Battitude

There are phrases that people use everyday that just don't seem to make a lot of sense to me. Common usage makes them acceptable and ordinary - but sometimes, they just strike a strange chord with me. And that makes my mind wonder...and wander.

I was talking to The Man yesterday. He was telling me about some guy who nearly killed him on his way home from work because the guy blew through a four-way stop intersection going 'like a bat out of Hell'.

How do we know how fast a bat would leave Hell? He might fly really slow. In fact, why should we assume that a bat would even want to leave Hell? Maybe he likes it there. Perhaps Hell is just right for a bat. Maybe it's bat Heaven!

And while we're on the subject - how do we know there are bats in Hell in the first place? What would a bat be doing in Hell? Bats are usually in the belfry, aren't they? Why would they want to split their time between two places?

Then again, maybe that's why he's in such a hurry to get out of Hell...he's due back at the belfry.

The Prick...er...Price is Right

The Home Shopping networks are a true evil in society today.

Never before has such crap been available to so many people in the comfort of their own homes.

Crystal-encrusted teapots, cashmere lampshades, talking fridge magnets...you name it, you can get it. (not that you want it - but you can get it)

Personally, I cannot abide home shopping channels. Not even rampant insomnia can force me to watch them. But every so often, I find things like this - and I wonder what I have been missing.

Aw...Puck.

Checking the hockey schedule today, I see that my beloved NY Islanders are playing the Pittsburgh Penguins.

Ugh.

Bad enough they are on the bottom of the Eastern Conference and the entire NHL standings at the moment - but now they get to battle the Penguins and the mighty Crosby.

Would someone just shoot me, please?

Although the Isles have done poorly in the past, I believe that this year's early slump is a downward slide that seems unstoppable. Garth Snow (GM) and Scott Gordon (Head Coach) made some poor choices in the off-season; trading away some of the better depth players - I can only assume for financial reasons.

It's painful to watch them now.

The fact that they won the other night only makes me more frustrated as it gives me a spark of hope...one that will be quickly doused, I'm sure.

I'm actually torn as to whether I want to watch the game tonight or not. I probably won't - but will listen to it via the net. That way, I can take out my frustrations on some poor innocent Scrabble opponent.

Maybe I should join The Man and cheer for the Maple Leafs. Hahahaha...!

I'm depressed...but I'm not stupid.

At least the Isles have won 4 cups in a row...in MY lifetime!!!

Yes...at the moment (and probably for the remainder of the season), the Islanders suck canal water. But at least they aren't the Maple Leafs. 1967, kids. That's the last time Lord Stanley's trophy made it to Toronto.

I feel better now.

November 9: We lost...surprise, surprise.

Cereal Killer

I'm not much of a breakfast person.

Coffee.
More coffee.
That's breakfast.
(it's usually snack, lunch and often supper, too)

I have been trying harder of late to change my eating habits. When I do eat breakfast, it's normally something terribly good for me - like an Oh Henry bar or a handful of Oreos - along with the mandatory coffee, of course.

So, I bought a few different kinds of cereal the other day - variety being the key, so I've been told.
Special K, Corn Flakes, Harvest Crunch and Shreddies. There are Fruit Loops, but they aren't mine - they belong to The Man. I wouldn't dream of eating them anyway...they look like some kind of nightmarish mardi gras necklace exploded. Someday I'll tell you about my "Fruit Loops are the Food of the Antichrist" theory...but not now.

Anyway - coffee happily perking away, I armed myself with the required implements for a healthy breakfast; that being a bowl, a spoon and the milk jug. I looked into the pantry cupboard at my four cardboard-encased choices. They all looked equally unappealing. I grabbed the closest one to me. Shreddies. Diamond Shreddies at that. (don't even get me started...)

I turned the box on its side - "100% Whole Grain Wheat!". I turned it over to the French side of the box. "Blé Entier de Grain!"

Blé.

Yup...that sounds delicious.

Oreos, anyone?

The Many Faces of Insanity

Yes, yes...it's time for one more introduction to yet another of my WoW companions.

This is Totemmaster.


He's a shaman. He's also insane. But I love him.

Known as Andrew when he's not at the computer - which is rarely. Like me, I'm sure that even in real life he has learned to answer to his characters' names.
(I still get called Cord...and I still answer to it)



Another alternate junkie, I first met Totemmaster, or Tote, as I call him, on his sexy-beast rogue known as Oradis. I was just a young and impressionable warrior then....level 20 something I believe. We were introduced in a place known as Scarlet Monastery. A great place to earn gear and materials for advancement.

Oradis ruled the battlegrounds for ages at level 29, until one fateful night...when he leveled without wanting to. I can only imagine that he now terrorizes the Alliance at level 39.


I personally spent days on end farming a Gnome pit for a particular pair of leggings for Oradis - because it was essential that he have the best gear. The things I do ...honestly.

Anyway, Andrew also started a rogue to level to 70 with the strange name of Cuddlesworth. Nothing like being pwned (yes...I said pwned - cut me some slack) by someone with a name like that. Cuddles is now level 70 and terrorizing everything while mounted on his netherwing drake.



Cuddles and I tore up Outlands together. I was leveling a hunter at the time, known as Idun. We had great adventures...getting squashed by the fel reaver...bombing the crap out of things...good times, good times.

I have heard that there is a female warrior amongst his alts now...(I would like to say I had something to do with that...but I can't). She is probably just as crazy/ballsy/mouthy as the rest of Andrew's toons...and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Andrew is a great player, a fun guy to hang with, and a great friend...he's also an artist. Not just on the battlegrounds either...I mean a real-live artist!! How sweet is that?

Someday, I'm going back to Azeroth...because I miss hanging out with Tote and the gang. Not only that - he has all my money!

High School Confidential

Recently, I ran into someone I knew in high school. Not a friend per se, as I didn't have many of those; but someone I had shared several classes with over my four years in hell.

She asked me why I had chosen not to attend the recent high school reunion. Of the boundless and valid answers I could have given, I simply shrugged and said I didn't feel like it.

This wasn't a lie. I truly had no desire to see people whom I didn't particularly like then gloating and preening with their accordion-fold picture collections of their prize-winning children.

Bitter, you say?

Not in the least.
As much as they were choosy in who they accepted into their midst, I was just as choosy about who I hung with...although not for the same reasons.

Twenty years doesn't really change people all that much in the long run. Most of the girls who excluded me from their circles in high school would most certainly exclude me from their country clubs, charity drives and church groups today. I'd like to say I'm choked up about that...but I'd be lying.

My small but close-knit group of odd and outcast friends has pretty much stayed intact over the years. We keep in touch, though we are spread all over the country now. We aren't fastidious about contact - but we do communicate - thanks to the internet. There are a few who have fallen out of sight...one or two who have fallen all together.

I need no organized event to remind me of who I was - and who others were as well. Nor do I need to attempt to validate my existence and accomplishments to those who did and still do practice one-upmanship as a sport.

High school.
Bad enough the first time around, I think.
Why waste 15 years of therapy just to get a t-shirt and a whole new complex?

It All Adds Up

I play Scrabble.

A lot.

Competitive Scrabble, that is.

If you are looking for a friendly game, I am not your girl. I play to keep my mind occupied, my vocabulary honed, and the opportunity to be chastised and berated by strangers. What can I say? I'm a strange string bean.

Often, to amuse myself while waiting for my opponent to take their turn, I will look at words and mentally add up their point value. Not words on the board...just words in general. Words on the nearby newspaper(16 points) for example(18 points).

Anyway..
(15 points)

I was playing against some supposed wunderkind yesterday and was getting more than a little frustrated at his use of small words which clutter the board and box things in. A fine strategy near the end of the game, but a pain in the posterior in the opening few rounds.

Muttering to myself, I called him an asshole, which was unladylike, but it's not like he could hear me.

Then it hit me...!

Asshole: A (1) S(1) S(1) H(4) O(1) L(1) E(1) = 10 pts...!!!

How sweet is that???

I can now call anyone I want an asshole without being one myself. I just have to tell them they are a perfect 10! They think I've given them a compliment, and I get the smug self-satisfaction of cleverly insulting them.

I need a new hobby.

I guess I really am a 10...

..