Rue starts 'em. Other than that there ain’t no rules. (Other than the general SDMB rules, obviously.)
If nothing else, it keeps doofuses (i.e. me and welby) from posting inane blather elsewhere.
swampy, I want to add my condolences. I’m also going through family “situations”: all three of my grandparents are at various stages of mental and physical decline right now, and I just found out last night that one of my aunts has terminal cancer. Facing loss is never easy, is it?
In happier news, I upgraded from basic to standard cable so now I’ve got the Food Network and Comedy Central. This three-day weekend is going to be spent vegging in front of the tv! I think I need the R&R.
Welcome, HillKat. I’m still kinda new too, but everyone 'round here’s really friendly. Just watch out for the puns. They come when you least expect them!
Dammit, Bob, it was time for CSI, and for a change it wasn’t a retread.
And I couldn’t do everybody, I ain’t that creative.
'Sides, you’re kinda hard to shop for.
I coulda used Monday Morning Grumpy Post for you I s’pose, and Ex coulda been the Monday Morning Curmudgeon Post, like he said.
Consider it done.
It was horrible! All last night *Indian Reservation * by Paul Revere and the Raiders was playing in my dreams and it just got louder and louder and louder until it woke me up at an ungodly hour. Doesn’t sound so bad? Go ahead and try it tonight. Go on, I dares ya.
Poor Swampy, I do hope all goes as well as possible. Take your vitamins and stay active, that’s supposed to keep the old-timer’s away, right?
I’m ignoring HillKat. Okay, not really, I’m just shy. I mean, what could I write that wouldn’t give away that I’m a complete goober? And then **HillKat ** would smirk and roll eyes and ignore my posts waaay sooner than most everybody does anyway. So, umm, anyway, [sub]hi[/sub].
Also, I can say that there are absolutely no margaritas on teacher work days. No margaritas *ever * in fact. And margaritas would really help because what they do is round you up and stuff you into a smelly room and poke you with sticks and sit you in uncomfortable chairs and make you listen to the most soul crushingly boring, useless stuff ever, for hours and hours and hours. It’s like Ferris Bueller but worse. And they don’t even provide a water fountain! Almost any teacher would much prefer a day with students. Also, 25 kids in a class? It is to laugh!
Did somebody say weekend?
Hi all. I’m glad it’s Friday, too. My week has been so dull that the most exicting thing I’ve heard all week was my boss reminding me that it’s a 3 day weekend. Yay for the Presidents!
Otherwise, not so much chatty this week.
I think I’ll start stripping wallpaper off my bathroom tomorrow. That’ll be fun. The Elf and I may be going to Lowe’s tomorrow morning to learn how to install that Pergo flooring. That will actually be pretty fun, I think.
I’m sorry about your Uncle, Swampy.
But that made we wonder. When The Elf dies, will he get Paul bearers? Hmmm…
(Eeek! It’s the rare random Faerie pun!)
'nuf to make me want to be a teacher…YIPES!
Thanks to one and all for the greetings. I return all in kind! I THINK I’m glad to be here…jury’s still out
Anaamika thanks for asking ‘what’s up with the MMP’…I figured I better keep my mouth shut and figure it out. Kinda like Lissla Lissar 's Driving Husband…I’m just plain afraid to ask :o
Swampy and taxi78cab - I’m truly sorry to hear about your family situations. Sucks!
Weekend can’t get here soon enough…
If you try to “do” everbody Bumba, make sure you drink plenty of fluids first. Just a tip.
There’s a rule in Ohio that for the first four years (plus Kindergarten) there can only be 25 kids per teacher Ashes. Once you hit fifth grade the ceiling goes up to a million. It’s the Law.
Lissla’s “Driving Husband” is simple. She’s married to this one guy, but he doesn’t drive. So she has auxiliary “husbands” to meet her various needs. It’s a crazy scheme, but it works. I think poutine is involved somehow.
Will the Paul bearers be invited to a bier bash?
I’m too dang old to ‘do’ everbody any more. joke deleted by the good taste police
In Canada poutine is always involved, eh?
I went to the store during lunch…
MMMMMM, Cadbury Creme Eggs!
In all fairness, if you reference me, it ought to be the Monday Morning Attention Whore Post…
I never quite got the hang of that myself, and I’ve been here a while. Isn’t Driving Husband her SiL in real life?
Am I to presume that she has but one Whoopie Husband?
Part of the joy of the MMP is unraveling the inside jokes and sticking around long enough to become one yourself.
I had two dates this week. A lunch date and a dinner date. With men, even. Of course, they are both married men and their wives were unconcerned about them spending time with me, but hey, I was seen in public with a man! Maybe the cosmos will get the idea and set it up with a man not currently married, engaged or discovering he’s gay.
Surely you have heard about England’s great cricketing family, Fotheringbushes. Bats were handed from father to son and the refinements of the game were drilled into the young men of the family from the age of six. While most of them observed the decorum of the genteel game, one scion, Herbert, had an unruly temper and to his family’s shame insisted on disputing the calls made by the arbiters of the game.
In one particularly close match, Herbert’s temper reached such a peak that he rushed to the man in charge of the game, pummelled him, knocked him to the ground and sat on the squirming squire. Fotheringbush Senior, aghast at his progeny’s behavior, rushed from the clubhouse onto the field and pulled the lad off.
“Surely, my boy,” he admonished sternly, “you above all others should know that the son never sits on the British umpire!”
<snerk> <snort>…oh, we’re supposed groan? Here it is…<groan>
Only 4.5 hours to go…I’m not anxious for the weekend or anything…
Driving Husband says that Mr. Lissar’s title is Sex Husband, but I think that’s too narrow. He also takes out the garbage, and elbows me in the head while he sleeps.
For the new people, I have Mr. Lissar (to whom I am legally married); Intellectual Husband (Second Best Man at the wedding, and he kept hugging both of us and saying, “I’m so glad we’ll all be together forever!”. He’s very very very smart and was Mr. Lissar’s roommate at college); Driving Husband (good friend who has a car, and takes me grocery shopping and clubbing. He stores his booze at our house 'cause if he drinks at home his Mom looks sad at him); Dishes Husband (a friend of Driving Husband’s, and I proposed to him when he came over, made dinner, and did all the dishes without anyone asking him to!), and Lazy Husband, who’s the only guy out of the bunch that hang around playing video games together that I hadn’t married yet, so they figured he should be tacked on.
I have asked Friend From Work if he’d like to be Attacks Things Randomly Husband, or something, but he’s not sure if he girlfriend would go for it. All of my auxillary husbands except Lazy Husband have girlfriends or fiancees. Driving Husband is dating the friend I refer to as Quasi-Daughter. She calls Mr. Lissar Older Brother, which leads to all sorts of complications.
Is this all clear, now? 
It’s all very straightforward once you understand it. My family situation, that is.
The MMP, as I see it, is a combined livejournal-for-the-lazy/punfest/cooking/bad joke/attention whore/flirting/things too mundane for a separate thread/general chatting thread. It’s great fun.
Oh, I have to decide on an outfit for tonight. It’s going to be -20 with windchill, so short sleeves are out.
Any suggestions?
So I guess you won’t go out in butt floss and pasties, either?
I suggest lots of fur items.
Dress in layers. I’ve heard that’s what you’re supposed to do in cold weather. But I always wondered “layers of what?”
The MMP reminds me of a bulletin board I was on years ago. It was obstensively for a bunch of Liz Phair fans to discuss her work, but it had its share of off-shoots and hijacks and such. Me and this guy from California routinely tried to get the conversation to go off on very strange tangents. And it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that guy is a Doper.
I’m sorry, but you can’t be nice, that’s my schtick. You can be sweet, or kind, or compassionate, or amiable, or charming, or any of that crap, but you can’t be nice.
I’m nice, dammit.
Oh, yeah, back to the OP - Rue, my dog puked on the new carpet in the dining room. What the H*LL was she thinking?!?!??!?!
Luckily, my inlaws gave us a Green Machine for Christmas, and I think it got all the puke stains up.