Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister…

So for all of you who know my sister, Kelly aka KWeb, you know that she ran a totally rockin’ orientation this week on Hawk Hill…and I haven’t even gotten to talk to her about it. I don’t need to – because she and i keep up with each other via away messages, online photo albums, and of course, this blog. It’s all part of my theory that we are moving towards never actually speaking to other people at all. Further evidence – NintenDog.

Anyway, if you see her around, pat her on the back and tell her how much she kicks ass.

Also, as much as I love major weather events, I think we are all wishing that this hurricane was a non-event. In any case, it just serves to remind us that in the end, Mother Nature is one nastybitch who does whatever she wants, and there is not much you can do about it.

Quote of the day – “So Jim Cantore is just totally bald under that hat. I saw him the other day without one, and I had absolutely no idea who it was.”

A final note – those massive, race-car shaped grocery carts have got to go. I swear, your kids will survive a trip to the food store in a regular old wire cart. And you will thus not block my access to the cheese case. They also don’t need to push around their own mini-cart. I promise, their self-esteem can take it.

Shocker

In other news…water is wet.

Also, I just want to state for the record that just because you have a stroller and a kid, you are not entitled to special treatment.

You aren’t doing anything groundbreaking.

You are not the first person in the history of the world to have a child.

I have no idea why I should have to get out of your way at the mall just so you can get by. Or so you can put your kid on that damn train that goes around and makes everyone have to alter their route to Nordstrom.

Please stop clogging up aisle at the bookstore with your wheeled monstrosity. Move it to the side.

Spee”d it up in the grocery store parking lot. Yes, lady, the world stroll” is in the name of the thing, but I have a limited amount of time for lunch and I dont want five minutes of it to be spent waiting for you and your passel of mealymouthed brats to cross the street and go in the store. You really ought to run out of respect for my patience.

And for the love of all that is holy and good, having kids in a stroller DOES NOT entitle you to cut in front of me the line at Starbucks.

Oh, hell no.

When you ask me, “oh do you mind if we go ahead, my baby needs a diaper change,” as you and your stroller get there thirty seconds after me, don’t act so aghast and disgusted when I say “Yes, I mind.” I got here first. You didn’t ask a rhetorical question. I don’t want to stand in line behind you and your stinky-ass baby. I want my freaking latte and I want to leave.

Freaking species-ist country. I would never dream of cutting a line because I have a dog. In fact, I would stand in line longer so everyone could get a turn to pet my dog, because she is so freaking awesome.

My freaking awesome dog, by the way, shits in the grass and comes inside. She doesn’t carry her poop around in her pants. You tell me which is preferable.

I Want To Put On My My My My My (holy) Boogie Shoes

Where was this nun when I was in school?

If you consider all of the things that the Catholic Church has gotten bad press about in the last five years, they could use a good human interest story.

I think Sister Johanne “Party Animal” Vertommen should be the rule, not the exception. She should be celebrated, not reprimanded.

She wasn’t doing the Lambada or any sort of other dirty dancing. It appears she even left room for the holy spirit.

In a summer when the most popular program was “Dancing with the Stars”, you could take her actions as a sign that the Church is finally moving to keep up with the times…Dancing with the Saints, anyone?

Nobody puts Sister Johanne in the corner.

Will They Never Learn?

Coming soon to Arizona….one ibook stampede…

The Squeaky Wheel Gets the Biggest Insult

After reading this, I think I might have to cease and desist my daily calls to Comcast to complain about the fact I can’t get channel 43 since they switched everything around a few weeks ago.

Seriously, Comcast, we pay your outrageous, monopolistic rates every month. You’d think the least you could do is fix it so I can watch Survivor when I want to.

In other news, Animal Planet’s “Growing Up..” show is my latest guilty pleasure.

And I have yet to get over the insult that my husband would rather go on the Amazing Race with my mom than with me. I know I have no sense of direction and can’t see too well, but I could rock that cheese-eating fast forward like no one else. I might not go to the bathroom for a week, but on aracearoundtheworld…that might just be preferable. And goats, I can surely get by the goats…

One Crappy Apple Spoils a Whole Bunch of People

If ever a news story made me laugh out loud and smack my desk in glee, it was this one:

http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/08/16/computer.frenzy.ap/index.html

Way to go, people. Urinatingi in your pants and slamming your fellow citizens with folding chairs to get laptops that will probably stop working after a few days – this is truly special behavior. I am so proud to be a resident of Richmond.

Think different? More like Think Peeingonyourself. I am waiting for this to be the new apple marketing campaign – the new iMobMentality. or iPublicRelationsNightmare. For me personally – iSchadenfreude.

Hee.

Here is another look. I recommend the slide shows of images, including the destroyed stroller.

7:15 p.m. – This incident has made all the national news websites. CNN! Fantastic!

The most recent media mention of Richmond before that I can think of is in this month’s Vanity Fair, which discusses, in an article about the South, Richmond’s lack of willingness to catch up with the times. Ha on you, VF, because there is nothing more thoroughly modern than wild stampedes for crappy laptops. The greater Richmond metro area has arrived in the 21st century at last. And not with a bang, but with mass chaos.

Now, if they could only fix the Arthur Ashe statue to make it look less like he was beating the children with his tennis racket, I could be entirely proud of my current city of residence.

Except, not so much. After all, we still have NASCAR.