Remember my crow incident a couple of weeks ago? Well, Mother Nature and her creatures continue to conspire against me getting a good night’s sleep.
The past few mornings I have been woken up by our courtyard’s latest tenant: A LOUD ANGRY SQUIRREL.
He *screeches* for *hours*.
First of all, I have never, EVER heard a squirrel make a sound. Not ever. Is this something exclusive to Southern California? New York squirrels are quiet. I know that people here in SoCal like to call attention to themselves, but I didn’t think that also held true for the indigenous wildlife.
I have posted a clip of the very odd and very LOUD noises he makes. He reminds me of a pissed off Donald Duck. Remember how Donald would freak out and have his quacking conniption? This is what my squirrel sounds like.
Oh, how do I know he’s a “he”? Because this squirrel has a set of testicles on him that is the envy of every man, woman and beast in the courtyard. I don’t know how he maneuvers his tree carrying around that pouch of his. This boy is bottom heavy, yo. And tree bark has got to chafe like a mother effer.
Maybe he is the next step in evolution for squirrels? Spoken language and huge nads? I’m no evolutionologist, but there’s definitely some genetic mutation happening with this guy. Whatever it is, I’m adding “acorns” to my diet immediately.
After enduring over an hour of his racket this morning, I got up and tried to scare him away. (Of course I kept a sharp eye out for my PETA-Nazi neighbor) He doesn’t respond to noise: I have clapped at him, I’ve yelled at him. He just sits on his branch and stares at me.
What? Because he’s got huge genitals, he thinks he can push me around? I’ve got THUMBS, bitch. Game on.
I looked around the apartment for a bucket to fill with water. No dice. So I filled up, get this, my coffee cup. (This seemed like a good idea at the time.)
I carried my cup of water out to his tree. He sits on the lowest branch about fifteen feet in the air. I steady my weapon, take aim and let the water fly.
He blinked at me for a second, rolled his eyes (yes, I might have imagined that) and went back to his SCREECHING. (Louder)
If you take a 10 ounce cup of water and exert 50 pounds of force on it, what is the dispersal pattern of the liquid at 15 feet? Taking into consideration the force of negative 1g (as I am throwing it straight up) and a steady 5 knot crosswind. And given this dispersal pattern, how much water would hit a 12-inch, fuzzy, well-endowed target?
Put away your calculator, geek. Here’s the answer: NOT MUCH FREAKIN WATER AT ALL.
I think I ticked him with a couple of drops. He gets wetter when he sneezes. I relayed this story to my brother who reminded me that squirrels do indeed encounter rain from time to time so this strategy might be futile.
I was becoming furious. I need to shut this squirrel up, stat. He is driving me nuts (no pun intended). The chatter starts around 6 AM and goes all morning.
What is making him scream like this? He’s been doing it for days.
When I returned to the base of his tree, this time holding a Tupperware filled with water, I saw what was irritating him: a female squirrel.
So, he’s got a lady.
That explains everything.
I gently tossed the water onto the grass and went inside…
She probably nags him about acorn shells all over the place; complains that all they ever do is sit around their tree and never go anywhere; whines about how walnuts make her look fat.
I feel your pain… I’ve been there. But I respect the way you stand up to her.
You’ve got balls.
Hey, Angelinos... did anyone notice this REALLY STRANGE object-cloud formation-light in the sky the other night? Was there anything in the news about this?
I posted some video below (Flash required). In the *very* dark sky over West LA was what appeared to be an ILLUMINATED cloud formation. I have never seen anything like it. If it were day time, I wouldn't have paid this much mind, but what cloud generates its own light?
The sun had already been set for some time, which rules out any solar reflection. The luminescence was far brighter than any other stars in the sky. As you can see by the video, no other objects are visible in the blackness besides this cloud.
What the HELL is this?
Should I stock up on bottled water, chocolate bars and porno mags?
Do you do this? You’ll be talking to a friend when suddenly
you start describing an e-mail conversation that you had with someone. Then to
illustrate that it was an e-mail
conversation, you will hold both hands out from your body, palms down, then wiggle
“So I e-mailed him as soon as I got home, ‘Dude, you are like, so lame for saying that.’”, said Jane as she wiggled her fingers.
Think about it. Do you do this? I definitely do. (Although I try not to)
The wiggling of one’s fingers is the universal sign for describing an e-mail conversation. (This is also the universal sign for “magic spells” and “ghost haunting” but those are beyond the scope of this post.)
The universal sign for “telephone” is that gesture where you make a fist, then extend your thumb and pinky in the shape of a receiver. However, when relaying a phone conversation, we never use this gesture. (This is also the sign for “hang loose, dude” but also beyond the scope of this post.)
What is it about the e-mail conversation that makes it necessary to gesticulate in such an odd and animated way? When describing a written conversation, I don’t pinch my thumb and index finger and wave it about like I'm conducting a symphony. Or describing something said on the radio, I don’t mime headphones and a microphone.
I find it fascinating that certain gestures make their way into our culture as perfectly acceptable ways to describe or emphasize an emotion or action. Maybe it's because I'm half Italian? When Italians have a conversation it makes deaf people dizzy.
What gestures have you noticed?
It was all downhill from there.
Yes, I know she “wrote” a couple o’ “books”.
I still stand by BASEketball as the pinnacle of her achievements.
Let’s analyze the reasons for Jenny’s success. She’s not terribly talented. She’s not terribly funny. She’s not terribly intelligent. In fact, she’s often just terribly terrible.
But, I will grant you, she is terribly attractive.
At least, she was.
You see, Jenny has this persona in which she is this hot-chick-who’s-also-disgusting-like-a-dude.
This persona is a caricature and her career has always suffered because of it.
When your only talent is being attractive to males, you have to covet that gift. We are fickle. Unless you’re Renee Russo, you can’t be beautiful forever. Jenny should guard her hotness as something fleeting and sacred.
Instead she tarnishes her image by being freakin’ repulsive.
we guys *do* like to hang around women who are like us. But that means
you dig sports, PS2 games and Strongbad.
That means you drink beer, eat red meat and don’t care about shopping. That means you geek out online, don't mind a little sweat and don't ever mention your nails.
That stuff is hot.
Belching isn’t hot when *guys* do it, Jenny. Stop it. Farting isn’t hot when *guys* do it, Jenny. That’s enough.
And pissing yourself on TV isn’t hot.
The more revolting antics Jenny McCarthy pulls, the less and less appealing she is. Sure, we talk about her and blog about her. But we won’t ever, EVER take her seriously.
When I first watched her on MTV 10 years ago, I thought: “Here’s a smokin chick that seems fun and funny and cool to hang with.” That’s what *millions* of us thought. That’s why she got that sitcom. But instead of capitalizing on that pretty-but-one-of-the-guys image, she squandered it by going over the top.
You see, I don’t dislike her. But I wouldn’t want to hang with her. That’s why the major networks don’t call her. That likeable, relatable cuteness is gone. All that’s left is a repugnant, ill-mannered , foul-mouthed comic-book character who would embarrass you at Thanksgiving dinner.
Ok, I never listen to audio blogs. Really, I don't. But I have to confess: I had nothing interesting to post about but I wanted to post *something* so I thought this might be fun to try.
Before you freak out: it only runs ONE MINUTE, TWENTY-ONE SECONDS.
That's it. That's all. Not one second more.
If there's anything you'd *like* me to audblog about, let me know.
Click the play button for streaming goodness. No files to download*. No waiting. Just me and my mellifluous voice.
Some women can easily respond to this question. "When the bottle's empty."
But, I plead, I'm a boy. My soap comes in a "bar". An opalescent, rectangular hunk of bubbly goodness.
It's not scrub. It's not body wash. It's not shower gel. It's soap.
It doesn't exfoliate. It doesn't moisturize. It doesn't to a damn thing to my PH balance. It's not supposed to. It's soap.
Even though my preferred choice of soap (Lever 2000) can be purchased for about a buck a bar, I try to get the most out of it. I use my soap until it's small enough to go down the drain on its own. This seems a perfectly natural and organic life cycle for soap. If it fits down the drain, I euthanize.
OK, sometimes I have to break the bar in two or more pieces to make it fit. But! I will only be this wasteful if I have a brand new bar on deck, ready for action. (OK, OK... I will confess to helping the occasional soap chunk down the drain with my toe. But that is RARE. I swear.)
Sometimes, I'll use a bar of soap until it's too small to wield accurately. Next, I'll set it aside and crack open a new bar. Then, when said second bar is also too small to use, I'll just mash it together with the first bar! Voila! (This process can be done successfully with multiple soap scraps.)
In fact, by mixing different types of soap remnants, one can create new and interesting concoctions. Like a vintner in my shower, I experiment with different varietals; creating the perfect blend. "Morning Sky" and "Pure Rain" make... "Morning Rain!" Beautiful! "Mountain Splash" and "Perfectly Fresh" make... "Mountain Fresh!" Yes! Or all four: "Fresh Morning Mountain Rain"!C'est magnifique!
(Actually, it all just smells like "soap" to me. But it's fun to tinker.)
But I've recently been told that I should toss the soap in the garbage when it becomes too small. How decadent!
Dear Crazy ATM Lady:
Hi it's me, AJ. Remember me from this morning when I was behind you on line at the ATM? I want you to know that I didn't grouse or grumble when you spent what seemed like an hour standing at the automatic teller. You used several different cards. You made deposits, withdrawals, transfers, everything. You might have even traded stocks, prospected pork bellies, and e-filed your taxes. I don't know. You were there awhile. Most folks try to limit their time at the ATM when others are waiting but you don't follow the trends, you set them. So, I didn't complain.
After you completed your final transaction you hurriedly snatched your receipt and card from the machine, scooped up your effects and stepped to side.
You only moved over a foot or so and you were completely in my personal space, but I didn't criticize. Normally people give each other privacy when conducting financial matters but hey, you march to the beat of a different drum. You're a nonconformist. I admire that about you.
I didn't even give you a much-deserved dirty look as you slowly packed up your cash, cards, ten receipts and de-pocketbooked detritus that you spilled all over the place. Nor did I whine when you took forever to stuff your papers and bills into your wallet, into your purse and finally into your shoulder bag like fake-Prada Russian nesting dolls.
Most people zig. You zag. And I think that's fantastic.
I have to confess, however. You did annoy me just a *little* when you looked over my shoulder as I begun my transaction. When I asked you if something was wrong, you said, "I was making sure that I was done."
I assured you that you were indeed "finished". (Dad used to say that turkeys get done, people get finished) I could tell by your expression that you thought I was lying. I wasn't. But you know how you are.
To be honest, I didn't see any need for you to linger by the ATM; scrutinizing me suspiciously. At least you could have *pretended* not to be watching me. That would have been more polite. But standing on your toes so you could get a look at my screen was a wee bit over the top. But hey, we've already established that when it comes to manners and mores, you're a maverick. Rock on with your badself.
You watched me so very closely during my 30 second procedure. Surely you noticed that I only made a *deposit*, right? You do realize that I didn't take money *out* of the damn thing, yeah?
Many people, when encountering your type of behavior, would have spun on their heel, stabbed their finger at you while calling you a "rude little bitch who needs to get lost NOW before I really lose my temper."
But not me. I let it go. See? On occasion, I can be a radical, too.
A very rare occasion, indeed.
Your fellow iconoclast,
When I'm out and about, I wear good shoes and keep them pristine. Why?
Women *always* check out your kicks. Always.
You can wear the standard Male Uniform, “T-Shirt and Jeans” whenever you like(*). Simply sport spiffy shoes and you’re golden. Trust me; if you slide into a pair of polished Ferragamo loafers, everything above is forgiven.
Now, as much as I love those shiny shoes, I don’t like the actual “act” of getting them shined. I feel so awkward sitting atop my wooden throne while someone rubs and buffs my tootsies. It smacks of supplication and submission and, frankly, makes me uncomfortable.
I can’t relax during a shoe shine. I’m too tense. With my rigid body and feet placed gracelessly upon the metal mounts, I look like I’m about to receive a gynecological exam. It isn’t pretty.
What’s more, I glance to my right to see a heavyset, balding businessman casually reading his paper while his “boy” strokes and buffs his wingtips. I swear I half expected the old man to snap his fingers and call for a plate of mutton. Or worse, demand that I dance for him.
The thing is, he’s fine. You’re supposed to just sit there. Me? I have to make conversation. I need to show this person kneeling before me that I’m an everyman (or in this case, woman). I’m a working stiff. Plebian, just like you.
“So”, I say trying not sound like a man getting his prostate examined, “How long you been shining shoes?”
That’s freaking brilliant.
I despise small talk. I’d rather have silence. And here I am firing the opening volley; marking myself as the guy-with-nothing-to-say-but-is-too-uncomfortable-to-just-sit-here-while-you-service-him type.
I don’t know what was said next. I heard the sound of my voice, but my Boring Filter had kicked in. I might have asked how long she’d been in Shoe Reclamation and Revitalization. Maybe a sentence or two about the weather. I’m not sure. My Boring Filter works both ways: reception and transmission. Hardly anything gets through.
Then something slipped through the filter: “I’m also an actress.”
With that, I suddenly heard a *click* and saw a flash of white light. Next
thing I know, I’m stepping down from my perch. Immediately, I knew what
happened: my Boring Filter was overridden by my AADS(**).
It was over. Thank God.
The shoe shine cost $7. I gave her $15 and told her to keep the change. I was hoping that a 100%+ tip would assuage my guilt.
But seeing my reflection in my black shoes did the trick.
*Male Uniform of T-Shirt and Jeans assumes a decent, non-man-stained shirt and a pair of dark jeans.
** AADS is Aspiring Actor Defense Shield. This safety mechanism allows you to stay in a conversation with an actor by forcing you to nod and smile in the right places. With the shield turned to maximum, you will also repeat the last word of ever other sentence and laugh. This shield also prevents *any* information from leaving your mouth that identifies you as working in the entertainment industry.
The AADS shield is not unlike the Girlfriend Telling You About Her Day At Work Screen (GFTYAHDAWS) which functions almost identically. But with the GFTYAHDAWS, you will also periodically furrow your brow, nod and say “you’re absolutely right” and “I can’t believe she did that.”
I did *NOT* expect Markland to get all MTV with this thing. But Goddamn it's hilarious.
I told you he ryhmed "demon" and "semen" !!!
Windoze folks should check out his blog now (he's a self-proclaimed traffic whore).
Other folks can view the vid here: