Blogged Down

So this morning, I'm driving to work, and I see a Chevy Suburban type vehicle in front of me, with detailing on the back that resembled this: (please excuse the crappy artwork on my part)


See the white lines? Yeah that's what I thought too. Never again will I berate a man for being fascinated by the sight of a thong. If the car hadn't turned right away, I might have followed them wherever they were going, I was that mesmerized.

Not much is going on with me. I work, I knit, I converse with friends. Next Monday I am getting my new laminate flooring installed which I am quite excited about. Cats, feel free to puke at will on this floor - I shall wipe it up with a smile. But this weekend will suck balls for me as I'll be moving furniture.

My good friend LK and I had a conversation that worked its way around to talking meat pants. Don't ask.

Laura Kehoe: meat pants
Donna Lee: god that's a mouthful ain't it (speaking of John's nickname Pantalones de la Carne)
Donna Lee: literally and figuratively
Laura Kehoe: no wonder they talk so fast
Laura Kehoe: they have more words to say the same thing
Donna Lee: oh i thought you meant meat pants talk fast?
Laura Kehoe: you made me spit my water
Laura Kehoe: I think I'm getting loopy... but I thought of talking meat pants
Donna Lee: them is some fast-talkin meat pants
Laura Kehoe: i need a drink
Donna Lee: i'm seeing chaps made of pepperoni singing "Home on the Range"
Laura Kehoe: what about chaps made of thinly sliced roast beef?
Laura Kehoe: talking meat pants still has me laughing
Donna Lee: i see roast beef as more of a boxer material
Donna Lee: chaps need to be sturdier
Laura Kehoe: true
Laura Kehoe: like genoa salami
Laura Kehoe: a true spaghetti western
Donna Lee: now i see a line of roast beef boxers singing "It's Raining Men"
Laura Kehoe: dude, you're fucked up

I can't help it that I have a vivid imagination. I once had a dream that George Clooney and Jimmy Stewart were fighting over me. Using Jello and ball-point pens.

[Jimmy Stewart to George Clooney, as he fences with GC using a Bic pen] - "You're crazy, Clooney, you're, you're just SCREWY!!!"

Don't ask me why, I don't make the rules.

I work with a very kind European who has a very soothing voice. Soothing to the point that if I listen to him for more than 5 minutes, I am lulled into a state of comfort. And by comfort, I mean semi-consciousness. And by semi-consciousness, I mean sleep. I'm wondering if it's illegal to tape a phone call with him and use it for when I have insomnia. One night, I couldn't fall asleep, and when I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt that I still couldn't fall asleep, so I called him and asked if he would be kind enough to read War and Peace to me over the phone so I could sleep. (I'm hoping it really was a dream - if I actually did call him and ask him this, he's been tactful enough not to mention it to me)

I saw my best friend this weekend. She told me she's in a wedding and she doesn't know the bride's last name. To her credit, she and her husband are much closer to the groom than the bride, but damn.

Well, that's all the news that's fit to blog for me so far this week.

With peace, good will, and car thongs,
Donna