Monday, October 21, 2013

Choosing is easy


When I choose a wine, the label had better be interesting. My good friend chooses wine similarly. His boyfriend confirms that the contents could be skunk piss, but as long as the bottle is interesting he will buy it.

A few years ago, before I could afford cable and internet, we frequented the library. My driver's license had an address within the public library district and I was able to obtain a card at no charge. Now, I have to fork over nearly $200. per year because I live outside city limits.

OK, sorry. Distracted by detail.

Prior to cable and internet I checked out dozens of books per month. Chick lit mostly because all I wanted was to be entertained. Perusing the shelves looking for specific titles and authors didn't do the trick. Not being an avid reader, I had no favorites and Danielle Steel no longer did the trick. So, with that in mind and knowing all I needed was lightweight smut and girly adventure, I sought out pink and purple stereotypical feminine book binding.

Yes, I totally judged a book by its cover. No, I didn't look for the ones with the a damsel having her corset torn from her ample bosom by a swashbuckler with windblown, shoulder length hair. Bleah.

It's a simple way of life and probably speaks volumes about my superficiality. It doesn't bother me if you think less of me. You've probably judged a few books by their cover, too.

Monday, October 14, 2013

F#@K Marry Kill

Are you familiar with the game? If not, you must live under a rock. Go knock yourself senseless with a rubber spatula or something while the fun kids play the game.

A couple of 'net friends are administrators of a fun page on Facebook called Retrochicks. On that page a promise of a rousing game of boff, marry, kill was promised for this evening. They replaced the profane word used in the title of this post because ... I guess because it is more retro. I don't know. Don't grill me. Damn.
In preparation for the evening festivities, Jane, one of the admins, posted this link to an interactive rendition of the game. It is rather silly. According to the creator there are right and wrong answers. The only ones I chose correctly are the ones to f#@k with exception to Adam Levine (Battle of the Adams). One Adam I don't even recognize so I chose to kill him. In the Michael round I got the f#@k right on a guess. The Michael I know of is Michael Cera. Quite frankly, there's no way I can imagine effing, marrying or bothering to kill him. He's a man-child.

For the record, I didn't bother with the female rounds. Even for pretend I don't care to imagine boffing or marrying women. Killing, maybe. Not for real, mind you. Honestly, I'd probably want to lock them all in a closet so they can out-cat fight each other.

Here's how I answered. Some might surprise you.

Battle of the Ryans:
Ryan Gosling -- Kill. I really don't understand the fascination with him. He's cute. But meh in the book of Riss
Ryan Reynolds -- Marry. He's cute, funny, tall and is probably willing to buy tampons for his lady.
Ryan Kwanten -- F#@K. He's hot and Australian. Have you seen True Blood? Yeah. All naked, baby.

Battle of the Johns:
Jon Hamm -- Kill. Out of respect to Jane, I cannot think of boffing or marrying him.
John Kasinsky -- Marry. Yeah, it might get boring.
John Stamos -- Blackie from General Hospital hangover. Gotta fulfill that teen fantasy.

Battle of the Michaels:
Michael B. Jordan -- first off, who the hell is this dude? It seems wrong to say I'd marry a guy I know little about, but he has a nice smile. Maybe he is marriage worthy.
Michael Fassbender -- Recognize the face and name, but no real idea what he's been in. He looks delicious, however. I'd happily romp in the sheets and risk rug burns on my knees and elbows.
Michael Cera -- Kill. Sorry, honey. I know it seems so wrong to kill that Bleaker kid.

Battle of the Adams:
Adam Levine: F#@k. DUH! Yeah, he's bragged about his prowess or past lovers have. He's too skinny in my book, but he is charming enough for me not to want to kill him.
Adam Scott -- Marry. He seems stable.
Adam Brody -- Who the hell is he? Kill.

Battle of the Hughs:
Hugh Dancy -- Shag. I have a feeling he's attentive and thorough.
Hugh Grant -- Kill. I dig the movies, but blurgh.
Hugh Jackman -- Marry! I'm OK being married to an ambiguously gay man. We'd have a great life together.

There ya go. Who else should we throw into the mix?

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Scars upon thars

Do you have a scar on your body that you can't recollect how it got there? With all the falls, scrapes, and injuries I've had in my lifetime I am surprised more scars don't exist.

On one occasion when it was warm enough this summer to bask in the sunshine to get my dose of Vitamin D, I sat with my leg propped up on my knee. You know, because all the cool kids have imperfect, uneven tan lines.


While my leg was propped on my knee, I noticed this scar and fully recall how it got there. It's not like that scene from Lethal Weapon 3 where Renee Russo and Mel Gibson compare battle scars:

So, this is the battle scar in question

It has faded dramatically in the 37 years it has been a part of me. Any guess on how I got it? I bet no one will guess correctly.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

The other day

The other day I questioned why this blog sits empty more and more. Then, it hit me. Twitter and Facebook.

You see, what used to be the topics of babbling on the blog have become 140 character mind bytes. Then, if those meandering thoughts and opinions strike a chord or nerve with those who read them, they'll comment, like or just ignore.

Immediate gratification. I tweet it. Boom!  The thoughts and ideas vamoose leaving me with nothing else to say... well, nothing more than 140 characters.

I miss this. You know, putting words together to form sentences that create paragraphs. Sure, my grammar is often questionable. The good news for me is that I don't give a shit. HA! The good news for you is that I know the majority of lessons we learned in primary school. Do not request that I diagram a sentence. We learned that in 8th grade when I had a language arts teacher nicknamed Bubbles. The hormonally charged class spent so much time psychologically tormenting the extremely sensitive teacher that little teaching was accomplished because said teacher would bolt from the classroom in tears which would prompt a visit from the Dean of Students. Blah blah. I plead innocent in such bad behavior. The bottom line is that I know when to use 'there, their and they're.' I also know the difference between to, too, and two; your and you're.

You get the idea.

See, I just turned a tiny thought into a blog post.

Out of curiosity I peered at my Twitter feed. Wowsers! 9,550 Tweets. You're welcome to follow.
Here's some of today's 140 character or less jibber jabber:

Here's to hoping that a balance of blogging, tweeting and facebooking -- not a real word that I know of but we're going with it for sake of having nothing else to call it -- here's hoping all social media can be used whilst still using up some gigabytes or whatnot on this here writing venue is utilized.

Love ya. Mean it. Share if you care. Share if you think it is nonsense. Hell, thanks for just getting to this point.