learn to think of others ahead of themselves, at least some of the time. This Sign's world will be more complete once it realizes the world doesn't revolve around it.

What's your chinese sign profile?

Who are you compatible with?

I have learned that the person I love is not as normal and reserved as he has always appeared. In fact, he revs my engine.

On a related note, last night was a blast. Went to a birthday party for a very Irish soul. Even the birthday cake was Guiness Chocolate Cake.

I might have gotten a little tipsy. I might have seen a side of my love that I rarely get to see. But I like that side. I like it very much.

Q   How many mornings in a row have I awakened with a hangover this week?

Hmmm?

A   Two.

Everybody has pics of their pets up today.

I think this effort was coordinated by the blog equivalent of the PTA.

I own half of a dog, but she has a hard time getting around with only two legs and no liver. I didn't think it would be nice to post pictures of her here, allowing her to be passed around the internet like a cheap... well, like... Jnut's d*ck.

So instead I'm posting a picture of my favorite pussy. Yes, it's shaved.  

Was turning water into wine. So what's with all the protestants who are anti-alcohol? I'm sure pro-alcohol. And tonight, I'm enjoying the fruits of both the vine and my philosophy...

So, I'm still feeling down - intoxicated - but down. But Bryan of the Mart (there are those who call him...Bryan?) thinks that I ought to post drunk more often.

I agree. It's *fun* to post while you're intoxicated. Bring on the wine! Or Arbor Mist, or vodka, or whatever you're drinking. We're having a Part-tay tonight. Or not.

It's Friday night. Am I single? Noooo. But am I alone? Yeeeessss. Why? Because my love is hosting poker tonight. He is in big trouble. I will spank him later.

So, watcha doing tonight? I'm getting slowly... or maybe quickly... drunk and then I'm going to sleep. Hope you're having more fun than I am...

Top 'o the mornin' to you, folks. I'm sucking caffeine into my body through any  orafice that

1. will accept it and
2. whispers sweet nothings about transferring it to my blood stream.

"*giggle* The carbonation tickles!"

 Work is going to be much worse today. I shall have to watch LOTS of Harry Potter to compensate. I also intend to build a fire because I am done being cold. Finished! FINISHED I TELL YOU!

Today is the day of my weekly shower. Jethro will be by around 2:00pm to begin the decrusting, and the cute Italian waiter who failed to remember me on St. Patrick's Day, will be by at 3:00 serve his punishment and scrub me down with lye soap and hot water. I will make him wash me everywhere. Twice.

While I begin boiling cauldrons of water for my bath later today. I leave you with a smile, a stench, and some links to make your eyes happy. 

• It's been a week, and I'm still finding green reminders of last weeks foolery. There's something very X-files about cleaning your bathroom floor with a Clorox wipe, and turning it over to see a neon green hand - AHCK!
• Afterglow does a thought provoking (or maybe just provoking - you tell me) piece that ties Jesus Christ to Osama Bin Ladan.
• Humor me, folks: Check out IMAO. They're truly a feast for the tired mind. Yesterday they published an altogether offensive article on Africa. (I don't know why you're all so averse to reading them, but trust me: you'll be glad you did...)
• And, funniest of all, some dipwidget wrote to Santa complaining that gas prices are at 95.9 cents. I want to know where he lives and will he mail me his gasoline, because the lowest gas price around here is $2.09.     $.96... I didn't know blogs even existed in the '80's 

As evidence that you have completed your assignments, leave a sharp turd - I mean leave a nugget of cleverness - in my comment section.

There's an episode of Angel in which he turns into a puppet. It is replete with puppet jokes, and slo-mo sequences of him kicking puppet butt. Very funny indeed.

It may be the only inspired day the writers of the show ever had.

5:00 pm - Party Warehouse. I purchase green hairpaint and shamrock antennas. Both strike me as a VERY good idea. The drive home becomes interesting since I'm trying steer AND unwrap the green antennas. There is a *poof* of green shamrock glitter. Blast. I give up and turn up the music.

6:00pm - My bathroom. It's tiny, and was painted an ungodly shade of "lemon-cream-pie" yellow by my landlord. It makes me want to puke (especially when I'm wasted).  Undaunted, I begin spraying the green aerosol paint on to strands of my fabulous hair, curling it unto green ribbons. This goes on for a while. My arm hurts.

6:45pm - My bathroom. I realize that, having completed the curling, I look less like an Irish beauty queen, and more like the Wicked Witch of the West. My solution? Makeup. Makeup solves everything.

7:00pm - Makeup, apparently, doesn't solve everything. I now look like a drag queen. "Pigtails" I decide. "Pigtails will make this better."

7:05pm - My roommate stares at me. But I like my pigtails. I decide they need more green paint. 

7:10pm - Clearly, a trashy shirt that shows off my big boobs will prevent people from looking at my drag queen hair.

7:15pm - Yep. In this shirt, no one will look at my hair. Instead they'll think that the Doctor was drunk when he performed my sex change operation. But I am mesmorized by my boobs, so the shirt stays.

7:45pm - I walk into the bar. The old men and women stare at my hair anyway. Gah! Thwarted again. But I grin and wish my group a Happy St. Patrick's Day. "I brought St. Patrick's Day presents!" The men get beads. I put on my Shamrock antennas which promptly distribute a dusting of green glitter every time they bob and bouce.

at this point, the author loses track of time, and begins remembering things by drink

Drink 1 - nothing. I'm an alcoholic, and one drink never does it. Just kidding. After one drink, I realize that my group is talking about complex moral issues like "em-brid-non-ical" stem cell research, abortion, and WWII. WTF?

I'm suddenly distracted by a middle-aged irish woman singing karaoke. god she's awful. I wish someone would stick their toungue down her throat to keep those sounds from coming out of her mouth. What she really needs a shirt like mine to distract people from noticing her voice. Who gave her the mic?

Oh, and the cute Italian waiter carded me. He doesn't recognize me as the chick who's always in there, because...er...well?

...I tell myself that he doesn't recognize me because my magnificent boobs have befuddled his mind.

Drink 2 - participating in the complex conversation sounds like a great idea. I use my breasts to bully my way into the middle of it. They begin using words that I only understand when I'm sober. The conversation goes in circles, or maybe my head is just starting to swim.

"Bring me fried mozzarella" I tell the cute Italian waiter. 

Drink 3 - I decide that the conversation about bio-ethics makes me want to play footsie with the guy I like. We watch old people dance. I think they're sweet.

I think, while playing footsie, it would be a good idea for me to make the Aussie on my right wear the Shamrock antennas. He agrees, not because of my boobs, but because if he doesn't do what I want, my guy will give him dirty looks. This is a fun game.

The Aussie looks funny in my antennas. "Bring me chicken parmigiana" I tell the waiter. I will punish him later for not remembering me. 

I proceed to laugh with Aussie about the f-ing mountain troll who guards his precious loaves of bread, which I think must have been made from the bones of the children whose brains he's boiled.

In the midst of this jocularity, I find out that Aussie is the one who ate my General Tso's chicken left overs. Since I am buzzed, I do not hate him. Instead, I think that his chicken eating adventures are quite funny.

Also funny - me telling people "Kiss me - I'm 1/8th Irish." This phrase, I decide, is very clever. I make a note to myself to say it more often. Everything becomes funny.

Home - (nothing to say here... this blog is categorized as relatively safe for the whole family)

This Morning - My pillowcase, the right side of my face, and the back of my neck are tinted green by the cheap hair paint. The mirror is no more my friend this morning than last night.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone.

I want the fairytale.

I want a man who has been searching for *me* and pursues me. Whether he rides up on a white horse, or drives up in a red convertible, I want him to stop and get out the second he lays eyes on me. I want him to love my spirit, admire my mind, and hunger for my body. 

I want the sort of passion that makes my heart jump when I see him. But more, I want his heart to jump when he sees me. I want him to ache when I'm away, and call me to tell me about his day. I want him to surprise me by dropping by during his lunch break because he just couldn't wait. I want poetry. I want to lie, falling asleep on his chest, and giggle with him when the dog snores.

I want him to say, "Let's build a family. Together."

I want babies to run around the house. I want to help with homework. I want to burn dinners. I want to run barbie bubble baths for my little girls. I want to fight with my older kids about rules, and I want to wipe away their tears when boys (or girls) break their hearts.

I want a husband who is fascinated by me, who comes home from work and buries his face in my neck. I want him to play with me, and fight with me, and sometimes, pretend to fight with me. I want him to crave me, and touch me. I want him to hold me when I get frustrated and sad. I want him to say, "get the dog and the leash, we're going for a walk. I just want to hold yor hand for a while."

I want him to tell me that he still can't imagine a future without me. I want him to tell me that if I get old and lose my mind, he'll hold my hand and help me remember. I don't just want him to love me - I want him to be in love with me - for the rest of my life. I want him to fight for me. Fight for my love. Fight for my body.

That's what I want. The whole package.

Unrealistic? Maybe. But if I can't have all of it, then I want none of it.  

But if I can have it, then in exchange I'll give my life.    

Several of my friends thought that my previous profile picture portrayed me as a mountain demon whose diet probably consists of black cats and small infants.

So here's a substitute.

And to set the record straight, I only eat non-human meat. And if I've ever dined on feline flesh, it was because I have a weakness for cheap chinese food.

So there.

I didn't believe in the Sabaoth until I began working from home. I travel all the time, and work from my basement when I'm not travelling.

During the day, fiddling with my blog has become my equivalent of your cigarette break. (That's why it changes colors and designs so often.) But other than my non-cancer-causing blog breaks, I work all the freakin' time.

Except today. Today was a slow, lazy, reading, napping, cake-eating tribute to the "Day of Rest."

Bless it.  

During a discussion of mental health (and subsequently, illness) we came to the conclusion that most people manifest some sort of mental illness.

A friend quoted her mother, saying: "There are two kinds of people: those are on medication, and those who should be."

True. True.

It's Sunday. Here's your Non-Traditional Bible Thought of the Day.

Hellfire and Brimstone preachers always talk about the immorality of homosexuality. They talk about the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah as "proof" that any society that allows homosexuality will be punished.

(Now, I'm not arguing that homosexuality is right. And I certainly wouldn't dare to suggest that God looks favorably on that behavior. But that's all beside the point.)

The point is, Sodom and Gomorrah weren't destroyed because gays lived there. Wanna know why they were destroyed? The answer is given elsewhere:

Ezekiel 16:49 - Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, surfeit of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.  

What's this? God's biggest beef isn't gayness. I think God's biggest beef is when people fail to love and care for each other.

I think God's biggest beef is when a society becomes so self-centered, that we stop looking around, stop taking care of those who are hurting, and stop giving back.

So that's your Sunday "Non-Traditional Bible Thought of the Day".

Reading Randy's blog (which wasn't bad for an old guy ) I noticed he likes Alias.

Now, Alias ran out of story line 2/3 of the way through season one. They went down a rabbit trail for a while, and now they're back to doing what they do best: recycling old story line.

Actually, they probably fired their writers years ago, and just stretched out the material they already had year, after year, after year.

We, the mesmorized public have a hard time (pun intended) noticing, because the Directors of the show send out Jennifer Garner to distract us with her "what's your fantasy?" outfits and slow-mo feats of physical exertion.

Sweat, wigs, short skirts, glasses, moves, dimples, make-up. Really, Jennifer Garner's only job is to hook it hardcore for the ratings. (That, and make sucky movies like electra, which should have been awesome.)  

The saddest thing? I think all this, but I'm still going to buy (or borrow or steal) the next Alias season that comes out on dvd.  

Cat personalities make me cranky.

Cat odors make me nauseated.

Cat dander makes my exema act up.

Thought you might like to know.

Everything.

Trying to

a)figure out weight

b)walk without falling

c)figure out boobs

d)figure out periods

e)not bleed on everything you own

f)vanquish zits

g)find the right posture

h)apply make-up tastefully

i)concentrate on school with hormones working their fiendish magic

I know that 13 is freakin' hard. I'd feel sorry for my little sister if she weren't so nasty.