Sin Sins Sinners

I saw a van yesterday with a handpainted crucifixion depiction on both sides of it. It included the beaten-down Jesus and the words "Sin Sins Sinners" along the board parallel to the "ground." The back was brightly painted and posed the question: "Who do you want to spend eternity with?" Each door was then painted to depict heaven and hell.

All of this fire-spouting righteousness caused me to wonder: Does putting the fear of God into people really work?

I'm sure there was a time when uttering "Satan" was like saying the world "old" in front my dad, but times have changed. Does the scare tactic really work? The fear of bankruptcy would work. The fear of loss of sex or sexual organs would probably also do the trick. Even the loss of a finger ala Mob Boss-style would evoke some pretty heady concerns, but does the Almighty wield the fear he or she once did. Will it take a plaque of Paris Hilton movies, music and whorish ensembles before get our learn on?

Taking Carrie to the Prom

Here's a little link full of nice euphemisms for riding the cotton pony:

http://www.starma.com/penis/auntflow/auntflow.html#V

Email me or leave a comment with your favorite one!

Pitched in and pissed off

I've made the decision that I'm never pitching in for a gift where I know I won't see any reciprocal action ever again. Yet again the hat was passed around here for a communal baby gift and fine, I pitched in. Even if this was the chick's second kid and even if the sex of the baby was the same as the first time. Whatever.

However, what pisses me off is that I was not invited to the party where the gift will be given. I am not exaggerating when I say that 85 percent of the office was invited to the party, but I was not. I only even found out about the party when a dumbass coworker passed me the menu to order lunch with the email invitation attached to it. And needless to say I was not on the invite.

Could this be a simple mistake? No. I've been left off the invitation list on a couple of occasions because I am not technically part of the metro team. However, I feel in this case I should be included because I helped pay for this stupid party.

So that's the last straw. I'm not contributing to any more of these stupid pass-around envelopes for gifts. If I feel strongly enough to want to contribute, I will buy the person a gift from me. If I don't, then I will pass the envelope to the next person and not be guilted into giving shit.

HotMilitaryStuds.com

The last couple of mornings I've had the pleasure of watching Katie Couric and Matt Lauer do their morning hardcore interviews. You know the ones where they look into the camera and telepathically say to the viewer "You're not buying this bullshit, are you?". And I get the pleasure of realizing that people really are more stupid, arrogant and narcissistic than I ever imagined.

Here are three of the latest (and one not so relevant) and most heinous interview subjects with a quiz at the end:

• Jose Canseco was on to defend his allegations of major league baseball steroid abuse and his reputation of an asshole who will do anything for money. Of course the entire world believes that nearly every baseball player is juiced. If you're selling a World Series ring on eBay and will only take a lie-detector test as a pay-per-view event, then you must seriously love the game.
• Ron Artest did a simultaneous interview on the Today show with an Indy radio station and it was the most pathetic thing ever seen. When asked if he felt his fan battle royal was a good role model for kids, he said that he wouldn't want any of his four kids to watch it. Then he preceded to promote the album he produced relentlessly.
• Jeff Gannon aka James Guckert tried pleading with Campbell Brown this morning that his involvement in licensing internet porn web sites (including the aforementioned HotMilitaryStuds.com) had nothing to do with his current work as a creditenialed White House correspondent for a Republican-sponsored internet site. Nor the fact had never worked as a journalist before.

So now here's the quiz. Match these quotes with the three subjects listed above:

1. "It's just too hard for people to pronounce."
2. "It's the best sports book of all time and I'll even sign it."
3. "It's not my fault. It's the media."

1) Jeff Gannon on his real name, Jeff Guckert 2) Jose Canseco 3) All of the above

Bowling Ball on Concrete

I was adventurous this weekend and went out not just once, but TWO nights in a row. Usually I am happier to be at home snuggled in and not dealing with people that I randomly meet and are instantly annoyed by on the street. However, I had a date on Friday and my dad came to town on Saturday for some skee-ball, pop-a-shot, diner good times.

The family excursion on Saturday night ended up at a comedy club where I was excited to be hearing some live stand-up which I anticipated to be pretty good (and wasn't disappointed). However, the most lasting impression of the night wasn't a good joke or standing between my dad and He Who Must Not Be Named for the first time, but rather a sound.

Not just any sound, but the sound of a bowling ball being dropped onto concrete. In reality, it was actually the head of a drunk, homeless man who was laying on the concrete and when a cop tried to reach in his back pocket, the head came crashing down. It was probably the worst sound I've heard and felt in a long time.

On a different and more infuriating note, He Who Must Not Be Named beat my father and I by a good 200,000 points in skee ball. I'd be more upset except that at least I got a cool Grover doll out of it.

Office Immortality (Updated)

When people talk about immortality, they often get that glossy-eyed look and start spewing stuff about their children and grandchildren. How they'll live on in the actions of their offspring. Shit like that.

When I think about my immortality, being without husband or child, I put my immortality in terms of something more practical: the workplace. Because I refuse to really think of forever as a place completely different than where we live now, the delusion lives. So, the question becomes what have I done or will I do in this place that will leave an impact?

While many of us would like to think it's bringing our job to a higher level, in reality the little changes we make seem to be most lasting. I know our office manager would like to think that her system for paying bills will live on in infamy, but I know that her contribution of Outdoor Life for Women to the bathroom magazine stash is more likely to outlast her time here.

Just today I believe that I have contributed my share to the office for eternity. After years of staying the same and bearing our old statistics and logo, I finally changed our Fax coversheet. I believe that this change will outlive my time at the AHA and become an example for others for many years.

The "Heart Fax & Facts" cover sheet. My immortality.

UPDATE! My accomplishment and immortality begins as an office-wide email was sent around today to tell everyone that a new fax coversheet had been made. Apparently the accomplishment was also worthy of the exclamation point of urgency! in the message. Good times.

Bitch Slap upside yo head (Updated!)

I spent most of Valentine's Day avoiding the wretchedly cute Valentine's story, because years of being single have built up my immune system for schmultz. (Although Extreme Makeover: Home Edition has tried valiantly to break my immune system on the few times I seen it) However, there is one story that made me stop and pause.

Tennessee Titan football player Samari Rolle was arrested for bitch slapping his woman on Valentine's Day. Doesn't he know that he's not supposed to hit a woman? He can shake the shit out of her, but hitting is entirely different. Nothing like a Valentine's mug shot for posterity.

UPDATE! This week is apparently "Get arrested for stupid shit" week in Nashville. Joining Samari Rolle are other pseudo-celebs getting busted:

• Kid Rock for Bawitdaba-ing a strip club deejay
• Tank Williams for Wynona Judding in his pick-up. Apparently he was mourning the lack of airplay for "Are you ready for some football?" since the season is over.

Testifying in a Hospital Cafeteria to Some Bad Boombox Music

I had to work a Health Fair this weekend which usually means 5 hours sitting next to another disease or defect booth (this time it was sleep disorders) and humoring people with free crap. And they steal you blind, trust me. Old people want anything and everything that's free.

However, the highlight of this debacle was a skunk-haired woman screeching songs into a mic attached to a boombox. Songs written by "my brother, Johnny" aka Johnny Cash. Johnny never wore a sequined cow shirt and that's what I admired about him. This lady, not so much. Perhaps most disturbing were the people who were silently raising their hands as she sang to "testify to Jesus." I don't know if Jesus was at the Health fair, but I saw a couple of people his age. Maybe some homies of his.

Crotchety bones and limping

When was the last time you really did a hard day's labor and felt like an illegal immigrant? Bending over repeatedly, carrying heaving boxes and basically being a pack mule. I spent all day yesterday in a non-heated warehouse doing just that. It took a full 30 minute bath for my feet to regain their feeling and my body temperature to go back up to normal.

Today, I'm feeling it worse. The large lumps of lard on my chest made the muscles in my back seize in terror and strain. They've been paralyzed all damn day. And now the bottom of my foot is bruised and I'm limping around here like an old lady. Actually, worse than an old lady because we have a couple of ladies close to retirement age that aren't limping. I want to kick them in the shins to hobble them, but I love them to much.

Damn, I'm feel so old.

Ass of Fire and Rotten Egg

Today I sit silently in my office and say a little prayer each time someone walks by. I start chanting "Please don't walk in here. Please don't walk in here." Mostly because I've been dropping some bombs in my chair all morning and the rotten egg and hot molten ass smell is starting to overtake my perfume. The breast cancer candle that I've mockingly kept on my bookshelf is no match for my ass today. I sit here and wonder who will inherit this chair if and when I ever leave and I begin to feel sorry for them. They will also inherit the ingrained smell of ass that comes with it. That rare blend of hot, musky gaseous petulance that has seeped through to the cushion.

Oh, crap. I think Nelly-o is coming in. This can't be good.

Caution: New Stick Driver

This was an actual sign that I saw written in black marker on brown cardboard hanging in the back window of a new Kia Spectra. From the way the person was driving, she really didn't need the sign to explain. The herky-jerky start and stop like a bumper car or someone you've woken from a dead sleep. It was nice of her to warn us though. Most drivers aren't that considerate.

It made me wonder two things: 1) When do I stop becoming a new stick driver and start being an old stick driver? and 2) How many more ways can I let you made rude references without saying something obvious about fun pointing?

Spam Scam

Has anyone else ever been taken in by one of those spams that read "Hey, girl!" in the subject line and it's from a name that you recognize? So you open it, only to find about three hundred paragraphs of the digital version of hieroglyphics: Wing Dings.

Lately, I've had two favorite types of spam. First, the ones that use Christianity to promote their services: "Reduce your debt the Christian way." What exactly is the Christian way of reducing debt? Prayer? The Italian way, I can understand. I believe it involves the chopping off of fingers or something equally valuable.

The other ingenious Spam involves a "Delivery Notification for order #47563829". If you order things online, like I do, and you've gotten this email before you might've also clicked it and been burned. I'm pissed at those ingenious bastards who've found a way to slip this crap into my inbox. Damn them!

By the way, the Superbowl is immensely more enjoyable with TiVo. I highly recommend. Look later on this month for a list of my favorite things. Like Oprah, I will be listing a random bunch of items that I love. Unlike Oprah, you will not be getting one of each of these for adoring me. Your adoration doesn't pay me nearly enough for that.

Fart bucket doodle nugget fire crotch licker vegetable lover

This was the term that kept growing while I was playing a favorite online game: stump google. Amanda taught me this game and I've been having fun trying to think up phrases that will turn up zero results when searching on google. Everyone now needs to play on your own and then email me or post your own phrases in the comments portion. I want to see what the funniest one can be. Also know that I will try them out to make sure they actually turn up zero results.

Tonight is exciting and I'm ready for it! I've been working for about four months to turn Nashville landmarks red and tonight's the night it happens. The Frist Center, the state Capitol, the Parthenon and this big statue of 'neckid' people that Nashvillians think is offensive are all going to be lit up red. I'm really more excited about going to the Parthenon because it's one of my favorite places in Nashville and I was told this morning that two of the fountains are also being lit red. I'm going out tonight and taking pictures, so I plan to post them.

Random thought: Does anyone else wish that Quizno's would bring back the singing rat-cat hybrid and leave the wretched Baby Bob alone?

He Said Dildo

Actually, he said vibrator and "hardware" but it was funny and awkward nonetheless. We've spent a good deal of time in the office pretending we don't have sex lives, so when it comes a-callin', quite literally, the resulting conversations can be funny.

A PR person representing Secret Parties called me yesterday. Secret Parties is one of those Mary-Kay-style sex toy companies that cater to women too shy or grossed out by the truckers to go to an adult bookstore. Apparently there are two companies that are based around Nashville. One in Lebanon, TN and one in Murfreesboro. Both have accompanying warehouses. Take a moment to visualize a redneck warehouse worker forklifting a case of Cherry Anal-ease.

Anyway, the PR person told me that the company was running a Valentine's promotion with Gold's Gym and wanted to donate a portion of the proceeds to us. A representative from the company was going to appear on a local midday talk show and could they say that on the air?

Being a non-profit, we're not in the market of turning down money, but even with her assurance that no vibrators were included in the gift basket, I had to get a second opinion.

So, I called someone else and had to dance around the topic until it was quite obvious that the term "hardware" wasn't shedding light onto the subject.

"No vibrators," I said.

"Oh, vibrators. Well if it's just lingerie and lotion and no hardware, then it's fine," he said.

Radio killed the PR person

I got suckered. It wasn't the first time that I've been suckered, sad to say. Perhaps the most memorable suckering came when Schultz waltzed around me on the ice after convincing me to sign up for ice skating class with her by using the line "I haven't skated since middle school either."

Anyway, I was suckered into at least one radio interview this week to talk about a recently popular topic. There are a couple things about radio that make it much better than TV. First of all, the phone interview. If the interview is short enough and the radio station nice enough, you can call in to a morning show while still wearing your pajamas (Scooby Doo, for your information).

Secondly, the cloak of having only your voice broadcast means you can bring sheafs of paper in with you and consult them periodically to sound all that much better while spewing facts (Did you know that only 13 percent of women consider heart disease their greatest health risk?).

While my radio debut tomorrow is in studio and therefore lacking in the pajama department, it still will shield me from having to look too nice. I've been practicing shuffling my papers noiselessly all day.

Running into an apartment with a car

There were police cars and news trucks yet again last night in the Lakes of Bellevue. Less than two weeks after the "domestic incident," a guy apparently ran his car into an apartment. The sad thing was that he was drunk and it was barely 5:00 p.m.

When called, the Lakes of Bellevue explained the crash as "not that big of a deal. At least not compared to the other, um, incident."