Um...What??

A Kitty, A Pittie And A Post That's Kinda Sh*tty (It Does Have Photoshopped Hats In It Though!) (Which Only Makes It Worse)

Welcome back, everyone! It's been nothing but a big party around here today because –– thanks to a really cool coincidence, or dogs work in mysterious ways –– we've got birthdays for two very important Um...What?? family members falling on November 1st!:

Buster and Gus!!

Heh.

Of course we don't really know Buster's actual birthday on account of the way he just sort of magically appeared in my path one night with a kazoo and no I.D. But today is the one-year anniversary of the afternoon he first arrived at The Boy's house, so The Boy's mom decided this would be the perfect day to celebrate. (A year? Already? Time flies when you have porcupine quills in your eyes and can't really see the time!) And the only reason I know Gus's birthday is also today is because it's the date listed on the paperwork he brought with him from Kitten Rescue. Paperwork that also points out that thing about him being FOURTEEN today. Which is 72 in human years. WELL, OF COURSE IT IS. This completely explains why he spent almost all of today ricocheting off every surface in the apartment including both of the ceiling fans and also my head. And because he's pretty much always like this, I've questioned his age at least three times but the lovely people at KR continue to insist Gus's paperwork is correct. I'm still sort of skeptical though, mostly because I'm pretty sure that cats are very bad at filling out paperwork. Probably.

  

We don't have any cake (Do I look like I know how have time to make a cake??) but we do have an endless supply of cat hair and dog slobber.

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P.S. Of course I'm posting this with only about a half hour left in the day (Sunday), so by the time you read this, it'll already be after the fact. This is called respecting the status quo, or sometimes I get very, very busy doing other things. Like sitting.

Before I Was Like Charles Schulz But Now I'm Just Like Atreyu* Only Instead Of A Luck Dragon I'm Stuck Here With A Mostly-Dead Porcupine

*Today's post is dedicated to Clay because, without even realizing, he totally helped me pull it together by reminding me yesterday morning about The Neverending Story, which –– if you're not familiar –– is the tale of a boy named Atreyu who's stuck in a world that's slowly disappearing because it's being systematically consumed by The Nothing and oh, hey! That sounds an awful lot like what's been happening to me during the last four years with The Porcupine! First I was a Mars Rover and now, apparently, I'm a kid who talks to rocks while trying to outrun a gigantic black hole! Oh, just forget it.

And speaking of The Porcupine, I offer you the same standard disclaimer this time around that I do for all self-involved, annoyingly non-specific posts on this subject: You should totally just skip it. Which, if you think about it, is probably the exact same disclaimer I should offer for ALL my posts, regardless of the subject matter, where subject matter equals HAHA! None of the subjects matter around here because this blog is totally like an Interwebs Black Hole Nothing: sucking in material from anywhere and everywhere yet remaining totally empty. I know. IT'S A GIFT.

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Welcome back, everyone! Today we'll be featuring the long-awaited second installment in our Ongoing Adventures in Porcupining series! (You: Okay, seriously? No one waits for anything around here. Mostly we just try to hide from you.) Oh whatever. ANYWAY. This series is basically a comic strip of sorts about life with The Porcupine where life equals most all of it has seeped out of him over the past few years and now it's like he's totally dead inside. Romantic!

I know it's been a while since I've posted much about him, but I've been very, very busy blogging about more important issues such as sending cows through the mail and trying to figure out what Stinking Buggers are (I still have no clue) and worrying about our country being run by people whose names look like the word "BONER." (I mean honestly: How am I supposed to take any Boner-generated legislation seriously?) Of course, I also haven't blogged much about him because doing so forces me to also do very unpleasant things like actually thinking about how a bad turn of events on top of another bad turn of events on top of yet more bad turns of events has changed The Porcupine into a retreated, isolated, former shell of himself and SEE?? Love is FUN!! Or not. Or something. OH, I DON'T KNOW.

And with that I present the following:

My Ongoing Adventures In Porcupining –– Installment #2*
(Or: The Um What?? Comic Strip –– In Two Installments Which, If You Do The Math, Equals Two Installments Too Many!)
*The first can be found here.

 

 

 

THE (apparently it will never) END.

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P.S.: So, in conclusion, sometimes this:

But most of the time, this:

Wow. I could've spared you guys all that "Adventures in Porcupining" crap and just posted these two pictures instead and basically given you about the same amount of useless useful information. I totally have this blogging thing NAILED!

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P.S.S. Did you all know that today is National Pit Bull Awareness Day? In honor of this, I offer the next two pictures. Because despite all the above evidence to the contrary, love really is a many, many splendored thing:

Buster and his Boy: A Neverending Love Story
They're also the best possible PR team this group of often misunderstood and wholly wonderful dogs could ever hope for.
 And The Boy will never need his own luck dragon as long as he has Buster around.

All the P.S.'s To This Post Are Like Five Times Longer Than The Actual Post Itself Because That's How I Do It Around Here (Like Someone Who Has Absolutely No Idea What She's Doing)

Today's "post" is basically just going to be a picture (I AM A BLOGGING GRAND MASTER WAX ON WAX OFF) that's completely in honor of my girl, Steph, who –– as I understand it –– might appreciate herself the occasional Chris beefcake shot, where beefcake equals...HAHA! Good one!! Like I can really type Chris and beefcake in the same sentence while keeping any kind of a straight face and oh hey! I guess sometimes this blog actually IS funny! And yeah, yeah, I know: I cannot believe it either.

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Hey, Um Whaters! Sometimes, blogging is very, very hard. But other times it can be very, very easy, where very, very easy equals OMG LOOKIT THIS CRAP I JUST FOUND ON THE INTERWEBS!!:

Okay. I might have added the caption myself.
(And don't even try to act like this joke wouldn't have occurred to you, too.)

Steph? It's totally been my pleasure.

THE END.

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P.S. By the way: If Steph's here reading this right now, it can only be because she must have somehow managed to take a short break from what she's usually doing online, which is totally killing everyone and everything in sight on Facebook.

Ice, ice, baby!

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P.S.S. I totally stole the picture of Chris, which may or may not have originally been posted on the website of our monthly magazine ("Buffoons Buff Bods of the BBQ") and so of course I realize I should give full credit to the original photographer (blah blah legal disclaimer yadda yadda law offices of Larry H. Parker) except for the fact I have absolutely no idea who the original photographer is, except for the other fact that it's probably safe to assume it's either Annie Liebovitz or Ansel Adams.

P.S.S.S. Extra points for you if you noticed that the guy in the picture with Chris is previously banned Um...What?? family member, MC! And speaking of MC, he just had a birthday last week where he turned 30 35 OH I DON'T KNOW and anyway, I certainly can't be expected to keep track of these things as I have four zero A TONNNN of friends. I do know he's really, really old though. And before he starts whining about how I'm even older, it's totally irrelevant and by totally irrelevant I mean I'M WAY HOTTER. Way.

P.S.S.S.S. Steph is trying to recruit me to join her Mafia Wars family on Facebook, but I'm still undecided at this point as I'm a very nice girl who usually isn't all that interested in killing anyone except maybe The Porcupi...OH NEVER MIND.

I Managed To Write This Despite The Fact I Have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder AND I DIED

This post took way longer to publish than I originally expected because I got completely hung up on my friend Lori's illo. I just went to dinner and the movies with her and yet I still couldn't remember if she currently had bangs or didn't have bangs because that's the kind of totally attentive friend I am: the kind who pays absolutely zero attention! So then I asked Maureen if Lori currently had bangs or didn't have bangs and guess what? Maureen had no idea either AND MAUREEN WORKS WITH HER FIVE DAYS A WEEK. Very helpful. Maureen. So then I went back and forth and back and forth and finally decided on some half-bang thing that would sort of work either way because this small detail was very, very important on account of the way it had absolutely nothing whatsoever at all to do with this post.

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This is my lovely friend, Lori:

Because I have only the best-looking friends! And Chris.

I recently ruined Lori's life went to the movies with Lori to see District 9. And by recently I mean two weeks ago and wow! Compared to how things normally go around this blog, that IS recent. I have totally focused my blogging chi!*

*Yeah, yeah. So it's really been three weeks now. Sue me. (You: Okay!!) You could win this blog in the settlement! (You: Oooh. Forget it.) That's exactly what I thought.

Lori and I try to catch dinner and a movie together semi-regularly because we like movies and we like dinner and we like each other and oh, hey! Friends are like flowers in the garden of life. Or whatever. ANYWAY. I chose the movie this time around, and I had several reasons for deciding on District 9: like how it was being touted as forever changing the face of science fiction and how Chris highly recommended it, telling me it was "great!" (OMG why did I use this as a reason?? TACTICAL ERROR FORESHADOWING) and how it had a very important and relevant social message which I assumed at the time as anyone would have was probably something like "YAY! Aliens are awesome!!" Or whatever. Because really: Who doesn't love aliens? Right??

Wrong.

WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG-ITY WRONG WRONG.

Listen: Before I go on, I know: District 9 is an exceptional movie with seamless visual effects and an inspired documentary shooting style and top-notch acting and a hauntingly delivered commentary on the darker instincts of human nature and SO WHAT NONE OF THIS IS ENOUGH TO TRUMP THE HORRIFIC, HUMAN-INFLICTED ALIEN BABY MURDERS AND AWFUL ALIEN TORTURE AND ABUSE AND RAMPANT XENOPHOBIA AND PEELING FINGERNAILS OFF ROTTING FLESH AND HAHA, who am I kidding?! The part where the main human character starts peeling off his fingernails from his rotting fingers was awesome! As a matter of fact, I can't think of a single movie in history that couldn't be made better by adding a fingernail peeling scene. Or Dwayne Johnson.

District 9's plot, in a nutshell, is this (Warning –– Spoiler Alert!): A big spaceship full of aliens gets marooned over earth blah blah no one knows why just go with it, then humans make first contact in sort of a Welcome-Wagon-meets-Home-Invasion-Robbery kind of a way and determine said aliens are low-life, bottom-dwelling "prawns" that must be imprisoned into a horrible, slum-like internment camp despite the fact they're already sick and suffering and need kindness and mercy and then something, something human-dude-who-looks-like-Hitler-this and something, something alien-father-guy-who-is-ugly-but-beautiful-that and then a whole bunch of other stuff happens who cares and then TA DA! It turns out it's the human race that's filled with the most miserable and vile bottom-dwelling creatures who ever lived THE DESPAIR-FILLED, GOD-AWFUL, SUICIDE-INDUCING END. Popcorn, anyone?

So. If I was a professional movie reviewer –– which I'm not although I think we all agree I totally could be –– I would give this movie two thumbs down  stuck up my butt because that's how uncomfortable I was JABBED VIOLENTLY AND REPEATEDLY INTO MY EYEBALLS UNTIL I'M RENDERED TOTALLY BLIND AND OH DEAR HOLY GAHHH WHAT I WOULD'VE GIVEN AT THE TIME TO BE RENDERED TOTALLY BLIND. Or dead.

OMG WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO WATCH THIS CRAP?! OH. OOPSIE!
(Heh. Butter Face. "Everything looks good but her fa...oh, never mind.)

I knew I was in serious trouble when a few minutes into the movie, a teeny-tiny, empathy-inducing alien boy appeared on the screen at the exact same moment my brain chose to register the fact that Chris loved this movie and all of Chris's favorite movies are the ones where everybody totally and completely dies. Gahhhh. I turned to Lori at this point and whispered something that began with some profanity followed closely by a very famous Han Solo/Luke Skywalker/Princess Leia/C-3PO quote. (Oh dear god why was I not at home watching my Star Wars DVD box set instead?? WELCOME TO MY BIG, FAT TACTICAL ERROR.) Now, what Lori said was that she also had a bad feeling about this. But the horrified look on her face told me what she really meant was "I rue the day I ever met you." Which seems pretty bad but was actually kind of awesome because do you even know how much longer it took her than most everyone else I know to arrive at this conclusion?!

 
OH, IF ONLY.

In the end it should be noted (and this would be a real spoiler alert except for the fact it's totally irrelevant just trust me since you should never, EVER see this movie) that none of the souls at the center of the story dies. This is good news when it comes to the father alien and his son who manage to escape the clutches of "humanity" –– both of whom you'll find yourself beyond emotionally invested in unless, of course, you have no heart and then oh, hey! This is the perfect movie for you and also? You're Chris. This news is disappointing, however, when it comes to the main human character, who –– I don't care how much redemption he finds in the last 37 seconds –– has done so many awful and sickening things leading up to that point (Hello One Man As Symbol For The History Of Humanity) that all I could think the entire time was DIE A$$HOLE. He did end up turning into an alien though (don't even ask) which, in my opinion, just adds further insult to injury because haven't the aliens suffered enough indignities already??

Anyway.

Speaking of suffering enough indignities, all I can say to my dear friend Lori –– who told me she was up until 4:00 in the morning after the movie because she couldn't turn off her brain FROM THE HORROR –– is I am so sorry. But it really wasn't my fault. Because if you think about it, besides being sort of the fault of all of the rest of humanity, it was mostly TOTALLY CHRIS'S FAULT. Which, if you think about it further, is pretty much the explanation for every other horrible thing that's ever happened around here. Like this post.

THE END.
And this explains the OTHER reason it took me so long to get this posted: I DIED.

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P.S.: THIS:

Just another example of why I spend so much time wondering why my blog doesn't have its own wing in The Louvre. BLOGGING AS FINE ART.

P.S.S. Also: For anyone who may have noticed that blog regular MC has been conspicuously absent as of late, don't worry: He's still around, he's just been temporarily banned from this blog due to a little thing I like to call punishment.

RUDE.

I'm not going to get into the details here (shunned me on Facebook) but suffice it to say (specifically shunned this blog on Facebook) I was extremely hurt (untagged himself in all blog-related illustrations posted on my Facebook page so other people wouldn't know of his involvement here) because I've never done one thing to warrant this kind of behavior (JERKTARD) except for accidentally being the kind of person people totally rue meeting. Something I cannot do anything about. Obviously. Which reminds me: I keep e-mailing the Facebook developers to suggest they change their motto to "FACEBOOK: No Good Can Ever Come Of It" but for whatever reason I can't get anyone answer me. No wonder they're only the second biggest site on the interwebs. No vision. ("Um...What??" is number one. I'm guessing.)

Anyway, no matter! Because my friend Chris, on the other hand, is totally proud of his involvement here.

Chris: Proof that there truly is no more hope for humanity.
IT'S JUST SAD.

Chris Rates This Blog!

Awesome.

A new post is in the works and should be published shortly. I'm sure you'll all be just as impressed as Chris is.

This Isn't Even A Real Post But Just a Whole Bunch of Stupid Crap I Photoshopped For My Friend Maureen's Birthday So You Should Just Skip It Unless You're Into Either Birthdays That Aren't Yours Or Big Bunches Of Stupid Crap

 

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 
 

 

 

THE END OF THIS POST.
THE BEGINNING OF THE REST OF MAUREEN'S LIFE!
Birthday wishes can be left on her Twitter page or her blog!

(Blame for this stupid-a$$ "post" can also be left at either location on account of this is all her fault due to the fact SHE WAS BORN.)

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P.S. I forgot to mention that comments are closed on this post to encourage you to go send birthday wishes to Maureen instead!

An Um...What?? Dream Sequence! (It's Just As Stupid As You'd Think) (Except For How It's Even Stupider)

Today's post is dedicated to the one and only Phil Monger. For those of you here who already know Phil, I'm sure we can all agree: Oh, dear god –– must we have even one? For those of you who don't know Phil, suffice it to say he loves eating all kinds of properly made cake and touching things made out of Bakelite and following me on Twitter. He also has a very strong opinion as to which version of the USS Enterprise is the superior model, as illustrated in the following series of tweets:

Blah, blah, blah. Don't even get him started about carrot cake.

And while I know this particular piece of information seems to have nothing to do with anything right now, you'll just have to take my word for it that this will all make sense once you get to the main point of this post. HAHA – good one! Like there's even going to be ANY kind of point to this post. Why would I start something like that now? I WOULDN'T. Anyway, chances are good that Phil's favorite Enterprise isn't going to appear anywhere here today, which just means he's going to end up very, very disappointed by the time he finishes reading, and oh hey! It'll be just like it's always been for every single one of you who's ever read anything here!

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In the interest of remaining current, it should be noted that while I was slapping together writing crafting this post, Phil suddenly changed his Twitter avatar to the following image, rendering the above screen shots slightly out-of-date:

NO ONE DOES.

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Welcome back, everyone! Today we'll be getting dreamy in a post all about a dream I recently had. Because if there's one thing I know about blogging, it's that people love it when you blog about your dreams. Although not as much as when you blog about your cat, of course. People REALLY love it when you blog about your cat. Right, Phil? So, actually, I know a lot about blogging. Now that I think about it. I mean why else would Um...What?? be totally taking over the interwebs the way that it...oh never mind I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT BLOGGING. Or anything else, for that matter.

Anyway.

As many of you are aware, this blog's favorite Mr. Farty recently went to an airshow. It was full of many uplifting, wild-blue-yonder types of things like planes and flying and more planes that are different than the first planes I mentioned, you know, probably (I really have no idea –– I'm not Amelia Earhart) (currently) and hundreds of people standing around craning their necks and pretending to enjoy themselves while actually wondering how many minutes away they are from certain, fiery death. YAY! Let's go to the snack bar! So, after the show, Mr. Farty posted about this outing on his blog and then I went and read about it there because I read only the web's best blogs –– a motto you people obviously don't subscribe to –– and then after that I went to sleep and tra la la brain waves this and yadda yadda yadda REM sleep that and then TA DA! Chris and I went to an airshow too! Inside a school gymnasium. Which, of course, doesn't make any sense at all until you stop to remember that my brain is a uniquely wondrous and amazing place. (You: WTF?) OKAY. OR IT ISN'T. Whichever.

And with that I present to you:

The First-Ever* Um...What?? Dream Sequence!!
Boldly Going Straight Down The Drain Along With Everything Else In This Blog

(*Quite possibly also the last-ever Um...What?? dream sequence, depending on whether or not I ever remember to do another one which I probably won't on account of most days I don't even remember that I have a blog. I APOLOGIZE.)

Chris: Come on –– we're going to an airshow!

Me: An airshow? I don't have time to go to an airshow right now. I'M VERY BUSY.

Chris: With what? You're just sitting there. Twirling your hair around your fingers and staring off into space.

Me: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Chris: Well, what is??

Me: (more blank staring) Uh...

Then the scene changed abruptly from the above intellectual battle of wits –– which I was clearly winning by the way –– to the inside of a school gym, where something I previously hadn't noticed came immediately to my attention:

Really, this particular part is not all that different than my real life as you don't even KNOW how much time I spend wondering if Chris has had some part of his brain removed. Trust me: You'd wonder, too.

And then we climbed up to the top of the bleachers to sit down to wait for whatever it was I was supposed to "see," only I was having a lot of trouble concentrating because for some reason I was starting to get really, really sleepy and I'm sure it was probably because I'd been up for too many hours or something and not because Chris was going on and on and on and on and the sound of the blah blah blahblahblah was slowly lulling me into a coma, but every single time I tried to rest my head on his shoulder just for, you know a teeny tiny second, he would rudely and painfully punch me IN THE NECK and one doesn't have to be Freud to figure out what that symbolism means (NEVER MIND) and of course I kept trying to explain to him over and over that I was tired and could he please stop being such a jerk but he just kept yelling that I was going to "MISS IT" which just left me confused and wondering what the hell could be worth so much aggravation and then this happened:

And we didn't even get decapitated!
Sorry, Phil. But this is the Enterprise that was in my dream, so this is the one I have to use in this post because I strive for realism and accuracy around here. Obviously. This is a little something I like to call Blogging With Integrity.

The USS Enterprise NCC-1701 had suddenly appeared inside the gym (I DO NOT KNOW), zooming around and around over our heads and even though it turned out to be the only thing in the entire airshow it didn't even matter, because when someone's managed to arrange for the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 to fly around over your head, you don't really need anything else because anything else would just be a complete and total letdown anyway, unless maybe it was that balloon from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade that looks like Mr. Potato Head but really, probably not even that would cut it.

Cinnabon, anyone?

The last thing I remember about the dream is that right before I woke up I started looking excitedly all around the gym for Maureen, because I just knew she'd be totally interested in SEEING THE STARSHIP ENTERPRISE UP CLOSE!! Which, if you've been around here for any length of time at all, you know is completely absurd, because if given the choice Maureen would probably rather do just about anything else in the whole, entire world before intentionally trying to see the Enterprise up close –– including but not limited to drinking lighter fluid by the gallon and removing all of her skin with a cheese grater. Her feelings on the subject of all things Star Trek can be seen in the following exchange between the two of us which totally happened EXACTLY AS I'M RECOUNTING IT HERE*:

*Except for how we might have been out to dinner instead of on the bridge of the Enterprise and how she did actually know the people we were with (at least during the early part of the night when she was still relatively sober) and except for how I believe her exact words on the matter were, "I'D RATHER BE DEAD THAN GO SEE THAT MOVIE." (Also? Once I said, "That was Star WARS and not Star TREK" and she said, "Whatever. Same difference." I. KNOW.)

THE PATHETIC END.

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P.S. Also, as some of you may already be aware, Jose recently challenged me on Twitter to get this post up by midnight. Midnight last Saturday. Obviously I came really close because it's only Sunday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday OH CRAP WHATEVER. In my own defense, the fact that I lost totally wasn't my fault. That day when I sat down to finish, the electricity suddenly went out and then stayed out for like thirty seconds a REALLY LONG TIME and then after it finally came back on, Typepad briefly went down and by Typepad briefly went down I mean I logged off to play three-and-a-half hours of Lego Star Wars on my laptop. And then shortly after that I realized my Princess Leia wig was at the dry cleaners and how was I supposed to pose for reenactment photos with Chris at the local high school gym if my Princess Leia wig was at the dry cleaners? EXACTLY. And, of course, then I had to watch "Warbirds" on SyFy because I'd missed its original airing and had been waiting weeks and weeks to see it and trust me when I tell you that both the dialog and the acting were so catastrophically tragic that I made immediate plans to watch it at least half a dozen more times, which really has nothing to do with anything here because what was I talking about again? OH! My bet with Jose. And then Maureen popped up on my Blackberry and we spent some time talking back and forth about rollerskating as in "if we go to a rink in a few weeks do we need to practice first on the off chance we might accidentally die if we don't?" (Decision reached: YES WE DO; DEATH IS SCARY.) Then The Porcupine called and oh mahhh gahhhh speaking of death somebody please help me and after I recovered from that I got somewhat confused and disoriented playing a game of Mousey with Gus who kept changing the rules on me without bothering to explain any of them and how was I supposed to win a game under circumstances like that? NO ONE COULD. And then before I knew it, it was 12:01 AM and the only thing I'd written all day was, "Welcome back, everyone!" Which still seems kind of impressive until you realize that I put that line in just about every post.

P.S.S. As I was FINISHING this today, I noticed the following comments popping up on Twitter:

First of all, "FAILS?" That's just mean. Second of all, HA HA –– YOU'RE ALL SO, SO, SO, SO FUNNY. But who's having the last laugh now, people? ME. I AM. THAT'S WHO. Because you guys waited all this time...AND THEN I STUCK YOU WITH THIS BIG PIECE OF CRAP BLOG POST. My pleasure. (Though you'll notice there's no comment here from Phil. Because Phil doesn't care at all about this blog. Seriously, NO ONE SHOULD.)

P.S.S.S. I love and appreciate all of you people so much it's ridiculous. For real.

P.S.S.S.S. If you haven't already, please wander over to Mr. Farty's place to congratulate him on the arrival of his new granddaughter, Baby Farty, who may or may not have been born AND conceived during the writing of this particular post.

The Post Where I Answer Fan Mail On Account Of I Have Tons Of Fans!! (OH, OF COURSE I DON'T)

Today's post is dedicated to the lovely Mary of Twitter's seamusandmaggie fame! And guess what? She has her very own blog now and it's introspective and insightful and delightful and each time you visit there she offers you something pleasant like coffee or raspberry Sangria tea or a Gin and Tonic or Lorna Doone cookies or...huh. Now that I think about it, I never offer you people anything. Well, of course not. Do you think I'm going to waste my time saving cookies for you when I could be stuffing them down my yap by the fistfuls instead? EXACTLY. Anyway, speaking of blogs, Mary recently went through this one and read like each and every post I've ever published, and then afterward she told me she had a stomach ache from laughing so hard. Which, I'm assuming, is code speak for your blog makes me sick. Well, of course it does! Welcome to the club, Mary –– population Everyone Who's Ever Been Here; club president, Ryan. (He's been getting sick here since almost the beginning.) Please note, however, that as a public service to my readers, I do try my best to keep posting to a minimum so as to ensure that none of you actually dies from this crap. So really? It's like I'm blogging and SAVING LIVES. My pleasure.

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Welcome back, everyone! For today's post we'll be getting interactive as I answer some of your fan mail. Because, as you can imagine, I get a lot of fan mail. And not just from my mother either. As far as you know. HAHA! Of course my fan mail isn't from my mother. That's absurd. It's from, you know, other people. Who aren't my mother. Because this blog has completely taken over the interwebs. And by taken over the interwebs I mean nobody reads this crap, not even my mother.

Okay. Let's get started:

"Hi, Lesley! I totally love your blog more than any other blog in the world! I mean Camilla has a blog but it's all, "Blah blah I bought a new hat today" and "Boo hoo, I didn't get to have tea until 4:30 this afternoon" and honest to God does anyone even care about these things? I KNOW I DON'T. Anyway. I was wondering if you had any updates on Buster? Because I LOVE that dog!! By the way: Did I mention how much I love your blog, too? If you were in my country, I'd totally make you Queen." - Charles, Prince of Wales*

* SEE????!?!?!?!? I TOLD YOU.

Hi Charles! To begin with, I think we can all agree that I was pretty much born to be a queen. Because –– speaking of pretty –– I totally am, and I also happen to look AMAZING in a crown and what other talents could I possibly need to be a successful queen? That's what I thought. So, you just say the word and I'm there. I mean can you imagine how this blog would totally take off if I moved "Um...What??" headquarters to a castle?! Because do you even know how great the acoustics are in a castle??? Which of course has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that few things guarantee a blog's meteoric rise to success the way having good acoustics does. I'm assuming. Well, except maybe for Photoshopping. OH! And having a cat to write about. Anyway. I'll change my blog's name to, "Um...What Did the Queen Say Again?" and then I'll write all kinds of brilliant and royal things in it, after which I'll run around every day offing various people's heads and eating crumpets (WTF? I have no idea) and then ordering more people's heads to be offed because if you had any idea at all what my life is currently like, you'd totally understand how much I would really appreciate being able to OFF SOME DAMN PEOPLE'S HEADS.

 

Okay, seriously: What was I talking about again? OH! Buster!! Well, Charles, I'm so glad you asked. Of all the topics I've ever covered on this blog, where covered equals writing while having absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, Buster is the subject people most often ask about.

So, Charles, I offer all of you this little glimpse into what Buster's been up to as of late:

Some pictures are worth a thousand words, but this one is worth about TENTEEN GAGILLION. (I mean, seriously: LOOK AT THIS.)

On the subject of royalty, Buster has gone from a homeless, kazoo-playing dog on the side of the road to, well, a king –– with a castle and a kingdom and a family all his own. And in that family is a boy. Buster's boy. The one Buster loves above all others. The one Buster enthusiastically and loyally defers to because in Buster's world, his boy is his king. Once misunderstood and mislabeled as vicious and dangerous because of his particular breed, Buster has gone from a prisoner on doggy death row to the steadfast and loving and gentle protector of his boy and his boy's world. (Chris totally loves this part, by the way. SOMEBODY PLEASE GET HIM A TISSUE.) Because while Buster loves everyone, he totally lives for his boy. And if you don't think this curls my toes and waters my eyes and swells my heart, well, you're either new here or you're clinically dead. And in the case of the latter, you'd probably be better off somewhere else, anyway.

Buster's boy and his wonderful parents had to go away for a few days recently (and by recently I mean like a couple months ago BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I DO IT AROUND HERE), so Team Buster had a reunion of sorts: Buster went back to stay with Kim (who had previously taken him in while we were searching for his home), and then I came over for THE BEST PLAY DATE EVER:

Plus, I totally forgot who I was for about 17 minutes. And no, I am not flipping you off. Unless you're Jared, and then really? You will never know.

Oh dear god. These are like the worst pictures of me EVER. How am I going to be Queen looking like that? Wait. Do I really look like that?? For those of you who are suddenly concerned that I actually might, don't worry...I am too. So on that note, I just went and took these pictures of myself to assure us all that sometimes I am actually very, very pretty:

CRAP.
Why hasn't anyone ever told me how pointy everything is on my face? Also, I am so yellow because I DO NOT KNOW WHY I AM SO YELLOW. Damn camera settings. Aperture? WTF? And you can thank Jose for the picture on the right. If I can't take pictures like him, I'll take pictures that look like him.
In addition? PARKAY.

OH WHATEVER. Enough of this nonsense. There is one more thing that should be noted about Buster before we move on to our next letter: In the event of an emergency (or a non-emergency, or any time at all, really), Buster will become a flotation device:

Swimming laps around his castle's moat. Or his grandma's pool. Whichever.

As it turns out, Buster loves the water so much that if given the opportunity, he will swim a lap and get out and jump back in and swim a lap and get out and jump back in and swim a lap and get out and jump back in over and over and over and over until his muscles are so fatigued he'll hobble around the entire next day like an old man who's lost his cane. "Wouldn't you just love to know what he was thinking?" his mom asked me the other day.

Indeed.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Dear Lesley: So what's that Chris guy been doing lately? His life seems totally fun and exciting!! I think he's who people really want to know about, not some dog. Although they probably want to know about the dog more than they want to know about you." –– Chris Christine  P.S. Your blog kind of sucks.

Hi, um, Christine. First of all, yeah yeah, this blog sucks. BLAH BLAH SEE OPENING PARAGRAPH. Secondly, if you've been around here for any length of time, you can probably already guess what Chris has been doing. The same thing he's always doing. This:

This was just a little while ago. Look familiar? Also, I'm very concerned about these poor girls having to play football without protective gear. Or their clothes.

For those of you who have asked me what "this" is that Chris is always doing, it's called accounting. HAHA! Good one! Like anyone can do math with so many boobs everywhere. The nearest I can figure after all these years is that Chris has taken it upon himself to be some kind of savior-slash-superhero to scantily-clad women everywhere. Ladies? Have you've misplaced your clothes? Or worse, has someone stolen them? Never fear, Chris is here!! He will faithfully stand by you in your hour of need and then take a picture of both of you while he does so he can e-mail it to all his friends and put it up on his Facebook page. It should be clarified, however, that I've recently confirmed via the scientific method my suspicion that Chris is a savior-slash-superhero to scantily clad women everywhere except the ones who are me:

 
And then I caught pneumonia and died. Which is why it took me so long to get this post up. BLAME CHRIS.

* * * * * * * * * *

"So. You haven't blogged in like fourteen years or something. I'm thinking of using the Mayan calendar (Editor's Note: I HAD NO IDEA EITHER) to track your posts even though I think doing that will just assure you never get anything else up before the world ends. What gives??" –– Maureen (OH! But totally not your BFF Maureen though!) (Because a BFF would NEVER give her friend so much crap!) (Um...yeah.)

Hi Maureen! First of all, I had to look up that Mayan calendar thing on Google and I see what you did there. An unknown number of elapsed days from a mythological starting-point? Clever, really. Second of all, PLEASE SEE PREVIOUS ITEM ABOUT HOW I DIED OF PNEUMONIA. Third of all, I am a very, very busy person and cannot just sit around blogging all the time. For example, just a week or so ago I traveled all the way to Edinburgh, Scotland (THAT IS IN ANOTHER COUNTRY, BY THE WAY) to visit cherished Um...What?? family member, Mr. Farty!:

 
You: WTF?? That's not you. That's JOSE.

Okay, FINE. Jose was the one who met Mr. Farty. Not me. But it should've been me, too! On account of, you know, THIS:

Do you all know my interwebs boyfriend #1 and interwebs boyfriend #2?

HOWEVER, even though I didn't actually go to Scotland, that doesn't negate the fact that I am very, very busy doing other things like that one time when I....hold on, it'll come to me...OH! Okay, the other day I...alright honestly, WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME? Sometimes when you are very, very busy (AS I AM) it's hard to keep track of everything you're doing and so you write things down but if you don't have your calendar in front of you then you can't always remem...OKAY FINE I NEVER DO ANYTHING WHATSOEVER AT ALL. Why don't you try doing nothing whatsoever at all and then tell me what it is YOU would write about in your blog? Exactly.

* * * * * * * * * *

And now for our final letter:

"Dear Lesley: You're so pretty and so funny and so good at Photoshop, all of which are very important qualities in a wife. Will you marry me???" –– Name Withheld So As To Save Author Any Embarrassment

No, I will not. JARED.

* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. I totally love this picture but couldn't find a place to work it in, so I decided to stick it on the end of the post here because that's the kind of thing you do when you have a black belt in blogging. WHICH I DO:

Yeah, right. Brad Pitt wishes he was this good looking.

P.S.S. That letter from Maureen is TOTALLY TRUE except for the part how it wasn't actually a letter but instead was a series of tweets back and forth between Jose and her that were all "Mayan Calendar this" and "OMG growing old that" and blah blah blah IT IS VERY, VERY HARD TO BE ME. Obviously.

This Post Is Totally All About The Scientific Method...And Boobs

Note: This is not the previously mentioned cow post, which is still in the works and set to be released shortly. And –– as you can imagine –– it's going to be awesome! And by awesome, I mean this:

 

I know. It's mind-boggling.

* * * * * * * * * *

Welcome back, everyone! Today is WHAT-THE-F*CK-IS-THIS-CRAP WEDNESDAY here at Um...What?? This will be the first of many weekly installments (where the first of many equals the only one I ever do) in which I will post something totally pointless and useless that makes you all stop and go, "WHAT THE F*CK IS THIS CRAP??" and then oh, hey! It's just like every single other posting day in the entire history of this blog. Yay!

Today's installment of WHAT-THE-F*CK-IS-THIS-CRAP WEDNESDAY will illustrate how Team Um...What?? remains at the forefront of modern scientific investigation and discovery. Whatever you need to know? You can be sure we will find it out. Because we have advanced degrees and black belts in a little something known as the scientific method which is a method wherein science is used methodically and blah blah blah ALBERT EINSTEIN, etc.

Let us begin:

Last night, in the midst of a typical online exchange between Chris and me where we talk about important, topical issues of the day such as the upcoming remake of Red Dawn or people who are annoying, he sent me the following:

"What's NOT retarded is me sitting on my couch with 3D glasses watching people get sliced and diced by a crazy miner."

Backtracking for a moment, perhaps you all might remember this post from a while ago where I postulated from various facts at my disposal that all scientists wear 3D glasses, so if Team Um...What?? started wearing 3D glasses, we would all be scientists too! (Believe me. This line of reasoning is a lot more scientific than it appears at first glance.)

 

Giving NASA scientists a run for their money.

Then, in response, Um What's resident scientist Laurie confirmed my postulation as 100% accurate in this excellent follow-up post.

 

This is Laurie! Laurie wears 3D glasses. Laurie is a scientist. Therefore, everyone who wears 3D glasses IS A SCIENTIST.

I know. It's highly advanced logic. Don't question it.

So, returning to last night, Chris wearing his 3D glasses while watching –– as it turns out –– the 3D whore horror flick My Bloody Valentine  (which contains, I am told, 30 gagillion gratuitous shots of some blond chick's boobs) equals CHRIS IS A SCIENTIST which, furthermore, equals Team Um...What?? continues to be at the forefront of modern scientific investigation and discovery.

Because –– as if I even need to remind any of you:

And 17 other scientific disciplines.

Note: Model's identity hidden to prevent her from having to be seen associating with Chris in public.

And in conclusion –– which in the scientific community is knows as a conclusion –– this:

 

The End.

* * * * * * * * * *

You: What the f*ck is this crap???

Exactly.

I Might Have Made Up Some Of This (EXCEPT FOR THAT I TOTALLY DIDN'T)

Welcome back, everyone! Times are exciting here around the Um...What?? headquarters these days, because look who's finally here!:

Yes. That Jared.

Because as it turns out? My friend Jared does read this blog! You know, now. After I finally was all, "JUST READ IT!" and then he was all, "The hell?? YUCK I DO NOT EVEN LIKE YOU!" and then I was all, "But I wrote about you in it!" and then he was all click click CLICKCLICKCLICK, "I TOTALLY LOVE THIS BLOG MORE THAN ANY OTHER BLOG IN THE WORLD!!"

So, now not only is Jared a regular reader (HAHA! No one can read regularly around this blog and you are welcome all you people with hundreds of posts stacking up in your readers –– I'm lookin' at you, Mr. Farty and Scientist Laurie), but he also might officially join Team Um...What??!

HAHA –– how ridiculous! Of course there's no free beer here. I have no idea where he got this impression.
 
By the way: This illustration? That looks so much like Jared that it's just like Jared is looking into a mirror right now? Chris drew it. I KNOW!! I couldn't find anything existing that looked at all like Jared* so I asked Chris to draw something in the style of his own illustration so he did whatever it is he does in Illustrator with his graphic tablet and paths and points and fills and strokes and blah blah nobody really knows for sure and then TA DA! Twenty-five minutes later the world's most perfect image of Jared was born! Which, you know, BIG DEAL. I'm totally sure I could have drawn it myself except for the fact that I am very, very busy. Occasionally.
 

* Note to all iStock illustrators: There are men in the world with beard-like facial hair who also aren't leprechauns for your information.

By the way: Did any of you notice anything different about Chris's illustration?
  

Luxurious.

      
Anyway. Today's post will celebrate the fine art of conversation as we spend some time getting to know Jared, who has agreed to sit down and answer some questions for all of us because I told him there would be free beer here he totally loves this blog more than any other blog in the world! And if it's any indication of how it's probably going to go, when I told him I'd make up crap myself if he didn't want to do this, Jared assured me his answers would be crap anyway, so I could add his crap to my crap and then I could have one totally crappy blog post. Which would have been a really generous offer except for the fact that I can write a totally crappy blog post just fine all by myself, thank you very much. (See: every single other blog post I've ever written.)

Let's get started!

Hey! Thanks for sitting down to talk with me.
Where's the beer?

SO. What uniquely qualifies you to join Team Um…What?? What specific skills do you bring to the table?
Gee, that’s a good question. I’m not much of a “Team” player, and my skill set is very general. I do own a computer on which I can keep up to date with the latest Um…What?? news. Does that count?

Sure! Good answer. We're off to an excellent start here. Now: Why do you read this blog? Is it because you’re afraid of what I’ll do to you if you don’t?
Because I heard that I was mentioned in it.

So what you're saying is that your love of yourself is greater than your fear of me?
What I'm saying is where is the beer?

This blog’s tagline is, “Fueled By Random, Pointless Tangents.” What would your personal tagline be?
“Fueled By Anger, Loud Music and Miller Lite.”

Describe yourself in three additional words.
Hungry. Bitter. Hilarious.

I'm always hungry too! Plus, sometimes I'm bitter and I am so totally hilarious ALL THE TIME!! Just ask anyone! Do you think this mean we're soul mates?
We are NOT soul mates. Good god. And you're not really that funny either. Sorry.
   

           

I see. So now describe me in three words, one of which will not be "funny." Apparently. JERK.
Did you just call me a jerk?

NO. What the hell? Stop trying to stall. Describe me in three words, please.
Cat Lady. Modest. Bloggy.

Okay. You do know that's four words right? Did you fail math in school?
No, because I am fully aware that three beers plus one beer equals FOUR BEERS. And yet I don't have even one beer. What the hell is that about?

Speaking of things a person needs, can you loan me $50?
Sure, if you don’t mind getting it in installments.

Don't you think –– you know,  since we're friends and all –– that the appropriate answer to that question would be that you'd just GIVE me money? Meaning I wouldn't have to pay you back?
Friends give friends beer.
     
      
         
        
               
I'm sure they do. Anyway, MC is a total jerk for the way he never comments on this blog, right? 
We’re supposed to comment on the blog?

No. You're not supposed to. But wouldn't you LIKE to? I mean isn't this blog entertaining and inspiring like that?
Seriously?

Never mind. Okay. What is something about you most people wouldn’t know?
There’s a reason people don’t know. There’s some dark sh*t going on here.

Oh, please. There's nothing dark going on with you. This from a guy whose license plate is ILVHUGS. You're totally ducking the question, which would annoy me except for the fact that there's no way anyone is still paying any attention here so, you know, whatever.

Moving on. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
Only one thing?

Well, I'd have to agree with that answer. I shouldn’t change anything about me though, right?
Umm…uh…hmmm…uh…no.

Way too much hesitation, dude.
Way not enough beer.

What is it about me that you find the most inspirational?
Your ability to find time to update your blog…occasionally.

First of all, everyone's a damn critic. Second of all, like anyone wants me to post more often.
Good point.

If I die before you, will you come to my funeral? What will you wear? If you die first, what will you leave me in your will?
If you go before me, I will wear my nicest Metallica T-shirt to your funeral. If I die, I will leave you my nicest Metallica T-shirt.

Of course this would be the shirt after I tailored it. Jared doesn't wear girl shirts. Sometimes.
Also, notice how I combined two images together but then was too lazy to match the skin tones. This is what's known as I Am An Inspirational Photoshopper.

Besides your favorite Metallica t-shirt, what are five things you love?
Baseball, heavy metal, TV, sushi, answering questions for friends’ blogs

Why am I not on that list?
Next question.

Speaking of me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how pretty am I?  (With 1 being “Completely Pretty” and 10 being “totally pretty.”)
I would have to say about a 5, which I think is “thoroughly pretty.”

Really, dude? Not even a full five but about a five?? Middle-of-the road FIVE? Did you really think this would be an acceptable answer? Just so you know, I'm gonna call Chris right now and show you how it should be done. Listen and learn:

Chris: What's up?

Me: On a scale of 1 to 10 –– with 1 being "Completely Pretty" and 10 being "Totally Pretty" –– how pretty would you say I am?

Chris (with not even one millisecond of hesitation): 5 million! Prettiest girl ever!!

Me: Thank you. (CLICK)

* * * * * * * * * *

SEE?! Would it really have killed you to say something like that?
You do know you were on the phone, right? And that I couldn't hear anything on the other end? I bet that wasn't even Chris on the line.

Well IT WAS and he thinks I am FIVE MILLION PRETTY.

Nobody is five million pretty.

I am.

No you're not. Although you might look better IF I HAD THAT BEER YOU MENTIONED. And are we done here yet?

No.

Oh! And speaking of Chris:
    

Flowing.

    
     
    
        
MC should stop sending me e-mails about how awesome this blog is and should start leaving me official comments instead, don’t you think?
Great. Not only are we supposed to make official comments, but now we can’t just send e-mails? Ugh.

LOOK. I am not asking you to take Cyanide pills. IT WILL NOT KILL YOU, OMG GEEEEEZ. Okay. Continuing. What do you like best about yourself?
That I was asked to join Team Um…What??

You do know you're still on probation though, right? The jury's still out on you. Not just anyone gets to be on the team.
I find that hard to believe since Chris is here.

I know. But that was an accident. I can assure you. So. Why don’t you like Fort Minor? Everyone knows Mike Shinoda is way, way, WAY more talented than Metallica.
I have to plead ignorance on this question. It just doesn’t make any sense. 

Huh. Ignorance. I'm sensing a theme here.
Wait. What?

Nothing. So. You used to be a sportswriter. What do you think of my post on slopestyle snowboarding? Maybe I could be a sportswriter, too??
It was good, but with two critiques: too much use of the word “adorable,” and it should have been about skiing. Or baseball.

What? I'll give you the baseball thing, but honestly dude. You must have been a terrible sportswriter, because you obviously have no idea what you're talking about on that first thing.

I rest my case.

What is your greatest accomplishment in life so far? What is your biggest goal you’ve yet to accomplish?
Getting asked to join Team Um…What??; taking the time to start my own blog.

Do you know Photoshop?
No.

Then you can't blog. Give it up.
What?

Just trust me. Anyway. If the world suddenly ran out of beer, what would you do?
Start doing hard drugs.

Hard drugs? Dude. This is a FAMILY blog.
It is?

Of course not.
  

Hi Chris!

In conclusion...
Oh thank god.

...is there anything else you’d like to add that hasn’t already been covered here?
First of all, after re-thinking through the questions and my answers to them, I seem to be a very simple person defined by two things: Beer and Metallica. Wow, I guess I AM pretty cool. Thanks Um…What?? Second of all, BEER NOW??

Seriously, dude. Let it go.

(DID I MENTION THAT CHRIS DREW THIS IMAGE OF JARED???)

Oh yeah. One last thing:
    

So silken.

Updated To Increase Overall Fanciness: This Blog Is A Stinking Bugger! (Or Maybe I Am?) Plus: We Should Totally Bring Back Microfiche!

Hey, Um Whaters! Remember around this time last year when this blog won the Blogger's Choice Award for Best Blog of All Time? (You: WTF? THAT NEVER HAPPENED.) Alright, maybe it didn't. But all that matters is that it totally could have! (You: OMG DELUSIONAL. DO YOU EVEN READ YOUR OWN BLOG?) Oh, come on! I mean what if...OKAY FINE. It'll never win for the best blog of all time. Ever. HAPPY NOW? But I don't even care because what it could win is WORST Blog of All Time which would be so many more kinds of awesome except that at this point I'd need at least 248 votes to win and that doesn't really make any sense because if my blog sucked that badly, why would 248 people know about it? Oh whatever. I am very bad at math. And logic. Apparently. Anyway, why I am even talking about this? Who cares?! I don't need a Blogger's Choice award because I have something way better. I have THIS:

That's right! Mr. Farty's Stinking Bugger Award!
Huh.

An award! From Mr. Farty! I mean it just makes me feel like...okay. Seriously, dude? I'm over here blogging my a$$ off when I actually remember to (SO??), and you can't award my Herculean efforts with something slightly more fancy?

   

Bugger Bling!
See? Now would this really have been so hard?

And for those of you thinking I'm just inventing pointless excuses to use Photoshop, all I can say is well, obviously. But that doesn't change the fact that we ARE very fancy here around the Um...What?? headquarters. As a matter of fact we insist on it because even if times are tough and the world is kicking our a$$es, we know we've gotta fake it 'til we make it and not let the chips get us down and never forget for one moment that success is an attitude so we'd better make sure that no matter what, we never fail to dress for it:

This is totally for real. As if I could make up something this ridiculous.

(Image updated 4/7/09 to add even more realism in the form of further Bedazzling Maureen. Because she requested it –– "Why is your bling bigger than my bling? I have NO JEWELS!" –– and because NOT EVERYTHING HERE IS ALWAYS MY FAULT.)

  

For those of you who don't know exactly what the Stinking Bugger Award is, let me explain it to you this way: I don't either. But I've been doing a lot of research –– which, if you must know –– is the reason why it's taken me so long to get this post up. I'm not just going to slap together some useless menagerie of crap I totally made up (OH, OF COURSE I AM) because you people deserve better than that. (TOO BAD, I'M BUSY.)

ANYWAY, after finding nothing for "stinking bugger" on Wikipedia –– which made me really disoriented at the time because I thought you could find EVERYTHING on Wikipedia?? –– I decided to go to my local library to do some microfiche research because that's what I saw MacGyver do once which I am totally not making up except for the part about it being MacGyver because I think it actually might have been Angela Lansbury in Murder She Wrote but that is just like six of one/half dozen of another so what difference does it make? But then I was told my library doesn't even HAVE microfiche anymore (WTF?? GOOGLE IS TOTALLY KILLING THE MODERN LIBRARY), so I was forced to try to find information in their Encyclopedia Britannica collection and you can imagine how that went. (Dear Encyclopedia Britannica: Please make your books smell slightly less delicious because then maybe a girl could get some actual research done instead of just sitting around all day sniffing the bindings and getting slightly more than mildly high.) And then while deciding what to do next I got all sidetracked by accidentally having a personal identity crisis (oopsie!) which may or may not have been directly related to the previously-blogged-about Porcupine crisis. Suddenly, I found myself questioning pretty much everyone and everything in my life, and by pretty much I mean there wasn't much about it that was pretty at all. Just ask Chris, who had the misfortune of being the one in the closest physical proximity to me during most of it. It went kind of like the following. Only for a much longer, drawn out period of time. And involving much more of my own snot than is indicated here:

  

  

  

This series of pictures is totally like a bad high school drama club production where the actors are all looking at the audience and not each other while awkwardly delivering their lines. WHICH IS SO AWESOME.

Oh, but enough of all that. Besides, you can see how I got back on point there in the end, right?? Even a slight mental breakdown cannot waylay my never-ending quest for knowledge! And you'll be happy to know that when all was said and done, my extensive research yielded just the kind of results you'd expect from such a tireless and dedicated effort: None.

So, just like all of you, I'm still left here to wonder what exactly is a Stinking Bugger?? Is it a fart? Is it a person who's full of sh*t like a fart? Is it a person who's full of sh*t like a fart and then pollutes the interwebs with their gas-infested blogging efforts? OKAY. SERIOUSLY?? Why do I even care so much about the specifics? ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE SO EQUALLY MAJESTIC* that it doesn't even matter which one it is I've been awarded for because regardless, THIS BLOG CAN NOW OFFICIALLY BE DEEMED 100% SUCCESSFUL! Quick. Someone bend over and then set Um...What?? on fire!!

*Someone has been studying her thesaurus on the off-chance she might be using the word AWESOME too much.

Although on a final note, the picture on the Stinking Bugger Award that looks like some kind of an alien does sort of throw me off, because I really don't know what THAT has to do with anything. To be perfectly honest.

Oh.
  
* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. Click here to visit Mr. Farty's blog, "Better Oot Than In" –– home of the Stinking Bugger!

Pointlessly Updated TWICE: I'm Totally Like The Charles Schulz Of Bloggers (Except For That I Can't Draw)

    
Updated 3/25 to add: Apparently, besides being the Charles Schulz of Bloggers, I'm also just like David Lynch. Or so says XUP. Which, not that I need to point it out, IS AWESOME. But it does remind me to mention that you should skip this post entirely. DO NOT BOTHER. It's one of those Porcupine-themed posts that goes on and on while saying pretty much nothing and hey –– what do you know?! That is just like every single other post I've ever written! Because –– in cases like this anyway –– when I "write" (HAHA!) about The Porcupine I never actually "write" about The Porcupine due to a little thing I like to call The Porcupine is very, very private or YOU DO NOT EVEN WANT TO KNOW IT IS SO BORING. Trust me.

* * * * * * * * * *

Welcome back, Um Whaters! Remember how I wrote in my last post that this blog smells like a massive fart? (You: We don't need reminding WE'RE SMELLIN' IT RIGHT NOW.) Well, that got me to thinking about other things that totally stink around here (NO, NOT CHRIS but, you know, good one!), which caused me to accidentally* Photoshop the following pictures in the form of a short, graphic tale depicting how the last two weeks have stunk like a massive fart! OH, WHO AM I KIDDING? If only they smelled half that good.

*I swear I don't know how these things happen. But there's no way any of it's my fault. Obviously. And the fact that I would MARRY PHOTOSHOP if someone would let me has absolutely nothing to do with anything I'm talking about here.

Anyway. On with the pictures. Because yes you have to look at them, so STOP WHINING ABOUT IT. And don't worry –– the story has a happy ending (YOU: OMG. ZZZZ.):

My Ongoing Adventures In Porcupining –– The First Of Many Installments!!
(Unless this is the only installment I do.)
(Which is highly likely on account of most of the time I can't remember I even have a blog, let alone that I'm supposed to follow up on something for it.)

    



   

   

  
 
  



Curin' what ails me.


Havin' my back.


I honestly have no idea how this helps me at all.
     

I totally love these people. I hope all of you people have people like this.
  

And by the way: To clarify, this is all symbolic of the latest in my situation with The Porcupine. It's the situation that's been kicking my a$$ –– not the actual Porcupine himself! Because The Porcupine is the singular best person I know (which is saying a lot when you consider these three people here), and he would spend all day flogging himself in order to spare others pain and that is a huge part of why we're in this situation and blah blah blah never mind the details, just know that none of this is literal, and by none of this is literal I mean can anyone loan me a medically-induced coma?

But don't worry everyone! (You: WE'RE. NOT.) No matter what gets thrown at The Porcupine and me, we always manage to find our way through it. Because we go together. Like Mo and martinis. Like peanut butter and jelly. Like rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga dong. Oh yeah: And like hugging and bodily injury:

And by the way part two: Am I the only one who noticed that this post is totally like Um...What: The Comic Strip?? I KNOW!! Sure to be syndicated any day now in ZERO newspapers and on even fewer websites everywhere.
   

* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. Updated a few hours later to add: The Porcupine has lipstick on because I just KISSED HIM and not because he's into that kind of thing as far as you know. HAHA! Not really! The lipstick is there to symbolize how even when it all sucks butt there is still love and la la la come over here and doo doo doo lemme kiss you and if this update was any more tragically romantic it would totally have to come with a barf bucket. Which, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't really know how to pull off unless these things have already become a reality. (Wait. Have they? Anyone? Scientist Laurie?) OH I DON'T KNOW. As usual.

This Blog Smells As Bad As A Massive Fart...Evidently (It Also Has A Hidden Zombie In It!)

Today's post begins with two shout outs:

The first is to loyal and much loved Um What?? family member, Debra. Debra's been here since the earliest days –– you know, back when this blog was simpler. And posts were shorter. And they didn't have any Photoshopping in them. In other words, Debra has stuck around to witness this blog's downward spiral into total crap. Poor Thanks, Debra!

The second is to my friend Jared who I think is a reader here, though I can't be totally sure due to the fact that he's never actually admitted it. Just like my friend MC. Because admitting in public that you read Um What?? basically has the same effect on people as telling them you have Bird Flu. Or the Black Death. Or that you're going to massively fart in their general direction. It sends everyone running and screaming from the room. Apparently.

Despite this, Jared has actually appeared here once before. Anonymously. Pictured on a coffee cup. FOR NO REASON. Which of course is ridiculous and doesn't really make any sense at all because if Jared's face belongs anywhere for no reason it's not on a coffee cup. This is an error I will fix immediately, and by fix immediately I mean this:

     

And Maureen actually publicly admits she reads this blog. Jared. And not only when she's drinking martinis, either. Hopefully. But just wait, dude: You'll be singing a totally different tune when Um...What?? becomes totally, hugely popular one day. HAHA! GOOD ONE!
  

Okay. Enough of all this. Let's get down to the actual point of this post. And by actual point I mean oh dear god, of course this post has no point. Are you new here? But there WILL be picture after picture after picture of the exact same chair. It's going to be just as awesome as it sounds. Trust me.

     
* * * * * * * * * *

Welcome back, everyone! I know, I know. Posting's been way light around here, even by our standards, though this really shouldn't matter much to you because if you come here you obviously don't care at all about standards. Regardless, please accept the apologies of everyone at Um...What?? headquarters. It's just that we've been bogged down in work and there are seriously not enough hours in the day. Because just like back in 2008, this new year finds us equally overwhelmed with so, so, so much to do. I mean, honestly: It's a wonder this post is even getting published at all.
    

I seriously need an assistant.
   

Among all the recent developments around here, the most noteworthy would certainly have to be this:

The arrival of the new chair!! (Pictured above! Pictured below! And then pictured below after that! And then yet again after that and so on and so forth and I am a blogging Sensei. Learn from me.)
      

 

If you've been around here for any length of time, it may have previously come to your attention that I have no a$$*. And not in an I'M BRAGGING LOOKIT MY PRETTY PETITE LITTLE HINEY kind of way, but more along the lines of it never ceases to amaze me that I can ever manage to successfully sit down.

*Of course I am not totally without ass on account of, you know, THIS:
        

We have all met Chris by now, yes?

And speaking of Chris? He was doing this all last week –– which really has nothing to do with anything I'm talking about here except for the fact that who doesn't like a good pair of boobs, right? How about eight pairs? That's SIXTEEN BOOBS, people:
       
 
Poor Chris. It really is as horrifying as it looks.
(This gratuitous use of boobs in a blog is brought to you by my shameless attempt to grow Um What's male readership!)

ANYWAY. Before the arrival of the new chair, my poor, bony, sad excuse for a butt was forced to write in this blog while sitting on any one of the following:
  

Oh, of course it's not really made of concrete. CONCRETE WOULD BE SOFTER.


User Tip: Down couch cushions are NEVER a good idea. Take it from me. Eventually they just end up squished beyond all reason –– bony butt or not. I don't sit on this couch so much as I slump down into it. It's designed less for relaxing and more for being slowly eaten alive. It's like having a couch made of quicksand WHICH WOULD BE AWESOME, except for that there's not really any quicksand involved, so instead of being awesome, it's really just ergonomically incorrect or a big-a$$ piece of sh*t.


That's right. I sit here. On All The Above Monstrosities. And blog. FOR YOU PEOPLE. I am seriously like the Patron Saint of Uncomfortable Blogging. Only more saintly. And way more uncomfortable. WAY.

So after much waiting and wishing and scrimping and saving and then having to start completely over on the scrimping and saving part due to my tendency to lose focus and accidentally spend what I save on Michael Kors handbags and Belvedere vodka (oopsie!), I finally got my hands on the extra cash I needed to bring home the world's most enormously awesome and comfortable chair!

WHICH I THEN COULD NOT EVEN SIT ON DUE TO THE FACT MOSES THE CAT APPARENTLY TOOK OUT A MORTGAGE ON IT. Or something.
      

Five seconds after chair was delivered.
   

Basically every single subsequent second for the following week:
  

   

   

   

           

Of course, I'm just kidding. HAHA! Moses The Cat isn't the boss of me, obviously, because that would just be ridiculous and I am the one in charge here and I can sit on my big, new chair whenever Moses The Cat lets me I want to!! SEE??:

    

And before you say it, YES I KNOW THIS BOOB SHOT ISN'T EXACTLY THE SAME. Seriously. I'M DOIN' THE BEST I CAN, PEOPLE. Also? I can't understand why I don't blog more often, considering how infrequently I nap.

But these days it really is share and share alike here in New Chairville. As a matter of fact, Moses the Cat and I are sitting together on it right now as I slap together craft this piece of sh*t amazing post!:

View from my side of the chair.
This shot originally looked pretty bad. Then I added a special filter layer to it in Photoshop, and now it looks totally worse.

And all this togetherness got me to thinking about my really big, super-huge, enormously awesome chair and how having just Moses The Cat and me sitting on it seems like such a waste. We can all fit on here, people! Climb aboard! Let's set sail!! Because the bloggy family that traverses the bumpy seas of life together probably just ends up barfing all over each other. Fun!
 

Slightly more doomed than The Titanic.
The above image was updated 3/25 to add Donna, the very lovely and adorable and loyal Um...What?? family member I inadvertently left off the first go 'round. I blame the failing economy. And Chris.

And on the subject of fun? Now I can blog, blog, blog in total and utter comfort!!
  

        

     

Awesome.
You: OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NOBODY WANTS YOU TO BLOGBLOGBLOG.
 

And finally, I'm pretty sure my next new chair's probably going to be one of these:
  

Solvin' two of my problems at once.

And speaking of big butts:
   

Oh, like this is some kind of a surprise.

* * * * * * * * *

P.S. So, how many of you spotted the hidden zombie?? This post is totally like "Where's Waldo?", only in this case Waldo's undead and wants to eat your brains out. Gather the kiddies 'round!

P.S.S. Okay, so seriously: Jared probably doesn't even read this blog and I'm all, "Why don't you admit it, jerk?!" and "Hey, yer a BUTT" and I bet if I ever said anything to him, he'd be all, "I don't even know WTF you're talking about! It's bad enough I have to work with you. You think I'd read your stupid blog too? And anyways, I didn't even know you HAD a blog." And then he'd give me the finger and leave and go back to his office and blast some Metallica until a lesser person's ears would bleed because Jared LOVES Metallica and then –– OMG! –– I would start a second blog all about Metallica and then maybe he'd read THAT. It probably wouldn't be very good though, since I don't really know a lot about Metallica. Then again I don't know shi*t about anything I write in this blog either, but that never stops me.

P.S.S.S.: And just to put a period on this whole post, on Friday I tweeted something about tattooing a bunch of people's Twitter handles on my butt. To which the lovely and aforementioned Debra answered the following:
      

SEE??

And By "Soon" I Mean Before The Second Coming Of Jesus (WHO TOTALLY LOVES THIS BLOG, BY THE WAY)

Added to clarify:  This is not a real post. This is just a little something I put up to tide you all over until I can finish the actual post I'm currently working on. And by tide you all over I mean clearly this blog has absolutely no creative standards whatsoever.

* * * * * * * * * *

For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter (which I can only assume is because I still remain the UNDISCOVERED JEWEL OF THE INTERWEBS), I offer up these screen shots of some of my tweets from last night to assure you too that yes, a real post is coming. And if you don't use Twitter at all (which, now that I think about it, could be another reason you don't follow me), things you write on Twitter are called "tweets" because Twitter has a bird logo and I guess birds tweet (Wait...right? Like Tweety Bird?), and OKAY, EVEN THE FOUNDER OF TWITTER DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHY SO PLEASE STOP GRILLING ME.

(Not to be confused with Tweety Bird.)
Here I am doing in-depth research for this post. Because I totally do in-depth research for every single post I write. Because I am the Christiane Amanpour of bloggers.
  

Anyway. My tweets:

     

      

    
        
To which I got the following replies:
     

This is Laurie –– Um What's resident scientist!! Because all the smart people read this blog. For reasons I'm confident I don't actually need to explain to you people. And since I already know what you're wondering, yes, she does wear 3D glasses when she's working. Just like all the rest of us scientists do, because science is totally a multi-dimensional discipline. Or something.


Yes. That's a fart. BEING LIT ON FIRE.
(You:  OMG THAT IS AWESOME!!!! Follow follow follow follow followfollowfollowfollow!!!!)


You all remember Ryan, right? The one who said my posts give him "inner ear balance problems?" Lord knows what my tweets do to him, but he sticks around anyway so all I can figure is Ryan is a masochist and/or Ryan suffers from some form of serious mental defect. Please send him encouraging words of support.
     
* * * * * * * * * *

So, in conclusion, thank you three whole people who totally pretended to care that I'm late with my real post. Which, to reiterate, this is not. Because this is just a placeholder post, designed to sit here until the real post goes up sometime soon –– a little something I like to call Creating Another Vast Black Hole of Space On The Interwebs, or, as Mr. Farty calls them, the intertubes. Which I thought were actually things you rode down on snow banks? Or rivers, maybe? Oh, whatever.

UPDATED: It's Valentine's Day! Cuddle Up Close To Your Special Someone! (And Then Get Out The First Aid Kit) (OH AND MAYBE ALSO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM)

           

            

      
Because the only thing more romantic than getting flowers and chocolates is suffering several dozen flesh wounds.
  
Happy Valentine's Day, Um What-ers!

* * * * * * * * * *
2/15 Edited to add: For anyone who may be here for the first time, those are porcupine quills due to the fact that my love is of the prickly persuasion and NO I AM NOT PINHEAD.
   

Equally prickly!
This look is way sexier on me, though. Obviously.

This Is Not A Political Blog...But His Name Looks Like "Boner" So, You Know, What Do You People Want From Me??

Hey, Um What-ers! Are you all familiar with our House Minority Leader?:

No. Seriously. It's pronounced "Bayner."
And his first name is pronounced "Steve."
        

The above photo was taken during Mr. Boner's Bayner's Boehner's recent appearance on Meet The Press. And trust me when I say it was just as bad as it looks, where just as bad equals one hundred gagillion times worse and where one hundred gagillion times worse equals I had an aneurysm and died.

Mr. Boehner (pronounced "Stuffed Shirt With A Head") (Boner? Head? That's right.) was there to discuss President Obama's stimulus package. (Boner? Discussing Obama's package? OH LIKE I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO THOUGHT OF THIS.) And by discuss I mean he was there to say, "This package is no good" and "this is never, ever going to work at all" and "we should keep doing it the way we've always done it because that's the way we've always done it." The implication being –– obviously –– that the way we're doing it is working. Because although Mr. Boehner (pronounced "wah wah wah") is a United States Congressman, he actually doesn't LIVE in the United States. Or so it seems.)

 
Boehner: It's pronounced BONER.
    

By the way? This:

Famous Boners Throughout The Ages!:
  

Remember? Mike Seaver's friend? From Growing Pains?
       
Oh. I guess there was only one previously famous Boner? That seems like a waste. Might have to start calling Chris "Boner" in an attempt to remedy this.

Look. I am not a politician. Or an economist. Or a gold medal-winning Olympic figure skater. And can I tell you how much this last one sucks? I WAS ROBBED. Anyway. But I know our economy is in the crapper (case in point: my wallet only has a nickel and two pennies and a $986 Starbucks card in it) and that this stimulus package is designed to, you know, stimulate things. Do I really have to explain it?? Okay, fine: Obama's plan aims to invest in things like renewable energies and infrastructure to both create millions of jobs and address our country's sustainability problems, where sustainability problems equals I can't get to my mom's house because the world is out of gas for my car and three bridges are broke down in between her house and mine, which also means I guess I can't eat because hello? Who here doesn't already know Lesley can't cook for herself? The stimulus plan also includes tax breaks for both businesses and individuals as well as extensions of state benefits like Medicaid and unemployment. And in case you haven't noticed, I am VERY, VERY SMART where very, very smart equals I can't understand sh*t without CNN's Ali Velshi explaining it to me fifteen times.

Of course Mr. Boehner (pronounced "Boner-I-don't-even-know-her!") doesn't seem to like any of these things. He says the stimulus plan is too far reaching and will take way too long to implement. I don't pretend to understand any of this (HAHA! Of course I do! See previous paragraph), but I do know that yes –– chances are it's going to take a long, long, long time to do anything if all people do is sit around arguing every single fine point.

So, I say let's stop looking backward and, instead, let's try looking forward with some vision, shall we Mr. Boney McBonerpants Boehner? And then maybe your NEXT appearance on Meet The Press won't cause viewers everywhere to drop dead and die. Since dropping dead usually causes death. AND DON'T EXPECT ME TO EXPLAIN THIS TOO AS I AM NOT A DOCTOR THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

And in conclusion? This:
     

And this is only partly because of his package stimulus package OH NEVER MIND.

    
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P.S. My mom is totally proud of this post.
   
P.S.S. This isn't the real post previously scheduled for today, by the way. That one is about the space program and should be released very shortly. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Because, you know, again, WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME???
  
P.S.S.S. to MC: 
M.C. (after I mentioned this post):  That reminds me: What is a minority whip?
Me (thinking):  WTF does that have to do with anything I just said? Doesn't anyone ever listen to me? And what do I look like? Wikipedia?

FINE:

A minority whip is the second-ranking highest person in the minority party, whose main job is to ensure control of the formal decision-making process in a parliamentary legislature. Blah blah blah, boring. Whips are party enforcers who typically offer both inducements (like inducing labor?) (I have no idea) and punishments to party members. In modern times, most whips are concerned primarily with ensuring a desired attendance for an important vote. All of which would be made slightly more interesting by introducing the use of actual whips into the process. Or guns. I'm guessing.

This Post Has Slopestyle Snowboarding, A Poopy Diaper, Really Confusing Fashion and An Awesome Drinking Game I Played All By Myself

Welcome, everyone! Today at "Um...What??" we will be getting educational, with an introductory lesson on the sport of snowboarding –– slopestyle snowboarding, to be exact. And I am just the perfect person to teach you because I know absolutely nothing at all about it I am totally an expert!

I recently discovered how much I love slopestyle snowboarding when one night last week I unexpectedly found my television tuned in to the Winter Dew Tour.

Andy by I love slopestyle snowboarding, I mean:

HELLO! I love a man with a name I can't spell by myself.

The moment we met, I knew Torsteen Torstien Tore (OH WHATEVER) he was meant for me. Because his athletic skills were like nothing I'd ever seen before and involved being immune to gravity as well as spinning over and over without barfing on himself or other people. And let's face it: The qualities that come with being an elite athlete –– discipline, drive, passion, dedication, a traffic-stopping butt –– ARE HOT. I also knew we were meant to be because of the way he was totally adorable.

Plus? Do you know what else is totally adorable? The fact that Torrstine (sp?) was born in 1987. The year I graduated from high school.

Awesome.

       

Also awesome? THIS:

Toarstein (sp??), sometime last year.

SO WHAT?! Age is just a number blah, blah, plus I don't look a day over 25!!! As far as you know.

Anyway. The original Dew Tour (sponsored by Mountain Dew or maybe invented by the makers of Mountain Dew or –– no! ––I think the Mountain Dew people actually invented snowboarding or something? OH, I DON'T KNOW) debuted in June 2005 and included only non-snow related action sports like BMX and skateboarding and motocross. Then something something this and then blah blah blah another thing that and then something else yadda yadda (nobody really knows for sure) and then ta-da! This year's inaugural winter version of the Dew Tour was born! One hundred gagillion years after I graduated from high school.

The particular Winter Dew Tour event I happened to watch was called the Men's Snowboard Slopestyle Event. I'm guessing it was called this because the competitors were men. With snowboards. And there was this gigantic snow-covered slope they kept going down. All while dressed in the style of people working in a very, very cold forensics lab:

Oh! And speaking of style:

 

Really, Tourstiin? (sp?)

And as an FYI:

I didn't watch the Superpipe event, however. Because at the time I didn't know anything about it. Because at the time I didn't even know anything about the event I WAS watching. Because I was born tenteen bazillion years ago when they didn't even HAVE snowboards. Or electricity. Or upright walking.

In the Men's Snowboard Slopestyle Event, –– which involves a form of snowboarding known as freestyle –– Toarstyne (sp?) and a bunch of other people I don't care about the other competitors went up against each other on two separate runs down the slope, which is also called the course. Although, it's possible it was nine runs or maybe five or OH WHO KNOWS. Because let's be honest: It's way easy to lose count when you're taking a shot of Disaronno every time one of the on-screen announcers yells, "BIG AIR!!"

During a slopestyle run, there is no clock and snowboarders are awarded points for style and difficulty while performing a wide variety of tricks on their way down the course –– moving around, over, across or down various terrain features like boxes, rails, jumps and jibs. These tricks include things like a switch backside 1260 and a boardslide 270 out and a nose/front board combo and a cab 900 and a 50-50 to backside rodeo 5 off the canon and a cab 270 to frontside boardslide and a switch backside 900 and a frontside 1080 stalefish. See?? This paragraph, by the way, is called totally clearing up all the details for you or you are welcome.

This is one of the previously mentioned tricks. Luckily, it's totally obvious which one, so I don't have to waste my time or yours explaining it.

And now, more slope style!:

 

Why, Torrstynne? (sp?)

Toerstiene (sp?), who is from Norway which means he is Norwayian, or –– more accurately –– a Viking, really only had one true competitor in the Men's Snowboard Slopestyle Event, the reportedly very popular, crazy-talented (OH, I DOUBT IT) and far, far less adorable snowboarder, Shaun White. Shaun was actually favored to win this event, but that's mostly because he's basically favored to win every single snowboarding event, even the ones he doesn't enter.

Nevermind Shaun White. ALL TORSTEIN (!!) ALL THE TIME!

In what were described as near-perfect runs –– not by me, of course, since I had NO idea at the time WTF was going on EXCEPT THAT IT WAS AWESOME –– Torstein (SP!!) threw big (snow) balls in the face of his no-competition competition by doing things like this:

  

And also this:

 

Plus some of this:

HOW CAN SOMETHING SO COLD BE SO HOT??

And by combining these moves with, you know, even more moves, and then combining these combined moves with an equally amazing move known as adorability, rising mega-pro Torstein took first place in the Men's Snowboard Slopestyle Event and won the much-coveted Dew Cup! One hundred bazillion trillion years after I graduated from high school. Congratulations, Torstein!!

I don't even get it.

(I have a PhD in Photoshop. As if I even need to point this out.)

      

 

Torstein's Dew Tour victory ceremony! Oh, honestly. It could be anybody under there.

And this winning moment brings us to the conclusion of today's informative and entertaining post on slopestyle snowboarding. I think we can all agree that we've learned the most important basics of the sport, which are Torstein Horgmo IS slopestyle snowboarding and I am old.

And on that note, this also brings us, sadly, to the end of mine and Torstein's love affair. Alas, I just don't think it's going to work out between us, on account of how I just found this...which is sliiiiightly more slope style than I can handle in my advanced years:

Torstein Horgmo: Norway's answer to Flavor Flav??

Somebody pass me the Mountain Dew. And please put a lot of vodka in it.

Don't worry, Torstein. At least we'll always have the Winter Dew Tour Men's Slopestyle Snowboard Event:

Lesley and Torstein: True Love Forever For A Few Minutes.

STOP CRYING, TORSTEIN.

THE END

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P.S. The amount of research I did for this post is amazing! This blog has reached a new level of greatness, where greatness equals oh my god no one is even reading this far down anymore.

P.S.S. Take a minute and a half out of your life and watch this before you go, because the snowboarding shots I included above don't come close to doing the sport justice:

And if you don't find this at least a little awe-inspiring, well then you haven't actually hit the play button yet. Or you are slightly dead inside. But don't worry: We like that kind of thing around here. (We even have shirts for it!)

P.S.S.S. HOLY FREAKING CRAP that is HOT. Nevermind –– we're back on, Torstein! I'll just have to adapt:

Because I am totally like a chameleon. Only with a better hat.

This Post Has Moses The Cat, Brain-Eating Zombies, My Friend MC And A Ridiculous Amount Of Hats (It Also Has NEXT TO NO POINT AT ALL) (Seriously...There's No Reason To Even Read This)

When I originally started this post, I was all, "Yesterday, my friend MC said to me..." but then I had to change that to a couple days ago and then to a few days ago and finally last week. Because that's the kind of blogger I am: THE KIND WHO NEVER ACTUALLY BLOGS.

* * * * * * * * * *

Last week my friend MC said to me, "I expected you to blog more about your cat."

First of all, what is that? Some kind of insult? Like I have no life and nothing else to write about? Well, I've got plenty to write about for your information. My life is FILLED TO THE BRIM with things like commercials I've seen on TV and crap that Chris does. Second of all, as someone who still hasn't admitted publicly that he reads this blog (he thinks this keeps his total love for me a total secret, which it just might except for the way it totally doesn't), MC certainly spends a lot of time obsessing over the content. "You need more Star Wars references!" "Move me up higher on the cast list!" "The porcupine looks like he's peeing!" "More cat-themed blogging!"

 

Seriously: Who isn't??

Photo courtesy of Glamour Shots. HAHA! Obviously, I'm just kidding. This is actually a picture from MC's personal collection that I talked him into giving to me. And by personal collection I mean pictures he had taken at the local Glamour Shots.

Also, when I inadvertently mentioned something to him about having his picture open in Photoshop, he gave me some lip about not wanting to log on here and find himself with a propeller hat on his head. Dude. Seriously? What kind of an immature a$$hole do you take me for, anyway?

      

EXACTLY.

Plus? I'm also this kind:

 

And this:

OH! And also this:

 

Oui, Oui! Servin' it up hot at the "Um...What??" Bistro!

Look. I know. I am very pretty and it is very distracting (JUST ASK CHRIS) but now get over it and stop lurking around and leave a comment on a post. Because everyone knows that comments are a blogger's life force! Oh, of course they're not. Ads are. And you can see how many of those I have. Which honestly doesn't matter to me since this particular blogger's life force is BELVEDERE VODKA. Which I have plenty of. Although, I'd have a whole lot more of it if the CEO of Belvedere Vodka (Mr. Belvedere?) (Benson?) would read this and then send me, you know, a whole lot more of it.

Anyway, if MC thinks he can blow me off in public but still get behind-the-scenes creative influence here just because he walks around with that hot Irish smolder thing going on, all I can say is well, obviously. So just for you, MC, because I listen –– where listen equals I had nothing better to write about anyway and where write equals to Photoshop a bunch of hats onto someone's head –– I bring you: Some Blogging About My Cat! (Or: Six Feline Fun Facts!) And for my friend Chris who is slightly afraid of cats because they make his air and nasal passages instantly swell shut, which causes him to brutally suffocate and die (OH BIG DEAL), as well as for any of the rest of you who might not be entirely interested in reading various things about my cat –– like, you know, he poops, I will balance out the cat facts by also bringing you an alternate set of thoroughly researched facts about zombies! (Who, incidentally, don't poop, and trust me you do not want to know the details.) Here we go:

Feline Fun Fact #1:  Moses The Cat is so good looking that he sometimes gets unfairly labeled as a "pretty boy" and isn't taken as seriously as he deserves. Interestingly enough, this is the exact same problem Chris often has.

 

Photo courtesy of Glamour Shots.

Alternate Zombie Fact: A zombie is a reanimated human corpse that feeds on living brains and flesh, which –– if you ask me –– doesn't really seem all that appetizing.

Feline Fun Fact #2:  Moses The Cat has diabetes but he doesn't let this define him. Instead, he prefers to define himself as awesome.

      
Seventeen pounds of awesome. Plus a dirty sock.
           

Alternate Zombie Fact: The Zombie Apocalypse is the collapse of civilization caused by a vast plague of the undead. Zombies will attack people, which creates new zombies (I have no idea; I got kind of distracted at this point and wandered away from what I was reading to eat a popsicle), leading to mass panic and the unraveling of society until only isolated pockets of survivors remain, scavenging for food and supplies in a world suddenly reduced to a hostile wilderness. Oh. So the Zombie Apocalypse has already happened. Apparently.

Feline Fun Fact #3:  Moses The Cat has a wide variety of interests including butting his head against things, barfing up hairballs, watching the toilet flush, playing with shoelaces and following Wil Wheaton on Twitter.

 

Moses also likes to read! Okay, that is just ridiculous. Moses is a cat –– he doesn't read books. DUH. He writes them.

Alternate Zombie Fact: Chris has read 14 zombie books this past year, "20 if you count graphic novels." Which, as I understand it, are the zombie books that are really, really, really graphic. Which doesn't make all that much sense to me since zombies eat brains so wouldn't they ALL be really graphic? Oh, I don't know. I'm not an expert.

And by the way? This:

 

Oh, like anyone here actually thought I was done with this.

Feline Fun Fact #4:  Moses The Cat has only five teeth because he's had 25 teeth pulled. He's had this many teeth pulled because before I adopted him a year ago, he was very, very sick with multiple infections and illnesses, a condition also known as mostly dead. Even though none of his remaining teeth line up in pairs, this in no way affects his ability to energetically inhale his disgusting diabetes management dry food, where energetically inhale equals does this bench make my butt look big?

 

Yes. It. Does.

Alternate Zombie Fact: Zombies became a mainstay in modern horror fiction due in large part to the success of the 1968 film, Night of The Living Dead, which includes this famous scene:

"What do we want? Brains! When do we want them? Brains!" (I'm not going to lie to you. I stole this saying off of a zombie t-shirt. But when you run into a zombie wearing a message t-shirt, you're going to remember what it says. TRUST ME.)

Feline Fun Fact #5:  Moses The Cat loves to laugh! Personal essays about exploding toilets and riddles about farts are among his favorite things.

 

Oddly enough? MORE HATS. Coincidence? Or blogging at its brilliant best? (No, NOT THE SECOND ONE. Obviously.)

Alternate Zombie Fact: A recent development in modern day zombie films and literature is that zombies can now run. Uh-oh.

Feline Fun Fact #6: Moses The Cat purrs every single time you touch him and sometimes when you just look at him. Because Moses The Cat feels the love.

Besides purring, Moses The Cat also expresses his love by drooling, rubbing his face against yours and making poops that are only slightly stinky.

Alternate Zombie Fact: The only way to kill a zombie is to destroy its brain. Zombie experts (I have no idea) recommend using either an M1 carbine or a machete and aiming for the cerebellum. Hey. I've got a suggestion for a way less messy way of destroying a zombie's brain: Make him read this blog post.

And there you have it, everyone –– the conclusion of today's requested installment of Some Blogging About My Cat! And in case I wasn't clear enough, I could not possibly love Moses The World's Most Awesome and Spectacular Cat any more than I do now, because I swear if I did I would totally burst. Which, if you think about it, would just make it that much easier for the zombies to eat me.

And in additional conclusion? THIS:

 

Oh, good grief. This is just totally absurd at this point.

* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. to MC:  You are welcome.

2008: The Year In Photos (None of Which I Took Myself, Of Course, Because What Do I Look Like? A Photojournalist?) (I HAVE NO IDEA, ACTUALLY)

Welcome, "Um...What??" readers, to 2008: The Year THAT SUCKED THE BIGGEST A$$ EVER In Review! Before looking ahead toward whatever may come (ohdeargod), I thought I'd take one final look back at everything that was during this past year at "Um...What??" headquarters. Because hindsight is 20/20. And those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Of course neither of these things has anything to do with anything except for reminding you that I am very, very smart, where smart = I know how to look up famous sayings on Wikipedia. And also? If there's one thing I am, it's doomed.

Let us begin:

Youthful optimism! The world is my oyster! Anything is possible! Exciting, exciting, exciting!

      

Believe me when I tell you: It's way less interesting than it actually looks.

     

      

           

FYI: Warning signs are for amateurs people who actually read warning signs:

     

         

      

@#$%@#$%@#$%@#$%#$%!!!!!

      

      

 

     

   

I try to blog more often for you people. I swear, I do. But then, you know...this happens. And anyway – what do you all want from me? I'm tired. (See: January - October.)

And by the way, iStockphoto.com, when I query "run down" I do NOT want to see pictures of actual, real roadkill because WHO THE HELL WOULD WANT TO SEE PICTURES OF ACTUAL, REAL ROADKILL? Well, "Um...What??" readers, that's who, because they love dead animals. I'm not including any here though. Because that would be a downer and this post is nothing if not eternally uplifting. Or something. Whatever. Who cares. (NOBODY.)

            

     

But don't misunderstand me: I don't want any of you to lose heart! I know I'm not going to. Because I can already tell 2009 is shaping up to be that super-special kind of year where everything changes! You know –– the kind of year where everyone dies:

       

And with that, I leave you all with this one, final thought to close out 2008: Just remember anything that doesn't kill you only makes you really, really wish it did.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Happy Various Holidays, Um What-ers! Let's Celebrate With Pepper Spray, Bank-Approved Auto Theft And A Black Lace Tutu!

Today's post is dedicated to loyal (and suh-mokin' hot) "Um...What??" reader Lisa, whom I inadvertently neglected to mention in a previous post when I called out some of my favorite blogs. This is in NO WAY a reflection of Lisa's site and is instead completely reflective of the dullness of my brain. Sometimes I forget about my own site because I am busy trying to remember things like where I put the cat and also The Alamo. This one's for you, Lisa!

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While innocently minding my own business last week something very, very deeply disturbing happened to me.

Specifically, I accidentally watched this. For three and a half hours:

 
I'm going to tell you anyway. This is called I Have A PhD In Blogging.

For those of you who are unaware (oh dear God, please tell me it's all of you) Operation Repo is a reality television program currently airing on TruTV. TruTv used to be Court TV. But, apparently, when you abruptly change half of your previously quality programming to stupid-a$$ sh*t like Speeders and Hot Pursuit and The World's Wildest Vacation Videos you also have to change the name of your network to include a misspelled word because incorrect spelling equals yore your you're stupid and so are your shows.

By the way. Did I mention this?:

Seemingly, anybody can now get a show. Hello? I WANT A SHOW.

In a nutshell, the premise of Operation Repo(hno) is that basically Southern California is filled with deadbeats who like to "have" new cars but don't like to "pay" for them, so these deadbeats need to have their cars taken away from them by people who look like even bigger deadbeats.

Enter the cast of Operation Repo(hdeargod), whose motto is "It Ain't No Joke If You Don't Pay The Note!" And trust me –– it isn't:
    

"Peek-a-boo! I'll repo you!" (This would be my motto.)
Although I'm not sure sure I look the required "deadbeat", but I do look "hot" which, obviously, is close enough. Come to think of it, why didn't anyone ask me to be a part of the Hot Blogger Calendar? Jerks. Maybe it's not too late for me to get into the Hot Repo-er Calendar? I'm assuming they have one because, well, the above picture? Sonia? Matt? Do I really have to explain it?

As far as I understand it –– and believe me, it's hard to understand much of anything when you're on sensory overload to the point you're just this side of having a moderate to severe stroke –– Lou is the father of Lyndah as well as the big brother of Froy. Froy –– who I'm guessing is named after some Middle Earth-y thing (A hobbit? A hobo?) –– either is currently or used to be married to Sonia. (What's next? THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE??) I don't really know how the hell Matt fits in, though. Some kinda repo freeloader or something. And they all do repo-y things together and live Happily Ever After! Or something. Seriously: I could be making up half of this crap for all I know. There were a lot of distractions going on. Like this one:
   

 

   And also this one:

 

Also, at one point I got seriously distracted thinking about this:

Sonia: Operation Repo(MG WTF)'s answer to Beth Chapman!
Honestly? I probably lost 20 minutes of my life all caught up in this line of thought. My days are very, very full and eventful. So in case you ever wonder why it sometimes takes a week or so for me to get up a new post, first of all, what is wrong with you people? Don't you have something more important to spend your time thinking about (??) and second of all I AM VERY BUSY. Obviously.

And now, Everything I Need To Know About Repo-ing, I learned from Operation Repo(hmahgah) and will now pass along to you:

1. The first rule of repo-ing is that to be a successful repo agent, you need to make sure you have the correct tools at your disposal: a reposession order (I'm pretty sure this is the least important part paperwork blah blah boring), a tow truck BEEP BEEP, pepper spray (more on this in a minute) and a tutu.

That's right. A tutu. It's the uniform of choice of all the most successful repo peopo. HAHA! See what I did there? Maybe I can have a show where I just do a whole bunch of rhyming and whatnot?? OH NEVER MIND. Back to this:

Trust me: If you could hear what was going on in this moment, YOU'D HAVE YOUR TV ON MUTE TOO. And yes. I actually recorded this. So I could recreate it here for you. This type of thing is called I Give And Give And Give To You People Until I Bleed.

And in case you think I'm taking creative license and the above is just Sonia stopping to do a repo on her way to a Costume Gala, IT'S NOT. Because look! Here is Sonia doing a whole DIFFERENT repo:

Because seriously? The language involved in this profession embarrasses even me, and I don't know how to say ANYTHING without using the F word at least five times. (HI MOM!) And another thing: If you're gonna repossess my car wearing this kind of getup –– fine. But you'd better perform some damn Swan Lake for me before you take my wheels because I Brake For The Arts.

2. The second important rule here is that when repo-ing, you should keep in mind the fact that for whatever reason people tend to get slightly annoyed when you try to take their cars away from them, where slightly annoyed equals they point guns at you and attempt to beat you over the head with baseball bats. (Big deal. This is exactly what happens to me every time I go into Chris's office and try to get him to look at the page bags that died on his desk hours earlier.) This is why, to be safe, you have to make sure you bring with you the pepper spray I mentioned earlier, because everybody knows that pepper spray totally beats both bullets and baseball bats and also? Paper covers rock. And of all the crazy, psychopathic, loan-defaulting deadbeats, never forget that women are the most totally insane of all and by that I mean you do not even want to know what I mean. I'm going to tell you anyway though, because I honestly cannot be expected to be the only one with the misfortune of knowing this crap.

The very first episode I saw is the perfect example of this: Matt, Froy and Sonia show up at some chick's house to repo the car she hasn't made payments on in months. Or ever. Or whatever. I'm kinda unclear on that part as I was too busy being hypnotized by Sonia's eyebrows.

 
LIKE YOU WOULDN'T BE EQUALLY SPELLBOUND.

Anyway, they all run up her driveway and start hurriedly hooking up her car to the tow truck wheel lift. (Or, you know, whatever the big hook part is called. Who knows! I found this term on line when I Googled "parts of a tow truck" because –– as it turns out –– I don't really know that much about tow trucks except for the fact that they "tow" things and they're also "trucks.") (Oh! And most of them are made by Tonka.) (Wait...right?) So the repo-ee chick catches wind of what's going on and comes running out of the house –– all 95 pounds of her –– SCREAMING HOLY HELL BLOODY MURDER and gyrating and wailing and flailing and cursing and sobbing really desperately (okay, this one was me) and slapping and kicking at anyone who tries to come near her or her car. And then suddenly she's SCREAMING HOLY HELL BLOODY MURDER while gyrating and wailing and flailing and cursing and slapping and kicking and throwing herself dramatically and messily all over the hood of her car.

At first I was all, holy crap this b*tch is batsh*t crazy, but then I was all, wow, that's actually kinda sexy in a Tawny Kitaen/Whitesnake video kind of way and then I was all OMG, WTF IS WRONG WITH ME (???) and THEN –– and even Stephen King couldn't make up this kind of horror –– she pulls out a Taser gun from even God doesn't want to know where on her person and tries to zap the hell out of Matt (which you know probably isn't a bad idea regardless), forcing Sonia to finally put a much-needed end to all of the girl's insanity not by pepper spraying her but instead BY SITTING ON HER. HARD. And at that point the room started spinning and I think I blacked out for a minute.

Oh, and by the way? Did I mention the car at the center of this repo was a 1994 Honda Civic? First of all...SERIOUSLY? Second of all, who the hell can't afford to make the payments on a 14-year-old car loan? Someone who spends all their money keeping up with the latest in stun gun technology, that's who.

3. And all of this brings us to the last important rule of repo-ing: If you've done one repo, you've pretty much done them all. You're never just going to drive up, take the car and go. And if I'm wrong about this, NEVER MIND because boring repos result in everyone being really bored and nobody wants that. It's boring. Instead, there's always going to be BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP-ING and BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAMING and VERY EXCITING VIOLENCE-ING. Quick! Gather the kiddies around! OH! And there's also going to be a whole lot of "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM??"-ing, because seriously? At least three people asked this question during various repos I watched. What is this? Some kinda repo trivia game? Ooh, ooh! I think I know who you are!! A deadbeat. I do, however, need to give honorable mention to the below woman for elevating herself to a level above the every day deadbeat crowd when, in an attempt to keep the members of Operation Dumbo Drop Repo from taking her car, she made the uber-defensive, Ninja-style move of pulling out her own pepper spray and promptly pepper spraying herself:

 
To be more precise, she actually pepper sprayed both herself AND her husband which means, for those of you keeping score, that she managed to attack everyone on the scene except for every single member of Operation Repo(bi-wan Kenobi). Which –– not that I need to explain it –– is awesome. This is pretty much just like the time I tried to take a picture of the sunset but accidentally had the camera backwards and ended up taking a picture of my own eyeball instead. You know, except for the fact that I didn't need medical attention afterward.

And then, like any decent person would after experiencing more than three hours of this crap, I had an aneurysm and died. The End.

* * * * * * * * * *

P.S. Sorry I couldn't find any screen shots of Crazy-A$$ Repo-ed Chick laying around all over her car. I hadn't thought to record the show yet, and then I couldn't find anything on line. (I KNOW, right??? Why even HAVE an internet?)

P.S.S. to Lisa: Sorry the post I dedicated to you turned out to be, you know, this one. You deserve so much better.  So did Jesus though, and look at what happened there.

P.S.S.S. to Maureen, who earlier today gave me certain amounts of lip for taking so long to post here. More specifically, she called me CHRIS which, as anyone who's spent any amount of time around here knows by now, is the ultimate of insults: I mean honestly, woman. That is fairly rude. You KNOW how much extensive research (none) goes into each and every post I, you know, post and how much time (none) goes into that kind of in-depth research. I forgive you, though, being that you're my best friend in all the world. Okay, a little bit for that but more so because you gave me an autographed Kathy Griffin t-shirt. SCORE!

P.S.S.S.S.:  Speaking of Chris, Happy Boxing Day, dude! In celebration of that? This:

 
See, Maureen? It's called RESEARCH and it takes TIME.

P.S.S.S.S.S.:  I wrote all of these P.S.'s before I died. Obviously.