That's quite a USP!

Thirsty? Call this dude. He apparently has access to some mighty fine drinking water (after he cleans your persian rug).


I'm sticking to diet coke. Thanks.

Lock me up in this refrigerated case

Ever have a heck of a day? The kind of day that when you get home you want to stick your face in a plate of cupcakes?

I had that day today.

Lord, how I long for a cupcake....a photo will have to do.

Just say it straight...

My friend Amy has never been one to mince words. She will say it like she sees it. For example, after having labor induced 3 times over the last 2 days, she finally told her very proper English doctor,

"Look, if you want this kid to come out, you are going to have to go in and get him".

And that is just what the doctor did. Congratulations Amy & Kevin on the addition of little Connor Kirk!

I can tell my cashmere is cowering

Check out this critter that I encountered while walking through my company's warehouse on the way to the lunchroom. I swear every sort of winged, antennae-wearing creepy crawly that is in North Carolina weighs about a pound each.

I had to go back to my desk and get my personalized ruler to get some scale on this giant moth so one could understand it's size.

This guy could probably decimate my sweater drawer in 30 seconds flat.

See Joe McGann?

My pal Joe McGann is currently living over in India for a year. The other day he came across a Cobra situation on the street in Guragoan and told me the story. Imagine my glee when I was able to swap a big snake story with him.

Of course he wanted a picture for proof - so Joe McGann, today's posting is just for you.

It's of me and 2 new friends I found in Morocco.

I can't help myself sometimes, if you have been my victim, my apologies

I think sometimes I'm like this monkey...

Probably another exhausting night in dreamland tonight

As I go through reading my daily favorite sites on the internet, the false news posted of French actor Jean Reno having a heart attack filled me with dread. Dread because a film star that I admire may be ill?

No.

Dread because the dream will probably come to me tonight. Since about 1989, I have had a re-occurring dream starring Jean Reno (as his character Enzo in The Big Blue - a movie about competitive free diving) that shows up every couple of months. Is it like clockwork that the dream turns up?

No.

Is it the same dream?

No.

It's usually a very detailed escapade in which this Enzo character shows up in weird situations and either helps or distracts me. He's never evil or dangerous, but generally it's kind of a pain in the ass. He's turns up in his wet suit in the weirdest places.

Ask my friends Mike, Jody or Lori, they will confirm that I have been boring them with the telling of my Enzo dreams for almost 20 years.

I've always been a colorful dreamer, in full color with precise detail. Last night was a mental workout, as I had 4 specific, colorful separate dreams which involved 4 different groups of people from work that didn't involve work in any way. My dreams are so active almost every night, sometimes I feel like I have all my mental energy drained out of me when it's time to wake up.

Do I want to be a person with black and white, vague dreams? No. I'm glad I get to remember them, and I am glad I get to bore those close to me with my recounting of dreams.

Why? Because I can.

The silent scream

What I looked like during my ride back from the beach with my friend Jessica behind the wheel.

I made it back in one piece...surprisingly.

The inanimate - animated

I have always projected personalities upon inanimate objects. I have since I was a kid. Could be an aftershock from the Disney-fying of my childhood - where a multitude of inanimate objects would come alive in movies and cartoons, implying they had thoughts and emotions, a la Herbie the Love Bug.

This personality projection manifests it in a variety of ways - too extensive for me to detail without boring you to death. I chalk it up to having an overactive imagination.

As I have mentioned before, I lived with my Gay Hubby for over 7 years, and in his main bathroom, there is a sink with a face within it. I'm not talking "potato chip with the face of the virgin mary on it" face within it, the kind that would get sold on Ebay - I'm saying the design of the sink is such that it looks like a face.

Every night when I was getting ready for bed, washing my face and brushing my teeth - I looked into the bathroom sink and saw this face staring back at me. Kind of like a stoner dude - with a blank silver eyed stare, and a slack open mouth and a frequently runny nose-like spigot.

A possible brush with death

My life passed before my eyes last night.

I just finished eating some dinner consisting of brown rice, hummus, onions and avocados (sounds weird, but I'm weird, so stop judging).

As I put the Hummus container away, I saw the expiration date. "Use by 7/25/08 7:25 PM". I overshot the freshness by 10 days and 30 minutes.

I may perish from this perishiable.

If I don't post anytime soon - you will know, it's because of the hummus.

I'm not always alone in my thinking...

It never failed.

Everyday, when the bus drove by this building on the way to classes at the University of Minnesota, I would see the chiseled sign above the doorway of this building just off the campus.

Viniversity Storehovse Shops. I would repeat it in my head, after I saw it.

I realize the building was built long ago - and the right thing to do was to use a V instead of a U (god bless the old timers modeling the sign after the Greeks or the Romans or who knows what culture)at the time it was built, but now, it's a bit unique and stands out to the typical late 20th century student.

When I back in MPLS this summer, driving around Dinkytown (the name of the area outside of the campus on the east bank of the Mississippi) with Gay Hubby and friend Jody, I knew we were about to approach the building known to me as Viniversity Storehoves Shops. I started saying it out loud, knowing that we would pass it soon. GH said "what are you saying, you sound like a loon" to which I told the tale of my daily pass by of the building and how the name would get stuck in my head. Both he and Jody thought I was a lunatic. I disagreed. I said that I bet a bunch of people thought the same thing as I did.

A hearty debate of of their "no way" to my "uh huh" pressed on for a minute and I said - I'm calling my sister to see what she says. My sister Shelly went to the U of MN and once worked there as well, so she was well versed in the layout of Dinkytown.

I called her up and said "Shelly, you know that brick building across the street from Coopers Union?" She replied "you mean Viniversity Storehoves Shops?"

I then rested my case.

It feels good to be right. Oh yes, it feels good.

What you can get me for Christmas

Wake me up before you go go

Tonight was the big night to go see George Michael with Gay Hubby in all of George's retro tour glory.

Here are 5 great things about the concert:
1) George sounded phenomenal. His pipes sound just as good as they did in the 80's!

2) The stage was quite fantastic. It was a giant LCD screen that he and his back up singers danced on, and there were light shows and video that corresponded with the songs he was singing.

3) George still looks good - he rocked some fabulous drapey wide legged trousers, a hot pair of jeans, and then got dressed up in a cop uniform which was extra campy goodness.

4) Dude can still DANCE! Holy cow, he has got some serious moves. They aren't super acrobatic, but he can do a shimmy and a shake that can set the world on fire. Both Gay Hubby and I commented on it, and agreed that our friend Suneel has some similar moves to George.

5) His back up singers were fantastic, and he rolled credits on the big screen at the end of the concert to recognize his band and crew which I thought was pretty cool.


Here are 5 not so great things about the concert:
1) George's stamina is not what it used to be. He frequently resorted to the "stick the microphone into the crowd so they can sing this part and I can catch my breath" move. It got to the point that Gay Hubby said "I didn't pay to hear the crowd sing".

2) George seemed disappointed in us that we weren't chanting his name with a raucous enough passion. I think George is used to the rabid English Wembley stadium fans that screech, fight and rip apart stadium as a mass of 90,000. Here in MN, the crowd was smaller (probably 20,000), a little more reserved (mostly of Scandinavian descent), and well mannered (a midwestern quality that we all seem to possess).

3) George made us beg for encores. This drives me crazy. The artist knows how many encores they are willing to do - and know that they are going to do them. It seemed indulgent that he made us clap and hoot and holler for a good 5 minutes each time before he came out. I think George might not like George so much, and is suffering from low self esteem. George needs a hug.

4) George started late. Concert was supposed to start at 8 - there was no opening act, and it didn't start until 8:45. I R R I T A T I O N.

5) He wasn't sure the name of the city that he was in. He warmed up the crowd with "Hello Minneapolis" which isn't really right, as we were in St. Paul. After the intermission (yes, intermission - another indicator that George needed a rest) his handlers must have told him that he was in St. Paul, so he kept saying "Thank you St. Paul". Yes the Twin Cities is made up of both Minneapolis and St. Paul, but it felt a little like when my parents always call me by my sister's name. Yes, my sister and I are both daughters of our parents, but we do have different identities - much like Minneapolis and St. Paul. (I'm Minneapolis in this situation, my sister Shelly is St. Paul)

All in all, it was a fantastic evening - all thanks to GH Mike - he is truly the best!

I will rank this concert definitely in my top 8 concerts - possibly even in the top 5.

If you like rankings, check out the top 10 list on George Michael that was published recently in the San Francisco Chronicle at www.sfgate.com - just search for top 10 George Michael(thanks Joe Mcgann for the heads up!)

Do you smell something?

Today was another day in flight for me. I flew up for a week long vacation in the delicious Twin Cities. Of course, the biggest trial and tribulation of traveling anywhere for me is getting through the Raleigh/Durham airport security without some sort of incident.

If you remember last time, I was accused by the security checkpoint officers of having an artificial hip and lying about it. This time I was assaulted, or should I say my senses were assaulted by a fellow passenger just trying to get through.

Traveling today was a group of teenage boys, all dressed up alike in some sort of soccer themed gear. They were kind of scruffy, kind of geeky, with messy hair and oily skin. As they worked their way through the security process, I was tucked into the last security checkpoint station with 4 of the kids.

As a person who has done a fair amount of traveling, I know what to expect, had my computer out of my bag, in a bin, shoes off (wearing shoes easy to get in and out of) and wearing clothes that don't look like I am hiding 4 Kilos of plastic explosives. The guys maybe didn't have as much experience as me, so I had to find my inner zen to be patient while watching then fumble about to try and get organized to put their things through the x ray machine.

I was just a few feet away from being able to place my laptop bin on the conveyor belt as scruffy soccer kid #4 was still getting his stuff on the belt. As I stood and waited patiently, something wafted up to my nose. I looked around to try and identify the offending odor. Was it me? Nope, just smelled perfume on me. Was it a rotten salami sandwich? Nope, no sandwich to be seen. I looked down and Scruffy #4 had taken his shoes off and they sat on the ground. I wondered - could it be his sneakers? Nothing that foul could be that strong - wafting all the way up to my nose (I was taller than usual too, wearing platform wedge sandals). Scruffy #4 bent down, picked up his shoes and put them on the conveyor belt just in front of me. The drifting aroma from his shoes just about knocked me on my ass.

As I waited for his stuff to go through - especially the shoes, my eyes begin to water, and I felt like I could taste what I was smelling. They finally got into the x ray chamber I hoped that the x rays zooming through his shoes were killing any of the micro-organisms that were waging war on my nasal passages.

As I followed him through the metal detector, I breathed through my mouth, hoping that it would all be over soon. Of course, he had some sort of metal device in his back pack that was suspicious (he said it was to remove the cleats on his soccer shoes) which then required a search of his bag. The poor security officer looked mortified that she had to go through the back pack (which had a pair of soccer shoes stuffed in the top) to identify the issue.

I hope she had a haz-mat suit to put on to dig through his bag. I ske-daddled as soon as I could because I didn't want to be around when the main zipper was unzipped.

It wasn't a mother f*ckin walk off

It was Tuesday.

I was part of a group that was presenting a new change to my company's brand, which required me to change into special t-shirt that was part of the planned theatrics.

To get back to my desk, it requires me to walk down a main 'hallway' which is flanked by banks of low cubes (waist height) on either side. Everyone sitting at their desk can see who is going up and down the aisle.

As I began to walk to the other end of the aisle to get to my desk, the president of our company was at the opposite end of the aisle. He is a guy with a dry sense of humor and likes to make jokes. He smiled at me and seemed to be laughing as the two of us approached each other in the aisle-way.

Since Zoolander is one of my favorite movies, I assumed it was the president's too, and that he was challenging me to a mother f*ckin walk off (as portrayed in today's clip). I began my strut toward him, kind of walking like a weird pony - the way that Miss J teaches all the girls on America's Next Top Model.

As the president approached me he said "Missy, I thought perhaps you could give me one of those shirts" - referring to my new theatrical uniform. I responded to him "oh, I thought you wanted to have a walk off" which left him very puzzled. My face turned red, and a retreated with the chant "uncomfortable" running through my head.

I went and found him a shirt, but by then, he refused, most likely because my earlier behavior was freaking him out.

I raised my profile in one weird way that day.

Mamma Mia

This is the song that has been in my head for the last 4 days. It started after seeing the preview for the new movie "Mamma Mia" starring Meryl Streep - who appears to spend much of the movie in overalls, which should be interesting.

Am I irritated by this ABBA mental invasion? Not really, as I am an ABBA lover. How could one not love them? Good beat, fabulous outfits, and hairdos that most would say are hair-don't's (bless little Bjorn with his modified mullet). I've seen the musical "Mamma Mia", I've got all their greatest hits, and have even gone to see Bjorn Again - an ABBA tribute band.

I associate people with ABBA songs too, for example, every time I hear Dancing Queen I think of my friend Ada as it's her personal theme song, Waterloo for GH maybe because he can be as tyrannical as Napoleon, and Fernando for my mom - because I remember her trying to explain what the lyrics meant when I was 7 years old.

My company is expending a lot of energy to improve working conditions for the team - I think in lieu of a Yoga room which is in the plans - I'm going to suggest an ABBA room. Talk about giving a morale injection! It's foolproof I believe.

My mental ABBA song just changed from "Mamma Mia" to "I have a dream".

Make tomorrow an ABBA-RAMA in your life.

Do they have to call it pudding?

Every morning I see an advertisement for this stuff, and it makes me feel like I'm from outer space.

Seriously? Internal organ pudding? I will stick with J-E-L-L-O.


Now there is more for those who really dig it.

I blame my OCD on John-Boy

I have a personal quirk - a curiosity if you will.

I have a ritual when I iron something.

Once my ironed item is freshly pressed, I reach down and unplug the iron saying out in a clear voice (to no one) "I HAVE UNPLUGGED THE IRON". Why do I do this? Because a secret fear of mine is to leave the house with the iron plugged in, and then the house burns down due to the iron overheating.

"Why don't you get an iron with an automatic shut off Missy?" you ask? I do have an iron with an automatic shut off, but WHAT IF IT FAILS? Then the house still burns down. By saying it out loud to myself, I don't have to question myself on my way to work "did I turn off the iron? I turned off the iron right? I don't remember turning off the iron..." over and over. I would drive myself mad and would have to return home to make sure it's turned off.

Why this crazy fascination with the house burning down? Because when I was around 8 years old, I remember the episode of the The Walton's where the house burned down because either
1) Grandpa left the electric heater on by the tub
2) Pa forgot to manage the embers the pot belly stove in the kitchen or
3) John-Boy snuck one of Pa's cigars and didn't put it out properly.

Seeing the horrors of the fire on the poor Walton family shook me to my very soul. As a result of watching that show, I started my own personal watch over my family household, getting up in the middle of the night every night to do "the rounds" checking each room to make sure that there were no items in each room that were in potentially combustible situations.

My parents put up with this wacko behavior for a while, but finally my mom said - "Knock it off, or else I'm sending you to a psychiatrist". I stopped doing my psycho rounds and melded back into a fairly normal child. Every once in a while, my Walton's inspired fear of household fire will crop up - usually in the form of iron management.

I decided to roll with my quirk - it could be worse, I could be on crystal meth or something...

A room with a view

This is the view from bed in the guest room at GH's house. His decorating style is impeccable, and a single girl like me can always appreciate a photo vignette featuring the delicious Viggo Mortensen and the dashing Anderson Cooper. Gay husband has such good taste, featuring hot guys and cool friends. It's innate I guess, he's always been a decorating superstar - even back years ago when we lived together.

Check out the ghost in the friend group picture to the right of Anderson Cooper. I'm the one that is glowing white like Casper the friendly ghost. I look like an albino in a bad Liza Minelli wig.

Life is a cabaret old chums...life is a cabaret...

Another indication that I am turning into my mother

My mom is a fun chick. She has a great sense of humor, is opinionated and is a hoot to talk to.

One of my mom's personality quirks that I remember from my childhood is her extreme dislike of a Minneapolis newscaster by the name of Cindy Brucato. I remember many a night where the news may have been on in the background and Cindy was interviewing someone or reading the news. My mom often would say "oh she is such a puke" (which means "I'm not a fan of this person") or she would imitate the awkward interviewing style of Ms. Brucato.

While my mother didn't like to Cindy's style as a newscaster she always watched.

The other morning, as I was getting ready for work, I was listening to the Today Show for my dose of news and info-tainment. Imagine my surprise when I caught myself looking in the mirror and making fun of Meredith Viera (whom I can't stand) saying that she was reporting from Beirut, when actually she was in Beijing. I went on a rant (to myself) and caught myself doing exactly what my mom would do when she would rant about Cindy. I laughed to myself a little bit, and decided to embrace my future as a newscaster critic.

But seriously. Meredith Viera is sooooo irritating. She talks over people, asks stupid questions and doesn't listen to her interviewees...not that I have an opinion or anything.