In Which I Admit I Suck At This Blogging Thang Lately  

Mea Culpa

I don't know what's up, but lately I've been really scattered. I can't seem to focus on something...anything entertaining to write about. My muse has apparently motored south for the winter, to bask in the glory of the warm sun and sip Mojitos poolside in that skimpy little leopard bikini that used to look so hot on me until, you know, excess stuff started settling in around my mid-section, but of course it still looks fantastic on her because she's a freaking "muse" and therefore immune to getting fat or cottage cheesey in all the wrong places (not that there are any places on one's body in which being cottage cheesey is acceptable). But is she happy with merely mocking me by looking uber sexy in my own bathing suit... No!! She has to rub it in by sending postcards of her antics with young, muscular pool boys named Sven and Gunther. AND if that's not bad enough, she stabs my very heart by getting my one, true, fantasy love, Rhett Miller to kiss her!?

Stupid little skank. Do you see how she taunts me? I miss you, Muse. Please come back.

Playing the MeMe Google Game 

or like you need more help wasting time on the internet   

Okay, so you probably know about this game already. The idea is you Google your name followed by a verb, hit enter and hilarity ensues. 

Of course I stole .. er.. borrowed this idea from John and Hank Green... who probably stumbled on it from someone else... who heard someone mention it at a soiree... who saw it on one of those hip 'n happenin' trendy websites... who ran into Kyra Sedgewick at a Hollywood shindig... who is married to, none other than, Kevin Bacon. Thus completing the mystical circle of six degrees of Kevin Bacon. 

Okay, not really. John really stole it from Facebook... who probably stumbled on it from someone else... who heard someone mention it at a blah blah blah... who yadda yadda yadda... Jane!! Stop this crazy thing!?!  

You have to try this. Here's mine:

Murray likes...to socialize and will use any excuse to celebrate with friends. (very true)

Apparently Murray also like apples, Iggy Pop and to flirt obviously. Or is it flirt, obviously? (Well... obviously. Duh.)

Murray wants... a Zombie picture!!! (sure, why not) Also Murray wants you to hang up your coat on Phil Cuttance's trophy hangers (not the wire hangers, you neanderthal), AND Murray wants to get married in the nude. (little chilly in February)

Murray loves... to deck out the place with streamers (because it's FAB-U-Lous!!!)

Murray hates... Bruce, and Bruce barely notices!  (*sob* selfish bastard!)

Murray lives... with her three children and sings with a swing band for fun! (scattin' her kids to sleep)

Murray says... I could lose myself in his eyes and his smile. (Aaaah)

Murray asks... to show her drawing, but there is no time left. Then out of nowhere, Murray asks for Kate's badge then pulls a gun!?! (she's quite mad, you know)

Murray wears... a vampire-chic waistcoat and climbs around on a jungle gym to the Eurythmics' "Would I Lie to You". (now that sounds about right)

You can go on and on and on, typing verb after verb, providing hours of entertainment. But trust me. Do NOT type "Eats". Lots of nasty, nasty stuff appears. Or maybe that's just with my name. 

Wait a minute... when I use Geo's name, the foulest things to appear is he eats babies, Twinkies from the garbage and old grey rats while painting houses yellow. 

What the?!? 

Damn! There's some uber slutty chick with my humble moniker. Eeeewwwwwww! That ain't right. Get your own name, Hootch.

Welcome to SixBurgh 

please make sure your Lombardi trophy is in its upright and locked position  hehehehehehe...

Hey, guess what? 

We won. 

We got us a six-pack, Baby! 

Okay, so I'll admit it. I'm not a big fan of Ben RustyMcBurger or however the hell you spell his impossibly long moniker. That fact completely puzzles Geo, probably because I really can't say why. I just don't care for him. But I have to hand it to him... he's tough. He did a great job keeping it together through the pressure, thereby keeping the team together and focused. They all gelled as a team and kept fighting down to the last nail-biting, blood-pressure-raising, heart-attack-inducing 35 seconds--in what will be recorded as perhaps the most exciting Super Bowl finish EVER. 

One thing is certain... the Super Bowl is never dull when the Steelers are playing. 

In other 02/02 news...

Yeah... this jagoff saw his shadow... AGAIN! Six more weeks of winter. Dude, you better be scared. You know back in the day, they used to cook your kind after prognosticating. We get another hideous ice storm, and I'm comin' for your ass.

Run Forest, RUN!! 

or get that boy some oxygen, baby!

Okay, so tonight is the much ballyhooed Super Bowl XIII. Our Steelers started the game like a tinderbox en fuego, scoring 10 points. Then there was a little mishap and Arizona scored. But then there was an incredible interception in the final seconds of the half by none other than the much underrated James Harrison. Instead of an easy one yard pass for a Cardinals TD, Harrison picked off the ball on the GOAL line and ran it 100 yards for a Steelers TD. 100 yards!?! from a guy who barely runs... needless to say, he was puffin' like a steam engine when he collapsed in the end zone.

I think this photo says it all..

I don't know how this match up will end, but as of now this dude is totally my MVP. Not bad for a guy nobody wanted in the draft. Forest...this Bud's for you, Baby!!

Friday Photo #12 

or is there something going on this weekend? 

Unless you've been in a coma the last two weeks, you know this Sunday is the Super Bowl. The battle this year is between the Arizona Cardinals and ...ta da!  The mighty Pittsburgh Steelers!!! 

Since the closing of the mills in the 70s, Pittsburghers have been forced to move near and far for work. The distance from their beloved city has only strengthened their resolve to maintain their loyalty to the Steelers and all things Pittsburgh. Thus creating what is known as a Steelers Nation. You can find Steelers fans EVERYWHERE... vocal, adamant Steelers fans proudly wearing their black and gold in designated Steelers Bars run by ex-pats of course. My sister found such a bar (owned by a Burgher) while traveling through Alaska last year. 

This photo (shot in Afghanistan) was taken by Bobby McGrath, an instructional designer at the Naval War College in Rhode Island. The pilots are out of the North Carolina air force base named... wait for it... 

Seymour Johnson.    Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha (sorry.. that makes the 12-year-old in me laugh)

 

Let's just hope the Steelers can clip the Cardinals wings, because if the black and gold would lose to a stinking red bird... 

Oh January... Won't You Ever Stop Being a Be-Yatch? 

... and give me back my traker, dammit!

Okay, so today In-AccuWeather finally got it right. Boy did they ever! Armageddon struck late last night and continued on... well, it's still continuing as I write this around 5:15pm EST. What the eff??@!#*!?

It started snowing last night. No biggie. But this morning it was 28 flippin' degrees and it was POURING outside. 

Rain. Seriously. RAIN. 

How can it rain at 28 degrees? How is that even possible. In the meantime, there was at least an inch or so of ice on everything... sidewalks, trees, bushes, neighbors' dogs, leftover creepy Santas, Dick Cheney's discarded soul... 

Being the smart sh*t I am, I stretched on my Yak Trakers (the absolutely, most wonderful rubber-and-metal-spiral thingie ever made to help us less than graceful types stay upright and mobile on ice) over my fabulous Lands End snow shoes and scaled up Mt. McBiltmore to the trolley. 

Wrestling with the hundred pound suitcase I call "my bag" and the umbrella (did I mention it was raining, in like biblical proportion?) I managed to maneuver down the lesser mountain path to the train. Wherein I noticed I had lost one of my Trakers!?! These things are so tight on a shoe it's like you need a frelling crowbar to get them on and off. How the hell did it get sucked off my shoe?! Frake!

It continued to rain all morning until afternoon, when the precip (settle down...I know weather jargon makes you all hot and frisky) turned to snow. So to recap... pouring rain at 28 degrees... snow at 34 degrees. 

That's messed up, Dude. I don't get it. I think the globe has tilted backwards on its axis, because that ain't right.

Lucky for me I walked today because the roads were still treacherous. Even in my one Yak Traker--yes, I'm a dork and wore the one Traker--I made it up the hill when this poor slob couldn't. I feel your pain, Bub. 

Alright... I'll concede it is pretty, especially now that I'm inside. 

But January's just been a bitter, old, nasty-assed, surly, seismically sadistic Bee-Yatch of a month. It needs to stop snapping my butt with its cold, icy towel and make room for February.

And if that little, good-for-nothing-but-road-kill-stew critter, Phil sees his shadow... 

"There Once Was A Man From Nantucket..."

or the wiener of the week story 

(continuing with last week's whole trouser-trout theme)

Okay, so there's this young woman with whom I work who pretty much has it all going on. She's young, trim, gorgeous, extremely talented at her job and super sweet, too boot.

I should hate her.

But she does ungirlie stuff like belch, make off-color remarks and generally act like a 12-year-old, so how could I not like her? Seriously. She's a kid after my own twisted and depraved heart.

So last week we started talking about dating. She has recently ended a long-term relationship with a lovely young athlete, sporting an equally lovely posterior. His line of work has taken him across the pond and beyond to Sweden. It's too bad. They made a really cute couple. But honestly, she is so gorgeous she could be dating anyone.

Again, I should hate her.

Anyhoo...in our discussion about the trials of dating, the conversation took a turn for the knockwurst--namely wieners, if you get my drift. Now she's a nice girl, not a hootchie tart who's slept around a lot so her exposure to a variety of vienerschnitzel is limited. She hasn't seen many, and therein lies her anxiety. Her point is there are no surprises for boys regarding girls' attributes. Let's face it, the girls are out there--front and center for the world to see and judge--and women's junk pretty much all looks and functions the same. Let's be honest, the biggest mystery "downtown" is whether the carpet matches the drapes. (You can revisit the whole getting your "Betty Ready" thang here and here.)

But with Dudes, it's hard to tell what's prowling around in those pantalones. You know, like what if it makes this strange right turn halfway up... or it has like an extra ridge on its helmet like some freakishly mutilated mushroom cap... or is thin and wispy like a super model on a three-cigarettes-a-day diet ... or God forbid, is short and squat. Nobody wants a Stubby Malone. Seriously. What if Mr. Ding doesn't know how to "dong" properly, or is a little too familiar with a gal's mysterious island shrouded in shrubbery. As a single girl, she thinks about this.

Hey, these are her fears, and they're legit. I'm married. I'm immune to these concerns. But she's single and still has to test drive this year's model(s).

You know everyone thinks boys talk trash about chicks and their bits. But, surprise! this is what girls really talk about. So fellas, fair warning. Next time you see a gaggle of girls giggling around a desk, just keep walking. You don't want to know whose junk's being joshed.