Riiiiiight

Remember the Simpsons where they see Rainer Wolfcastle and he's pigging out on several hot dogs and a leaning tower of nachos, and his excuse is that he's going to play a fat secret agent?

Okay, probably not, because you're probably not as psychotic a Simpsons fan as I am. Unless you're part of the infamous Meh Triangle, in which case you're more of a psychotic Simpsons fan than I am.

Anyway, Wolfie's apparently got nothing on Renee Zellweger.

Can I get paid 20 million bucks to gain 20 pounds? Please? Hell, I'll take 20 grand, and I can fake a British accent better than Zellweger anyway...

A Little On The Nose, Don't You Think?

This cartoon is my life. No wonder this guy won the Pulitzer for the 2nd time in 4 years this year...

Cooper Fights For Us All

Some days, you just have to fight with inanimate objects.

I've had fights like this with my computer (trying to get it to cough up a necessary file or install a stubborn program) and my DVD player (trying unsuccessfully to get it to play my copy of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which plays on other players). Most days, you lose these fights.

And in Coop's case, some days, you win.

Ow

I've fallen on my ass before, but I don't think in front of this many people.

So there's a double swinging door to the back of the kitchen at work, and I've noticed that it's much easier to get it to open right when you're carrying a lot of shit by kicking it open in front of you and then walking through than by trying to just push it open.

Problem today was, the floor was wet, so when I picked up my one leg to kick the door open, the other one flew right out from under me, and I fell flat on my back.

I'm gonna have a nice bruise on my ass and my shoulder's gonna hurt for a couple days, but otherwise, I wasn't hurt. I broke about two thirds of the dishes I was carrying, but thankfully the managers at work are cool and care more about whether people are OK than plates.

I love people's reactions when I tell them the story:

Cleo: chicks dig scars
Cleo: its hot
Me: yes, but this won't create a scar.
Cleo: say you got it in some fucked up sex romp

I will. Except then they'll read this and know the truth, but hopefully by then I'll have already conned them into having pity sex with me.

Because you've gotta start somewhere.

Scariest...People...Ever...

Okay, this happened Saturday afternoon, but the more I think about it the more it bothers me, so I feel a need to post about it.

I was at work and there were two middle-aged Jewish women and the 13 or 14-year old daughter of one of them sitting at a table. They gave me the world's most obnoxious order (take everything out, then put a bunch of other shit on), so they were already annoying me.

I'm required to suggest a dessert, something I usually do by turning around our handy-dandy little appetizer on one side, dessert menu on the other card to reveal the dessert menu. So I went over and turned the card around and said here's our dessert menu.

Complete Bitch: Oh, we're all on a diet.
Me: Well, that's okay, I just wanted to show you the menu.
Complete Bitch: (pointing to picture of chocolate soufflé cake à la mode) This used to be my daughter's favorite dessert anymore. But she can't have it anymore because she's getting FAT and if she keeps eating it she's going to keep getting FAT. She's on a DIET.
Me: (too busy picking my jaw up off the floor to speak).

I had to walk away just to prevent myself from slapping the woman. I shot the poor girl my best "I'm so sorry your mom's such a heinous bitch" look. And I'm sorry, the kid was not fat, period. She wasn't a stick figure, but that doesn't mean she's overweight.

I wanted to say, "Congratulations, lady! You've just given your kid an eating disorder, if she didn't already have one!"

People like this make me want to call DCFS. Yes, encourage your kids to eat healthy. But constantly reminding your kids that they're fat is not healthy, mentally or physically.

Arrrgh. Some days I wonder about humanity....

22

I've had several people ask me how it feels to be 22. The answer: Pretty much the same.

I didn't get as drunk as I did last year (an easy task, because I was falling down drunk last year). There just wasn't as much of a sense of change this year.

I think the birthdays in your early 20's are not unlike your 19th birthday. Nothing actually happens except a number rolling over on the odometer of life. Sometimes it feels like it's just a reason to start feeling old.

But it's also a reason to have a party and be reminded of how much your friends rock. And that makes the feeling old part worth it, because your friends will make you laugh, mock you when you're being dumb, and overall show that they love you.

And to sound sappier than the Inspirational Movie Of The Week, that's the best birthday present a girl could ask for.

Help, I'm Being Followed By Letters!

For shits and giggles, here's my horoscope for the next year, from the Washington Post:

IF JUNE 8 IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: Your practical side excels at organizing and creating order out of chaos. You're an excellent referee and conciliator. You possess a mercurial temperament; this year you're clearing the decks and looking forward to reinventing yourself. September and October promise romance and personal gain. December marks a psychological turning point. H, Q and Z follow you around.

Birthday Do's And Don'ts

(note: This was written at about 5am last night, but Blogger was down at that time)

Do: Get given a stuffed animal from Finding Nemo, of the character played by your namesake.

Don't: Try not to laugh while chugging a drink while your friends sing you Happy Birthday in mock disdain for your friends and then choke on your drink and almost die in a Six Feet Under-style death, being saved only by coughing for half an hour and getting an inhaler given to you by a friend with a broken arm (thanks, Lummis!).

Do: Hang out with people you haven't seen in a while.

Don't: Keep drinking even after you know the drunk lag has kicked in.

Do: Drunkenly threaten to kick the ass of bastard friends who have not shown up.

Don't: Actually attempt to kick anyone's ass, because you're far too drunk to think, let alone walk, let alone try to kick anyone's ass.

Do: Remind yourself how fun getting plastered is.

Don't: Forget to have plenty of bread and water after finishing your drunkenness, so as not to break your (now 12-year) prolific non-vomit streak.

Do: Celebrate being 22, not just 21.

Don't: Remind yourself of the tremendous waste your $100,000+ college diploma is being put to.

Do: Have fun.

Don't: Drunkenly blog. Ooops...