Nukuler Weapons-Of-Destruction...

Okay, who here watching the State of the Union address last night wanted to:
A: Take a drink whenever Dubya said "Nukuler" or
B: Wanted to smack Dubya silly every time "Nukuler" was uttered?
(I fall into camp B,BTW.)

And anybody notice he didn't seem to really be interested in what he was saying until he got to Iraq at the end? I found the body language juuust a little creepy. (Granted, this really isn't a new thing; Our Esteemed leader's facial expressions and body movements have always disturbed me.)

It's funny...I was killing time waiting for the address by watching a little tv, which is something I almost never do anymore. So far I've avoided most of the reality shows on purpose. Yes, even the "Survivor" ones, though I've seen bits and pieces. It just seems so....stupid. Pointless. Downright annoying. And nobody on the shows seem to attract any real sympathy from anyone. "Joe Millionare" seems populated by escapees from Melrose Place. It makes me wonder what would happen if they picked a different female demographic for their contestants? Saaaaay, the lovely ladies of LJ? Twenty bucks says we'd be onto this guy's lying butt within an hour and a half and as a group dump him bodily in the moat of that castle, hole up in the wine cellar with laptops and sell the pics of us pantsing the guy to the highest bidder....

Now I'd watch THAT! Wouldn't you?

(Disclaimer: The Osbournes. Must-see-tv. 'Nuff said.)

Sweet Interlude avec goop de bain....

I ran over to the Flying G yesterday where they had my box 'o goop...No matter how precise I am on the invoice UPS will insist on shipping it there. Feh. No matter. I opened the box and it smelled heavenly, even though the shippers squooshed the box and one of the bottles leaked a bit. All through today I've been sticking my nose into that little dented box and inhaling huge breathfuls of the stuff.
I got home, managed to get through dinner without succumbing to the clarion call of that fabulously stinky box...then, when the dishes were done, obeyed my inner obsessive-compulsive. Ahhhhhhh....bliss. I'm now pleasantly damp and smell kinda like lemons with some thyme and sage thrown in.

A coworker misheard me telling her, 'I've got a new box of bath goop!" and thought I'd said, "I've got a new box of bat-poop." (I'd just come in from outside and my jaw was pretty frozen.) "yes," I replied, "I send away form my fine imported bat-poop." "Ohh, sure, American bat-poop isn't GOOD enough for you!"

I'd start calling it that from now on, but someone may take me seriously and send me a few anonymous boxes....

LJ's being really stubborn...

...and just when I felt like doing one of those "ask me anything" sort of posts.
(Doulamel, you're contagious, you hear? I'd answer, but Lj keeps giving me error messages....

Anyway, if you don't mind it taking me a while to get back to you...ask me things.



Disclaimer: This does not guarantee a straight answer, or even one that does not include the following: Peeps, monkeys, glitter, bath goop, accordian music, Kyle McLaughlin, 10 reasons why George Dubya Bush is funny-looking, long pointless stories about my childhood, Miss Cleo impersonations, or the musical stylings of David Hasselhoff. Be warned.