Some Pig

How Well Do You Know Man's Other Best Friend?? Free Online Quiz!

Did you guys know today is "Bring Your Dog To Work Day"?  For reals!  I'd like to draw our attention to a common, yet unspoken, bias in our country in favor of dogs.  Notice that while cats now outnumber dogs as the most common household pet in America, no one's talking about a "Bring Your Cat To Work Day". Have you ever wondered, "Am I ready for life in a country where cats are more prevalent than dogs?  Do I really understand what's going on inside the little furry crania of our new best friends?"  Well, SP fans, if you've ever pondered these mysteries, ponder no more!  Take this quiz to find out:

Do You Understand Cats?

1.  Finish this sentence:  The shortest distance between two points is:

• a line.
• found by coming in at the back door and walking out at the front door.

2.  You walk into the room and see a brand new, beautiful, ornate, hand-knotted wool rug on the floor.  Your immediate reaction is to:

• Start mentally rearranging furniture and picking out paint chips to redo the rest of the room so it looks just as good as that rug!
• Barf copiously.

3.  A webcam surreptitiously installed at your house would find you at 9:57, 11:25, and 2:36 doing the following respectively:

• Reading the paper, doing the dishes, fetching the mail.
• Practicing yoga, checking your email, washing countertops.
• Sleeping, sleeping, and sleeping.

4.  You walk into the home office and spy a pile of papers on the desk.  Your reaction is to think:

• Oh, dangit.  More work to do.
• Papers!!  Oh boy!!  I can tell just by looking at them, they're gonna need a whole lotta holding down!  I'd better get started right away!!!

5.  In deference to certain digestive issues of yours, a family member goes out of the way to procure and prepare for you a special healthful (and not inexpensive) dinner.  Your response is to:

• Thank said family member profusely and eat heartily, making "mm" and "delicious" interjections as seems fitting.
• Thank said family member courteously yet not sincerely, eating the dinner out of a sense of obligation.
• Treat the proffered dinner with suspicion and disdain, circling warily and making only halfhearted attempts to taste it before stomping off outside to chew gleefully on something that's been dead beyond recognition since last Tuesday.

6. You walk into a room filled with people you don't know.  Your first response is to:

• Stride purposefully up to someone, introduce yourself and shake hands. You have to be a go-getter in these situations.
• Make eye contact with someone who looks friendly and wave, but don't approach.  You need to give people some space, after all.
• Walk halfway across the room, sit down suddenly and lick your butt.  What?  It's dirty!

7.  You see a mouse running out of the corner of your eye. Your response is to:

• Scream.
• Set a mouse trap.
• Call animal control to rent a havahart trap.
• Ignore it in favor of going outside, killing something not currently invading the house, eating it and throwing it up later, preferably when all other residents of the house are asleep.

8.  Someone with whom you live leaves a freshly-ironed garment on the bed.  Your immediate response is to:

• be nice and hang it up. After all, one good turn deserves another.
• accidentally-on-purpose bunch it into a wad guaranteed to result in a million new wrinkles. People need to learn to pick up after themselves around here!
• sleep on it, having shed copious amounts of contrasting-colored fur on it first.

9.  You come inside from your daily exertions ravenously hungry.  Your immediate response is to:

• grab a snack from the fridge while you wait for dinner.
• drink a glass of water to stave off hunger pangs.
• eat a healthful snack of a piece of fruit and a handful of nuts.
• eat so much food so quickly you then barf copiously.

10.  What is your reaction upon receiving a gift?

• I skip the niceties and unwrap it right away, shredding paper in my haste.
• I carefully read the card, thank the giver, and then sedately open the gift, carefully slitting the tape so I can reuse the paper later.
• I play with the paper wrapping, the ribbon, the box, the plastic container - anything except the actual gift itself.

ANSWERS:
If you need me to tell you which answers are from a cat's perspective, you clearly have never owned (or come into contact with) a cat. You are un-American and should be called on the carpet by Karl Rove for your subversive tendencies. 

I will leave you with these thoughts about cats:

"Cats are possessed of a shy, retiring nature, cajoling, haughty, and capricious, difficult to fathom. They reveal themselves only to certain favored individuals, and are repelled by the faintest suggestion of insult or even by the most trifling deception." ~Pierre Loti

"The sun rose slowly, like a fiery furball coughed up uneasily onto a sky-blue carpet by a giant unseen cat." - Michael McGarel

"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God." ~Unknown

The Family That Snarks Together ...

TO:  Caroline, Sarah
FROM:    Dad
SUBJECT:    Mother's Day

I feel a moral imperative to boycott Mother's Day & perhaps motherhood itself. I just heard that Dubya endorsed both concepts.

Dad

TO:  Dad, Sarah
FROM:  Caroline
SUBJECT:  RE: Mother's Day

Forgot again, huh?

TO:  Caroline, Sarah
FROM:  Dad
SUBJECT:  RE:  Mother's Day

Kiss my a*s - I remembered way back around Thursday. Smart-mouth kid.


TO:  Dad, Sarah
FROM:   Caroline
SUBJECT:  Mother's Day

Holy moly.  What brought on that burst of intellectual prowess?   Usually you wait to remember until  Saturday.  Around 5 pm, generally.


TO:  Dad, Caroline
FROM:  Sarah
SUBJECT: Re:  Mother's Day

Dad's just ticked because Dubya showed him up. I bet Laura Bush and Barbara Bush the Elder didn't have to settle for a plastic rose from the Big Apple for Mother's Day ...

TO:  Dad, Sarah
FROM:  Caroline
RE:  Mother's Day

Well, with wedding favors like this, I'm not sure the Big Apple wouldn't be the classier choice:

   

Nothing says undying eternal love like a monogrammed cow skull!

P.S. the roses at the Big Apple are made of FEATHERS, not plastic.  Sheesh.  You must think they have NO taste!

 

More Fun Than Should Strictly Be Legal

I dare you - double DOG dare you - to read this article on celebrity plastic surgery and not pore over every photo, saying, "I KNEW IT!" 

C'mon, Crazylainetrain, there's some golden Fan Letter Friday fodder in here!  They do come dangerously close to talkin' smack about my homegirls, Cher and Her Madgesty, but I'll overlook it in light of the huge entertainment factor.

Geography is Destiny

You know you live in northern New England when:

1) It's over halfway through April before you pack away the kids' winter clothes.
2) You have to leave out a set of hat and mittens for each kid because it still gets chilly in the evenings.
3) You just can't shake the feeling that you've singlehandedly guaranteed a nor'easter is going to dump two feet of snow tomorrow.
4) You bust out the summer clothes because, hey, it's been over fifty degrees for a whole week now!
5) You look at your summer clothes and, even though you remember all too vividly the record-breaking heat wave of last summer, trapped as you were in a stifling house with two small, crabby, tired, non-napping humans for weeks on end while temperatures climbed into the nineties daily in your non-air-conditioned house, you just cannot fathom that it will ever, ever be warm enough to wear those clothes again.
6)The forecast calls for temperatures in the sixties and you groan inwardly, dreading the parade of cleavage and belly-age and butt-cheek-age that will greet you in the halls.
7) The same kids in the belly/breast/butt-revealing clothing end up borrowing their friend's sweatshirt halfway through second period because, y'know, sixty degrees? Ain't so warm after all.
8) You drive around on the first sunny day with the window down (for the fresh air) and the heater on (to keep your feet warm).
9) You've worn snow boots and a short-sleeved t-shirt on the same day.
10) You go to Opening Day at Fenway Park armed with sunscreen, a hat, a fleece sweatshirt, a Gore-Tex rain jacket, and wool socks, and at some point in the day, you use them all.

Have They No Shame?

Because I am tired and demoralized and alone with the kids for the whole day, I allowed the girls to zone out with extra videos today; specifically, "Ernie's 1, 2, 3, Count With Me."  I recommend it highly - interesting (and not cloying or preachy) storyline tying the "plot" (such as it is) together, hummable songs, and - best of all! - about as little Elmo as one is going to encounter in a Sesame Street production.  What's not to love about a kick line of glittery numbers singing an adaptation of "One" from A Chorus Line?  Or that classic song, Martian Girl #9, that was au courant when *I* was a kid?  Sadly, the video doesn't include The Ladybugs Twelve at the Ladybug Picnic, but I soldier through the disappointment regardless.

An hour later, I am folding laundry and humming my favorite song from the video, one in which three crows sing a song that goes, "One and two and three, oh/Counting is our favorite thing."  Somewhere in the back of my mind, where these connections get made, I'm thinking:  They're counting.  They're crows who count.  Counting crows.

Oh fercrissakes.  Duh!  They're the Counting Crows.

Commence groaning now.

Irony is a Cruel Mistress

It's funny how national news sometimes dovetails unexpectedly with one's home life.  Warren and I found ourselves discussing our ongoing cash-flow crunch on the same day that Eliot Spitzer experienced his, um, unfortunate turn of events, and the IRS notified us of our expected tax rebate. 

Warren:  Look!  We're getting a rebate under the stimulus package!
Me:  Will that solve our cash-flow issue?
Warren:  Sure!  For one month, anyway.  That just leaves the other eleven to get through.
Me:  I know!  If we get pregnant right now, the kid will be due in December and we can get the tax write-off for him/her/it, too!
Warren:  I'm not sure that's a long-term solution.
Me:  Well, don't think you're using our stimulus package to hire a high-priced call girl, buster.  If you're thinking about getting that package stimulated, you've got another think coming.
Warren:  Don't worry, our rebate's already spent.  Besides, why did the governor of New York go to Washington, DC, to hire a prostitute over the phone?  Didn't Eliot watch The Sopranos?  It's like when Chrissie stole the watches off the FedEx truck.  Once you cross state lines, it's a federal issue.

Do You Need A Laugh Today?

Laugh #1 is already on my blog roll, but here's another link if you're too lazy to roll your cursor over to the list. This is especially humorous if you own a cat, particularly a long haired cat with a sensitive stomach and a proclivity for vomiting up expensive pet food only available at the veterinarian's office; or if, like me, you lived with a loser boyfriend whose cat hated you and would literally race from one end of the apartment to the other specifically to throw up on your couch.  Ha! Ha! Good times, those.

[Edited to add:  It's even funnier when you come back from a weekend away and walk into your bedroom to find a pile of dried-up cat puke on the floor!  Ha, ha, HA!]

Laugh #2 is courtesy of my British friend Melanie.  Hi, Mel!  She sent me this email which is just too good to keep to myself, and I'm too lazy to hunt down all your addresses for the mass email half of you will just delete without reading first, so what to do?  Post it!  Wendi Aarons, if you really exist, I beg your permission to leave this up, and I salute your mad letter writing skillz, yo.

To translate for my fellow Americans, "Nurofen" is a painkiller, like Tylenol or something of that ilk, and Tesco's is the British equivalent of Stop'N'Shop, Hannaford's, Albertson's, Piggly-Wiggly, Winn-Dixie, or whatever megachain grocery store proliferates in your neck of the woods.  Enjoy!

This is an actual letter sent to Proctor & Gamble


TO: MR. JAMES THATCHER

BRAND MANAGER, PROCTER & GAMBLE

Dear Mr. Thatcher

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years,
and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard
Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horse riding
or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down
the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be
your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart
enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I
can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a
little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from
'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my 'time of the month' is
starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces
violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body
will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call
'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen
quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers'
monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the
bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood
swings, crying and out-of-control behaviour. You surely realise it's a
tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer
fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George
Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was
written by drunken chimps.

Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that the UK is
just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants. Which brings me to
the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to
reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi
pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have
a Happy Period.'

Are you *+*#*ing kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really
think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness - is possible
during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least
bit pleasurable?

Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak
girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have
to jack yourself up on Nurofen and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your
house just so you don't march down to the local Tesco's armed with a
hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a
moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say
something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put Down the Hammer' or
'Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong'?- Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective
immediately, there will be an *8 drop in monthly profits, for I have
chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will
certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your
brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.
Always.

Best,

Wendi Aarons

Next Up: Hot Milk Chugging During the "Antiques Roadshow" Marathon

I forgot to tell you guys! 

Guess what I did this week!

I ... GOT OUT OF THE HOUSE.  At night.  A weeknight, no less.  By MYSELF!

Okay, everyone.  One, two, three:   OOOOOOoooooohhhhh.  AAAAAaaaaaaahhhhh!

And what wild, frenzied bacchanal of self-indulgent fun did I choose to attend?  A talk about local history!  At (gasp) the library.  Because, ya know, I kick it like that when I'm cut loose from the shorties and the babydaddy.  It was so much fun, maybe I'll do it again. Who knows what orgiastic heights of pleasure I can attain between 6:30 and 8 pm here in the Town With An Elite Private School?

Live, From Some Pig, Super Bowl XLII - Annotated Version

Emails from two British friends, met during Junior Year Abroad (or is that, a broad, Junior Year?):

…super bowl – what’s that and can you write in English next time – didn’t understand a word!

Emma – this is how she repays us after a year’s patient teaching her the rudiments of speaking the Queen’s tongue. Goodness knows what she is teaching at that school of hers.

I think the superbowl is something to do with what our dear colonial cousins call football, or it could be baseball.  I’m not entirely sure.  I find nearly all American sports marvellously confusing.  I once went to Boston and watched the Red Sox (Boston team) play baseball.  It is very like rounders except that there are long periods when nothing appears to happen and yet these people get paid squillions for it. It goes on as long as cricket but starts in the evening and the most exciting thing that happened was that there was a real live American punch up right in front of me.

So now I'm on the hook to explain American rules football, which is sort of like expecting me to watch "House" (Ed. note to British friends:  American television series starring Hugh Laurie, with dreadful American accent - heard of it?) and explain neurosurgery.  Here goes:

American rules football:  (n)  A game in which improbably named men (Plaxico, Bam, Jabar, et. al.), many weighing upward of twenty stone, hurl themselves at an ovoid ball and one another in order to prevent or promote the attainment of a "down" (advancement of ten yards) en route to a "touchdown" (equivalent to that point when the annoying Spanish announcer yells GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL) in soccer (i.e., real footie).  As with American baseball and European rules football, spectatorship requires copious consumption of alcoholic beverages and heavily salted snacks, sporadic pronouncement of annoying call-and-response cheers (DEE-FENSE!  DEE-FENSE!), and frequent impugning of the opposing team's mothers, often whilst covered solely in body paint, boxer shorts, and plastic novelty headgear.  There's also a lot of hoohah about "onsides kicks," "two-point conversion," "QB ratings," "nickel defense" and the like, but we'll not confuse the issue now.  That's like expecting someone in Introduction to Conversational French to understand the irregular subjunctive first time out.

Any of my loyal readers want to help me out, here?  What am I missing?

If anyone else out there in Patriotland is having a hard time adjusting, I offer you this.

Just Don't Judge Me For This

It's been a long day.  A long, looooong day, the kind that starts to suck at 4:30 a.m. and continues sucking straight through to, oh, 9:09 p.m.

So when I'm looking on the TV guide for some escapist fun, can you blame me for leaping out of my seat with glee when I see a show titled My Big Redneck Wedding?  On CMT, no less, the same channel that brings us marathon sessions of shows about cheerleaders, Miss America reality shows, and anyone with hair larger than their butts?

Gotta go.  They're buying the dress soon.  This I GOTTA see.

Edited to Add - As with so many other things in life, the potential was better than the reality.  Based on the title of the show, I was expecting to hear the bride, in all her tube-topped glory, shrieking, "Beaufort!  Git over here right now and leave 'em chickens alone so I can marry your pa!"  while the groom scratched and pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his one button-front shirt and various teenaged relatives alternately made eyes at each other and snuck off in the bushes for clandestine sips of beer.  The reality turned out to be a self-consciously hickified version of "A Wedding Story," except that the usual boy-meets-girl narrative is occasionally interrupted by Tom Arnold (huh?), who pops up to snigger about what rubes the bride and groom are.  The couple featured on the episode I watched owned a big, fancy house and several expensive vehicles, although they did get married in a barn and their guests wore jeans and sweatshirts for the most part.  Oh well, in my mind it was quite a show.