Hilarious Sidebar:

I have no explanation for how I found this. I wouldn't explain it if I could. However, it had me laughing so hard that I nearly hurt myeslf. *grins*

Bizarro, ne?

And the laws of physics prevail again. Woo-hoo!

Dear Charlie:

Dave is doing his noble best to get sent to Hell. Anyone's Hell, really.

As if it isn't bad enough to blaspheme against the Christian God, he's now insulting Allah and Buddha. *laughs*

A quote: "I'm goin' to someone's Hell. I want 'em to fight over who gets me. Everyone wants to be wanted."

Heh.

This, of course, after he felt really, really bad about blaspheming yesterday. He's a Seventh Day Adventist, so that's his holy day, and he really tries not to be TOO bad that day. *grins*

And, ironically enough...he pulled this particular boner because of the cats. *laughs* Tangentially, of course. See, I was taking pictures of the cats to send a friend, and I wanted someone to hold them up so we can all see how little and cute they are, ne? So he obligingly holds them up and I snap the picture.

All is right in the world. Until he does this goofy little dance and I catch it on film. *laughs*

Curses GALORE! He even threatened to open my camera and ruin the whole roll! *dies laughing*

So...inadventently, of course...I kinda made him try for another religion's version of Hell. Woo-hoo! I'll add that to my resume, ne?

Hilarious Sidebar:

Heh.

Warning: this post will drop more F-bombs than all my prior posts combined.

Roc: "Fuckin'...what the fuckin'...fuck...who the fuck...fucked this...fuckin'.... How did you two fuckin'...fucks...FUCK!!"

Connor: "Well, it...certainly illustrates the diversity of the word."

*helpless laughter*

Heh, if you're intolerant of the F-bomb, don't watch The Boondock Saints. It's loaded with them. But please keep in mind that nestled in between those scorchers is a hilarious but strangely holy flick that is both smarter and more unique than any movie I've seen in a damn long time.

The director...isn't actually a director. If I remember correctly, he was an engineer. Yeah. He got tired of seeing all the scum-sucking crap in his city every single day, so he sat down and wrote a screenplay on it. Then, he shopped it around until someone finally gave him the deal he wanted on it. He kept all control -- or as much as any one person can -- and made an incredibly entertaining, incredibly deep, incredibly gritty movie.

Vigilantes. Cops. Religious overtones. The F-bomb every few words. Crime scene investigation gone wrong. The mob, both Italian and Russian. A stuttering, Tourette's-afflicted [edited 1-31-05: thanks, Sis! *blush*] Irish bartender who can't string together an axiom to save his life. Brotherly spats. Accidental perfection. Dark, dark themes interspersed with all the humor and wit you can fit into an Irish accent.

Heh. I love this flick.

Doc: "I don't want no one to know, so you keep your traps shut! Well, you know what they say: people in glass houses sink sh-sh-ships."

[general laughter]

Roc: Heh, Doc...I gotta buy you a proverbs book or something. This mix-n-match shit's gotta go.

[more laughter]

Connor: A penny saved's worth two in a bush, isn't it?

Murph: Aaaand don't cross the road...if you can't get out of the kitchen.

[way more laughter]

*dies laughing*

What? *cracks up* Heh, Doc is the bartender I mentioned. His nickname is "Fuck-Ass" because those are his Tourette's expletives. *cracks up again*

At any rate, so many things are done right in this flick. I'm not terribly fond of the "interview" segment before the credits, but everything else -- from the gore to the laughs to the music to the setting -- is done RIGHT.

Two thumbs WAAAAY up.

Heh, like this scene where the threatening, brick-shithouse Russians show up to flex.

Rusky 1: I...am Ivan Chekov, and you...vill be closink...now.

Murph: Chekov? *slings arm around Roc* Wellll...this here's McCoy. We find a Spock, we got us an away team!

*crackes the hell up*

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Dear Charlie:

I love music.

Sometimes I forget how much, you know? Last night, I'd planned on turning in early, ne? But Dave came home with some nifty tunage, which reminded me that I wanted to take my old .mp3 CD back to work. Mind you, I have several CDs worth of music of every stripe, but this little number was specifically burned for work -- nothing offensive, not a lot of cussing, nothing too hard core (though there's a little Metallica and some Megadeath).

But...I just couldn't resist popping it into the stereo system and playing a few tunes.

I really intended to go to bed at like 10:00. I was up until 1:00, and I still hadn't listened to everything on there. Heh.

It's quite a varied bit of music history, actually. Everything from the Weird Al Yankovic beauty that is this week's Song of the Week to some Total Eclipse of the Heart to Manic Monday to Enter Sandman to Blues Traveler to Megadeath to George Strait to If I Had a Million Dollars. *grins* Lovely hodge-podge, ne?

So, I remembered to bring it back to work. A very good thing. See, I'd been listening to some Linkin Park, Saliva, Nickleback, and Queen .wmas a friend ripped off for me (and boy, doesn't that term fit?). Now, I love all of that stuff. But the .wmas don't work well with .mp3s -- at least not with my Winamp set-up. I dunno why. So it's one or the other until I get the problem fixed.

Yes, I've uninstalled and reinstalled. Yes, I've downloaded the latest version. No, none of the files are corrupted. Heh.

Anyway, it's good to get the nice variety back. *happy sigh* HOURS of listening pleasure, folks. GutterBall is a very happy girl.

Sidebar:

The kittens are remarkably intelligent creatures. They quickly and easily learned not to spar on my quilting project. I solved a little litter box problem by simply putting a litter box where they chose to go. They know not to try to climb up my leg with their claws while I'm cooking or washing dishes or brushing teeth/hair, etc.

So why can't they learn not to spar IN MY LAP!?

Apparently, my lap is The Place to Be. Now, before you all get the wrong idea here, I'll explain in a completely roundabout way. Heh.

The cats have a love/hate relationship with my laptop computer. On one hand, it's fabulous entertainment. They love watching the words dance across the page as I write and the scrolling screen as I chat with friends, and they're absolutely fascinated with the "Everyone Else Has Had More Sex than Me" flash. So, they love the laptop.

But they're also terribly jealous of it, as it takes up so much of my coveted lap space. See? I finally came back to the point. They attempt to solve this problem by either sprawling over the keyboard to get my attention, or by subtly nudging at the edge, trying to "accidentally" knock it off my lap. Either trick is sure to get them picked up and put on the floor, where they vainly attempt kitty-eyes to get me to pick them up again.

Heh. 'S good to be a cold-hearted bitch. I am impervious to kitty-eyes.

And here is where the lap-sparring comes in. It's almost as if, since they know they'll shortly get in trouble for messing with my laptop anyway, they have no shame in pulling something they know will get them hollered at and banished to the floor. So...they spar.

With claws. And teeth. On my poor, barely-protected-by-denim -- or worse, by a thin, flimsy SKIRT! -- lap. And at great risk of "accidentally" shoving the laptop to the floor.

Needless to say, this gets my attention. In a bad way.

Three banishments to the floor solved the "sparring on the quilt" problem. COUNTLESS banishments to the floor have only made the little Satan-spawn more sneaky about sparring in my lap. Now they pretend to cuddle for a good three minutes before starting the fussin and the fightin.

Of course, when I put aside the laptop for the evening, they both hustle for their favorite spots in my lap, curl up yin-yang style, and immediately fall into a purring doze that only breaks when I stop petting them.

This is what I've been reduced to, folks. A comfy lap. Ye gods.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Dear Charlie:

*yaaaaaaAAAWWWWWns*

What chaotic god of fate did I piss off?

Okay, this is actually a damn funny story, but right now, it's kickin' my ass. See, I have this weird thing about sleep. Everyone knows I'm an insomniac. During a bad patch, it's kinda obvious. But that's not the real bummer.

I'm a light sleeper. I can wake up and go to sleep a dozen times in a given night. Yuck. However, once I talk, once I make some kind of sense, it's all over. I simply cannot go back to sleep. Totally buggered.

So this morning, when I hear a thump and a crash in the wee hours of the dark, I not only was immediately awake and aware, but really, really hoping I didn't need to actually SAY anything. However, as the odd noises continued, along with poor Dave muttering under his breath and trying his best to stay quiet, I simply couldn't resist.

"Dave?"

Silence. But a waiting silence.

"You okay?"

"Dammit."

Heh, turns out, a mouse had somehow...I dunno...LEVITATED up to the top of the fridge and...you will not believe this...was after his Lucky Charms. *cracks up* So, in a moment of temporary insanity -- his words, not mine -- he thumped his fist into the little red cooler, smashing the little bastard between it and a box of manicotti and making a helluva racket.

Ewwww....

Then, he realized he'd probably woke me up. And he felt like shit. So, we chatted through the door for a bit, me giving him shit about "they're aaaalllways after yer Lucky Charms" and him grumbling about how the hell the little bastard got on top of the fridge, for cryin' out loud.

Then, he goes to work.

And there is no chance in hell I'm going back to sleep, and it's...what...5:30 AM? *cries*

So, I got up. Got dressed. Got on-line and chatted a bit -- and I apologize to anyone I talked to this morning, as I'm sure I was a retarded basketcase. Made linguine alfredo, and God only knows why I picked that for breakfast. Ate maybe five bites. Drank three glasses of tea while chatting and watching Kill Bill, Volume 1.

And was up for 4 hours by the time I got to work this morning. Ye gods.

Tiiiiiiired.....

...but I don't want to go to bed earlier than usual because I'll just wake up early again. Definitely...DEFINITELY don't want that! Heh, I'm sleeping until the last possible minute tomorrow.

But it's finally time to think about turning in, so I'm thankfully, blissfully gonna head for a nice, hot bath and beeeeeeed. Good night, John Boy. Good night, Mary Ann. Good night, Jim Bob. Good night, Vera, Chuck, and Dave....

Oops. Got carried away. It's simply not good for me to be this tired/loopy.

Dear Charlie:

So I got something of a strip tease from Luther Reigns on SmackDown last night.

How is it that he can come out in little more than his underwear and boots, and I simply drool over his legs, but he comes out in his suit and starts taking it off, and I'm riveted to the screen? He only took off the upper half, for heaven's sake!

Oh, and he was participating in an unprovoked and dishonorable attack on the Big Show at the moment. However, that did nothing to take away from my enjoyment of him shimmying out of his wife beater....*drools*

That man gets better looking every time I see his chest.

No...wait....

Aw, hell. Who am I kidding? *grins and swipes at the drool*

Okay, so I spent the entirety of yesterday visiting a bit, quilting a LOT, and listening to music. Thanks to one of the most generous people I know -- who shall remain nameless, at least until he tells me that "mum" is no longer the word -- sent me three CDs of absolutely FABULOUS music that perfectly mellowed me out for piecing a quilt.

Absolute bliss, folks.

Of course, Pook and Spunk did everything humanly possible to get me to play with them, even resorting to kitty eyes at one point. But once I popped in the "mellow" CD, they conked out on the cushy back of my oversized chair in a little kitty pile and left me alone for a couple of hours. *grins*

Once I switched over to Offspring, they livened up again and tried to wrestle on the already-pieces panels. *stern glare* They learned damn quick not to wrestle on the table. And no, I did nothing untoward. I simply separated the instigator from the instigatee -- watching carefully for the FIRST strike, as I don't want to punish retaliation...*grins* -- by picking him/her up and setting him/her on the floor.

After three reps, they understood and took the wrestling off the table. Smart kitties.

However, they've also made me cat furniture if I sit still long enough. Pook lays over my right forearm (so I can't type, of course), and Spunk curls up in the corner of the oversized chair, pillowing against my leg. *rolls eyes* They could stay there for hours, I swear.

I'm cat furniture, people. *sighs*

But, it's back to quilting shortly. My machine's on the fritz, so I'm doing it alllll by hand. That adds some time to the deal, darn it. I mean, I always QUILT by hand, but I was hoping to piece with my machine. Unfortunately, I can't get the bobbin to unfuck itself, so....

*grumbles*

And yes, I admit freely that it's user error, as my mom can work it just fine. *laughs*

So I'm hand-piecing, which takes a while. Once it's all pieced, it'll go alot faster. I can quilt like the wind, man. *cracks up*

Dear Charlie:

I got kitties!

Okay, I'm not actually as thrilled as I sound. And technically, DAVE got kitties. But they're staying in my house, and the female's already showing her worth by killing a mouse. Woo-hoo!

Now THAT...I can get excited about. Heh.

Now, Dave has this weird idea of naming them Thor and Freya, or some other female goddess's name (they're a male and a female), but I know their names already.

Spunk, the female, is a vicious bitch. *laughs* She hisses and spits and all sorts of good stuff, but she's the more adventurous of the two by far. Five minutes out of the corner she wedged herself into, and she's seen everything.

Pookie, the male, is a bit more...tentative. Dave half wants to call him Pussy or Fraidy Cat, but it was just too dumb. I have a feeling he'll be a sucker once he settles in, so I call him Pookie.

Cats. Ye gods. What were we thinking??

*sloopy grin* But they're kinda cute...and they're awful funny....

Heh, Spunk like collapses when you try to pet her. She defies the laws of physics. *grins* She's like slinky, for God's sake. However, she wants her belly rubbed, so she'll keep you on the hook for that. Pook? Well, he's just now come out of hiding, and he's destroyed in five minutes a toy Spunk played with for three hours without damaging.

Heh. Boys. Go figure.

Sidebar from Dave:

DAVE'S NEWSREEL

[cheesy news music]

This...just in:

The Campbell's Soup Company found itself under fire today by the PTA for changing their slogan from "Mm-mm, good!" to "That's good shit, Mom."

In other news, beef farmers found themselves surprisingly aroused by watching the bull do his yearly duties. Sheep prices were down sharply.

From the scientific front, the fifth dentist finally caved. Now they all recommend Trident.

And in weather, tonight's forecast is cold and shitty with a pissy weather front coming down from the north. Tomorrow, continual crappiness well into the evening, yet balmy. And, for the weekend? Stay in.

This concludes Dave's Newsreel. We now return to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Dear Charlie:

I've been proclaimed "healthy as a horse...darn it". Heh.

Bloodwork and ultrasound are normal. The mysterious pain is gone (and my poor Doc is really mystified on that one). Migraine? Hasn't been back since my loopiness drove it away. Heh.

Now, if I could just get rid of this darn dehydration. *sighs* Yes, I'm still dehydrated. Blast it all. Blood pressure was loooooow again, and I still get a little woozy sometimes when I stand up too fast or make sudden movements (which, if you know me at all, is quite often...heh).

So, still rehydrating. But everything else is good. Yay! *does a little dance*

*gets woozy and falls down*

Note to self: save celebrations for a more hydrated moment.

Dear Charlie:

Two things:

First? This...is absolutely priceless. Turn on/up your sound and enjoy. *cracks up* A very dear, absolutely fabulous friend sent me this link, and the song hasn't gone out of my head since. *dies laughing* Caught myself singing it in the shower and just about fell over laughing at myself.

Second? I apologize in advance for this bit of a rant, but...

Okay, I realize I'm not the first person to be annoyed by a noisy, annoying, inconsiderate person at a movie theater. I realize this isn't a singular or even a particularly original topic. However, I must vent.

The last half-dozen times I've been to the theater have been a contest between enjoyment of the picture and restraint from simply decking some jerk who seems bound and determined to ruin it for the rest of us. Crying infants. Unruly children. Cell phones. Non-whispered conversation. Inappropriate (or just annoying) commentary. Kicking seats. Spilling popcorn and drinks. Getting up every five minutes. Sitting right behind me when the theater is less than half full and anyone could sit anywhere.

This last time, though....

Dave and I went to the $1.50 theater to watch The Grudge tonight. Anyone who knows me even a little knows I ADORE horror flicks. I've been looking forward to this flick since I saw the first commercial, but I simply didn't have opportunity to go before. Needless to say, I was excited.

So, when a family of four sat one row behind us and a bit to the left, I didn't think much about it, other than to wonder why anyone would want to sit so close to other people when there are only maybe 20 people in the whole damn place.

One of the kids, no more than 10 and probably about 8, was a little bastard. There's no nice way to put it, folks. He had some drink with crushed ice in it. I know this because, throughout the entire flick, he shook the cup ceaselessly until all the drink ran out and he started POUNDING on the sides and bottom to get every...last...piece.

When he wasn't doing that, he was entering or exiting the theater, kicking Dave's seat and elbowing me in the back of the head with every pass. I shit you not. After an even dozen elbows to the back of the head [yes, he got up six times, knocking me a good one with each trip in and out], I began to wonder when I'd entered the SmackDown ring.

And, at various intervals between the frequent movement and constant rattling/pounding, he TALKED. He didn't whisper. He didn't murmur. He TALKED. In his "outside" voice. *rolls eyes* And his parents -- those scions of good breeding and parenting technique -- shushed him a grand total of...ONCE.

You gotta be shitting me.

Oh, yeah. And two giggling girls in the corner wouldn't stop talking the entire time, unless, of course, they were receiving PHONE CALLS on their CELL PHONES.

It's a wee bit difficult to truly get the effect of an atmosphere flick while trying to ignore the restless natives.

Sadly enough, I enjoyed this movie experience slightly more than the time before last -- when the couple who arrived five minutes late and nearly dumped a Coke in my lap while sitting RIGHT behind me made out...LOUDLY...through the entire movie. At first, I wondered what the hell you could buy to eat at the concession stand that required that much slurping and chewing. *snorts*

*shakes it off*

Thus ends one of the millions of unoriginal rants about the inconsiderate nature of the modern movie-goer. I'm gonna go watch the hard-up bunny again and laugh my ass off. *grins* As I'm in the privacy of my own home, I can laugh my ass off as loudly as I want without worrying about utterly destroying anyone else's visual and audial enjoyment. Woo-hoo!

Dear Charlie:

Say it ain't so!! Dave Barry can't retire! I haven't laughed myself to death yet!!

*sniffles*

What will we do without those witty little thrusts and parries? How will we cope without the deviously simple cracks that drag a grin from unwilling lips when we're supposed to be working and looking serious?

*sighs*

At least there are links to several classic Dave Barry articles in this little elegy, including this one by Mr. Barry himself. Oh, and this one that had me laughing so hard I nearly choked trying to keep it quiet. It's like getting a super-sized dose of ice cream right before all the cows in the world die.

Dear Charlie:

*crosses fingers*

Wish me luck, folks. Please. I can't even say why, but I'll definitely need a bit of goodwill in the next couple of hours/days. *grins* Something good may be in the works. Or it might be nothing at all.

Sorry for talking in circles, but I don't dare spill my guts here just yet!

Maybe when it's all said and done, ne?

Hilarious Sidebar:

*helpless giggles*

Remember that post a few days ago about the commercial for the latest WWE Raw vs. SmackDown rumble? Check this out!

Heh, that WWE Royal Rumble banner is a picture of the Raw guys in their bad wigs in the middle of their chant. *falls over laughing*

Oh, God!!

I so wish I could find a link to the actual promo. *cracks up* I'd watch it a hundred times!

*looks at banner*

*dies laughing*

Dear Charlie:

Okay, so maybe I should've gone to the doctor a bit sooner. *sheepish*

See, I don't run to the Doc at the first sign of trouble. Usually, if I ignore it, it'll go away. Even when I know I'm sick, I convince myself it's not so bad, and it's not so bad. I get through it. And I don't like taking medication. And I don't like antibiotics. *grins*

However, when a mysterious ache began in my right lowerish abdomen Friday afternoon, and when that ache intensified until there was an actual little knot of tense flesh there, I finally threw in the towel.

Of course, my poor Doc wasn't taking any more patients for the day by that time, so I had to make the appointment for Monday [yesterday]. Now, I'd quietly complained off and on for the last week about a headache. It was much worse than the Creeping Crud, and it's pretty much what kept me home sick [I won't go into the amazing killer spider dream again...*shudder*]. But it didn't incapacitate me -- just made it a little hard to focus, ne?

Imagine my surprise, then, when the Doc looks at me like I'm a freak of nature and tells me I've had a migraine for a week. Damn. Haven't had one for 3 years, but you'd think I'd remember, ne? Apparently, though I was talking and laughing like normal, my pupils were so constricted from the pain during the examination that the Doc wondered how I could still see.

I told him I'm pretty sensitive to light. And to sound. *shrugs* Thank you, Ms. States-the-Obvious. You've been a biiiiig help. Apparently, stoicism isn't the word for ignoring a migraine for a week, if my Doc's expression was any indication.

Like I said before -- if it's not diagnosed, I can ignore it.

However, the migraine wasn't the root of the problem. Apparently, when I'm sick -- even with just an upper respiratory thing -- I dehydrate ridiculously fast. I don't retain water, and I apparently don't replace it fast enough. So, with a blood pressure of 98/64, a migraine, and some sluggish bile irritating my gallbladder and making me feverish (not appendicitis, thank God -- and I did worry, but only for a moment), I'm just a mess.

Heh, but this is the funny part.

So I've never taken anything stronger than naproxen sodium, right? And that's basically glorified ibuprofen, ne? So the Doc prescribes something with a little more kick to knock out the migraine, as he's determined that I shouldn't be able to function. I tell him I don't like medicine, a fact of which he is WELL aware, and he says this is relatively mild stuff, though it's migraine strength. He tells me to stop by the pharmacy then go directly home. "No work for you!"

So, I get home and take this migraine stuff. And within ten minutes, I'm just LOOPY. Giggly. Ridiculous of speech. Cracking up at everything. The 30-yard stare.

Now, some of you will argue that I'm that way much of the time. Fie upon you! Heh, but this was WORSE. My head felt heeeeaaaavy, and I felt the urge to comment on it three times before realizing I'd already said so.

Needless to say, Dave was ROLLING. He found it hilarious.

I've learned my lesson, though. If the migraine comes back -- which it may, as this stuff's supposed to kill a current migraine, not prevent more -- I'll take one of those babies and go to bed. Now, naps and I don't necessarily get along, but I'll suffer a nap rather than suffer the indignity of being legally high while friends 'round the world get a kick out of a sloopy GutterBall.

*grins* But it WAS pretty funny....

So anyway, I'm in the process of rehydrating and waiting for lab and ultrasound results to make sure there were no lasting effects from waiting so long to see the Doc. I haven't seen the bathroom this much since I had mono in college, but hey.

At any rate, this is probably WAAAAAY too much information, but I figured I'd better 'splain why I haven't blogged much lately. I've been siiiick. *grins* But I'm on the road to better, so I guess it's okay to talk about it now.

Dear Charlie:

*helpless giggles*

Last night, while watching WWE SmackDown, I saw the commercial for the latest Raw vs. SmackDown pay-per-view event. Dave hates it. I love it!

It's a terrible spoof of one of those 70's musicals with rival gangs, ne? Like the Jets and the Sharks, with the Raw guys on one side trying desperately to sing-chant in TERRIBLE wigs and the SmackDown guys on the other side, doing and wearing much the same. *more giggles* Oh, Big Show in a baaaaad wig! *cracks up*

So anyway, each side does its little chant as they both draw together and face off...and the scene changes to Vince McMahon jerking up in bed, gasping. "That's not the kind of rumble I had in mind!"

*dies laughing*

Oh, man....

Heh, like I said, Dave absolutely hates it, but I just about keeled over laughing so hard. Absolutely priceless! I hadn't been taping the show, but once I found out they'd be playing the commercial during WWE events until the actual Rumble at the end of January, I quickly popped in a tape and hit "record"...but they didn't show it again last night. DAMN!

*still laughing!*

Needless to say, I'm taping Smackdown between now and then, and I'm GONNA get that absolute riot of a promo on tape for all time. I mean, you know for a fact they'll NEVER show it again after the event is over. I'd say probably 75% (and that's being generous -- it's probably more like 90%) of the WWE-viewing public won't have a frickin' clue what's going on with that commercial. They'll probably hate it as bad as Dave does, but...

...but it's frickin' HILARIOUS!!

*laughs helplessly*

SmackDown last night was actually pretty hilarious, too. Eddie Guerrero and Rey Mysterio had a match together first thing off. They're both good guys, so who do you cheer for?

Heh, Eddie tried to cheat --there's that motto of his...I lie, I cheat, I steal -- and Rey-Rey caught and framed him with the same trick and ended up with the win, but they've been buddies for a long time so they shook on it and taunted back and forth a bit. Lots of fun to watch.

The whole show was a riot with Kurt Angle stripping for the wrong girl and getting caught by Big Show -- who took GREAT offense -- with Heidenreich turning tail and running from the Undertaker's coffin skit, with a little tomfoolery from the Bashem Brothers....

But no Luther Reigns. Okay, that's not true. He was in an off-stage skit, and he showed up to help Kurt Angle when Big Show tried to tear him a new asshole, but he wasn't in his skivvies, per se. The suit's nice, but it's not his wrestling gear (or lack thereof...*wink*). So, while I saw He of the Lovely Legs...I didn't get to see the lovely legs. Damn. *grin*

But that commercial...*falls over laughing*

Nifty Sidebar:

Okay, so I don't like the movie as a whole. Troy, that is.

But that fight between Achilles and Hector RULED! Woo-hoo! Man, Achilles HAD it. Obviously the better fighter, though Hector performed well. But Achilles was the victor from the beginning.

Damn.

Graceful. Always aware of where his feet were. Always aware of his strengths and weaknesses. Always covering the vulnerable spots or keeping them out of reach. Perfect shield placement. Perfect form. Perfect technique.

Beautiful.

I may not like Brad Pitt for anything else, but I will give him his kudos for that scene. In-frickin-credible. He even looked good doing it. Very manly in his skirted armor.

But the battle....

Oh. My. God.

I could watch that scene over and over for a week. The battle junkie in me is on FIRE. Woo-hoo!!

Dear Charlie:

Feel better today. Still feel like I've been kicked in the ribs, but that's WAY better than before. *grins* I'll hack and sniffle until the end of time if I can do it without feeling trompled by a 10-storey spider beastie.

I'm watching Troy at the moment. Now, I missed this in the theater because it really didn't look like something I just couldn't live without. But Dave brought it home, so I'm watching. It's not a bad movie.

But I don't think I like it.

The fight scenes? Oh, yeah. The battle junkie in me is sated. Strategy and brute strength, blood and finesse.... Like Ragu, it's in there. *grins* I enjoy the battles. I enjoy when Achilles hears his name chanted and goes off like a powder keg in a mad dance of delivered death.

In-frickin-credible.

But the plot? Ish. It's not BAD, but it doesn't really hold my interest. I think it took itself too seriously. Heh, I don't really "do" dramas, and between the killer fight sequences, this one tries to be a drama. It didn't have to be.

But, oh well. Not my coin blown. *big grin*

I just realized about a half an hour ago that tomorrow is FRIDAY. Woo-hoo! Rock on! Weekend, here I come. Oh yeah.

Sleep. Sweet, beautiful sleep. I'm gonna try my best to sleep the last of the Creeping Crud out of my system. I'm hoping that if I put my mind to it, I can will it away in a week. *grins* I'm a stubborn bink. I just might do it.

Dear Charlie:

Home sick today. Was sent home sick yesterday after maybe an hour and a half. Yes, folks, I finally came down with the Creeping Crud. Dammit. However, that's not the only reason I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

I had one of THOSE dreams last night.

Yeah, THAT kind -- the kind that is so real, it convinces my mind that it happened, and all injuries therein leave actual pain behind that only fades to phantom pain after a few hours awake. I haven't been awake that long yet, so this is some slooooow typing.

Worse, I know exactly why I had it. It was a cross between watching Dave play Kill Zone all afternoon yesterday and watching Return of the King Sunday evening. I just knew that big spider was gonna come back and haunt me, and damn if it did. *shakes head*

Lemme lay it out for you.

I was trapped in a B movie. Giant spiders that make the one from ROTK look like infants. BUILDING-SIZE spiders, man. And intelligent -- not quite human intelligence, but good enough for government work. I and my group were military/militia types in a stronghold just outside a major city. I stood my post in a sniper tower, as I am a damn good shot.

And the spiders were coming.

Now, we'd been fighting these beasts long enough to know that it took a good 8 shots to the head, even with sniper bullets, to put one down. However, if you could put each shot in the eye, you could usually get away with 4 shots, as they went directly to the brain.

At any rate, one of the beasts accidentally stepped on one of the infantry men -- a friend of mine, actually. He screamed, and the beast picked up it's leg and shook him a few times, like my friend was nothing more than some dog shit it had stepped in. He screamed again, bleeding out entirely too fast to be saved, so I took aim and fired, severing the leg at one of the joints.

Now the beast screamed -- so loud and piercing that my ears bled -- and flailed around, trompling a few more infantry men but basically just making an icor-y mess.

The other sniper in the tower jerked back all of a sudden -- God only knows why -- slamming into my back and sending me over the railing. Now, you couldn't have pried my sniper rifle from my cold dead fingers, but I did manage to grab onto one of the skeleton supports, though the sudden stop after probably 50 feet of free-fall nearly jerked my arm out of the socket. Probably did, actually.

And then the lumbering, still-screaming beast slammed into the tower, sending it over and me with it. I let go so the tower didn't fall on me, rolled when I hit the ground to absorb some of the impact, and ended up flat on my back, shoulder shrieking and head throbbing from a good solid thunk on the ground.

The beast saw me. Remember when I said they were intelligent? It knew I was the one who had injured it, and it was ANGRY. So, it lunged forward on its seven legs and buried its mandibles into my lower ribs, impaling me and the ground as I stared up in shock.

Dead. I'm dead.

Someone hollered for a medic, but I already knew that was pointless and too dangerous to risk.

So, I raised the rifle, put the barrel in the beast's multifaceted eye, and pulled the trigger over and over again, thanking God for whatever invention allowed continual shots without having to manually chamber another round, as I can't lift my left arm. The first shot took its eye. The second blew out the back of its head. The third reared it back, the retreating mandibles scraping against broken bone and doing even more soft tissue and organ damage on the way out. The fourth was pretty much an extraneous shot up through it's squat neck-segment.

The beast fell dead.

And I woke up with a scream in my throat, my abdomen on fire, and my shoulder and head shrieking. Dammit. I could feel myself bleeding out, folks. Not pretty at whatever the hell time in the morning. I just kept repeating, "Just a dream...just a dream...just a dream..." but it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like I'd been stapled to the ground. I felt like I had caught myself halfway through a 100-foot fall with one hand. I felt like....

Well, I was already sick. I really didn't need the added phantom shit to make it worse.

I lay awake for at least an hour before dozing back off, but any time I tried to roll to one side or the other, agony flared and I'd wake up again. No sleep for you. The worst of it faded by the time my alarm went off, but there was no way I could go to work with both Charlie Foxtrots in my system, so I called in sick from the chest congestion, headache, and achiness, but really stayed home because it still hurt to move.

Needless to say, this has taken a good hour and a half to type. My left arm doesn't want to work terribly well, and the fingers are numb and tingly. Typos galore.

I hurt. I still hurt. A sudden shift makes my ribs grind funny, and I haven't eaten yet because my whole abdomen just ACHES. God. No dream should feel that real, folks. It...sucks.

Dear Charlie:

Ah, the first post of the New Year, and I'm already playing catch-up. *laughs*

First, something to salve the wounds of the 2004 Chiefs football season. That's a helluva lot of stuff done right for a season gone so wrong. *sigh*

On the flip side of that, I agree with this article by Bob Gretz. That last game should leave a bitter yearning for a better season next year, and we have the wiggle room to accomplish it in the draft and salary cap now. I want my boys to come out next season fired up for vengeance, for blood! I want them to play for PRIDE. I want them to kick ass and take names and remember those who dared to taunt us for our shaky defense by making quarterbacks cry and intercepting everything in reach and forcing the ol' "It's a fumbalaya! Fumble-rooskie!" chant. I want to finish up the Arrowhead announcer's line, "And that's good for another Chiefs'..." with "...FIRST DOWN!!" so damn many times I'll hear it in my sleep. I want my boys to WIN.

As I say every year, next year is THE YEAR. *biiiig grin*

Now that THAT'S over....

I must say that, thus far, this new year feels...pretty much like the old one. *grin*

I got to cuddle nieces and hug my sister. I got to see my best friend and snuggle her month-old twins. I learned that I must be one of the most comfortable people in the world, as little Cannon and Ava both fall asleep not seconds after being cuddled up to my chest. *laughs* I've chatted with friends both overseas and domestic, started a quilt (egads!), started a short story (or two), and cranked out a ton of pertinent facts about my trilogy characters in preparation for the Great Rewrite of 2005. I've shown up at work after dragging my butt out of bed 20 minutes late....

Let's see...have I missed anything? Heh.

Oh, I ate leftovers from 2004. Man. Year-old leftovers. Makes the term "day-old bread" take on a whole new meaning, ne?

God, I have a weird sense of humor.

I put another 500 or so miles on my car, bringing the week's total to 1500. *rolls eyes* I swear it said "3,000 miles or THREE MONTHS" on the guarantee....

Anyway, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday weekend, however you celebrated. I now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.