You guessed it… still bored. And, I got tagged.

1) A book that changed my life: A tie – “Kiss My Tiara: How to Rule the World as a Smartmouth Goddess” by Susan Jane Gilman, and “Zen Reflections”

2) A book I’ve read more than once: “The Stand” by Stephen King

3) A book I’d take to a desert island: See #2

4) A book that made me laugh: “Molly Ivins Can’t Say That, Can She?” by Molly Ivins

5) A book that made me cry: Can’t remember a book that made me cry.

6) A book I wish had been written: “The DeVinci Code” – I mean, hell, who WOULDN’T want that kind of cash?

7) A book that should never have been written: Anything by Ann Coulter or Rush Limbaugh

A book I’m currently reading: “Eldest (Inheritance, Book 2)”, by Christopher Paolini

9) A book I’m planning to read: “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell”, by Susanna Clarke (I’ve started it like five times.)

*bimbles off*

‘Cause I’m bored and have no original thoughts at the moment, I’m stealing this from Army of Mom. Mental Floss has played as well. Sheep, we all are……

What curse word do you use the most? Fuck.

Do you own an iPod? Newp

Who on your MySpace “Top 8″ do you talk to the most? Josh, Erin and Stoney

What time is your alarm clock set for? 6:30 a.m. during week. There is no such thing as an alarm clock in my vocabulary on the weekends.

What color is your room? Umm…. off-white? Light tan? I don’t know what the hell they call that color these days.

Flip flops or sneakers? Barefoot

Would you rather take the picture or be in the picture? Take

What was the last movie you watched? The Libertine

Do any of your friends have children? Yeah. My Christmases are NOT cheap.

Has anyone ever called you lazy? Yep

Do you ever take medication to help you fall asleep faster? Ambien is my friend. *cuddles bottle*

What CD is currently in your CD player? Herzeleid – Rammstein

Do you prefer regular or chocolate milk? Chocolate

Has anyone told you a secret this week? I can neither confirm nor deny this.

Have you ever given someone a hickey? I can neither confirm nor deny this.

Who was the last person to call you? Can me what?

Do you think people talk about you behind your back? *ppphffffhhhttt* Don’t care.

Did you watch cartoons as a child? Oh, hell yeah! “Keel de wabbit! Keel de RABBIT!”

How many siblings do you have? two

Are you shy around the opposite sex? BWHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Um… what was the question?

What movie do you know every line to? Star Wars, Eddie Izzard stand-ups

Do you own any band t-shirts? No.

What is your favorite salad dressing? Ranch (Seconding AoM)

Do you read for fun? Yepyep

Do you cry a lot? Only when I’m emotional. So, yeah, all the fucking time. (See question 1)

Who was the last person to text message you? Jim

Do you have a desktop computer or a laptop? Desktop

Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos? Yes. I want a cat on my ankle. Conducting fundraising activities as we speak.

What is the weather like? I live in Texas. ‘Nuff said.

Would you ever date someone covered in tattoos? Yeah

Is sex before marriage wrong? BWHAHAHAHAHAH! Um… what was the question again?

When was the last time you slept on the floor? Christ, maybe when I was a kid. Sleeping on the floor does not agree with me.

How many hours of sleep do you need to function? As many as I’m allowed.

Are you in love or lust? Both

Are your days full and fast-paced? Depends on if I’m in traffic or not.

Do you pay attention to calories on the back of packages? The packages have writing on the back?

How old will you be turning on your next birthday? 39

Are you picky about spelling and grammar? On certain things. Emails and other correspondence, yes. Texting, not so much. Gaming, fucking forget about it.

Have you ever been to Six Flags? Yes

Do you get along better with the same or opposite sex? Opposite sex except in rare cases.

Do you like cottage cheese? BLEGH!

Do you sleep on your side, tummy, or back? Side

Have you ever bid for something on eBay? Yep

Do you enjoy giving hugs? I’m a hugger from waaaaaay back.

What song did you last sing out loud? For the sake of all mankind, I do not sing out loud.

What is your favorite TV show? I can take or leave TV right now.

Which celebrity, dead or alive, would you want to have lunch with? Hugh Jackman…. ’cause lunch can lead to other things.

Last time you had butterflies in your stomach? Last night

What one thing do you wish you had? Money

Favorite lyrics? “Don’t fret precious, I’m here” – Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums, A Perfect Circle

*bimbles off*

Okay, so I’ve been slacking in the cat blogging of late. My apologies to the fans of Pixel, Pica and Coby everywhere. Here’s an oldie but a goodie as contract negotiations continue with the kitty union at our house.

Pixel and Pica

For more cat bloggy goodness, visit the Friday Ark today and the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday.

*bimbles off*

Here’s a tip: If you sit at a desk in front of a window in hall of a busy office building, you might want to consider resisting the temptation to pick your nose.

I’m just sayin’….

*bimbles off*

NOTE: Pissy, incoherent rant ahead. Do not proceed without a hard hat and a map of the closest exits.

So, I’ve spent the past few days dealing with two of the largest and most soulless institutions in our country – the U.S. Post Office and the IRS. Spending more than a few minutes in the company of either of these two impersonal machines is akin to being punched in the face, relentlessly and for a long period of time, with a hard pillow. Eventually, you want to scream, “Look, just put a bullet in the back of my fucking head… I give up!”

Several months ago, I was notified I owed taxes on my 2004 return. A great deal, once they have tacked on the penalties and taxes for nearly two fucking years. However, after the initial shock and some detailed research, I discovered it was a mistake on my part that caused it. That was the first year I went online to do my taxes and, apparently, I fucked up somewhere. Any other situation, you might consider calling and saying “Hey, I fucked up. I’m sorry. Can we fix this?” But, this is the IRS. You can’t fight it and, if you do, you will not win. If you are working/middle class or lower in this country, you grow up learning the IRS can screw you in any position it wants and you don’t even get a dinner out of it. End of story. Or, you can go to prison. Your choice, of course.

So, I fill out all the “Hey, I don’t have that kind of money falling out of my ass, here’s a payment plan request” and sent it in. The day before I flew to Denver (Terrorist Plot Discovery Day), I got a certified letter notice from my dear tax friends. Funny how it took nearly two years to discover my mistake (with taxes and penalties added on, of course) and it only took a few weeks for them to jump all over my payment plan. I’m just sayin’……

Because I work in a different city from where I live, getting to the post office before they close in the afternoon is out of the question. So, I trot down there last Saturday. Give them the notice. Wait nearly…. I kid you not…. 20 minutes for the lady to come and tell me they don’t have the letter. They could not find a certified letter from the IRS. And, there is nothing they can do, apparently. Then, our government’s finest asks me… wait for it…. “Are you sure you haven’t already picked it up?” I’ll give you a minute to ponder that. Am I sure I haven’t already come down to the post office (because they don’t let you sign the card, then leave the letter at your house) and picked this up? Like I had a complete brain fart and lost any memory of visiting this little piece of hell before. It’s like when someone calls your number, asks for someone you don’t know, you say they aren’t there and said caller asks, “Are you sure?” Oh, no, I’m not. They are standing right here. Glad you fucking asked or I would have missed them.

Anyhoo, said government lady takes my cell number and promises to call if they find it. That lifted a burden off my heart, I can tell you. I go home. Find the second notice in my mailbox. Invent new curse words. Go back yesterday afternoon – after leaving work early, mind you – and am met with the same blank stare and “We can’t find it.” I finally asked her, “Is the post office paying for all the penalties and taxes I’m accruing every day I can’t respond to the IRS because you lost my letter?” That got me far.

I make a call to the IRS this morning. Okay, I sat listening to bad elevator music for nearly 40 minutes waiting for one of the kinder, gentler IRS customer service individuals to stop playing Solitaire on their computer and take my call. Finally, a woman – Agent # ______, answers. I explain the situation and ask if she can tell me what the letter was about or if they can send another one. I spend another 10 minutes verifying who I am. Then, she finally tells me the letter was a payment plan acceptance letter and what the terms were. Fine. I take down all the information, payment options, blah, blah. Then, I ask if she will resend the letter, as I want it for my records. Records are everything when dealing with these people. Do not proceed if you do not have something, in triplicate, hidden away in a filing cabinet somewhere you can pull out and shove back in their faces.

Agent # ______ then proceeds to say, “Well, you need to explain to the post office this is important.” What. The. Fuck! I said I had already been down there twice, there was nothing they could do. She replies, “Well, tell them it’s a letter from the IRS and….” I finally snap. I said, “Look. I’ve been down that route. And, trust me, they are about personal and helpful as you guys. There is nothing I can do and, if I didn’t care about dealing with this issue, I wouldn’t be calling. So maybe… just maybe…. you can use a little common sense here and just resend the letter, so I can have it for my records. You’re gonna get my money, one way or the other, so what’s the problem in resending one letter? Is that too hard?” Dead silence. Great. My name is now on another government list, next to the one where I have called the president a dick and consider socialized medicine a viable option.

She finally says, “Alright. I have noted in my computer to resend the letter.” I said, “Thank you,” leaving off the “… you complete waste of breath.” Nearly an hour and a half of my morning gone into the abyss and I’m now on a handy, dandy payment plan for the rest of my goddamned life. That student loan thing was only a warm up, it seems.

It might have ended there, but that would be no fun, would it? Over lunch today, I received a voice message from the post office. They found my letter.

Here’s a bullet. Please lodge it firmly in the back of my head.

*bimbles off*

Army of Mom issued a serious challenge over on her site. She insists the best sci-fi show ever was Deep Space Nine.

Phfffffpphhhhtttt…. tch… poo, even.

Best sci-fi show: X-Files, first five seasons. End of story.

*sticks her tongue out in AoM’s general direction, then bimbles off*

This is what happens when you know a killer designer who has a lot of free time on his hands….. a cool new site design.

A ton of *hugs* and *smootchies* to lurk3r. And, his info is at the bottom of the page, just in case anyone is looking for an updated design to their site.

*bimbles off*

School fucking zones – the bane of my driving experience.

*growls and bimbles off*

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was the suckiest day ever. I mean it. My car broke. It wouldn’t run. Someone said it was something called a battery, which was dead…. which is kinda sad when you think about it. I mean, something died and all. I don’t think death is nice. Bunnies are nice, though. Money and running cars are nice, too.

Anyway, because this thing called a battery died, my whole day was like, completely screwed. I mean, how am I supposed to do anything if my car won’t run? Like pay a speeding ticket on the last day it was due? I mean, how disrespectful of my car to die under those cirumstances. Didn’t it know I had to pay that tickets. Gauh.

It’s running now, but my life is totally ruined. I had to walk to the court and people SAW me walking. Me! Walking! How embarassing! I can’t show my face again ever. My social life is so over because of this. I bet my friends stop talking to me. This is the worst thing ever. In the world.

Hugs and kisses,
Me

PS: Remember to accidentally poke that guy who sits in front of me in history. The cute one with blue hair.

* For those who think I’ve gone out of my gob-stopping mind, “Dear Diary” is something of a running joke between me and Lurk3r, especially because I kept a diary when I was young. I decided yesterday was such a fucker of day, I had to make fun of it. And, yes, my car battery did die and, yes, JS replaced it and all is better. But, it was the worst thing eVER!

Here’s a tip: Never plan air travel on Terrorist Plot Discovery Day. As dangerously exciting as it may sound, the moment you have to surrender your Chap Stick (mint flavored, goddamit!) to the security checkpoint person in order to board your flight, all the giggly fun has just gone out of the afternoon.

And, someone explain to me how Chap Stick qualifies as a “liquid,” unless it’s been sitting in my car all day in the sun. To my knowledge, no one addressed this issue on CNN, which we were forced to listen to in the gate area for five unrelenting hours. Newp, the very serious talking heads were busy reporting on the foiled plot, what could have happened (read that in hushed tones), and the absolute chaos reigning in airports across the nation. After they cut, for the thousandth time, to some blonde chicken in Heathrow Airport breathlessly intoning how the poor, huddled masses were dealing with the abject terror of nearly, possibly, almost dying, I looked around the waiting area. The only scene of chaos was a very tired looking mother who was trying to keep her equally as tired little one occupied with her keys. Everyone else seemed to be in less than terrified mode. Tired? Yeah. Irritated. Yeah. Chaos? Not hardly.

Of course, I flew out in the afternoon. By that time, the news was out. The woman at the ticket counter – who, I might add, was in a superb mood given the day’s events and the amounts of abuse she had likely experienced that day – said that morning had been a nightmare. People coming in first thing in the morning not knowing what was going on and suddenly being told they can’t carry on their shampoo because some crazy bugger in England snapped and was gonna try to make a statement with “some liquid.” I can only imagine that last nerve snapping in some passenger who had spent the past several hours loading five kids, 15 bags and five laptops into the family van and then unloading it at the door, only to find out her hair gel qualified as a deadly weapon. At least I had warning.

Not to say I was happy. First, I was forced to check my luggage. I don’t check luggage. Ever. Even on a week-long trip to Alaska. I don’t do this because it’s against my religion to: A) surrender all my personal affects and valuables over to a bunch of people who will treat my bag with the tender handling of a raging gorilla; B) surrender said luggage with no guarantee it will even be in the same country as me two hours later; C) have to wait at a luggage carousel with the rest of the living dead for your bag for 45 minutes, and D) have one of the living dead’s children put their fucking sticky hands all over your bag as it slowly snakes it’s way to you, yelling “Isth thith it, Daaaddy?” So, yeah, I was happy about having to empty my small bag into my larger one and hand it over at the ticket counter.

Then, the Chap Stick. Geeeoooood. I waited in line like the good sheep I am to be interrogated, scanned and my personal affects picked through. I had already dumped my purse in the car and checked it. No liquid. So, I thought. I walked barefoot through the line and waited for my stuff. I knew I was in trouble when the piece of flesh staring into the monitor blinked more than once as my purse passed by. Then, the conveyer belt stopped. Fuck. Then, there is a small huddle of people whose collective I.Q. maybe matched the size of my shoes currently in their custody. The belt starts again and I’m instructed to move to the table at the end. I braced myself for a search. A security person brings over my little heap of stuff and asks me to open my purse. My keys, I think. My freakin’ keys got me stopped. I dump everything on the table and the aforementioned security person (I say person because I was unable to determine a sex during this exchange) paws at my tube of Chap Stick and says, “You can’t carry that on the plane.” I just blink for a second. Chap Stick? You’ve got to be kidding me. “Pardon?” “No lipstick, lip gloss or stuff like Chap Stick.” I had to take a huge, deep breath to keep from unloading. I really did. ‘Cause the moment I opened my mouth and said “You fucking expect me to take a whole goddamned plane hostage and/or bring it down with a little tub of wax,” it’s No-Fly list here I come. So, I just said, “Fine, take it,” and gave it a shove across the table. And thus, having been disarmed, I was allowed to go to the gate.

Now, the fun part. After hiking the equivalent of eight football fields through Denver International Airport, my luggage didn’t show up with the rest for our flight. Yeah, you know the feeling. Everyone has walked away from baggage claim but you and that red vinyl thing still rolling around and around by itself on the carousel. I check with the official-looking woman sitting in a chair nearby. Yes, that was the luggage from my flight. However, she mentions nonchalantly, there is a pile of bags over there that have not been claimed. Maybe you should try there. I’m setting the air in front of me on fire with my language as I start sorting through the pile. And, there sat my bag – in a pile of luggage from an earlier flight. My bag got there before me. It was sitting behind me the whole time I stood in front of the carousel, no doubt mocking me.

Denver is lucky its airport is still standing.

*bimbles off*