Hanna...

Tonight Wifey and I managed to pull off date night.  Thanks to our support group (the in-laws), the children were cared for so that we could go out and pretend that we know how to get down.  Despite the fact that we've become super-lame when it comes to date night, we somehow managed to schedule the night, so that we could squeeze in a movie.  We usually show up to the theatre totally clueless and realize that there's not a single movie showing for an other hour and a half.  Our marriage is built to last but one and a half idle hours without a tour guide is like trying to see how many miles you can get out of a single oil change.  You might fold at 9,000 before the engine seizes, but the car is unhappy and severly worn out. I think you catch my drift.

Wifey wanted to go to some movie with the following genre: drama and romance.  Seriously?  I've put up with a lot of chick flicks, (mainly because I possess the ability to become temporarily deaf to all pitches of the Female voice [except for Whoopi unforturnately] and they'll throw in a Vince Vaughn or Owen Wilson and a few laughs), but if you think I'm going to something that is drama (serious) and romantic (logical fallacy) you must be crazy.  Luckily lil' sis was around to ask Wifey: "haven't you already seen that movie?"  That gave me the upper hand, so I put my foot down like a true Man!  I said NO and it felt great.

I had only heard enough about the movie Hanna to know that it was about some little spy-ninja chick and lots of kickin' booty.  So naturally I was inclined to have a looksy.  Besides, there is nothing in the theaters right now.  Seriously, walk up to a theater and read the movie titles; they may as well be written in Farsi or some other extremely foreign language.

So we went to Hanna thinking it was a Bourne type of movie.  What I wasn't prepared for was the acid trip  of a storyline that would make any sober person present (I being one), inspect their snacks and beverages for tampering.  I only slept about an hour last night because I was studying my brains out.  So when I sat in the theater waiting for the movie to not enter the creepy European modern art seen, I could have sworn someone was playing the prank on me.  I was marginally coherent.  The fight scenes were awesome and the story was unique; but the circus characters, disco lights, and techno-freakshow music was a little intense.  When I left the theater I was so disoriented that I had to have an usher walk me to my car.  Then the idea helps me struggle into the driver's seat and tells me, "have a safe drive".  Really?  How safe could this be?

I didn't see it coming...

hand in the cookie jar...

Image via WikipediaWell folks, I just want to let you know that this amazing source of information has now been viewed over 2,000 times.  Yes I'm talking about this blog.

Many thankses are due to the four of you who have spent countless hours running from computer to computer in the library and visiting my site.  I also want to thank my Mother-In-Law who will tie down anyone she can, to read them my blog.  She's getting desperate to prove that her daughter did not marry a total loser (boy does she have an odd strategy to back that claim, fortunately I don't have much for competition!).  I got caught snagging a pound of bacon out of her deep freeze.  That only made her more determined.  This was all after my wife gets on my case.  I explain to Wifey that the deep freeze and garage fridge are communal storage space (Mom knows this which is why she's cool with it, as long as I don't take all of her specially crushed ice that she gets at Sonic.  Sometimes that's the only thing she's allowed to have on whatever diet she's after).  I know at least once every 2 to 3 months I put a 24-pack of Diet Pepsi in that fridge; and I'm at least 96% sure that I only drink 22 of them.  With everybody on those insane diets around that house, they don't need bacon calling screaming from the garage at 5 am--"Let me out of this freezer.  I'll sizzle for you.  I'm juicy in all the right places."  No wonder they're always starting a new diet.  Man, that's good of me to take on that burden for them.

You've heard of "leave a penny take a penny", right?
Well that's new to me, I always heard it as "leave a penny take a dollar".  That just makes more "cents".  Why would anyone trade a penny for another?  Unless they're some kind of freak coin collector.  And I am no coin collector, I throw that crap out unless it's a quarter.  Coins are for people of a class sooo low that the thought of it makes me feel like I should ring my butler and have him fan me for an hour, just so that I can remember what someone of that class looks like.  (Funny thing is I don't even have a butler but when I'm too good to carry around coins, I feel like I could afford one.)  Besides, I have a hard enough time keeping my pants up, I don't need any insignificant coinage weighing me down.  How many more notches do I have to make in my belt, before it wraps around me twice?

My question is how many people are waiting anxiously each day for my latest blog post, but aren't sharing it with your friends?
So it's not just that the in-laws give freely of their bacon, or their Lexus SUVs for some 4-by when they're out of town (I can't believe that superglue has held the bumper on this long!), or their country club membership when I want to go somewhere where I can feel like a pimp and slap around the staff with my golf gloves (I feel like a true nobleman), or Ol' man's golf clubs (I knew that glue wouldn't hold, but Ol' Man gets pissed and throws his clubs so much that they're bound to brake soon), or their basement to host chicken fights (Silly Michael Vick used his own place--what a tool!), or their condo for hosting raves and charging $20 a head (It's so cute when Mom pretends that she doesn't know why she's getting a $2,000 cleaning charge.  I hope they never turn on a black light in that place), or their "missing" furniture that I'm constantly selling on craigslist (I tell people that it was owned by some movie star--suckers!)...
...it's that Mom reads my blog and shares the love--that's what counts.  That's how she wins over my heart, every day.

So for the rest of you, that have been taking well over a dollars worth of advise, who are you to not spread the love?  I bet you don't even have your membership to the quiet-ramblings.com fan-site in your will.  Don't you want to leave your offspring a gift that keeps on giving?

Pass it on, so I don't have to enter another self-promotion campaign...

The eye of a tye-gurrrrh

Image via WikipediaSo you want to put your game face on today?  You want to roll out in the streets and let everybody know--Imma get mine!  Well that's the way to play it.  If you've got the stones to build some crazy hard-core game plan (while you're staring at yourself in the mirror) and you follow through, you might be a force to reckon with.  Every night before I go to bed I have this brilliant game plan for the next day.  No need to write it down--I tell myself.  This is where we come across a few problems.

First, I must explain the current state of the inorganic power house that runs my body.  I'd say on any given day, I eat more candy than 10 "normal" adults.  I know you may be surprised to hear this, but this doesn't really aid in the stability of my blood sugar level.  I'll be working my butt off then without warning, I start shaking and I get real dizzy.  Of course I don't think--if I could get a decent protein right now it would help me out.  To make matters worse, since the beginning of the year there's always someone around me dieting.  I get 175 calories per meal--they say--I'm doing the HCG diet.  To which I reply--you get?  They say it like it's some kind of privilege to only eat a side items worth of a meal.  This isn't some third world country, this is America.  We are the most obese nation.  I hate to break this to you, but in this country food is privilege.

So why should I care if people want to go on outrageous unhealthy diets?  I don't care, but the more you tell me about it the more my belly growls back at you.  You've got me worried about a food surplus.  So now because you can't do your part in society, I have to eat up an extra 2,000 calories.  That's quite a burden for me.  I've got sores in my mouth that may never heal, because I can't quit shoveling down the candy.  Laugh away, but once you're done with your diet and you're craving something good you'll thank me.

That's right, while you're screwing around with our economy I'm keeping a steady supply and demand.  What if one of these days when I remember that my plan is to eat a little healthier?  Not scared yet?  What if I follow through?  Who's going to keep supply and demand in balance?  Keep laughing, right up until you show up for that late night craving and you can't find your Reese's.  Many stores have already taken away my cinnamon bears, how many more candies have to perish before you people learn?

Your diets don't work.  Eat more candy...