“Cat’s”? Aaagh – it’s The Attack of the Rogue Apostrophe! :eek:
(Coming soon to the theater near you)
You know, that reminds me… You can still get Garanimals. The line of clothes that are coded by color and types of animals. So if you have a “blue wallaby” shirt it will match all the “blue” pants, and all the “wallaby” pants. Stay away from the “chartreuse walrus” clothes and you’re Jake. Or Bob’s your uncle. Or other good things.
The bad news is, Garanimals don’t come in grown-up sizes. This could revolutionariate the fashion world. (I’m going with generalizations and stereotypes here. If you are just a private or strictly mono, I’m not talking about you.) Men could dress themselves without saying “So, Honey Butt, waddaya think?”. Or hear the dreaded “You’re going out in that?”.
I’m strictly a “wear dirt colored clothes” type of guy myself. Green dirt, brown dirt and red dirt, that’s about the extent of my wardrobe. It’s a mix and match smorgasbord. I like yellow, but yellow doesn’t like me. It makes me look green. I guess I have blue skin. I had a nifty yellow sweater. Everytime I wore it, strangers would come up to me and ask if I was alright. Or water me.
Women could use the Garanimal concept too. Only not so much for matching as “age appropriate” wear. Or clothing stores could check ID’s when you went in. While blue jeans and a simple top are a sure bet, trying to wear what the Olsen Twins are wearing on the cover of their magazine and you’re, like, 47… not a good idea.
Always check the mirror before you buy your clothes too. Stretchy pants and a crop shirt are fine, if you like that sort of thing. But when the mirror says you go “bloop” between the top of the pants and the bottom of the shirt, believe it. If the mirror says you are sporting the “sausage look”, believe it. (The “sausage look”, if you didn’t know, is when you are stuffed in you pants like sausage in a casing. If you can’t feel your feet at all times, get the next bigger size. [sub]There’s a motto.[/sub] Snug can be sexy, but tight enough to leave bruises, not so much. [sub]And another.[/sub])
Not that if you are so big you actually cast a shadow you are stuck wearing caftans and trenchcoats. On the other hand, if you go to the doctor and the doctor (did you see me being slightly non-sexist right there? “the doctor” not “he”. I made no assumptions.) wants an X-ray and just holds you up to the window, have a muffin for Pete’s sake.
Thus ends Rue DeDay’s Fashion Tips. You can buy the book in the lobby on the way out.
Good mottoing jr8. I have a corollary to your “There’s no “I” in team…” motto.
There is no “I” in “team”, but there is a “me”. It’s just spelled wrong and has extra letters.
Don’t let all this flan go to waste.
-Rue.
This bothered me all last night. The thought of being on Rue DeDay’s head. It seems that after a while my weight would be, well, weighty. Wasn’t it Isaac Newton who said,
And Rue, I don’t want to pay you chiropractic fees.
So, as I said, I was up late, pacing around my living room in the dark, unable to sleep due to anxiety about Rue’s cervical vertebrae, when I banged my shin on the footrest-thingie. My worries changed instantly to anger. Anger at the ancient Turks. Inventors of shinbane furniture and violent sword-wielding imperialists. Oh sure, they had a few poets that did the whole ‘lamenting the fates’ rap, but I bet that if they had a motto, it’d be something like, “hey, whenever ya feel sad, just disembowel somebody!” Well, they might shorten it up for a battle cry but, I ask you, what kind of motto is that? Warmongers.
I couldn’t sleep until I composed a poem:
[poet beret on]
G:eek:ddam ottoman
empire! “O woe… Rip men!”
a motto? Mad d:rolleyes:g.
[\poet beret off]
[sub]Thanks for the welcome, Francesca. [/sub]
Don’t worry too much, heresiarch. I have the strength of Atlas and the head of Charlie Brown. Or is it the head of Atlas…? No, it’s the first thing. I had a Bolivian couple living up there for a while. (I could make a joke here about immigrants coming to America trying to get ahead, But I won’t.) That was back in the Sixties. Everything was freer back then. Wait, I wasn’t born untill '67, so it wasn’t in the Sixties. Who’d want to live on a two year old’s head? It must have been right after college. They needed a place to stay and I needed the money. It was so win-win.
They eventually moved out and found a guy with huge ears closer to town. He was on the bus line. Not actually on a line of busses, but busses would stop near him. They were looking at a woman with a giant nose, but she was a fixer-upper.
Lars and Anastasia from Bolivia. Lovely people. Lars did have the misfortune of having that odd name. She was a quite the dish, none the less.
I also have the biceps of Popeye. It would be nicer to have his forearms, but you take what you can get sometimes. I have my Grandmother’s nose. It’s floating in a jar on the mantle. (Everyone who did not see that coming has to stop reading this thread now. Have you learned nothing?)
-Rue.
It’s raining quite hard right now - I can’t see it but I can hear it - I gave up trying to understand why the partitions are installed against the windows… but it’s raining nonetheless.
Regarding the previous posts about pretreating stains, learn from my mistakes - don’t pretreat with lettuce - you’ll be disappointed.
And speaking of disappointment, no one has offered me tokens of affection for entirely too long. I weep silently within for I am needy and just a little hungry - I didn’t remember to pack a banana in my lunch. Woe is me.
Aside from that, what do you think - should I replace these black loafers with something it little less worn?
Yes, yes, Wolfie can tell time and dates and occasionally the paths of the stars in the sky. And I’ve been to Hell – can’t prove it, the photos over-exposed for some arcane reason.
Surely, though, oh great master of non sequitur … if the thread has been perking for the week as you say, isn’t it time to pour?
I take it that Rue doesn’t like Pepsi. That’s okay–More for me. That could almost be my motto, except that it isn’t. In fact, I think it would be to my benefit to get more people to dislike Pepsi, under the More for me concept. Maybe I could arrange it so I’m the only person who likes Pepsi, so I can have it all. (Well, my sister would still swipe my Pepsi and drink it–but she wouldn’t enjoy it, and that’s what counts.) And, of course, FairyChatMom could have some, if she wanted. (Ideally, I’d like to do the same deal with chocolate, but I don’t think I stand a chance in Hell. Not even in one of the inferior modern Hells.)
I think I might be in Hell today, because it was 100 freaking degrees out and my chocolate melted and stuck to the wrapper. That’s one of those Hellish punishments, you know, chocolate sticking to the wrapper. Rue, let me know if you can get me an appointment with Deputy Angel deepbluesea to do something about my melted chocolate.
FairyChatMom, I used to think you were a kind and generous person. Now I know the truth.
HOW could you think of replacing shoes that have obviously served you long and well? Have you no respect for the aged? Have you no love for loyalty? Where is your moral fiber, woman?
(I happen to prefer Trader Joe’s fiber. It’s pretty moral; it won’t buy into mutual funds that own stock in tobacco companies, seal-killing consortiums, or cola manufacturers. And it donates 5% of its income to charity. However, if you prefer another brand, that’s fine with me, as long as you keep it about you at all times and do not hesitate to use it.)
And, just so he doesn’t feel all neglected and resort to Attention-Seeking Posting Behavior, I present this week’s horoscope for all people using the name Rue DeDay: This week, the sun is dancing with Mars, which means you’ll find your writing under harsh criticism. Try to bear up under the strain. Ares is smacking Mercury around again, so take time out to evaluate your relationship with capital letters. Also, Gemini is starting its big descent into Pluto, so you should ask yourself if the words you type really need those extra letters. If they don’t, donate them to the needy to earn a little more karma.
(Suggested motto: The new, improved Rue DeDay - fewer characters, more character! Same low price! Get him while he’s, um, well, lukewarm!)
(Additional suggested motto: I may not be great, but I’m as good as I get. So you’ll just have to cope.)
Silly Kat. Mr. DeDay does not control my appointment book. In fact, that position is currently open - I used to take care of it myself, but what with registration of mottoes, supervision of chocolate, and distribution of miracles relating to grammar and spelling, I’m getting overwhelmed. This seems like as good a place as any to post the job listing.
deepbluesea seeks organized, dextrous, and sparkling doper for appointment scheduling, responding to routine queries, and light spanking. Requirements: post count of at least 50, regular board presence, trilingual (prefer fluency in Intelligent Human, Board Lunatic, and Troll). Compensation: sincere thanks, frequent massages, and whatever bribes you can skim off the top. Apply by responding to this thread or via private email (see link below). deepbluesea is an equal opportunity employer.
You know, I only read the OP, but it reminds me of a time, back in the twentieth century…I was heading to my abandoned factory and I had an onion in my belt, which was the style of the day, and I had just gotten to the turtle, which was leading the way that the sky-dog had shown me. It had rolled onto it’s back in a freak sugar storm that cleaned out the city dump and destroyed the cities mono-rail system. The only things left standing were a lemon tree and a pretzel stand.
FairyChatMom, how’s every little thing? I just saw your post, and thought I’d drop you a line. Actually I’m dropping you a string of electrons, or just dropping you a string. The old sayings do hang on though, don’t they? “Drop you a line.” “Dial a phone.” (When was the last time most people had a phone with a dial?) “Hang out at Ye Old Soda Shoppe for a phosphate.” Yup, those old sayings sure stand up straight and salute the flag today.
I was going to write you a mash note. That should cheer you up. The reaction I got from deepbluesea for a simple endearment though, sheesh, I didn’t want to risk it.
How did the Banananana Incident work out? That was yesterday, so I figured you got things squared away. Not that I’m going to go on and on about bananananananas. It could turn into a mash note, and we’ve already been through that.
Check your e-mail. There’s something there just for you.
I checked Ice Wolf’s “profile” to see if he was in an area near me. Icey, b’wana, you didn’t fill it out. You know how that chaps my lips. Anyway, since he could be within stalking distance, (wolves do what? 50 square miles?) and I’m not sure if “Orig. – very orig. – by Rue DeDay” was sarcasm or a nod to my posting style, I figure it never hurts to suck up a little. (The strong can afford to be magnanimous. The weak had better be pretty darned clever. -a motto) Ice Wolf, I was going to go with a little story about how my Mom would tell us “And people in Hell want ice water!”. She’d also tell us “If you’re looking for “sympathy” it’s in the dictionary between “shit” and “syphilis”.” I figured this would be too close to the OP, and people would get all deja vu-y. Dopers wandering around all woozy. It could get bad. So I picked on you. I hope you get better, but like Mom always said “If you pick on him, Wolfie won’t get better.” Ah, Mom. She always knew just what to say. Dad had “If you fall down and breaks your legs, don’t come running to me.” and “I’ll give you something to cry about.”. Dad just wasn’t on the same level as Mom.
Kat, deep set you straight on the whole “Rue setting her appointments” thingy. So I won’t get back into it. I think deepbluesea sees me as sort of a sore tooth. I give her a pain, but she still has to poke me with her tongue on occasion. Metaphorically. (Not the same metaphore as I used with Puddin’, though.) It works for me. (deep, don’t you think I’m dextrous? How about that thing I can do… no never mind. If you don’t think so, you don’t think so. How about sparkling? Can I at least be sparkling?)
thinksnow, I was there that day, later that night. The pretzel stand had to lie down. It was tired. It could roll around the next day.
Not that it has anything to do with anything, but when did that ever slow me down? I was going to post a thread about a sort of Dopefest here in the Tri-state area. That would be the Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana Tri-state area. Only instead of being at a house I was thinking at a park. Big Bone Lick State Park (that is too a real park) because it would be funny to say. It could be at another park though, depending on who wanted to come. A Doper Rendezvous. Only without trading your beaver pelts for whiskey, salt and black powder. You could if you wanted too, but who has extra beaver pelts?
I was figuring a whole weekend affair. Friday night roll in and set up camp. The traditional Friday Night Campfire and Carouse. S’mores and rum, mmmm-mm. Staurday is Do Your Own Thing time. Hiking, fishing, frisbee in the campsite. Whatever you want. A big pot o’ chili for dinner Saturday. Or Hobo Stew. That’s where everyone throws a can of something in a pot. Sometimes it’s called “Friendship Stew”. Then the traditional Saturday Night Campfire and Carouse. Sunday you get up and go home. Of course, if you wanted to leave Sturday, how would I stop you? Or show up Saturday and stay the night. Whatever would be good for you. “You” being whoever wanted to play along. Not necessarily you “you”. You get the picture. This “you” is you.
That was the plan.
I can’t though. I’m swamped. A wedding . Some landscaping. General family stuff. This Fall is just booked.
Part of the “general family stuff” includes a trip to The Happiest Place on Earth©. “But Rue,” I hear you say “anywhere with you is, by definition, The Happiest Place on Earth©!” Oh, you are too kind. I am going to The House of the Mouse, near Orlando, in Florida. I won’t get more specific than that, security concerns, you know. It’ll be a big to-do for Clan DeDay. A big Sib Function. Me, the Little Woman, all my sibs and their respective spouses, plus Soupo. Katcha gets to spend a week bonding with Gammie and Pappie DeDay. A good time is going to be had by all.
More updates as conditions warrant.
-Rue.
Did I ever tell you my theory of Parking Karma? It’s real simple. Don’t park in the best space. How ever many spaces you park away from the best space, that’s how many Parking Karma Points you earn. Then, when you need a really good parking spot for some reason, you trade in your points, and bam, good spot.
Parking Karma: it’s good, and good for you.
-Rue.
I have actually been to the Big Bone Lick State Park. Last September, I drove there to the Knob Creek
Machine Gun Shoot.
I wore pink faux snakeskin boots. I was the only one there in footwear like that. I also wore earplugs because it is a VERY loud place to be. There was only one casualty the day I was there…some guy’s firearm misfired & it grazed his leg, but it was a superficial wound & he continued shooting. The main range was a scorched field littered with burning cars and perforated oil drums. The pretzel stand was a goner, though.
I also bought a pair of adorable little machine gun earrings. Other than that, it was not a very girly place to be.
I checked, I found, I was touched. Pardon me while I wipe a wee tear from my eye. Rue, I feel we connect on a deeply spiritual level. Just be sure you keep your payments current - I’d hate to have to charge you a reconnect fee. I’ll cut you some slack, tho… just because, well, you know why…
Be still my heart… Is it true that {b]Rue** of my dreams will be mere hours away?? Within the very borders of my very state of residence? I do declare, I believe I shall swoon. Clear that crap off the fainting couch before I hurt myself!! And stop teasing the dog! Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with it…
Oh yeah, regarding my loafers - they’re safe and sound in my closet. I’m nothing if not frugal.
Rue, you certainly know how to cruise with the words. My apologies to you for not having as classy a profile list as yourself – when I first signed on, I tried for caution. Well, that didn’t work, but I haven’t been back to fill the blank.
Profile: A 38 year old Kiwi, real name Lisa, who is one of the Teeming Handful at G’Dope. Actually, I never thought anyone would mistake my posts for that of a man – they just seem, oh, I don’t know, limp, somehow. Not for me the wit of a Fenris, or the class of Dire Wolf, to name but two. I keep popping up, but I ain’t memorable.
As I’m a Kiwi, from Auckland NZ, and I see you claim to be in Ohio – I’d say you’re safe as houses, mate. I can’t swim, an’ I can’t afford the wings.
An’ no, I wasn’t being sarcastic. You, my dear, are very original. Two hundred years ago, that might have been classed as an insult, or in the least, derogatory of one’s ability to be a social being. These days, it is meant, at least from my part, with admiration.
Rue I do not know why you don’t touch it. But I guess you are one of those that keeps your hands off of your screen. I have so many finger prints on my computer screen from touching “it” that I can barely see to type much less work. Then there are those who want help, they come by my office and say “can you help me”. I show them stuff and bam they touch it. Get your lousy paws off my computer monitor – no offense intended Ice Wolf.
You know even when I am alone at work, I know they are watching. I figure they have those itty bitty cameras somewhere in here as well as microphone so that they can catch me say “management is ____”. I figure it has to be in that motion sensor for the lights. Hey guys I’m working. This is for my design. Motto: No I am not paranoid, I know they are watching me.
Ah family trips are so much fun. All the time needed to get into some really indepth discussions on the minute trivia of irritants. Then the yelling starts, followed by the long period of silence. Ah the restful silence which of course is accompanied by killing stares, but then quickly the vacation is over. Motto: Vacations are not for the faint of heart.
Hokey smokes and good gravy! *Ice Wolf is a giirrrrll! Well then, that changes everything. Like watching that squirrel waterski so long ago, the perspective is totally different.
I need to get the Gender-O-Matic adjusted on the Rue DeDay Make-An-Assumption-About-People Filter™. Woo is my face red. Not in the good way either. To make amends I offer you this small offering. Or gift you this small gifting. Either way, it’s still awkward. Point it toward the lovely, lovely Ice Wolf (who is really a girl, for all you blockheads who can’t tell) and it would be *Auk’*ward.
O Ice Wolf, she of fairest face and comeliest bearing, I feel my heart swell to the bursting with… oh, wait… I went that way once already in this thread and got smacked down… hmmm… Ice Wolf makes Aphrodite look like as skanky bitch on a bad day. (That’s Wolfie on a bad day. No matter what the cool kids say, “skanky bitch” is a bad thing.) There. And I mean it, too.
And what’s with “safe as houses”? The guy two doors down got locked out of his house last night, and we broke in with a screwdriver and an expired ATM card. Not too safe if you ask me. Is it just a saying like “smooth as a baby’s butt”? I’ve seen my share of baby’s butts, and with just a touch of diaper rash, smooth they ain’t.
Speaking of hot tomatos. (Carina, Carina, Carrrrriiiinnnaa, CarinaCarinaCarina… I just love saying that name) Nothin’ says drop dead sexy as a skirt who smells like cordite. Now, you might not think it’s too bright an idea to call a woman who freely admits to firing off a machine gun now and again a “tomato” or “skirt”… and looking back I think I agree with you. Carina, I was just joking. [sub](Heh, heh)[/sub] The safety’s on, on that thing, right?
The guy who got locked out is a Promise Keeper. Not that that has anything to do with anything. It just amuses me.
“Hey God, could you keep a spare key for me? I’ll be good and keep all my promises.”
"No, I doth not so thinketh."
-Rue. (and try the punch before the ice melts and it gets all watery. Hey! You kids! Stay away from that!)
I bet your face was red also, Rue, when you realised you hadn’t taken your finger off the “bolding ray” button, hmm? Don’t never mind, dear, happens to everyone.
I am flattered, bewillergered and gobsmacked by your prose. I’d like to see more of your posts on this board from here on in, because I have so enjoyed this thread.
deb2world, I’ve seen the “busy-fingered” folk myself. Me, I tend to like to keep my paws (heh) on my own computer equipment. If someone else has a problem with theirs, I direct 'em through it. Only if they are still so struck with technophobia that they absolutely, positively believe that hitting the “enter” key will crash not only their ‘puter, but the rest of Western Civilisation’s tattered tech-inheritance – do I tap the necessary keys. Real slow, so they’ll follow. I always advise, in training sessions, that they have beside them a pen and paper. Some of the older tools coming to the aid, still, of the oldest tool of all – the poor ol’ brain.
I wouldn’t get too worried about the cameras, unless they’ve installed 'em in the loo as well, in which case – there is always another use for TP. The motto for most people screening security tapes in such situations could be: “Lots of cameras to make people think we have a real job. Instead of using our time to learn crochet. Or play Solitaire.”
I try not to worry about Big Brother or Sister no more. By now, since Orwell’s 1984 came out, they’d both be the resthomes somewhere. May their wheelchairs rust.
Ice Wolf, I meant to do that. That’s how God talks. It could be the Goddess, but when you’re omnipotent, gender is optional.
Which reminds me of a story…
It was a dark and stormy night. The morning was clear and bright. Quite pleasant. There was a stiffening breeze coming off the lake. The lake was in front of the Viagra factory. Go figure.
The rodeo was in town. Under the theory that it is easier to see the rodeo when it is in town than when it is 4,962 miles away, I decided to go. I knew one of the rodeo clowns. He didn’t like to be called a “clown”. He felt it was demeaning. He preferred to be called a “Flaming Idiot Who Jumps In Front Of Pissed-off Bulls To Keep Cowboys From Being Pounded Into Muck”. Not that he actually conflagrated. It’s just an expression. A metaphore.
His name is William. Not his first name, that was Esterhazy. His last name is William. When he’d make reservations, he’d say “William.”
They’d say, “Williams?”
He’d say, “No. There’s just one of me.”
He is like that, my friend Esterhazy William.
He has a brother. His name is McIntyre. McIntyre is not that interesting. He has a sister, too. Her name is Desdamona. Eats like a bird, she does. She sits up in trees and holds her food with her feet. Desdamona, or Dez as I call her, also poops on the statues in the park. Not really a fun date, Dez.
We are good friends, Esterhazy and me. We’d borrow stuff from each other all the time. He borrowed my Duncan Imperial. He had to practice “Around the World”. He never could get “Rock the Cradle”, it was too tough. He’d also borrow my gardening tools. The Little Woman’s actually. But he’d get them from me. He owed me a container of my favorite potable, too. Boy, Esterhazy owed me a lot of stuff. But we are still friends.
While I was watching the rodeo, a bull got loose. Esterhazy whipped into action. He had no real whip. That might have helped him. The bull pounded the snot out of him. Well, more than that. A simple Kleenex wouldn’t have fixed old Esterhazy. They ran him to a hospital. I thought an ambulance of even a car would be better. But they ran. I guess they were professionals and knew what they were doing.
When I called the hospital, they said Esterhazy was going to be all right. He wasn’t really all right before the accident. He was a rodeo clown. You have to be a little nuts to be a rodeo clown. Anyway, they said he’d be all right.
“That’s good,” I said. “He owes me money.”
That was a lie. I lied to the hospital. It was OK though. It wasn’t a religious hospital. I won’t be going to Hell. Imagine how embarassing that would be, showing up in Hell.
“Wadda ya in for?” a Hell person would ask.
“Lying to a hospital.”
Man, that would suck.
I had to lie to the hospital. I couldn’t say “That’s good, he owes me a yo-yo, hoe and a bottle of rum.”
That would just sound dumb.
-Rue.
Rue, I am going on the record as being officially infatuated with you… Your wit, your creativity, your sensitivity, your devilish good looks, your charm and suavity, you’re much too good for me, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Well, she could if she could get a good night’s sleep and not be awakened at 2AM by the idiot dogs barking in their sleep. But dogs will be dogs and dames will be dames, and I need to do the dishes before I go to bed, or the kitchen will be disgusting in the morning. Still, I have to ask - do you think I should get my hair trimmed? Or maybe permed? Or I could dye it red again, just for fun.
yep, definitely infatuated. I do declare…