Everything I Like Causes Cancer

On my way to work this morning I was listening to NPR and heard that Egypt was planning to slaughter all of the 300,000 pigs in their country as a preventative measure against swine flu. I honestly didn't believe at the time that their idiotic plan would come to fruition, that someone with a lick of sense would put a swift end to it.

I was wrong.

I just read over my lunch hour that the slaughter has begun. Not surprisingly, Egyptian farmers are pissed and throwing rocks. Those pigs are likely all these men possess, the currency and lifeblood of their existence, and they will do anything to protect them. I predict this situation will get worse before it gets better. Being a humanitarian, I would now like to address the people in charge of Egypt . . .

Um, Egyptian dudes? Listen to me closely . . .

• There have been NO reported cases of swine flu in your country.
• Swine flu is not contracted from pigs; it's called that because it started as a porcine virus but it has mutated into a human one. YOU CAN'T GET SWINE FLU FROM PIGS.
• And, dare I say it, your former King Herod tried this slaughter move a long time ago with baby boys and it didn't work out so well for y'all in the end. Remember Moses? Yeah.

So I was just sitting at my desk looking for something to throw up here to tide you over until I have more time to give you a "real" post (tonight, I hope but make no promises) when I got an email from Whiskeymarie with this picture and a note that read, "I thought you of all people would appreciate this. Rugs & Risses, -W."


My first thought was that these are the two elderly Asian men who last week helped me pick out my outfit for the upcoming Derby party, raughing out roud as soon as I reft the store and saying "Crazy white rady, she no fashion sense."

I'm about to say something that won't likely make me very popular but I have to say it: I finally saw Slumdog Millionaire and hated it.  I thought it was terrible.  I was not entertained but rather heartbroken and ended up with two more wrinkles from grimacing the entire time.  That is not fun.  Boooooooooo.  And yes, I understand that a movie is "good" when it elicits powerful emotions but I say, "Boooo, I want my Sunday night back, please."

Heeeeey!  What up?  Sorry I've been neglectful of EILCC this week but I have been busier than a cat covering shit in a community sandbox.  Doing what, you ask?  Well . . . 

• Serving Jury Duty:  I didn't witness anything worth reporting, which is sad.  I was really hoping for some good blog material but my fellow jurors were disappointingly normal.  Oh!  There was one guy who had a rat-tail – you know, the one patch of hair that is left long like a pony-tail at the nape of the neck? Yeah. Except that this one was coming out of the MIDDLE of the back of his head. And his hair was naturally curly so it looked more like the hind end of a hog than a rat-tail.  It was weird and I couldn't stop staring at it.  It was all I could do not to cut it off with the fingernail clippers I had in my purse.  I also got in trouble for talking in the courtroom when session was over but that’s only because the bailiff, a creepy ginger*, took himself much too seriously. Douchebag.  Maybe Candy will have better luck Monday.

• Having my back adjusted with a regularity that surpasses my bowel movements:  My back is better.  I'm walking, which is a plus, but I am still sore and hurty.  The doc says I won’t be back to pre-injury status for a couple more weeks.  I feel bad because since I announced my demise people are popping up all over Blogaritaville complaining about hurting their backs, too.  Listen people, I know I’m wicked cool and a trendsetter but you do not have to do everything I do; if I jump off a cliff, please don’t follow me.

• Getting my clothes ready for a trip to Italy:  Sadly, I will not be joining them.  My friend Kell's Bells and her husband are spending 10 days in Italy and while I wasn’t invited, my clothes were.  She came over one night this week and raided my closet for shifty little skirts and easy-breezy sundresses for her trip.  I couldn't be prouder that she’s going to be wearing a dress of mine when she gets kicked out of the Vatican for showing her tits to the Pope. (This is her idea, not mine, mind you.  I warned her to be careful since she’s the only Catholic traveling with her husband’s Jewish family.)

• Assembling a spectacular outfit for the Kentucky Derby:  Again, not really going to the Derby, but rather a First Annual Party being thrown by some friends.  I spent a nice chunk of time this week at my favorite store getting fashion advice from two over-60 Asian men. I have to hand it to them, they did a spectacular job of putting me together and got it exactly right.  “Rady, Derby kick-off spring! Need color, no brack. White. You get white hat. That one. You get. Rook good, rady. Pitty rady.”  God rove ‘em, they were right and my entire ensemble is now perfect.  Any excuse to get dolled up, wear a big hat, and drink is aces in my book. Word on the street is that the menu will include hot browns, cucumber sandwiches, mint juleps, and bread pudding.  Don’t you worry your pretty little heads, monkeys, I’ll take lots of pictures.

• Attending the first in what will be a summer full of 40^th birthday parties:  My friend J-Grrrl’s husband threw a really nice party for her in a private room at a new micro-brewery in town.  Our friend Giga decided it would be a good idea to do a headstand in J-Grrrl's honor and I've decided that headstands are something that should be performed at every 40^th birthday party from here on out. With mine right around the corner, you should start practicing at home now.

"A Mississippi woman who was shot in the head not only survived but made herself tea and offered an astonished deputy something to drink, authorities said Friday."

When I did the last Pen Pal Project I posted a picture of the stamp I used on all that NC-17 goodness, the Legends of Hollywood Bette Davis stamp, and promised a prize to the first person to identify what had been photochopped out of the picture.  Chemgeek was the first to accurately describe what was missing, in his words "not just a cigarette, but the long black thing that one can use to smoke a cigarette", but the first person to accurately identify the item, by name, was Soda and Candy.  In my mind, they're both winners and deserve a wicked awesome Gwenprize.

It would seem I had a spot of fun late last night texting and commenting and emailing while under the influence, like this email to Katrocket:

I can't decide if this means the driver is squirrel bait (Get it?  "Nuts?"  Yeah, it's stupid.) or if it means the driver is a huge yokel who just ate a squirrel.  Or is planning to eat a squirrel.  Or maybe the family's pet squirrel is 8 years old.  (BTW, if this is what it means, I am sad for Illinois.)

I don't know, but it's weird and I can't stop thinking about it.

The first thing I do every morning is check my email using my phone while I'm still in bed because I hate to get out of bed.  But this was in my inbox this morning and made me laugh so hard I had to get up and share it.  Plus, spending three days laying on the floor does not make good blog material so really, this is all I've got anyway.  

THE EMAIL:

When you were discussing learning to walk upright earlier today, I could not help but imagine what it must have been like.  Please, tell me...is it anything like this?

Words, Words, Words

To answer Words^3's question, yesterday I felt like the second me from the left and today I feel like the middle me: more erect, but still hairy and not fully evolved.  I like that big stick I am carrying.  I need to get one of those.

I'm going in to the office today.  I may be back home by noon but at least I'm giving it the old college try.  (That's not true.  In college I wouldn't have tried.)

I'm still in constant pain, albeit a lower level of constant pain than Sunday (yay!), and find that the only place I am comfortable is laying flat on the floor.

I was so excited yesterday to finish cleaning up the piles of leaves I raked weeks ago so I could finally start my spring planting but within the first five minutes of scooping leaves I threw out my back and thought I might die.  Not kidding.  Stupidly, I finished the leaves and did some light planting but I shouldn't have.  I have never felt pain like this before.   I can walk, sorta, and I did take a shower before I drove myself to an emergency chiropractic visit this morning but it's so bad that he and his wife wouldn't let me drive home.  In fact, they fed me before I left to make sure I ate.

And in case you haven't gotten enough already, NYC's Trinity Church will be tweeting The Passion Play in 140 character increments starting at noon (EST) today.  Curious?  Bored at work?  You can follow it HERE.

Yesterday's ire passed in the night, like most of my bad moods, but the drive behind it did not so I used today's energy to successfully negotiate the release of katrocket's package from the Post Office.  I took possession of said package at approximately 1830 and immediately demolished it to examine its contents.

And oh, what treasure was there!

A SHINY RED BEAVER BELT!

This belt is so rockin' hot that I can't stand it.  Not only does it smell fantastic, like leather does . . . mmmmmm . . . but it fits perfectly.  It has surpassed my necklace made out of ten-penny nails as my favorite accessory, which I wasn't sure could be done.  And according to the note that came with it, I am currently the only woman in the USA to own one.  Read it and weep, suckas.  

(clicky = biggie)

Isn't it precious how she signed the note with a big ball of pubic hair?  I bet it took her a month to collect all that.  I wonder what she kept it in?

Anyway, I was too excited tonight to take any pictures creative enough for the flickr site but you can bet your favorite pelt my mind will busy (as a beaver!) brainstorming the next couple days.  In the meantime, you can keep coming back here to see this one:

Please stop staring at my beaver.

On a scale of one to grrrrrrrrrrr, today was grrrrrrrrrrr.  I can't say if the people I encountered were as stupid as I perceived them to be, but I still wanted to verbally assault them all, one by one, slowly, with surgical precision.

Well, the most recent round of Pen Pal Project cards went out earlier this week and I am already getting feedback from y'all in emails, texts, and even a post from the lovely and lively Cora who writes Love Letters From Cora.  (She rocks, check her out.)

It thrills me to no end that I filled your boxes with NC-17 goodness and you liked it.  Dirty monkeys.

One thing, though . . . did any of you notice the stamp?  I am offering a prize to the first person (who isn't H since she pointed it out to me) to identify what's missing from the "Legends of Hollywood" Bette Davis stamp I used.  In case you've already tossed the envelope (that sounds dirty), or in case you haven't yet joined my mailing list, here's the stamp:

First one to comment here and accurately identify what's missing gets a kick-ass prize.  I have no idea what that is yet, but it'll be from me so it will be kick-ass.  Duh.

A big part of my job is negotiating personal injury settlements with claimants and their representatives. I talk to people from all over the nation every day. And I can generally do so without cracking up so hard I cry on the phone. Today was not that day.

I recently had the honor and pleasure of sitting across a Formica table from handsome raconteur Words, Words, Words of Untitled Blogger Project. He emailed a couple weeks ago about doing an interview and I was thrilled for the opportunity to pick his brain but explained that if you want to make time with me, you have to come to St. Louis. It's happened three times in the past four months and I've decided that's the way it should be. So let it be said, so let it be done.