- See unidentified thing on floor.
- Look at it.
- Look at it.
- What IS it? Look harder at it.
- Look at it while tilting head.
- WHAT IS IT?
- Bend over to look at it.
- Look at it lookatitLOOKATIT
- Poke it.
- Poke it again.
- Pick it up.
- Drop it.
- Look for it.
- Look for it lookforitLOOKFORIT
- WHERE IS IT???
- IS IT ON ME???
- Flail uncontrollably.
- See second unidentifiable thing on floor.
- Repeat from Step 2.
Category Archives: My Secret Shame(s)
…ain’t NOOOOOBODY happy… So, in the interest of everyone’s happiness (it’s a public service, really), here’s a few things that have made me happy lately:
Those right there are Archer Farms Lobster & Cheese Bites, available at yer local Target, and they are the best thing I have ever put in my mouth (SHUT UP). And no, Target did not pay me for this endorsement, but if they DID want to pay me, a dump truck filled with these little balls of Elysium would not go amiss.
As y’all may know, I’ve been holed up in my room watching Battlestar Galactica (2005 version) and this is why. Jamie. Fucking. Bamber – best Apollo ever and not too shabby as a detective, neither! But alas, he never writes, he never calls…
On a side note, I’ve been trying NOT to watch BSG over again (again) quite so back-to-back, so first I watched Caprica again, then I tried to watch BSG: ’78 again again again (but I just can’t — the hair, ye gods, THE HAIR!) (plus who can trust the actor who used to play Apollo now? I ask you!). So I was delighted to find…
All 8 seasons, fo’ free on the OnDemand. That should keep me busy for awhile, especially if I don’t fast-forward through the Paige episodes this time around.
I’ll be in my room if y’all need me.
Aaaaaaaw, yeeeah, boys and girls, lookie what Joeyfullystated done give me:
And since we all know awards are high on the list of Gifts Hoody Will Always Accept (another one is diamonds, but in that case I do mostly always give them back – just ask my multiple ex-fiances!), I have no choice but to comply with the rules.
1. Thank the blogger who gave you this award: Thank you thank you thank you, Joey! This act of
ass-kissing undying and completely deserved love and admiration has earned you a place on the Royal Court. Pending further review, your probationary title is Executive Awarder in Charge of Awards.
2. Share 7 things about yourself: Well, hell, I’m the Queen of Oversharing (among many other things), so I’m running out of shit y’all don’t know. Lessee…
- I am currently re-watching the new (well, 2005) version of Battlestar Galactica thanks to the magic of OnDemand, and I have to say, I love it just as much now as I did when it first came out.
- I have an irrational love for Lee Adama.
- I have been known to make an entire meal out of nothing but appetizers. Many, many appetizers.
- As a working journalist in New Jersey, I am taking entirely too much pleasure in the scandal surrounding Governor Christie.
- I took one… yes, ONE… cheerleading class when I was a wee child. Needless to say, it didn’t take.
- I have bitten my nails my whole life. At present, I have exactly two nails past my fingertips – both the pinky nails. Yes, I look like a cokehead.
- I could give absolutely two shits about who wins this year’s Super Bowl… as long as it’s the Broncos.
3/4. Nominate 15 bloggers/Notify the nominees. Well, this one’s easy – Royal Court, you’re up. Voices, now’s your chance for a possible promotion. Consider this your notification, since if you’re not reading my posts you don’t deserve an award anyway!
5. Put the logo of the award on your blog. Sure will, just gimme a second to remember how…
Alright, it’s confession time in the Hoody Hoo Household again, Hooligans.
mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, Lord, I am not worthy to receive thee…
My name is Hoody Hoo… and I hate IKEA.
Hear me out: That fucking store, besides being the absolute antithesis to originality in decorating, is also a goddamn roach motel. They get you in there and you CAN’T. GET. OUT. You have to follow those motherfucking footprints and/or arrows wherever the Overmind cares to take you, no matter what you actually came to shop FOR. And those so-called “shortcuts?” Fuck you, IKEA, those take me further out of my way than if I just walked through the entire store. ALL I WANTED WAS THE BATHROOM!
But really, the only reason I ever even darken their door is the Swedish Meatballs… BUT those Swedish bastards have made sure I can’t get to the Cafe until I’ve walked through EVERY. DISPLAY. EVER. And don’t go thinking you’ll slip past ’em by going to the Food Stand outside the checkout — those motherfuckers have pizza and shit — which I can get AT HOME, IKEA! Grrrr…
I do not appreciate this, Sweden. Your duplicity has been duly noted.
In fact, as my contractor whose brother lives in your fair country told me:
“You know what they call IKEA in Sweden?”
Wait for it
Watch your asses, Sweden. You’re one recipe away from complete obsolescence.
P.S. Last trip, The Concubine bought IKEA-brand drinking straws. IKEA’s straws suck. In that they do NOT. Suck, that is. Fuck you, IKEA.
Thanks so much for all the love, support, and offers of ass-kickin’ assistance yesterday, now let’s get to the good part:
The lovely and talented and utterly-unafraid-of-getting-her-ass-kicked-for-taking-pictures-of-weirdos-in-the-street Misty passed along “Tag! You’re It!” to myself and several other wonderful blog artistes. That means I have to answer some questions… ’cause she’s a lawyer and she scares me. ; )
1. Book or movie and why?
Book. Number one, I read pretty much CONSTANTLY (yes, even on the toilet), and number two, I often find my own imagination is better than the screenwriter/director/whatever’s. Not to say I WON’T see the movie, but I generally like to have read the book first. And if I find out I’m watching a movie that’s based on a book and I didn’t know it, I will immediately go out and find that book and read it. Because I’m a nerd and a film major, and that’s how we roll.
2. Real book or e-book?
Real. Can’t beat the smell of the paper, the feel of turning the pages with my actual fingers. I’m like Admiral Kirk in that way. Plus, I think the whole Kindle thing is a trick.
3. Funniest thing you’ve done in the last 5 years?
I’m assuming this means funny to others, because I amuse the fuck out of myself pretty much all the time. And I really don’t know for sure… but it probably involved me doing something stupid and proceeding to injure myself. I’m good at that. Oh, and there’s also this.
4. Do you put yourself in the books you read/movies you watch?
Not… really. I empathize with the characters, of course, but mostly I’m just along for the ride. There HAVE been some very fucked up dreams, though.
5. How would your best friend describe you?
Well, it’s you guys, so I hope it’s “one funny motherfucker.”
6. Favorite kind of car and why?
One that runs. That is all.
7. Would your choice of party be a catered meal or a barbecue out back?
As long as I’m not RESPONSIBLE for the party, either is good. If I’m in charge, catered meal: Hoody can’t take that kind of pressure!
8. What’s your favorite season and why?
Hmmm… I really love fall, the way the air smells and the changing leaves. But I also hate it a little because I know it means winter’s coming.
9. What important lessons have you learned? Spiritual, educational, and occupational?
Spiritual: There is no one “right” way. You gotta do what feels best for you.
Educational: Virtually everything I learned in college is now obsolete, but I still think everyone should have to go for the mind-broadening.
Occupational: The people I work with/for are fucking rock stars. I would not have made it through all the drama I’ve dealt with without their understanding and support (or y’all’s, either!).
10. Besides writing, what’s your favorite thing to do when you get some extra time?
I don’t know what this “extra time” thing is, I feel like all I do is work and sleep! I really need to spend MORE time writing, but there’s that whole “sleeping” problem… I do like to dick around on the internet and read, but I’m usually doing those things while doing something else at the same time.
11. What’s one place you can be found at least one time every week?
*sigh*… Walmart. I grocery shop once a week and that’s where I do most of it. They carry my basic staples: catfood, Sprite, booze and refried beans.
Whew, that’s done. Now I’m supposed to pass this on to 11 other people, but Hoody don’t do rules. So I’m passing it along to ALL the members of the Royal Court. That’s right, bitches. YOU’RE “it.”
The Easy Feet. I actually love this fuckin’ thing. It suction cups to your shower floor so you can scrub your feet without bending over, which sounds terribly lazy, but remember, I have one of those horrible stall-type showers, so bending over is a difficulty. Also, I’m so damn graceful, it’s best for me not to move around much, especially when wet.
The Turbo Cooker. I’ve had this one for so long I actually had to look it up to see if they still made it (they do). Now, I’m not a scientist except of the stick variety, but I think this thing has something to do with using steam to cook your food faster. Anyhoo, it works, and the best part is you can make salmon and pasta in it AT THE SAME TIME, because it has a little grill-type thing that holds the salmon above the pasta. Shut up, you only have to wash one pot that way.
This is making me look lazy again…
Getting back to our regularly scheduled program, we were discussing the horrible crap I have bought off the TV because I can’t seem to stop myself. Let’s run down the list, shall we?
Fuckin’ Eggies. And we all know how that turned out
The Infamous Slap-Chop: Interesting fact, when that extremely annoying dude on the commercial says it’s a great stress reliever, he has no comprehension of just how much stress I apparently have. Yeah, I broke that fucker the first time I used it.
Red Devil Grill & Picnic Set: This one I actually did end up sending back — because by the time I received my portable grill and folding picnic table, I had remembered an important fact. That being, that I don’t go anywhere and I hate the outside.
Tae Bo: Hurt myself. Duh. Also did myself a damage trying to learn Celtic Dance from a VHS tape.
Real Minerals Makeup: It does indeed give your skin a healthy “glow,” but that glow is orange. Like Snooki-eating-Cheetos-orange. Not a good look.
And my latest foray (no, I have NOT learned my lesson): Sift and Toss Cat Litter Liners. I still maintain that this SHOULD work; it’s basically a disposable sieve that you put under the litter, then you just lift it up, sift, and toss. Unfortunately, the Horde didn’t read the directions on the box. They proceeded to dig up the sievey-part and fold the plastic liner into a kind of a tent… which they then peed on. FAIL.
It hasn’t been all bad, I have had success with at least a couple of the ridiculous things I have wasted money on — stay tuned for that on Monday!
Also, be sure to check out the recent additions to the Royal Court! Remember, YOUR name could be up there someday — ahnd may the ahds be evah in youwuh favuh!
As promised, I have plenty of other tales to relate of my strained relationship with “As Seen on TV” products… but Dear Sweet Mama reminded me of my very first foray into the world of retail lies… the 100 Little Dolls.
Imagine, if you will, Little Hoody (maybe 10 or so?), sitting in her room, reading her comic books. Now, back in the day, the very back page of comic books was always a veritable cornucopia of crap you could get through the mail: X-ray Specs, Postage Stamps of the World, Cigar Loads, etc… and one day, 100 Little Dolls.
100… Little… Dolls…
“Can I have $14.95 for 100 Little Dolls?”
And so, despite DSM’s desperate attempts to convince me that “you get what you pay for,” and “if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” I diligently filled out the little card and sent in $14.95 (plus shipping and handling) of my hard-earned allowance money (and remember, this is back in the days when your allowance MIGHT get as high as $5 a week if you were especially useful and good) and sat down to await the arrival of my 100 Little Dolls.
Six to Eight Weeks Later…
A tiny box arrives on the porch, addressed to me. It’s about the size of the box you would use to wrap a coffee mug as a present, so I’m perplexed. What could it possibly be? I haven’t ordered anything except my 100 Little Dolls, and the box is FAR too small to contain them!
My $15 worth of 100 Little Dolls was, in fact, 100 little plastic figures (like little green army men, but not as high-quality). They were dressed in what I assume were meant to be “costumes of all nations,” but you couldn’t really tell, because they were all unpainted Dollar-Store-Barbie-doll pink. AND while there were indeed 100, some of them were DOUBLES! I’d been TRICKED!
That’s when DSM imparted to me the great P.T. Barnum’s theory regarding suckers and the rate at which they are born, and a family legend began. Now, whenever one of us is considering an unwise purchase, all the other has to say is… “One HUN-dred Little Dolls…” and order is restored.
Still pissed about those dolls, though.
UPDATE: There have been some additions to the Royal Court! See, kids, dreams CAN come true!
Sheesh, so the Saint Patrick’s Day Lamb attempt did NOT go well, I mean not AT ALL. And it’s all WalMart’s fault.
First, they always hide the lamb for some reason, even though far more upsetting meats such as tripe and beef tongue are on full and prominent display. So on my THIRD hunt through the meat department, I finally find the lamb and go on my merry way.
Cut to Saturday… when I merrily make up the Jameson’s-and-Honey marinade and prepare to begin the deliciousness. That’s when I opened up the lamb package… only to find…
Yes, a breast, not the expected and much-anticipated leg. Who the hell even knows what to do with a lamb breast? Even the interwebz were no help, everything just kept talking about what a “less-desirable” cut of meat it is and how you had to cook it really slow at low temperatures to make it even worth eating. So I tried that.
A short time later, a smell began to pervade the house that can only be described as… boiled taint. No, boiled HOBO taint. It was seriously so awful the cats wouldn’t go in the kitchen and I had to open the sliding door AND turn the air conditioner on to try to tamp it down some. Yesterday, Chuckweasel and I drove past a place where someone had hit a skunk on the road and I sweartaGAWD, it smelled better than that horrible devil meat.
So, in short, I did not get my Saint Patrick’s Day Lamb and I am pissed off about it. I may try again for Easter, but Imma prolly just say fuck it and get another Paula Deen ham. Paula never lets me down.
Yes, it’s confession time once again, Hooligans…
My name is Hoody Hoo… and I am a bird asshole.
Not a bird’s ACTUAL asshole, I mean I’m an asshole to birds — okay, no, that sounds like it’s on purpose. I mean, it has come to my attention that birds may THINK I’m an asshole.
Here’s the thing: In my continuing efforts to be all cheerful and shit, I’ve been whistling back at the birds when they sing at me in the trees in the morning. And here I thought I was just being terribly insipid and way too “Snow White,” but it turns out, it’s worst than that.
I was telling Chuckweasel the other day about my avian conversation skills, and it suddenly hit me: when the bird whistles, I whistle back… exactly the same. So it’s not so much a CONVERSATION, it’s just me saying whatever the bird said back to him.
Yes, Hooligans — I am a bird’s version of Pete and Repeat.