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For newbies: Want to have Ding Fries Are Done ringtones on your phone this holiday season? Rick S. was nice enough last year to create those for us, and here is a link to that entry, with the download links:
http://www.americanangst.com/dec12005.html
(NOTE: Just like last year, do NOT email me asking me how to get them on your phone. I'm no more telephonically savvy than I was last year and I have NO idea. If you don't know how? And you didn't have luck reading your phone's manual or their Web site FAQ section? Then ya don't get to use 'em.)
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I accidentally broke a large glass vase in my bathroom this morning. It's an hourglass-shaped object, about two feet high, that usually holds tiny seashells and various cycles of Yankee Candle-brand potpourri. Potpourri that is usually strong enough that, while I loved it in the store, becomes overpowering in a bathroom, gives me headaches, and I usually end up hating it and refuse to ever buy that brand again. WHY don't I just give up on the potpourri idea altogether? ...I doh-no. So anyway, moving away from logic and rational thought, let's get back to my story: I was pushing a few items further down the counter to make room for something else and didn't realize that I was also pushing the vase into the sink. I was alerted to this unfortunate fact by a loud crashing sound. Which was oh-so-pleasant at 8:00 in the morning when I wasn't quite awake. And, let's just lay it all out there, I was sitting on the toilet when this happened, OKAY? And so for a few minutes, all I could do was stare at the chunks of glass that had flown all over and try to remember where each piece landed so I wouldn't forget and hurt myself or someone else later. Do you have any idea how far-reaching OCD is?? Ohhh, let me tell you, it even snakes into something as inane and benign as broken glass. In seeing mismatched shards in various spots...seeing the patterns in which the large potpourri pieces fell around the shower and door. In wanting desperately to hurry up and clean the mess and remove all broken pieces of glass but being unable to, due to...yanno.
Finally my body allowed my OCD its indulgence and I began the tedious process of picking up the glass-ourri disaster. Sickness admission: picking up the big pieces was bizarrely satisfying. In much the same way that vacuuming big items such as tufts of dog hair or spilled dirt is, or (I am reeeeally going to regret sharing this one) getting as close as possible with a powerful shopvac (cause regular vacuum cleaners are wimps) to a penny or a sock on the floor without sucking it up (and secretly giggling when you accidentally get too close and POOF! the shopvac eats it! And it's a giddy kind of regret because it was like a game and even when you LOSE, it's still fun! and then you feel mild shame for being such a weirdo that not only will you NOT pick up a penny or sock before vacuuming, convinced that this somehow adds an element of adventure to tedious chores, but that you get such joy out of such a dumb game and even THEN it's not enough to just house that little fact in your own head, but you then have to SHARE it with your readers....)
I'm just kidding.
...No really. I don't EVER play such games. I just, y'know, wanted to see what you'd say.
ANYWAY. Whatever. Quit sidetracking me! So yeah...I'm picking up glass and weird pieces of potpourri and George startles me by knocking on the door and asking for my keys. I had forgotten to bring in all the dog food from my trip to the grocery store the other day and he was sweetly feeding the dogs and that's sorta hard to do without ...food. My purse was in the bathroom with me (do I really need to do TWO embarrassing admissions? Wherein I also admit that I check my blackberry in the morning while sittin' on the potty?? ...apparently so), so I would need to open the door to perform the key transference operation. (Did I mention that I also enjoy making things sound more governmental and spylike than they actually are? Yes, I know, I CLEARLY need to get out more.) The key transference would be especially interesting, as I hadn't yet finished cleaning the glass from that area, and I didn't feel rushing would be a smart idea, so I'd need to stand farther back, leeeeean over several feet of space, and try to open the door. A door which, gotta love crappy 1982 construction, expands and contracts based on heat and humidity or lack thereof. Today wasn't a Lack Thereof day, which means that the door was too big for the frame. Ergo, the door grinds against the floor as it opens and closes, which isn't just loud and irritating, but is also heavy and somewhat difficult to navigate. Most days, in fact, aren't Lack Thereof days, so we have found inventive ways to combat the hideous sound (rather than just replacing the stupid thing, which likely wouldn't be all that difficult...shuddup. We = very busy! Or...we don't like change! Or...whatever means "Kinda Lazy But Not Really."). Sound which we've found to be somewhat diminished by the action of grasping the doorknob and pulling up on it as the door opens and closes. This can only be done properly if your body is flush with the door, as you really have to put your shoulder into it (god I hate this house). George and I have become quite adept at this activity due to our differing sleep schedules. Read: being lovingly considerate of each other's REM patterns has greatly increased our upper body strength.
So I knew that, due to my crazy leaning position, I would be unable to lift up and quiet down the door, but I had NO IDEA the sound that would emit from it would be so...so...GAHHHH. Usually the sound is just wood dragging heavily across tile and, while irritating, isn't that bad. But when a teeeeeny little piece of glass gets caught under the dragging door? And screeeeeeches with every movement?
Ohhhhhh, holy GOD. You thought nails on a chalkboard was bad, didn't you? You thought *shudders having to even type this* fingernails scratching pantyhose or even just rubbing one of those freakish little picture-within-a-picture things from our childhood...the ones where, when moved to one angle, shows one picture, then moved to another angle, shows a different one...you thought THOSE were bad, too, right? (dear god...even typing it quickly doesn't make it less painful to consider. Shuddup. It's not just ME!) Honey...none of those awful sounds compare to this new Glass-and-Wood-Dragging-Against-Ceramic-Tile sound.
I opened the door and the high pitch of glass gleefully sang its song and once I was (mostly) facing my husband, it was like looking in a mirror. George's left eye was matching my right one by blinking rapidly and watering in retaliation. And my left eye and his right were both opening wider and both sets of eyebrows were synchronously shooting upward. My throat emitted a sound like I was beginning to cough and, apparently, begin an AUCTION at the same time, something along the lines of "eeeyyyuhh yuhhh, yuhhh, weeee gotttta gottaaaa gootttttaaa YUHHH YOWWWYOWWWYOWWUH!"
When I was able, I assuaged his curiosity over the mess and the sounds and my odd position by explaining that I had accidentally broken glass and apparently a piece was caught under the door. He made me nearly fall onto the remaining pieces when he made the most hilarious face, one in which his eyes continued their previous activities, but his hands began involuntarily swatting at the air and he then added exaggeratedly puckered lips and his teeth were smashed together, as though they were wired shut, and he finished it off by saying, through the clenched teeth, "Yessshhh, fine, whatever. I haffa go now, becaussshhh my teeeeessshhhh hurt now. Fanks."
I laughed heartily (he's really funny, don'tchaknow, and especially with the physical humor, none of which is done proper justice with mere words on this page) and managed to hand him my keys so he could escape, and then I went back to my task. I did my best to remove all glass and especially the piece under the door. Yet the door is such a piece of utter CRAP, I wasn't even able to get a piece of paper underneath to slide the glass out. Nothing worked. And my back was already locked up, so I was not able to further reason with the stupid piece of wood. Instead I did what any normal person would do: I yanked the damn thing up and down and back and forth and...I yelled at it. And when that didn't work? I walked away, assuming the door would just, I dunno, discard the glass when it was ready.
Apparently it wasn't quite ready a few minutes later when George needed to use the bathroom. I and the dogs cocked heads in unison when the sound traveled downstairs to our tender faculties upon George's opening and then closing of said Crappo Dooro. It was coupled with the sound of George crying out in mental agony, which sounded oddly like the glass against tile noise to which he was responding. All of which was soon followed by the sound of laughter. My own. I'm sorry, I really am, and I am NOT a mean person (well, mostly), but if you only knew how freakin' funny George is, especially when feeling pain, you would understand. It's very very HARD to live with someone as funny as he is, especially when he's sorta hurting, and trying NOT to laugh. I'm telling you, he even does PAIN funny. He makes the funniest sounds and the funniest movements and says the damnedest things in the midst of it all. Oh and don't go feeling sorry for him, cause he does that shit ON PURPOSE, because he too is a seeker of The Almighty Laugh. And yet has the noyyyve to get mad at me when I laugh. Oh, he's a Turd Supreme, to be sure.
So I was still amused when he came back down a few minutes later and said "Good morning sweetie!" to me as I was stirring creamer into my coffee. I responded as any person would: I cracked up. He wasn't aware of my previous thought process and ongoing laughter at the sounds and the frequent mental replaying of the Funny Morning Activities in my head, so he was rather alarmed that "Good Morning, Sweetie!" was so funny to me and clearly wondered if I'd finally gone off the deep end and he, in turn, could finally have me committed, whereupon he'd finally be free to seek out and date Jessica Biel, who--he read in one of my magazines, despite my strategic placement of a post-it note that CLEARLY said to "Move along, buddy, nothin' to see here!"--is a swooning fool for funny men. Don't think I don't hear about THAT at every turn. He voiced his (pretend, of course, cause Jessica's out there) concern with a tentative "you feelin' okay hon? Cause, uh, iiiiii didn't realize morning was so funny." I made the mistake of explaining that it wasn't his sweet greeting or even my steaming drink that was so utterly hilarious, but instead the Glass in Door - Scrapes n' Squeals game, round two of which he'd just played, the sound of which I heard all the way down here, that it freaked out the dogs, and I heard his pained cry in response and I imagined his shoulders hovering around the ceiling, etc., etc., and isn't it oh-so-hilarious?
George: "Ohhhh, so my pain amuses you??"
Gracie: "I thought we established that fact a looooong time ago."
George: "Oh that's right...through your repeated attempts..." *he uses air quotes here, which I LOVE...almost as much as MIGRAINES* "at 'HELPING??'"
What assface is referring to here is his endless contention that, every time *I* try to help, *HE* gets hurt. So I "helpfully" suggested that he....
Gracie: "Fuck OFF."
Aaaaand, thus began our day.
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Someone Arrived Here Searching For....
How do i guve my cat an enema [you would initially assume that the misspelling here is "guve" but in reality, it's the use of "how" instead of "WHY"]
my breasts grew huge [*channels Andrew Dice Clay* "...Ahm not just tellin' YOU...Ahm tellin' EVERYbody!]
smoking quitting eye
American sex night
Publix is a shitty place to work
All Sex Bic [and here I thought all they sold was medium-point blue!]
guestbook of porn addictive people in atlanta
Michael Jackson disgusts me [line forms to the left]
contact emails and guestbook of homosexuals in america dec 2003 [hahahaha. aaahahahaha. And still more: aaaaaahahahahahha]
McDonald's Christmas Song [awww, how sweet. The singer of the song surfs the web!]
Miss Snotty Pants [damned glad to meetcha!]
peelicking [killselfing!]
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Holiday Repetition (Since 50,000 visitors a day can reeeeally rack up some server
charges, so dohna gimmee grief-a!):
Check out George's brilliant idea for Christmas cards and products with our new Emoticon Christmas stuffs. I've also included images from other funny Christmas gift or card ideas using our lovely brand of irreverence and humor. Stand out this season and send something FUNNY. Each of the flashing items below are links and if you put your mouse over any of the images, the slideshow will pause. (And if you can't see the images below? Go straight to [no, not HELL] our Holiday Shoppe O' Irreverence).
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