Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
dare I say it?
Dear heavens, won't someone think of the childrenz?
While I do think JCM is...well...a douchenozzle (but I likes his voice), and we've been for-fucking-bidden to choose him as our prank, he's not the one I'm interested in.
No, that pedestal is totally reserved for one Angel.
One Special Agent Seeley Booth.
One Green Lantern.
O, LDs, David P. Boreanaz is at the top of my freebie list. Can you see why?
(pic borrowed from Googling David P. Boreanaz)
David P. Boreanaz (wiki) is hot, LDs Some may think it's kind of creepy that both Mumsy Dreamer and I think David P. Boreanaz (imdb) is finer than frog hair. I think it means we have good taste. :)
However, I has a little issue with Mr. David P. Boreanaz. Ya see, David P. Boreanaz cheated on his wife, and only admitted it after the woman he was sleeping with threatened to tell!
Really, David P. Boreanaz? You know what - if your wife's a lazy housewife and bad mother and drinks and does drugs and abuses you (which I can't say because, for all the love that's holy, I don't know either David P. Boreanaz or David P. Boreanaz's wife Jamie Bergman), fine. Get a divorce. Don't cheat. I want to punch David P. Boreanaz in David P. Boreanaz's balls for being a smaller-scale Tiger Woods because he was like Mary Poppins in my book ("practially perfect in every way")
Seeings as how you're working on your marriage (since we haven't seen hide nor hair of your infidelities until after the Tiger Woods/Jesse James/David P. Boreanaz debacle, I'm going to assume that your marriage is on the mend, and for that, I'm happy) (I know, I know, what the fuck am I happy for?), I'm only going to dock you five Housemate points. David P. Boreanaz will only have to spend an hour a day on David P. Boreanaz's knees, worshipping me and showering me with compliments, instead of two.
So, David P. Boreanaz fans: what are your thoughts on David P. Boreanaz's infidelity? Should David P. Boreanaz be made to run through the streets of Hollywood, buck-ass fuckin' naked (o hells yeah to the yummo), proclaiming that David P. Boreanaz is an idiot for cheating on his wife and David P. Boreanaz is glad that his wife is willing to work on the relationship.
I know I'm a bit behind the time in David P. Boreanaz's affair, but it's what docked him Housemate points. I will admit, though, the fact that he's a Steelers fan just makes David P. Boreanaz that much hotter (Mr Realist is a Steelers fan. They should meet.).
LDs, I lust after David P. Boreanaz. But I'm not going to go to LA to stalk him.
I don't know anyone who would let me stay with them.
Who's your curse? Obviously, Aunt Bex's is John C. Mayer.
And this is only to see if I can get on the front page of Google. And piss off a publicist.
I'll keep you updated.
Your David P. Boreanaz-crazy (but not in an "I'm an obsessed stalker" kind of way)
PS - DAVID P BOREANAZ! (he he he...24 times)
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance.
His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers.
Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again.
The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
For about the last year or so, I've been lamenting the fact that I don't have a pair of diamond earrings (I did when I got my ears pierced for the first time, but I've since lost one of the earrings...need to find the one remaining and get my cartilage pierced). They don't have to be ginormous. I'd prefer them to be about 1/3 of a carat each (so that they match my engagement ring).
Here's a funny story for you about said earrings. I'd been hinting around to Mr Realist last year for about the four months before Christmas. One day in late November, he comes to me and says "I have your big Christmas present ordered, and I know you'll love it."
O holy hells, LDs. Guess where my mind immediately pounced? Yep. Diamonds.
He teased and tormented me mercilessly until Christmas about what would be under the tree for me. Of course, I had to go snooping (right, Kisha?).
Asshat left the present at work! He told me this the weekend before Christmas because he knew I'd snoop for it. Grr.
So, anyway - Christmas morning before we go to my grandparents, he's playing Santa, doling out presents and putting others in bags for the niece and nephew (not really nephew, but we're 20 years apart) and stacking his to the side. I got several flat boxes (DVDs), a thicker box (book), and lotion and powder and a pair of silver hoop earrings that I was drooling over the week before because I didn't have a pair of small silver hoop earrings (they were like $10, so perfect for a stocking stuffer). I'd unwrapped all of my stuff.
But Mr Realist has a shit-eating smirk on his face.
He pulls a box from behind his back, about the size of a thick paperback. I immediately think: "He's wrapped it like another book, but they're in there, I know it."
He hands the box to me...and it's fucking heavy. Like brick heavy. So he filled it in with concrete - so what? As long as those pretty sparklies (Jeremy the Crow, anyone?) are smiling up at me, I don't care how the hell he wrapped the box.
I tear into the paper. It's a plain white box. All taped shut. I have to get out the pocketknife to cut the tape.
I open the box...
Gleaming up at me was something I had wanted for a long, long time.
It's a HiPoint 9mm firearm. Jet black, high impact polymer and steel. Made in the USA. Fits my hand perfectly.
You thought I was going to say diamonds, didn't you?
Nope. I did cry, though. We'd been talking about getting me a gun for the longest time. Mr Realist has his own 9mm and a lever-action .22 Henry rifle. I hate going shooting and having to wait for someone else to be done so I can have my turn. Now, I don't have to wait. :)
And yes, I did and DO absoballylutely love the surprise!
However, our 5th anniversary is coming up in 23 days (holy shit, it IS September!), and I'm still hoping for those sparklies.
But I'd take a shotgun.
There is a reason behind this postie, LDs. Kisha is having a giveaway on her blog. If you'd like some free sparklies, go check her out.
OR you can get them yourself at www.DiamondEarrings.org - apparently all they cost is shipping. Of course, they're not real diamonds, but they certainly look like them, and they are set in sterling silver.
And I'll take faux sparklies. As long as they look good.
Heepwah, and be safe out there