Check out my sister-in-law’s cowroom shirt site.
This is one of many shirts to come with funny Chinese->English translations. The first says in Chinese “I have no clue what this means” and then the same in English. You can’t go wrong with that – its funny to all parties who understand at least one of the languages!
So, as yet another surprise to my mother, I have eaten fish for the past two days. You see, I used to not like fish. At the present I’m still not a huge fish fan, but I can eat it and not throw up, so that’s a good thing. Yesterday while Abby was admiring the one shoed man, I was eating fish. Hot Fish, hot talapia to be exact. Or, for those of you who like to call it something else, St. Peter’s Fish or Hawaiian Sun Fish. However, today I smell like fish. My skin smells like fish and my nose smells fish constantly. I suppose that if I ate fish regularly this wouldn’t be an issue, but right now I’m just totally overwhelmed by the smell and am ready to take a break.
On the upside the fish oils contain fats that have been recently linked to prevention of alzheimers, which could be quite handy. Also, if I eat enough fish I will be able to grow gils and swim in the ocean like Kevin Costner – and we all know how cool that would be [the swimming, not being like Kevin Costner].
Richard Simmons, being a brilliant think tank all in one man, being able to personally contribute to the weight loss of more people throughout more decades than the originator of any eating disorder, said the following brilliant quote last night: “New Orleans is the Venice, Italy of the world.” [cite]
Brilliant. There’s no other word for it.
My buddy Trint asked, “Oh good grief. When is Richard Simmons going to die?” And that’s when it hit me: he’s not going to. He’s the first Raelian clone. He will forever be dancing to the oldies, even when they’re the oldies of Brian Wilson, 50 Cent and Coldplay. Indy bands that are yet to be signed to major labels or have their tracks given away on iTunes will be danced to before this man stops being cloned. Bipeds will be talking about the ancient instruments called ‘Guitars’ and he’ll be slapping people in airports, dealing meals and swooshing his afro about as he kicks, spins and clones himself into oblivian. Richard Simmons is a clone.
I, however, am avoiding being cloned. What? With my zany sense of humor, crazy/obscure jokes and off the wall one liners I’d probably throw the universe out of alignment and we’d all go crashing into the sun. Then we’d really be sweating to the oldies 😉
thanks to Robin for turning me on to the Richy Simmy quote.
I know that various people will be shocked but there are people who will marry anyone. Take for example: Robert Downey Jr. who appears to have been mis-represented by People magazine:
You see when you marry producer-people it means that you won’t just marry anyone, you’ll marry anyone who is a producer.
Way to go Bobby. Maybe you’ll get further selective in the future since it sounds by this headline marriage is a common occurance for you.
This morning I took my Honda in to get its oil changed. I took it to the neighborhood Jiffylube because that’s the nearest oil changing station. When I arrived they asked me to go inside where an older man was glad to start chatting with me. I didn’t mind the company but he was really far too interested in the price of my house. Then, a woman called me out to the oil changing bay to ask me about my personal information so that they’d know what size socks to send me at Christmas. OK, not really. She wanted my home address and phone number. I told her I was married, but that didn’t deter here.
Then the big up sell scheme came in. They didn’t want to change my oil. No, just changing the oil was going to be too little for them. Instead they spent 4 minutes walking me through very nicely done graphical screens showing happy little icons saying, “Pick me!” However, because I’m in no way going to buy their schpiel on how I will get better gas mileage if I pay them an extra $30.00 I passed on everything. They would have to show me the prettiest charts with large doctoral dissertations proving that my $30.00 would save me $40.00 in the long run.
With the time they wasted trying to upsell me they could have finished my oil change and I could have gone onto the grocery store and stood in the long lines there sooner. But I’m getting whiney, so I’ll stop now 😉
Apologies for the BFF reference. Since we all know that forever doesn’t last very long with food, I suppose I could hvae written Rice + Chicken = BFWSL. But I digress. When Jessica is gone at lunch time I like to make a tasty treat for myself. I grab whatever leftover meat products I have in the fridge (if you’re a vegetarian you could use Tofu based meat substitutes you have left over), I throw them into a lightly cooking oil sprayed pan and then let them warm up a bit. Then I add leftover rice (we usually have some of that around here, thank the Lord) and some salsa (usually we have the industrial sized Pace sitting in the back of the fridge for when Jess doesn’t make salsa fresca). I usually add water to help the rice moisturize (after exfoliating and washing of course) and put the lid on to help trap the steam. I often stir the ingredients to help assure that all is well and nothing burns or gets funky on me.
When I’m about to eat the food I plunk it onto a fine eating surface (read: a plate) and add some cheese (read: mozzerella or cheddar – again, if you’re vegitarian you could use tofu based cheese-like products) and then head down to my TV and turn on the food network to see if I can pick up any hot tips (Not hot chicks, unless you’re referring to other hot chicken dishes) on how to make more yummy food.
We have magnetic words on our ‘fridge. At Abby’s party someone grabbed some of them and build ‘custom’ sentences. However, they’re not English, they’re rather Engrishy. Witness:
Butt Storms Need Essential Base
I don’t know who put that together but it has caused a smile to cross my face more than once 🙂
I have been getting hammered by a spam server this morning trying to pitch ‘superviagra.’ So I’ve blacklisted that word. Therefore if you attempt to write a comment on this blog using that word it will just delete the comment. Of course non of my readers would need to write that in the comments, but I just wanted to warn you.
You have been warned – and if you’re cold, put on a jacket, and then you’ll be warmed (most likely. This is not medical advice.)
In fact, this blog does not carry medical advice, dispense medical advice, dispense viagra, super viagra or ultra-super-duper-amazing viagra. I recommend you go see a doctor for any medical advice. That is all.
The other night on Iron Chef, the show where Americans dub over Japanese chefs cooking things that most Americans are afraid to eat, they made Birds Nest Soup. I thought it was just some strange name for a noodle type dish. Wrong! It was actually swallows nests in the soup. Color me WASP but that just wouldn’t go into my mouth.
Yes, I’m probably closing myself off from a world of tasty and delicious treats, but I just can’t imagine taking swallow saliva, broth and other basic ingredients and calling it soup. Skip the nest, I’ll take the rest.
Dan Klass of The Bitterest Pill podcast noted the death of the comedian Freddy Soto. I had never heard of Freddy Soto before but the video clips on his site cracked me up [note: I’m not responsible for it and you’ll want to have discernment…]. One of which involved the phrase ‘Eh, Regardless.’ You’ll have to watch the clip to understand.
I said it in front of Abby and she repeated it over and over on the airplane until Jessica and I were nearly crazy. It’s funny now, but on the ‘plane I wanted to get her to stop.
In fact, ‘Regardless’ became the anti-word for my sister-in-law, Kelsey’s ‘Seriously.’ Every time she said seriously we would retort with regardless. In fact by the end of the week we would have a banter of something like:
Kelsey: …Seriously.
John: Stop.
Me: Regardless.
John: I’m not even kidding.
Yes, that’s slightly bizaare, but that’s what you’ve come to expect on this here blog. Seriously.