This Chick's Perspective…

How much do I love this man?  After finally admitting that I have a problem, and one which I intend to exacerbate, I went to Hec, head bowed in humiliation, to tell him I was about to order SIMs.  And guess what?  He ordered it on Friday…

I’m not worthy… Really.

In keeping with that old adage, “There’s nothing like a bad Irish zombie movie in the morning,” Hec and I began our day with Dead Meat.  Light up a pack for this one, George Romero.  The zombie plague begins with farm animals, as all things tend to do in Ireland.   Frankly, I think the zombie-consumed residents of County McClooney got off easy.  Consider those poor Irish bastards who had to live with the haunting memories of seeing their once carnally-adored sheep go rabid…

[Chapter 5, Paragraphs 2 – 4 of the critically acclaimed book, “It’s Okay to Use the N Word When You’re Black,” allows me to disparage Irishmen without being tagged as a racist.  Having been delivered unto this earth by a McManus, I have been endowed with the right to make fun of those dirty micks as much as I want.  (In keeping with this theme, I may also ridicule Swedes, drunks, lunatics, cat fanciers and tax preparers without anticipating legal repercussions.)]

Must be off to prepare hors d’oeuvres for the Stupid Bowl Party…

Oh – one more thing.  You know how “you learn something new every day?”  Well, today I learned what a spinner is.  I would say that men are pigs, but I think that’s already been established.

So the kid from Sling Blade grew up to become Jeep, that loveable yet dimwitted trailer-park scamp who will – with the assistance of Charlie, a promiscuous pregnant waitress who hides her vulnerability beneath a veneer of disdain for the world – raise the next Christ Child.

God help us all.

In Legion, I had expected an amalgamation of Constantine and the The Seventh Sign, but received a mishmash of pseudo-biblical nonsense and a plot so mangled that the chef at a metaphorical road-kill café would struggle to find anything worth salvaging for his dog’s dinner.

(Here’s a bit of context for my local readers:  That book about Diodian was more cohesive.)

In a nutshell:  God pissed off.  Sends angels to destroy humans.  Angel Michael rebels.  If baby of teenage slut is born and lives, humankind will survive.  (No explanation for this bit.)  Michael travels to Paradise Falls (get it… get it – Paradise Falls… here, let me grind that symbolism in like a cigarette butt under a 350 pound man’s shoe) to save baby of teenage slut.  Gunshots.  Gunshots.  Gunshots.  Bloodshed.  Bloodshed.  A lot of male characters shedding a single tear.  Gabriel blows.  Fighting.  Fighting.  Fighting.  Gyrating Cudgel.  Jeep and Charlie and Baby (name undisclosed) on mountain at sunrise.  Prime for sequel and… Cut.

I have omitted the bit about me guffawing during the scene of the mountain at sunrise… which apparently pissed off the movie viewers who were gleaning profound life lessons from the film and which sent Hecubus into silent hysterics.

Just a few questions:

1. A Two-Parter:  Why the metal collars on the Angels?  Did God put an electric fence around Heaven and Earth to train Angels to remain within this realm?  And why select a style of collar which implies that Angels are God’s sadomasochistic bitches?   (I know… I know… I’m going to Hell.)
2. While I understand that “The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth,” why do “Movie Meeks” always live in corrugated steel trailers?
3. If it’s the Apocalypse and you’re one of the 5 people chosen to protect the child who will save the world, should you really chug a case of Busch beer prior to handling an automatic weapon?
4. Immediately after giving birth, are women generally able to climb mountains?
5. Did Paul Bettany need the money that badly?
6. Another Two-Parter:  Does my local Christian Café / Bookstore sell those gyrating spiked cudgels?  If so, do they take AA or AAA batteries?

Bellamy’s Rating:  “Oy Vey!”

If history has taught us anything, it’s that the amateur sex tape of you and your current beloved is bound to land up on the internet.  And if that’s your intention, then bully for you.  Personally, I don’t want other people watching me have sex unless I’m getting paid for it, but hey, that’s just me.

But seriously, although I try to keep an open mind, I really don’t think the sex tape thing would work for me.  For one thing, I can’t even stand the sound of my own voice on an answering machine…

Like all things needlessly perverse, I declare this idea “A Guy Thing.”  My perspective:  A man watching a video of himself having sex is analogous to a football player watching himself on the JumboTron as he scores a touchdown… and then watching that clip over and over until he’s too old to bend over to tie his cleats.

It struck me the other day that I have been out of high school for 20 years.  After feeding Hec this irrelevant globule of information, he commented, “Good.  Maybe now you can get over it.” 

I stopped myself from rebutting that I am over it; remembering that I had been recently intimated into buying Dunkin Donuts coffee from three teenage wresters who arrived on my doorstep.  Considering my general attitude towards the sport of wrestling (On Wrestlers), it’s ironic that I could be so ruffled, but the fact that they were so obviously Cooler Than I Am (which admittedly isn’t that difficult to be) pushed me over the edge.  (And the adult in me feared that, if denied, they would egg my house.) 

What is it about high school – other than the fact that it’s the time in our lives when we are bulleting, hormones raging, into adulthood – that makes such an indelible impression?  And I know I’m not the only person to suffer from Horrible High School Memory Malady because I’ve taken a survey… And even if that survey included only one person who may or may not be as nuts as I am (in her own unique way), it’s proof enough for me. 

I’ve heard tales of people who enjoyed high school, but I think those people were either constantly high or have repressed the terrors of showering in gym class and not being selected as anyone’s lab partner. 

I guess I could wax nostalgic about my first love (for despite my geekiness, I did have one… his nickname was Satan and he prided himself on not having a conscience), but I’m fairly sure that the inevitable ensuing heartbreak quashed the few blissful occasions of rapid heartbeats.  (Although on a positive note, I’ll admit that it would have been far worse had I done something as stupid as marry my high school succubus…)

I think the main reason teenagers kill themselves is because they’re told that these are the best years of their lives.  And I know that saying that may be tasteless, but I’m not kidding. 

So, maybe I’ll have a one-person 20th high school reunion, spend three-hours drunk pretending that “Remember Whens” are really something I want to remember… and then just get over it.  I’ll even wear a nametag, in case I forget who I am…

1. That Rod Serling had done a “Twilight Zone” about Kraft Singles – American Processed Cheese Food Product.
2. That adults would stop telling high-schoolers that, “These are the best days of your lives.”
3. That luck was a lady.
4. That clowns weren’t so scary.
5. That I wasn’t afraid of teenagers.
6. That I still had my Battlestar Gallactica t-shirt.
7. That Bob really was your uncle.
8. That yodeling would make a comeback.
9. That I was lounging in my Pajama Jeans right now.
10. That fear didn’t dictate so many of my decisions.
11. That my cat’s breath didn’t smell so much like cat food.
12. That I hadn’t bent my Wookie.
13. That my life had a narrator.
14. That the voices in my voices in my head would stop being that narrator.
15. That fat-bottomed girls really did make the rockin’ world go round.

… To Be Continued…

Headline News:  There are occasions when two women, nudity, a phallic device, and a camera do not result in eroticism… and all the incidental 70’s porn music ever carved into vinyl can’t help.  And that’s all I want to say about that…

As I was palpitating with delight at my new work HP desktop (replacing a crappy Dell that I couldn’t even watch Hulu videos on – not that I would do that on the clock; that would be unethical, and we’re all about ethics at my office), my boss was announcing, “I hate it.”  Not only did we have to uninstall Office 2007 because he can’t handle the “x” after the “.dot,” but he would also prefer to regress from Windows 7 to XP.

The scenario brings to mind my ever-expanding list of Things I Don’t Want to Do When I Grow-Up and Get OLD:

1. Shut down my brain with the assumption that The World Peaked in my 30’s.  That goes for ideas, technology, music, art, and sexual positions.
2. Have every conversation rapidly morph from small talk to my ailments and bodily functions (or lack thereof).
3. Start putting definite articles in front of words that shouldn’t have definite articles.  (As in, “She has The Cancer.”  “He has The Diabetes.”  “We went to The Wal-Mart.”)
4. Tell kids to get off my lawn.
5. Store my clothes in moth balls.
6. Think I can go without showering so long as I apply a substantial daily coating of Jean Nate.
7. Drive 10 miles below the speed limit.
8. Have a tissue box in the back window of my car.
9. Eat dates.
10. Say, “Kids these days” with a tone that implies I never did anything stupid… or fun…

And I would add, “Go to dinner at 4:30″…but Hec & I already kind of do that…

So, what have I missed?

Being a Proud Tax Professional (do people still use the colloquialism “Not?”), I am in the process of revisiting Pub. 17 in an effort to jump-start my little brain for the season at hand.  Here’s what I have just learned:

In addition to paying taxes, Comrades of the USA may now make a voluntary, additional Contribution to “reduce debt held by the public.”  And good news:  this Contribution will be deductible in tax year 2010.  Oooohhh, so tempting…

If interested, make checks payable to the “Bureau of the Public Debt” or, alternatively, to “Mr. Obama’s Enduring Endeavor to Do the Sex to Us.”

I have no need for snow.   Nix.  Nien.  Nyet.  Bubkis.

Also, I tire of Café World… and thus am interviewing candidates for my next inane obsession.  Here are the current contenders:

1. Sims.  This is a word-of-mouth referral from Hecubus who, for some reason, thinks that I would find fulfillment in controlling my own little world.
2. The Giants.  No, I’m joking…
3. Cat Collecting. 
4. Taxidermy.  (Which would be a practical skill to have in the event I tire of Cat Collecting.)
5. Randomly Calling 800 Numbers.  Currently, this one is showing the most promise.  It’s free, I can do it at work and, if I dial the right number, I just may be reunited with Mr. Lavahn at the rubber factory (who, by the way, is not a crazy person).
6. Porn. 

So, I had meant to spend a quiet day lounging about in my Pajama Jeans, but instead found myself shoveling slush.  Meanwhile, Hecubus is at a Bruins game, no doubt drinking Budweiser, eating crappy food, and using variations of the word “fuck” as adjective, adverb, and punctuation. In a side-by-side comparison, I think I’d choose shoveling…

Whatever “it” is, you can apparently do it in Pajama Jeans.   Click here for the informational video:

Pajama Jeans – Doing What Ordinary Jeans Cannot Do – Now With Rivets

Unanswered Questions:

1. Can I use my Bedazzler on my Pajama Jeans?
2. Do they sell a Pajama Jean-Jacket?
3. What about Pajama Jean-Shorts?
4. Are acid washed Pajama Jeans available?
5. Will Pajama Jeans complement my Snuggie?
6. Are Pajama Jeans considered Business Casual?
7. Will Pajama Jeans make my ass look big?

I don’t get the logic behind “Patience is a Virtue.”  I could get hit by a truck whilst being virtuously patient.  Fuck that, man.

Like most proverbs, that one is a conspiracy; it’s The Man keeping us down; it’s the leaden shoe of oppression stomping upon would-be questing minds; it’s the boss insisting on random drug testing.

I have no idea what I’m going on about… Café World, perhaps, because I want another oven and I can’t have one until I reach the next level. 

Aside from Café World, I hate Facebook; I so don’t need another avenue leading to destination: Neurotic-ville.  Not that I need a virtual kitchen, either…

Work is going swimmingly, as is my alcohol-intake reduction. 

And now it’s time to play:  Guess What Bellamy’s Lying About.  Is it:

1. Work is going swimmingly
2. As is my alcohol-intake reduction
3. Both 1 and 2
4. Neither 1 nor 2
5. Both 1 and 2 with a beer chaser

Alcohol-Intake Reduction sounds a bit like a consommé…you may wish to take that into consideration before making your final selection.

I’m off to cook Real Life tandoori chicken…   It tastes just like sambaar and/or tortilla soup, but nothing like sixty dollar pheasant.

(PS – I was sure to adjust my “a, b, c,s” to “1, 2, 3’s” this time, so if the rest of the blog sucks, it’s because I was focused on that.)