Wandering

I've been doing a good amount of work in one of the museum preparation labs, and when I get bored, I wander. I took these pics in one of the storage rooms:

Mooses. Meeses? Meese?

Pine tree and Dimetrodon.

Hippo and Dodo. Obviously.

Just Another Reason to Hate CNN

This story was reported on the BBC News website today: Russia in Ukraine Missile Threat. This... seems like kind of a big deal, right?

I looked, but couldn't find anything about it on CNN's website. I did find this story, though: Secrets Behind Your Favorite Toys. And That #!&!$ Other Driver!

Cut it out, CNN. Report the news. Real news. News that matters. I know it's difficult, as Britney hasn't done anything crazy in like, days, but maybe visit BBC News once a day or something. You might learn something!

(Also, I know that we're smack dab in the middle of all of the election insanity, but there are other things going on in the world. Acknowledge it.)

Turd Ferguson

There is little more irritating than turning on NBC, anticipating a brain-busting night of categories with my favorite hated Canadian (sweet Lord, I hate Trebek), than discovering the Jeopardy Teen Tournament instead.

DAMMIT.

I freaking HATE the Teen Tournament. Boring! I learn nothing! Waste of time!

Also, someone needs to tell the teenage gentlemen of America to CUT THEIR GODDAMNED HAIR. I know that I sound like a fucking square here, but they are not The Beatles. They look retarded, overgrown six-year-olds. I questioned how one kid could even see the board, because I certainly couldn't see his eyes through his bangs.

And to top it all off, there was a category entitled, I swear, "Will Smith."

DAMMIT!

Suck it, Trebek. And get yourself a big hat. It's funny.

Jesus Welcomes You

It's been balls cold in Michigan, and Sunday was no exception. It was just a cruel coincidence that my niece's baptism fell on the coldest freaking day of the year (so far).

In my extreme idiocy, I wore a dress. I didn't think that it would be that cold. Well. In the time it took us to walk the half-block from the car to the church, my calves were just aching from the bitter cold wind. I was wearing shoes that pinch my toes and make them go numb in seconds, so my feet weren't a problem, really. Besides, I fucking love those shoes.

Adorable!

The church was freezing. I don't think that they even bothered to turn on the heat, as the complete lack of a vestibule meant that the entire parish got blasted with the winter air every single time someone arrived. That air just filtered underneath the pews and my calves were practically begging for mercy. I inched closer and closer to Mike until I was practically sitting behind him.

Mass was lovely, though I will never understand why screaming children are not removed from the sanctuary until they CALM DOWN. I'm not talking about a little noise here and there. No, I'm talking about the blood-curdling screeching that somehow escapes a child's lips. At times it was seriously terrifying. Chills were racing down my spine. I mean, that could have been Mother Nature, sneaking in through the stained glass, but I think that it was more that some children just can't sit still for more than a few minutes.

The baptisms followed the mass. Yes, baptisms. There were four other little ones awaiting their baths of salvation, and my darling goddaughter was the only one who kept her trap shut. In fact, she slept through much of the sacrament. Jesus approves!

Behold my sweetness!

Steven laughed when I asked if anyone had ever dropped a baby into the baptismal font. Kari frowned.

I am honored to be her godmother. Someone has to teach her about dinosaurs, right?

Rawr!

Birdies!

I love birds. I love pointing them out to Mike, especially the hawks flying overhead when we're driving somewhere. He just loves that. He loves it almost as much as when I point out Ford Foci on the road. Because if you haven't noticed, they're everywhere.

I was getting some supplies out of the closet at work the other day and noticed an exhibition case tucked away. It was full of little birdies and I love it and want to take it home.




I have issues, maybe. I don't know.

Also, there's a bat in there. Sneaky!

I am Brilliant

I discovered how to connect to the wireless internet connection in my apartment. And it only took two months!

Brilliance at work here, people. Brilliance.

So instead of standing at the counter/desk combo, I can now recline in my sweet papasan chair, feet propped atop my space heater, with a huge mug of white tea with pomegranate within reach.

Until the damn battery runs out of juice.

The Sweetness, It Hurts!

Today marks the beginning of the Lenten season, and you know what that means: no more pop for Heather.

Sniff.

But this time, the elimination of all things sweet and carbonated is not just for the next forty days and forty nights. No, it's now time that I grow the hell up and realize that Coke is RUINING MY LIFE.

It's bad for you! Really bad. Water is good and makes my skin pretty. And juice is nice.

Additionally, Mike and I have embarked upon "Get Fit February (copyright Mike, 2008)," and pop just doesn't fit into the plan.

However...

Being as today was Fat Tuesday, and being that I am now back in Michigan, I welcomed the sight of the almighty PACZKI:

Yes, I am a real word.

Hello, we are here to KILL YOU.

These sugary bombs were damn near impossible to find in the DC metro area (along with kielbasa), though I admit that I didn't try very hard to find many. I'm not a huge fan of the filled donut (I like glazed), and I really didn't see the point in eating ten million calories in a few minutes.

Southeastern Michigan boasts a large population of Polish Americans, and the paczki rules all on Fat Tuesday. Most offices and businesses will have boxes of paczkis waiting to be devoured.

I might have had a bite of a blueberry paczki. And I might have regretted it immediately. It made my teeth hurt from the sweetness. I mean, allegedly.

I can honestly say that that bite was the first taste of paczki for me (damn my weakness!), and it will be my last. I'm Polish, but it just wasn't worth it. Bring on the sauerkraut instead!

Lucille

Thanks to Steezy for this one:

Halftime, or Wishing for Death

Like lots of Americans, I watched the 42nd Superbowl. Unlike lots of Americans, I'm assuming, I did not watch the wonderful Tom Petty at halftime. No, I was victim to someone else's choices (and I must make it clear that I am not speaking of my wonderful NORMAL boyfriend, who wanted to watch Tom Petty and listen to the halftime report. No, it was another party guest. Just so there are no misunderstandings here).

We were forced to watch the MLE championship on Spike TV. Do you want to know what "MLE" stands for? DO YOU?

Major. League. Eating.

It was awful. I wanted to die. Or vomit. Both, really.

The competitors, of whom many of the party guests were aware, started on hard boiled eggs. Who can eat the most in eight minutes? Who will dip them in hot sauce? How much water will they guzzle? How long can Heather keep her bile down?

Next? The competitors ate whole hams. WHOLE HAMS. At the conclusion of that... event, one guy had dipping sauce ON HIS FOREHEAD.

Also, people are starving in India. And Asia (ASIA). And our own fucking country. But thank GOD these disgusting people can eat five dozen eggs in eight minutes.

I seriously have nothing else to say on this. It basically blew my mind. If you want to feel your stomach churn, or if you want to call in sick from all of the vomiting (yours), watch the first video at the link above: MLE Championship.

Also, one of the announcers was named "Crazy Legs." So... there's that.

Bravo, um... Bravo

Okay, so I was up waaaay too late the other night, and I stumbled upon Friday the 13th, Part II on Bravo - which is weird because I thought that Bravo only aired Project Runway and Top Chef, but whatever.

So I watched it for the first time in years, and it was glorious.

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I like 80s slasher films. They are generic and predictable, but they have some sweet scares and, if you're not watching them on basic cable (as I was, sigh), some gratuitous nudity. Gratuitous nudity is always nice.

I don't remember when I first saw Friday the 13th (though it was probably with Amanda), but I know that I always thought it was awesome. I loved the idea that the killer was preying on camp counselors. I went camping! It could happen! The original film was pretty sweet, what with its twists and turns, scream-out-loud ending, and fantastic gore. And who could forget the music?

The thing is, in my ultimate stupidity and insomniac-ity, I started watching this wonderful sequel at 2 a.m. After about an hour, noises became my mortal enemies. My landlord left two screens hanging on the back deck, and when there is a breeze of any kind, they bang against the posts. I got used to this after the first few days here, but by the end of the movie, I was convinced that Jason was out on the back deck about to bust through the door.

But the film. Let's discuss.

First of all, I love love LOVE that so many of the 80s slasher film stereotypes were present. Running up the stairs instead of out the front door, fornicators never survive, etc., etc. But what I also loved is that there was a character in a wheelchair who was awesome. I was rooting for him, especially when he and the "nerdy" girl made plans to spend the night together, but alas. He fell backwards down some stairs, in his wheelchair, with an axe in his skull, courtesy of Jason.

So even the handicapable are targets... he died before he got some, but I guess he should have stayed chaste in his mind as well. But he planned a night with that hussy, and it was all downhill for him. Heh. Downhill. Oh, I am awful.

Second, after the first fifteen minutes, I had picked out the heroine.

Third, gratuitous nudity.

Fourth, the bed death scene. Brilliant.

Fifth, tricking Jason by WEARING A SWEATER.

Finally, playing the game on Nintendo? Priceless.

Why I need to find an old NES.