Category Archives: Opinions

have i mentioned

how much i hate um… what’s a good word… despise (is it ok to despise?) dog racists?

a good friend of the family has had his pit bull, Copper, taken away. i’ll write more details later. right now i’m busy doing research for him so he can be armed with info at his hearing tomorrow. his hearing where the judge will decide whether the sweet dog will be “destroyed”, as they like to say in the dog racism world.

the dog didn’t do anything wrong. the owner did, and he’s dreadfully sorry and has even offered to move out of the stinking city if only the judge will let his best friend live. i’m sure if this were a Lab, the judge would give the dear old tail-wagger a second chance because Labs are just so sweet. a chihuahua? oh, they’re harmless!

Btw, he didn’t bite anyone, he just got outside and roamed the neighborhood – did not hurt or corner or bark at anyone, and when the dog saw the police officers, he and his friend – another pit bull – turned toward the officers. before the dogs even moved in that direction, the officers shot and killed Copper’s friend. Copper went and threw his body down on top of his friend in mourning. Copper was devastated.

but don’t cry for Copper’s loss. Copper won’t be around much longer, because the police report says that the dogs were cornering and barking at a neighbor. said neighbor denies that this happened. all the neighbors who saw the events say the police report is a lie. Animal Control arrived and took the dog away right then, so my friend has been without his best friend (who goes everywhere with him, including work) ever since.

stinking dog racists.

if this dog dies, based on the information i know (and am, admittedly, getting 3rd-hand), i’ll be writing much more on this subject and writing angry rants against the city.

UPDATE: my friend is getting his dog back!! unfortunately, he has to promise to move the dog out of the city, but they’re returning Copper to his best friend. hooray!

i ranted

re: this 9/11 blame game. over at IMAO. (language warning: I said the h-word.)

we just had one of the dumbest arguments ever over one of the dumbest things ever

Did you know there are actually stupid people out there who are sooooooo geeky and full of themselves that they will only refer to science fiction as either “SF” or “Science Fiction”? “Sci-Fi” is so lame. If you say “Sci-Fi” like um, most of the free world, you’re, like, not geeky enough for their geek club. Because you don’t “sound intelligent” enough to be in the conversation. I bet they all do that completely r3t@rd3d l33t sp3@k thing too. Yeah, I probably did that all wrong, because I’m not a complete loser. I wonder if these people will even watch the SciFi Channel. “No, we boycott, because there are 4 extra letters in the name. They either change the name, or we’ll never ever see Bttlstr Gllctca! Ever! We mean it!”

It’s like those people who are so full of themselves that they can’t call a moving picture a “movie”, they simply must call it a “film” merely because it is shot on film and for no other reason than to inform you that they are in the know. What ever will these l33tists do if they start filming straight to DVD-RAM (just for example’s sake, people, don’t start sending me l33t-g33k mail). “Why, Jeeves, you must drive me down to the theatre today” — the “re” is in there because these “film” types probably pronounce it theee-uh-truh — “so I can see the new ‘dram’ that was ‘dramed’ so beautifully over the misty mountains of Nyew Zealand. I heard from my dear friend Ms. Jolie – we brunched in Namibia once, you know – that the art direction is fabulous. Though I really do prefer the old medium. It rolled off the tongue better. Oh Jeeves. Sigh. Sigh.”

For the record. Sci-Fi sounds way cooler than SF, and movie sounds way less arrogant than film. Now you know.

i hate it when they call terrorists “masterminds”

Yeah, flying planes into buildings takes some planning. You can call that one guy a mastermind.

But really. Zarqawi? How masterful is your mind if your main MO is beheading people? Does that take a ton of planning? Major IQs? How many kids know how to take the heads off their Barbie dolls?

It’s something you learn in kindergarten. Zarqawi is not a mastermind.

P.S. I’m glad he’s dead. Yay!

Michelle isn’t the only one

we know i have no car antenna, so no talk radio. and when i get home, we’ve got dinner and Season 2 of 24 and karaoke and whatever and we don’t watch the news in the evenings (much). and somehow, if Fox & Friends has been talking about it, i’ve missed it. all this translates to my being somewhat out of touch with life outside of Brevard County.

so tonight i finally asked Frank why everyone was calling Michelle Malkin a prude and a lemon-sucking conservative, because i’ve basically missed the whole thing. he pointed me to Michelle’s Jewish World Review article, “Why I’m not a ‘South Park Conservative’”.

i learned that over the weekend, the perpetually classy First Lady, Laura Bush, made some substandard jokes during an otherwise fun speech. Michelle was disappointed in the jokes and prefers to keep things G-rated in her world, and therefore, she’s over-the-top prudish and sooo 1950s.

i agree wholeheartedly with the lovely lemon-sucking Michelle, though i prefer limes. it wasn’t so long ago that it was a good thing to keep your speech pure and your body modest. those prudish days before the peace-love-dopers took to the streets and the fields yelling about free love and promiscuity and rebelling against any part of the system that seemed authoritative, systematic, or prohibitive. rebelling for the sake of rebellion.

and just what is so wrong with behaving as if we have self-respect, acting with modesty and humility, restraining ourselves from doing things that, yes, we would like to do, because that would feel so free, and we’d be doing what we want instead of what those freedom-stealing conservatives tell us is right! and everybody else is doing it, so wouldn’t it just feel soooo good to cut ourselves loose and just give in, just this once. maybe tell an almost-dirty joke. shout derivative curse words at the top of our lungs. buy a shirt that shows just a teensy bit of cleavage, because hey, it’s far more modest than what the girl standing in line in front of me at Publix is wearing. she should be ashamed!

we all should. we keep toeing the line until oops, we slid just a bit over it. better draw a new line, no turning back. turning back would be taking our “progressive” society in the wrong direction! where’s that new line we drew? whoops, while i was typing, i accidentally smudged it, can’t really tell where it is, better draw this one now. but don’t worry, i’m going to stand way back here, far from the new line i drew, it’s only there because i want to know that i could do things in the space between the line and myself, because i have that freedom, but i won’t actually do those things, i’ll just watch other people and laugh or smile when they do them. oh, but it looks like so much fun! ok, maybe this once. oh no! i tripped and fell over the far line! and where have i found myself? i’m in Europe! they have really great TV, with p-rn and everything! that’ll be awesome for my kids to grow up with! but don’t worry, i won’t let them watch the bad TV shows. i’ll wait till they’re asleep.

garbage in, garbage out.

where was i? ah yes. the First Lady. i still love her, she’s still full of grace and beauty and traditional values. i think she’s above those kinds of jokes that ought not be told in mixed company, or at all. her hair is much too neat, and her blouse is far too tucked in for her to stoop to a disheveled level, no matter how mild by today’s standards.

the laundry tag

what happened to the days when they put all the laundry information on the little size tag that’s attached to the sweater right around the collar or attached to the waistband? why have 2 tags? i remember the days when i could look at the little tag that is where it’s supposed to be and know whether to hang dry, dry flat, or tumble dry low (seriously, are there any tumble-dry-high tags out there?). these days i have to look at the little size tag, on the off chance that i bought the clothes at Kohl’s, only to learn that the laundry instructions are not there. then the searching begins, my hopeless quest to find the tag that will say “do not bleach” that has been banished to the nether regions of clothing hell and crawled up into itself until i go through the waist of the sweater or the unmentionable area of the pants and finally find the evasive little booger.

ah. dry clean only. probably should have looked for the tag before washing.

the reason i won’t buy boxes from U-Haul

while on the way to the bank this morning, i saw a U-Haul place and decided to stop in for some more boxes, which i’m sure i’ll need. the boxes are more expensive than Shurguard (my other boxes are all from my previous storage place), so i was having a hard time deciding whether i wanted a whole bundle or just some singles. as i was deciding, i noticed all of the writing all over the box. the entire box was covered, all four sides and half of the top, in U-Haul ads and other meaningless stuff.

seriously. if i’m buying a small moving box, you don’t need to write “small box” on it in big letters, pretty sure i know what i’m getting. i also don’t need you to tell me how much it costs to rent a storage room, or a moving truck for that matter; if i’m inside the U-Haul building to buy your boxes, i’m pretty sure i can see all of the signs plastered all over the store. the only little space that was for me was the part where i check what room the box goes in, where you have about 5 room choices. well. i need my space, i have to be able to write a very detailed description of what is in the box so i can find everything in the first couple of months. my friend Shelbo taught me that, and i’m quite happy with that system.

boo U-Haul.

the sissy ribbons

i heart our troops. support them. 100%.
i want to eradicate breast cancer. i really do.
and i’m a proud American. that’s the truth.

and i really want to show my support for the troops, my pride in my country and my support of breasts (does that make me a bra?) when i’m driving around in my car. i want to have the bumper stickers, the window decals, all that. but i just can’t do it. i can’t put a sticker in the shape of a ribbon on my car.

it’s just. so. girlie.

could they make them in the shape of guns? i want a big yellow gun that says “i support our troops” or “we’re comin’ for you, terrorists.” a big pink gun that says “boo cancer!”. a nice .45 sticker with red and white stripes on the top half and a white-starred blue bottom half. that would rock.

even the scorpions

there are some people who should never be allowed to be around other people. they should be made to sit in rooms by themselves all day long, and no one else should ever have to be burdened by their presence. if these people must work — and hopefully they do have to work, because i would heavily pity the man or woman who had to live with them and support them — they should only be allowed to work from home. this way, they never emit their poison in the direction of other people, or at least the reception of their emission is significantly limited.

these people — you know the ones i’m talking about. the people who gain no greater joy than that which they derive from gossiping about other people, even their best friends. the ones who have a permanent scowl on their faces and whose smile muscles have begun to atrophy because they don’t use them on a consistent basis. those who don’t know how to communicate with people when communication requires civil conversation, who can’t say hi, how are ya, and mean it but would rather start off a day with such-and-such makes me so mad or i’m so sick of whatever’s ailing me today. the people who live their lives to viciously denigrate other people because it gives their pathetic, poisoned souls a higher stature (in their own black slit eyes) for that slight moment in time when they’ve accomplished with their daggers what they’ve set out to achieve.

these arsenic-mouthed immature arachnids shouldn’t be granted their high school diplomas until they’ve learned that in the real world, juvenile social games have no place; i hesitate to even compare these idiots to high school children, because kids are far more pure of mind and heart than these copperheads. should they somehow actually have enough brains to make it out of high school, they should not, under any circumstances, be allowed out of their pens on Mondays. period. after Monday, they should have to pass a test before being allowed any human interaction. this test should include a smile quiz, and said arachnids should have their venom tested for hate; if they can smile and mean it and keep their red hate cells in check, then perhaps they may face the world. but then the second that these scorpions start to regress and become back-stabbing, gossipmongering monsters of tiny brains and insignificant hearts, they should be thrown back in their little cages and forced to eat crickets and crawl around on their bellies where they belong.

i’ve never understood people who are so anxious to jump ahead, to climb the [insert your favorite - corporate, social, athletic, ecological] ladder, that they would rather treat every outsider with disdain and belittlement than to actually have meaningful friendships. i wonder if it would even affect their miniscule character banks to find out that one of their targets so loathes being in the same room with them, so looks forward to the 3:00 bell, that they’d rather eat cardboard for breakfast, lunch and dinner than eat the most luscious 6-ounce medium-cooked steak if eating the steak meant sitting at the lunch table with the scorpion.

yes, it probably would affect them. they would absolutely relish the news that their spittle has sprayed so effectively and so accurately into someone else’s face that they just might smile for once, turn a little cartwheel and jump over rainbows in gleeful ecstasy at the knowledge.

and may i just say that i would hope they’d fall right on their irrelevant backsides and break their tailbones after jumping over those rainbows. at the same time, i’d hope for a conversion. that all the pretty colors of the rainbow would put such a reverse damper on their dark little bubbles that they’d, for once, smile and mean it.

i actually hurt a little for these people. of course, they do it to themselves, because no man is happy who does not think himself so, as the saying goes. i don’t care what hand you’ve been dealt, what sacks you’ve been stuck carrying, what lopsided burden you’ve been given the heavy end of. if you can’t take the lemons and make limeade, it’s your own stinkin’ fault. get over yourself, stop whining about the crappy life you’ve been stuck with, and make the best of it you can. be. happy.

for what purpose is served by bitterness? what purpose is served by emanating your hatred to fill every room you enter? who on this great green planet is better for having known you? no one. how sad it must be to live your life, how horrible to wake up in the morning and know that you have no love to give, you make no one happy to be around you. how pathetic.

and why spend so much time worrying and whining and arguing about how things just aren’t fair? no. kidding. some people just get dealt the sorriest of hands, and some people turn up their cards to see four aces and a spare king. and you know which people are the most admirable? the ones who see a 2 a 5 a 7 a Queen and an 8 and bluff their way into the biggest pot-win in history. who make their situations great, with no help from the dealer. or who look at their hand and go “hey. at least i got to play, and thanks for letting me in on the game.” but if you’re dealt a 2 a 5 a 7 a Queen and an 8, and you moan and groan about how unfair life is, how miserable you are for always losing, well, you can go sit in the corner and watch while we let Tiny Tim take your place at the table.

God bless us everyone. even the venomous scorpions.

p.s. no scorpions were harmed in the making of this rant. and i heart everyone.

p.p.s. i’m just sayin’.

et tu, FoxNews?

so Fox is doing a story about the Army and recruitment. what’s wrong with this reporting:
(paraphrasing since the DVR messed up)

“however, the Army barely met its recruiting goal, exceeding it only by 573 recruits.” and then some commentary about this being far below what they hoped for, or disturbing, or other somesuch.

um, ok, did you say the Army EXCEEDED its recruiting goal??? is there a reason we have to spin this negative? tell me if you read a difference here:

“the Army is happy to report that it exceeded its recruiting goal by 573 recruits.”

that’s called the positive or reality spin.

and here is fair and balanced:

“the Army exceeded its recruiting goal by 573 recruits.”

what happened to we report, you decide? yes, i realize this is a bit of a knee-jerk reaction, but seriously. there is a reason i watch FoxNews; it’s because FoxNews is far more fair than any other station, IN MY OPINION (don’t get yer panties all wadded up), and because the bias of FoxNews leans in my direction, and that makes me happy and comfy and warm and fuzzy and whatnot. yes. i know i’m getting commentary, and i warmly and fuzzily agree with a good number of the opinions (though i do find myself yelling at the TV a lot with all those liberals they let on because they’re fair and balanced). however, when you’re just reporting the facts, in a “news segment”, with no commentators, all reporters, then please. be fair and balanced, and let me decide whether this is horrific news that the Army is “barely” meeting their recruiting goals or whether it’s great news that though we’re going through tough times, though we’re losing brave soldiers every day, though we’re a country in a hard-fought war that will most likely last decades, the Army has set recruiting goals, and hooray! they’re exceeding their goals! we have enough brave young men and women willing to fight for our right to be free!

now. let’s talk about achieving goals.

if i set a goal to lose 10 pounds, and i lose 11 pounds, how am i going to feel about that? “oh no! i only lost one more pound than i wanted to! the horror!”… or “hey! i only wanted to lose 10 pounds, and i lost 11! awesome!”… or will it be “i lost 11 pounds. indeed.” i can honestly say that i would NEVER say the first option.

the same applies to anything for which we set goals. a goal is “[t]he purpose toward which an endeavor is directed; an objective.” i’d say it’s a good thing when we meet a goal that we set for ourselves, wouldn’t you? and to exceed a goal? outstanding!

so i’m utterly confused when i hear a news report that paints the exceeding of a goal in a negative color. let’s be real. to meet a goal is good, to exceed, divine.

just a thought…

legal-size paper should be outlawed.

let’s play… why the past hour sucked

1) watched CSI: Miami on the DVR. HOW. COULD. YOU. y’all suck. why couldn’t it have been one of those characters i don’t care about. y’all can bite me. next thing, y’all will kill off Warrick on CSI: Vegas. and in case “bite me” isn’t clear enough for y’all, your show is produced/written/etc. by monkeys. MONKEYS! btw, Horatio is a stupid idiot. SHARKS! moron.

2) all i needed to do was shred some stuff with my address on it. the next 45 minutes found me in an internet blackhole, because i really freaked out my modem when i plugged in the shredder. and well. i just cannot go to bed knowing i will wake up with no internet. that’s a sucky way to wake up, and a sucky way to spend the last hour. p.s., i was planning to spend the last hour writing part 2 of my Idol post, so if i don’t get up at 5 a.m. tomorrow, y’all will have to wait for tomorrow night. sorry ’bout that. i’ll be in Lubbock all day tomorrow, too, so i can’t write it at lunch.

3) while the modem crisis was in full swing, i decided i’d go ahead and watch Letterman, because that blathering idiot John Kerry was going to be on, and hey, might make for some good funny political writing on my part. for some reason, i’m having lots of fun writing it, so everything has potential. anyway, that freaking moron got on TV and made me yell and scream while he told lie after lie after lie. i almost went into shock when Letterman gave him a question that wasn’t quite a softball (but then again it wasn’t a hardball either), but then good ol’ Dave didn’t require that he actually answer the question, just let him skip around the answer and change the subject.



the content of this post has been brought to you by the letters C-S-I, the number/letter combo 54M-B-P-S, and the letters J-F-and K. oh, and please don’t forget the letters S-U-C-and K.

shoulda been born a boy?

Boudicca said something recently that reminded me that i don’t have a black bra and really, as a chick, i should own at least 1 pretty black bra. so Monday night i bought one. didn’t try it on or anything, just bought a pretty black bra in my size.

today i wear the pretty black bra for the first time, and oh. my. goodness. i cannot believe it. i have found a comfortable bra.

never in my life have i found a comfy bra. i’ve tried expensive bras, cheapy bras, “barely there” bras, strapless, push-up, backless, sports bras, lacy, cottony, polyester. all of them. never found one that didn’t require constant adjusting. i guess i never tried a black bra.

plus, it makes my boobs look bigger, hooray! i’m gonna go buy every one in the store like it. look out, Wal-Mart.

in related news, i plan to shave my legs and armpits tonight, use all my little Mary Kay lotions and stuff for cleansing and purty-ing my face, get a massage this evening followed by a mani/pedi and even cook dinner and clean up after myself. i might even watch Return to Me and A Walk to Remember while i pack my stuff for the big trip. hot dog, i may become a girl yet. yippee. ::rolls eyes::

the question was posed… should i have been born a boy because i like sports? so i must ask in return… is it not acceptable for a chick to have interests that aren’t all fru-fru-ey and girlie? must i be banished to “girl talk in the kitchen” while the guys are watching the hockey game? milli vanilli no!! tell me. what did girl talk EVER accomplish besides nothing? someone’s always gossiping (SIN!) or “just stating the truth, which isn’t gossiping” (SIN!), and if there’s no gossip happening, you’d better believe there’s some kind of self-praise (VANITY!) going on. and seriously. how many talks about hair highlights, cellulite, fall fashion and belly button lint must a chick endure in her life? gag me.

ugh. give me the livingroom with the guys. all that’s going on in there is good, clean bonding over slapshots, penalty kills and man-fights. yes ma’am, that’s what i’m talkin’ about. sure, there’s the occasional grex talk, but really that’s just “talking about natural things that God created for our benefit and the procreation of the species”, so it’s all good!

go Stars!

the truth about hugs

there are good hugs.
there are great hugs.
there are careful or i might crawl into your lap and make you hug me for hours hugs.
some hugs make you squirm.
some make you squeamish.
some make you want to crawl into a hole and never come out for fear of meeting the hugger.
there are decent hugs.
and pretty good hugs.
and fair hugs.
honestly, most are just average.

and when you hug someone who really hugs you back, it’s almost always a careful or i might crawl into your lap and make you hug me for hours hug. that’s the key. to give a fabulous hug, you need only to remember one simple rule; hug like you mean it, and it’s usually pretty great.

if you hug someone in forced fashion, it always, without fail, sucks. your body language is so evident in your hugs; if you hug like you’re scared of hugging or like you’re only hugging because, socially, you feel you have to, you are giving a really bad hug. here’s some advice for you: just stop hugging people. you obviously don’t like it, and it will save them from many cases of heebie-jeebies.

because let me tell you, a great hug seems like it was only there for a second, a fleeting whisper against my back, one i wish i could get back, wish i could bottle up and open any time i need comfort or to feel loved. a bad hug seems to never leave, it scars, it brushes up against me and sucks my soul out like a Dementor.

a great hug makes me long for more, willing to resort to begging for another, and though it was only yesterday that i received this coveted kind of hug, it feels like years. when i find myself remembering “when”, that was an amazing hug.

single men give the best hugs, because they have the most to gain by doing so. married men still give good hugs, but since they need to NOT have someone wanting to crawl up in their laps (except their own wives), they tend to either side-arm it or hold back, which is exactly what they should do. but considering the intimacy that they actually share with their wives, their wives should be getting some splendid hugs, and there should be lots of lap-crawling. husbands who do not hug their wives well just don’t deserve to be on the planet. ok, maybe that’s too harsh, but they should at the very least be required to go to hug reform school if they offend the hugging senses.

i’ve been hugged well by a lot of people. there are two standouts that immediately come to mind; that could be because i was hugged by them recently so it only feels like months and not decades, and the hug-memory is fresh enough that it hasn’t escaped me completely. hug-memories, after a while, fade like the picture you keep in your head of someone you love or have a great fondness for. you try, really hard, to get that picture back, but unless you see a snapshot or feel that feeling again, you never quite remember.

the two standouts are, as would be expected, single men, and theirs are the only hugs i “miss” currently. theirs, too, will fade unless they are replenished; until then, i’ll feel the whisper against my back.

i think i miss Boy Crush’s hugs the most, probably because i’ve had so many this year, and several of them were when i was crying, so they were the most comforting. i love comfort.

and i love hugs.

shopping notes…

for the record, i will never buy a piece of clothing with the word Sag on the brand tag. get a clue, Sag Harbor.

i will also never buy something from a store called the Dress Barn. not nice to make women feel like farm animals before we even walk through the door.

i try to shop in the petites section, since i’m super-duper short; just wondering, why do they put things in the petites section way up near the ceiling? who can reach that stuff?

i hate shopping for shoes; unfortunately, i have no choice right now, because my feet have shrunk. in the 2 months since i had to wear pumps (bleck), my feet have shrunk a half size.

i miss SuperTarget. i REALLY miss SuperTarget.

i don’t know where a grocery store near my house is. i know where the SuperWalmart is, but that’s about a 7 minute drive (every place in Amarillo is a 7 minute drive, because there is just no traffic, HOORAY!!).

somehow, i’ve been to SuperWalmart at least twice since i’ve been here, and there is not one lick of ice cream in my freezer. maybe that’s why the migraines have started again, i miss my Chunky Monkey.

mmm…. Chunky Monkey.

this just in…

Cherry Chill flavor Wrigley’s Eclipse gum tastes like cough syrup; great if you’re ill, not so great if you want gum that tastes good.



my new hero(ine) is this girl, who has put her foot down about today’s fashions, go read about her, RIGHT NOW!

now, thanks to Sandy’s and Little Sizzle’s insistence that i at least give low-rise jeans a try, i am a big fan of those for at least one reason — they totally somewhat mask the fact that i have huge thighs and an ample-with-a-capital-Amen booty. translation: they make me look skinny, so bring on the hip-huggers! now, contrary to popular belief, the fact that you’re wearing hip-hugging low-rise jeans does not mandate that you show your belly; i NEVER show my belly. i have a really cute one with 2 really adorable moles and lovely skin (the stretchmarks are all on my thighs, the tum-tum is smooth), but i believe in modesty. i support, approve of, practice, appreciate and try to LIVE modesty; i don’t care if that makes me a “prude” in some people’s eyes.

i couldn’t care less [remind me sometime to rant about people's mis-use of that phrase -- if you leave off the "not", it means you care some, and i'm pretty sure that's not what you mean.] if people scoff or roll their eyes when i say that no, i won’t wear skin-tight shirts, i won’t show cleavage, i won’t bare my belly, i won’t wear a skirt that comes above the knees or shorts that don’t at least come close to the knees, and i won’t wear spaghetti-strapped anything or show my undies above my jeans as is all the rage with the Neckid Britney crowd. and i have so much respect for other modest-minded people, especially teenagers, who can hardly escape the nudity all around them in their middle schools and high schools yet recognize that they can be sexy, beautiful and respected without showing skin.

bravo, Ella, keep making a stand for modesty!

you know what’s rude?

not answering email, especially email that asks questions, thus WARRANTING A RESPONSE, or personal comments that give you insight into the person that sent you the mail. if you were talking on the phone to the same person (please, no one call me, i hate the phone), and they told you personal details about themselves, would you just sit there and not reply? wait for them to say something? have that awkward 8-minute lull (i stole that phrase from Hugger)? silence in the conversation because you’re too thickheaded to realize that you really should say something right now?

you know who’s been rude lately? me. i’m really sorry about that. if you’ve sent me email recently and i haven’t responded, please bear with me. i’m busy. and sick. and lazy. and tired. and freaked. and happy. happy doesn’t have anything to do with not responding to email, but i just wanted y’all to know i’m happy. anyway, i’ll get on that email thing once i get the packing under control and the last 2 ALIAS reviews done; season finale is sunday, and it’s not acceptable for me to not theorize and –

leaping crickets!!! i had no idea that Gary Sinise was going to star in CSI New York!! looks like i’ll have 3 CSIs to watch next season. YAY!!

– anyway, it’s not acceptable for me to not share my excellent ALIAS theories and my insanely funny reviews before the finale. so stay tuned, they are coming soon.

gotta pack. ta, musees!