A Quiz!

HOORAY ! It is wedding season once again. There is just something about this magical time of year that knocks young couples' musical tastes all out of whack. What is about an engagement that evokes the desire to hear your musical friends perform horrible, horrible musical selections?

I have put together a little quiz. Below is a list of questionable love songs (some definitely being worse than others). Just for fun, take a guess at which songs I have actually been asked to sing at weddings.

-1- I Do (Cherish You) by 98 Degrees
-2- Love of a Lifetime by Fire House
-3- I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing by Aerosmith
-4- Because You Loved Me by Celine Dion
-5- Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins
-6- My Valentine by Martina McBride
-7- Endless Love by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross
-8- Heaven by Brian Adams
-9- Longer by Dan Fogelberg
-10- From this Moment by Shania Twain
-11- Con Te Partiro by Andrea Bocelli
-12- Hero by Enrique Iglesias
-13- Thank You by Dido

Obscure Reference

I'm wearing purple today. Thought I was looking pretty spiff, what with my dusky purple slacks, lavender blouse, amethyst necklace and earrings . . .

It was just brought to my attention, however, that I bear a remarkable resemblance to a bruise.

I'm fairly sure that was a clever reference to the 1991 hit movie "Drop Dead Fred." Well done fashion police, well done indeed!

p.s. i hate you

-

bilateral subungual haematoma

Everyone has skeletons in their closet. The truly unfortunate have skeletons on the web. I am worried that I may be one of those "truly unfortunate." I'm not talking about embarrassing and / or questionable photographs. No, no! What I have out there may be far, far worse.

Let me back up. I take occasional breaks from my sedentary lifestyle. During those breaks I will often go for a run as penance for my Cheetos habit.

A while back I bought some new running shoes that turned out to be a bad investment. My big toes bumped up against the end of the shoe, and after several miles my toes grew tender. However, by that time it was too late . . . purple bruises were starting to form beneath my toenails.

For the next few months I kept my blackened toes cloistered and hidden from public view. Ugh.

Then I had an appointment with a dermatologist . . . an evil dermatologist (perhaps with hazel eyes, I should have taken note). Even though I was not there for my wounded toes, the doc asked me to take my shoes off and hop up on the table.
-

Doc to his Physicians Assistant: Wow! Would you take a look at these?!
PA: Yeesh!
Doc to PA: 'Spose she's a runner?

(I'm insulted on two levels: -1- because they are conversing as though I am not in the room; and -2- because I do not look fit enough to pass for a runner without some debate)

PA: Maybe ...
Me: Yes! Yes I do run.
Doc to PA: Go and grab the camera, and a blue back drop, would you?
PA: I'll be right back!
Me: Ummm . . . what exactly are we doing here?
Doc: What? Oh. Uh . . . it seems you have some bruising under your toenail.
Me: So I gathered.
Doc: And we're just going to take a few pictures of them . . . . (uninintelligible)
Me: Yeah, I got that. Now, why again. . .
PA: Ok, got the camera, do you want to shoot, or do you want me to do it?
Doc: I got it.

(A series of photos is taken of my toes. one of just the right . . . then just the left . . . then both at the same time -- I kinda got the feeling I was at some sort of toe wedding).

Doc: So . . . What brings you in today?
Me: What were those pictures for?
Doc: Let's go ahead and check you for moles!

What the hell?!! To this DAY, I still have no idea what became of my toes' glamour shots. However I fear the worst. I have not stopped combing the web for those photos since that creepy, creepy office visit.

If you come across the pictures of my feet, please let me know. They are adorable size 6 feet with dainty little toes -- two of which are black as night -- set against a blue backdrop. Photos may bear the following label:

"bilateral subungual haematoma."

I will pay top dollar for information leading to the whereabouts of my toe photos.

Thank you in advance for your assistance.


NOTE: while I'm sure the toe shown above is a very nice toe . . . it is not my toe.

Eye - Q

I was puttering around online when I came across this ad:

But I'm thinking that the better question is probably:

What pissed off Hazel? Was it my terrible Eye-Q pun?

Speeding Ticket

It seems that I am an easy target for mockery. I've grown used to it from colleagues, neighbors, my banker, etc. But ridicule from a first grader was not something I was quite prepared for.

Yup. That's right. This is a $100.00 ticket for "speeding for talking."

I asked my six-year-old niece for clarification. What did I do to deserve such a hefty fine? Apparently she felt this citation was warranted in light of two factors: (1) talking too fast, and (2) talking too much.

She handed me the ticket, walked away, and laughed herself silly.

Just try to collect, funny girl.

FAQs

The following is my very own list of Frequently Asked Questions (do you see yours in there?)

Q~ So what exactly is the official "midget cut-off"?

Q~ Have you seen my pants?

Q~ Wow, Is that a freckle-stache you have there?

Q~ What the hell are you looking at?

Q~ Won't you take me to ... Funky Town?

Q~ We don't carry your size, have your tried GAP kids?

Q~ How'd you get this number?!

Q~ Run along and fetch me some coffee, won't you?

Q~ So, how come no tan?

Q~ Who are you again?

Violently Clean

I have noticed a peculiar trend amongst the cleaning products under my sink. Seems that it is not quite good enough to merely clean house; rather, it is necessary to brutally assault any and all hard surfaces in my home.

KABOOM!

BLAST!

BAM!

and BITCH SLAP!

I'll be honest. I'm a little uncomfortable with the new fresh scent Bitch Slap! cleaner. It's not environmentally friendly.

Global Warming and Such

Take a look at this, and tell me if it gets your blood boiling like it does mine.

This image provided by NASA's Hubble Space Telescope Thursday May 4, 2006 shows a second red spot, smaller, emerging on Jupiter. For the first time in history, astronomers have witnessed the birth of a new red spot on the giant planet, which is located half a billion miles away. The storm is roughly one-half the diameter of its bigger and legendary cousin, the Great Red Spot. Researchers suggest that the new spot may be related to a possible major climate change in Jupiter's atmosphere. This image was taken with Hubble's advanced Camera for Surveys on April 25, 2006.

See ... this is exactly the kind of thing that pisses me off. Stupid inhabitants of Jupiter with their air conditioners, scented candles, and aerosol deodorant. Oh! And would it have killed them to drive a Prius?

Just what do they have to show for their irresponsible choices? That's right, a brand new persistent anticyclonic storm.

I hope they are satisfied with the Jupiter they will be leaving for their children and their children’s children.

Officially Aging

It finally happened.

In one moment it became abundantly clear: I am getting old.

I got stuck behind a flashing school bus while driving to work this morning. I looked over and saw a number of cute little kids boarding the bus when I noticed that their bus stop was a friggin' gazebo.

How idyllic! How very nice for these pampered little kids.

When I was that age I didn't have a picturesque gazebo as my bus stop. The location of my bus stop could be best described as (swear to God) a snowdrift. That's right a S-N-O-W-D-R-I-F-T!

I have vivid memories of huddling behind said snowdrift, wind howling, mentally willing the bus to hurry up lest I should die from exposure to the elements.

A snowdrift!

The drift below looks very much like my childhood bus stop. We would stand in the space between the drift and the fence behind it, our little teeth chattering away as we waited. How nuts is THAT?! Why would you do that to children?

I suddenly understand why rational adults become curmudgeons. I seem to be undergoing my very own curmudgeon transition ... starting this morning.

fhqwhgads

It's stuck in my head and there is nothing I can do about it.

I sat through a conference, it played on a continual loop through my head. While on the phone, all I was really hearing was this song. Tonight before I drift to sleep, I am certain I will hear this tune over and over again.

www.homestarrunner.com/fhqwhgads.html

The first time I listened, I was relatively unaffected. It was that damn second listen that got me. Here, listen again.

www.homestarrunner.com/fhqwhgads.html

Everybody to the Limit,
to the Limit Everybody,
Everybody come on Fhqwhgads!

(I'm listening to it right now. I might be dancing a little. Join me!)

Miracle Cure

Can anyone help me with this one?

I've been struggling to make sense of this ad I came across this morning. Have a look and let me know what you come up with.

This ad purports to offer a glorious cure for the hemorrhoids. That's all very well and good, but what bothers me is the woman in the very short skirt suit. What exactly is implied by this ad?

Now that little-miss-attaché has availed herself of the HemCure she is now free to confidently wear short skirts to the office?

Exactly how horrific was this poor woman's hemorrhoid problem that, prior to treatment, she required floor length shirts to hide her condition?

Don't get me wrong. I am happy for her and her new found knee-baring freedom, but I just can't get past my own morbid curiosity about her condition prior to this miracle procedure.

That's it. The ad worked. I will do myself a favor and call to find out more.

Freckle-Stache

Dear God. It's back.

Every year I hope it won't show, and every year my hopes are squished by an insidious onset of the condition I call Freckle-stache.

I don't mind freckles per se. Freckles are cute. But there is nothing, nothing less cute when the damn things organize to form patterns. NOTHING.

All it took was one day of forgetting to apply sunblock to my 'stache-susceptible upper lip. That was it. The summer-long cosmetic battle has begun. Below is an exaggerated (for now) depiction of my freckle-stache:

I don't know which is more embarrassing: Looking like I have a moustache, or the appearance of a dirty lip.

either way . . .

Fun with Lexicography

I was just flipping through my trusty copy of Black's Law Dictionary when I came across the definition for "concubine." The definition is surprisingly broad:

-

concubine. A woman who cohabits with a man to whom she is not married.

-

That’s it. The whole definitional-enchilada.

Applying this definition to the living situation presented by "Three's Company" both Janet and Krissy would have been Jack's concubines.

Interesting.

Literary Review

A guilty little pleasure of mine: I enjoy quirky children’s books (e.g. The Stinky Cheese Man and the like). Conversely, I have an abiding distaste for schmaltzy moral-laden children’s books.

So . . . I went to a baby shower yesterday. My gift included what I consider to be a literary gem, Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. I also gave mom-to-be a tube of Butt Paste, but that was mostly because the product made me giggle when I spotted it at Babies “R” Us.

However, someone gave mom-to-be what I consider to be the worst children’s book EVER, “I Love You Forever.”

Here’s the short-and-skinny on this terrible, terrible book: A mother is singing a song to her sleeping newborn baby.

"I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be."

As the kid grows into adulthood, she continues to sneak into his room and sing this song to him while he is sleeping. You think that is creepy? Just wait until he moves out!

That's RIGHT! She drives across town with a ladder in the middle of the night, climbs up to his bedroom window, drags him out of his bed, rocks him on her lap, and sings the damn song. (Did she chloroform this guy?)

The book moves from creepy to insanely depressing in a heartbeat. As mom is dying, her son rocks his mama and sings the song to her.

What the hell?! Mom dies at the end of a children’s book?!

I’ll bet reading this book goes over really well at bedtime. A sleepy-time discussion of mortality.

For the love of God! Mom dies at the end of the book!!!

As this book was passed around at the shower (I am not making this up) a couple of the more matronly ladies read the book, and CRIED! Shouldn't THAT be your first clue that its is not a good book to give to a KID?

My point: worst children's book ever. Stick with pigeons that want to drive commercial vehicles, that's what I say. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.