Reasons My Son is Having a Tantrum

He wanted the blue and green fork. NOT the green and blue fork.

Reasons My Son is Having a Tantrum

Because I told him we didn't have time to count the petals.

Reasons My Son is Having a Tantrum

Because yes, we can walk around the lake, as soon you put your jacket on.

WTF: The Cookie Generation

See that Gerber ad above?

All I have to say is wtf.

I mean, WTF.

How is this cool?

No, seriously. I'm seriously asking. How is this okay?

How does this even happen?

How does this, an advertisement by arguably the leading voice in multiple generations of childhood food products, get by what one can only assume to be a team of highly-trained marketing department professionals, and make its way to the glossy pages of thousands upon thousands of publications?
Does anyone even look at these things? Part of me really hopes that they don't. Maybe it's just a boardroom full of total slackers? Thumbing their smartphones and "yeah, yeah, yeah" ing at their bosses when they're supposed to be commenting on potential advertisements. Yes, yes let's go with that. That would actually be quite a relief. Sort of.

So in this ad, this little girl, who let's pretend was determined by a pool of marketing masterminds to be representative of an entire, broad-based population of our country (and likely others), is literally saying "I'm learning good eating habits" as she consumes an apple. No, wait, that's not an apple. What is that? What is that darling little baby girl eating? A grape? A piece of broccoli? A stalk of celery? An orange? A persimmon? Is that a date? A plum? A pomegranate? Must be an avocado slice.  No? A piece of asparagus? Tomato? Kiwi? Maybe it's even a cholesterol bathed egg or an evil, fatty banana? And here's the part where I get to do my best toddler impersonation: The answer is no! No to all of the above! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! That darling little baby girl is eating a cookie. A Gerber cookie. Is teaching her good eating habits.

Really?

Really, Gerber?

In this age of obesity and misunderstanding about portion and self-control (and not just atop my sofa) a cookie is the best food item you could come up with?

Even our first lady has taken up the cause of childhood obesity. Michelle Obama chairs the "Let's Move" movement and urging us to raise a healthier generation of kids. Oh and little known fact? Michelle didn't cut her bangs on impulse. Nope. Truth is, she lost a bet underestimating the number of people who still believe diet sodas are good for you.

Don't get me wrong, I understand snacking. I appreciate snacking. Even, and possibly especially, the high-caloric variety. In fact, I defy you to locate any one who understands the joy of biting into something sticky, sweet, more than I. Oh, and it's bad for you, too? Please pass the jelly. But in no way am I kidding myself that brownies are a wise dietary choice. My choice, yes, for sure. But a good one? No. If we were to ratchet up the truth a few notches and feature me instead of that adorable little tot in the ad, what you'd see in the ad would be my disembodied head floating atop a splash reading, "Neither Haagen nor Dazs are real words. Real friends don't lie. Step away from the spoon".

Research shows more and more that snacking is not the best way to go for most people. In fact, for most people, eating more substantial meals 3-5 times per day keeps their metabolism running more efficiently than those who snack. Though I can see the value in getting a picky eater to eat something (anything! Why won't you just EAT. ANYTHING!), no one wins when we call a cookie a "good eating habit". Except maybe the owner of Gerber and their real estate agents. Let's just call it what it is. It's a cookie. A delicious, awesome little piece of food-like things. It's a sometimes treat. If that.
Does my office drawer have a secret stash of mini Reeses cups? Possibly. Am I guilty of rugaluch for breakfast?  It's happened. But "good eating habits" does none of the above make.  At least not for me. Because that's just not the way things work for me, and for so many others. I know the consequences of consuming a diet high in sugars, fats, and words that I cannot pronounce, and I have a feeling you do, too. The immediate effects that might hit home are: sluggishness, grumpiness, impatience (especially with really annoying people who don't seem to care that you exist and/or also might need one of those four parking spaces they've occupied) and even persistent hunger. The long-term effects remain unclear. But if these snacks like the one depicted in the Gerber ad were any good for us, we would not be living in a world without Alexander Graham Bell, Dick Clark, Ernest Hemingway, or Brittany Murphy.

Gerber and other glossy agendas continue to disappoint. What a wasted opportunity to promote fresh over over-processed. High fructose over actual fructose contained within a peel. In a world where the very foundations of the BigGulp requires federal review, do we really want our children associating good eating habits with something that comes in a crinkly wrapper?

Okay, okay, fine. Brittany Murphy probably wouldn't be around anyway, but you get my point, right?

So, one last thing while I'm up here on this not-so-sturdy soapbox --(is that chocolate syrup on my heel?)-- please, if there's anybody out there. Take a moment to consider what you are feeding your kids. When you just can't handle one more thing and the convenience wins, remember that there is a price associated with convenience. Yes, a banana won't fare well in your purse for very long. But the louder it crinkles, the less likely it is to be good for you. For anyone. And just because something says "fruit" on it doesn't mean there is, was, or ever will be anything therein that emerged from the Earth. Just nod if you can hear me.

You are learning good eating habits.

Gone Bananas

Yes, we have some bananas. We have some bananas today.
We ate some bananas, and then we had none. We bought more bananas, so now we have some.
And look! A happy banana! A happy banana today...!

Why I Hate People: Exhibit 8.2 Million

What ever you're doing right now, just stop. You're done. Just give up. Frankly, I don't know why you bothered to bother in the first place. The odds are that you're doing it totally wrong, whatever it is that you're doing.

I mean, just look around. Look at all these people doing all of these things and damn near none of them are even close to doing even a portion of a portion of anything with any accuracy, grace, or correctness.

And I'm not talking strictly about the driving patterns in the greater metro area but really, what excuse is there for this?:

I mean, really? Really?? Four parking spaces? FOUR? Is this not a hostile act?

Is this not a perfect depiction of the socially intimate commitment to self that plagues us all?

This, this person, makes me want to learn how to rig explosives, give up all efforts to recycle, and throw up my hands to welcome of our new selfish overlords. GodDAMN I hate weddings. I mean --people.

Total Immersion Parenting Lessons

• As a parent, you need your friends more than ever. All those years of friendship pre-baby were merely practice.
  
• No one else you know is parenting in the same way you are (or even remotely close), and everyone thinks each other's ways are crazy. The internet proves only that you are all correct.
  
• Getting sunscreen on a toddler is akin to flossing a crocodile. If you suspect I'm exaggerating then you either don't have a red-headed child or your veterinary dental practice has a zero tolerance policy for working on un-sedated patients.
• It's true, what they say, about the not sleeping. As hard as it is to believe, you, too, will never sleep soundly again. And yes, I do mean never. Ever. Never ever.
  
• Speaking of never: Never, under any circumstances, take so much as half a step backwards. Even if you're relatively certain the child is in another room. Because they're not. They are directly behind you.
  
• Never, under any circumstances, leave a box of Cheerios unattended.
• This
• When your child calls his daddy "dada" and everyone else "mama", he doesn't mean to break your heart. But he does.
• Prunes are made from plums. Go really, really easy on the plums.
• Hold off for as long as possible on playing, "where's your nose"? Because once they find it, nostrils instantly become toy numero uno, with a bullet.
• A medical degree has nothing on a mom's intuition. But goldfish have better memory.
• Should your husband present the following argument, have either him or yourself immediately committed to a local psychiatric institute: "What's one more log on the fire at this point"?
• Trumping the wheel as best invention ever: Skype
  
• Just go ahead and have your cable disconnected at week 30. You won't turn that shiny box on again for about a year.
  
• Seriously, did you know that prunes ARE plums?!

People Are Awesome

The moment you've all both been waiting for has arrived! Yes, yes it's true: Beelog brings you another fabulously famous installment of "People Are Awesome"! Scouring the globe to bring you the finest spectacles of humankind and human kindness, today we present yet another feat of parking lot humanity. Curl up with a cup of coffee and behold the action-packed image below:

So, here's the story: this driver (with her vehicle's nose to us), is puttering along the two-lane, two-way traffic, highly commercial, quiet, country, lake-side road. Hyper-aware of her surroundings, she sets her sights on a vacant spot across the street and sharply turns the wheel of her SUV, crossing and blocking multiple lanes of traffic. Also, as it happens, there's already a dude backing up into said spot. La la la, he backs up casually and legally. In his mind he's already two bites into his PotBelly supper, taking bites in tempo with his blinking right turn signal. Tick, tick, yum, delicious PotBe--- Whoa! What's going on?! He taps the break, his vehicle trickling to a halt, inches from the aggressive bitch-flipper.
Even though we are, to my knowledge, neither in communist Russia nor Trafalger square, based on the cursing and honking it would appear that this lady, now in everyone's way, thinks she's got the right of way.
The poor dude driver barely knew what hit him as the approaching "driver" exploded into a frenzy, flinging every expletive she could think of his way. If you look really close at the picture above, you can see the flames emerging from the SUV, emitted by her gaping yap, and just off-screen to the right you can almost make out the beginnings of a tear in the eye of the poor, befuddled and hungry dude driver. It occurred to him that he was now officially risking his life over a PotBelly chicken salad chicken salad. Surely delicious, but fatal? Apparently.
He spots her Mothra-like approach in his rearview mirror and clenches. Witnesses report noting his life flashing before his eyes via a disembodied thought bubble floating overhead; all those books unread, sandwiches uneaten.
She emerges from her car, tentacles flailing, flames engulfing her entire head, she waddles his way with enormous, thumping hindquarters. Seeing no means of escape, he grips the wheel with both hands, leaning forward and preparing to meet certain doom, dying over a parking spot that was rightfully his...

Until she saw me there with my camera...

Jailarity ensues.

Passive Aggression: All That Glitters

Happy new year. Let's get down to business.

It has been said that there are substances on Earth more vile than glitter. I beg to differ. There is simply no substance, not solid, not liquid, nor gas, more pervasive and disturbing than the tiny, shimmery shards. And I, having been covered in every bodily fluid a child can produce, often all simultaneously, know of what I attest. Glitter serves the sole purpose of indicating who is and/or has been recently in the company of a stripper. And by "recently" I mean "ever", as pieces of glitter have been known to outlast Mexican tattoos. One little piece can follow you for decades, sticking to shoes, carpet, car seats, transferring from eyelid to keyboard and back again, even adhering to your cheek for weeks on end, laughing in the face of repeated exfoliation. I'd happily trade each piece of glitter on my living room floor for an overhydrated team of live slugs.

Dear Cousin Adam, I consider the inclusion of glitter in a greeting card to be an act of aggression.
Last Christmas, my (um, Jewish?) cousin Adam sent a shard-laden envelope disguised with some seemingly benign ho-ho-ho-ery. Yesterday, I found evidence of Christmas' past right there on my kitchen counter. Almost 4 months, and countless vacuum and wind storm sessions after it arrived. Glitter: the gift that keeps on giving. I feel perfectly justified in reciprocating by sending my cousin's four year old son a full drum set and a set of steak knives. I'd say we're even.

Shine on.

The Saddest Sack

Not many of us sad sacks here at the office today. Just the select few who have, for one reason or another *cough* pregnancy *cough* failed to plan well and/or accumulate the requisite time off in time to flee for the week between Christmas and New Years. The peace and quiet (all but for those damn crickets) allows me time to contemplate, and even to think of others, for a change. Surely each and every person who had to leave their warm beds and fight the wind and snow this morning would rather be elsewhere. Apparent from all the sour pusses around the water-cooler, there must be family or at least a dog or a fish or an episode of Oprah with whom they would prefer to be spending time with at this particular moment. This is clearly quite a bitter day for all around me. More so than usual, even. And so, I was thinking, "you know what this sad and gloomy office needs today? You know what will really pick things up? What we need -- is the pervasive and lingering stench of a thousand burned camel hairs"!
And so it was.


Many thanks to you, Mr. Redenbacker, for getting in there just under the wire, and making me the office's most hated person of 2010.

Beware: Lying Chocolate-esque Snack Food!

"Frown Is A Four Letter Word"

Um, see, no. Here's the thing. No, it's not.

Allow me to demonstrate:
F: one letter
R: second letter
O: third letter
W: fourth letter
N: (and here's where some people may have gotten lost, maybe they were too busy texting "DRUGS R BAD" to their BFF) fifth letter

Dear Mr. Cosby,
Why are you preying on the jello pudding consuming public? Do you not suspect that they already have enough problems? Do you really think that particular population, who spend longer looking for a spoon than considering nutritional value, has a high threshold for entendre? And if frowning is such a "bad word" why don't you go ahead and just include a little spork or something in the lid of the pudding cup so that I don't have to one-handedly wrestle one out of the dishwasher while balancing a baby on my hip and treating him to a performance of my own demonstration of REAL four letter words.
In conclusion, while I can appreciate the sticky-sweet spirit of this campaign, I assure you, no one is confusing "frown" with "fuck".

Sincerely,
Reluctant consumer of UR product

PC Fire Sale

Aren't the members of our population who don't know to leave a burning building the ones that we can kinda do without anyway?

The Toilet Thank

Even when I'm away I still think of you.

See?

"You Give Birth In It, You Bought It"

I'm laying in bed at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. Having spent the night romping around with my girlfriend, S., and her brother-in-law, J., and showing a roulette table or two who's boss. I managed to stay up until midnight so that I could wish my other half a happy birthday in person. Sometimes, a facebooking just won't do (says my husband. I told you he was a crazyperson).
I tip-toed into the poker room to kiss him goodnight, embarrassed him in front of 8 kindred-spirits-all-wearing-the-same-cap-and-sunglasses, then went up to the room. Exhausted, and very pregnant, 37 weeks to be exact, I collapse in bed (after a half-assed brushing of teeth). While watching all three pre-requisite pre-slumber seconds of Law & Order, I felt something strange. Sort of... a...pop. *pop*! I laughed to myself. Because, really. This can't be what I think it is. Can it? And the next thing you know I'm in the shower. I've got seven(!) frantic people in our hotel room, including hotel security, a wheelchair and driver, an ambulance on the way, and nothing but a washcloth to cover my shame upon emerging from the bathroom into the aforementioned chaos. Someone mentioned something about a taking a helicopter to the Atlantic City hospital...

Then I blink and it's 2am. After being escorted out via wheelchair (not helicopter, drat) we're racing down I-95 in S's Honda CR-V, trying to get to the hospital before junior emerges. This is no time for a 4cyllinder. I had already called my doctor, clearly waking him, to tell him my water broke. I could practically hear the bedhead on the line as he mustered all of the strength he could to tell me to take my time getting to the hospital. "No problem, doc", I said, "we're in Atlantic city". He jerked awake, "you're where"!?

From there it's not long until the "I wonder what contractions feel like" question gets an abrupt and surprisingly rattling answer. Let's just put it this way, you aren't likely to find yourself saying "gee, I wonder if that was a contraction". But you may want to reconsider the consumption of asparagus if you're late in a pregnancy and a friend drove. Just saying.

On that note, S. is driving, bobbing through traffic really, while reiterating how much I'm going to love the trunk space of her Honda. She's referring to her "you give birth in it, you bought it" philosophy -- which we had all ha-ha-ha joked about repeatedly over the last ten days. Now that I'm in the backseat, having repeatedly decorated with aspara-water and potentially a newborn on the pristine leather, I'm pretty sure she's not kidding.

So, now that I'm a mom does that mean this mess you see before you is going to become a mommyblog? Full of poop reports and all the things that new mommies deal with like tales of poop color and poop consistency changes? Poop stainlifters and poopcloths? I know what you're thinking, I've already mentioned poop and other assorted bodily functions more in this post than in the last 5 years (has it been 5 years...)!? No, in fact I suspect that our new addition will help bring layers upon new layers of new life to the blog. It will be no more of a mommyblog than it ever has been a cupcakeblog or an officeblog.

Or, you know, what could end up happening is that I could just stop writing altogether because I'm buried in mounds of babypoop. Probably should have taken that helicopter ride when I had the chance.

CJ

...and Hobbes


Born April 12, 2010, 8:14pm

Just Say No To No Drugs!

Forget the fortune cookie and look out Ghandi, the next wave in spiritual resources is clearly going to be the ever-knowing pizza box:

Brain Drain Feign Sane

Top of my page from yesterday's morning meeting:



Where is your brain? Seriously, where is your brain?? Well, I know where it isn't... this isn't even close to yesterday's correct date! Not even in the same decade!

How exactly am I supposed to go around, making fun of other people's intense and mystifying stupidity, when I can't even write down the correct day at the top of my page? Let alone the correct YEAR!

The sadder truth is that there was actual thought-process here. Upon taking pen to paper I recall saying to myself, "let's see, it's St. Patrick's day..." and what you see above is the outcome of what happens when I try to engage the space where my brain once resided.

2007? Did I really think it was 2007? While that would certainly explain the cuffs on my pants, I seriously have nothing left but to wonder and bemoan aloud, "oh woe is me, what has become of my feeble, feeble brain"...

Hurry Up And Read This, I Have To Pee

Dangnabit. The dashboard readout of "71 degrees" didn't show up in the photo. Point being: can you believe these filthy, humongous, piles are still all over the DC area?
Further, can you believe that I haven't posted in the better part of a month and the best I could come up with was another weather-related report??

Yeah, me neither. Le sigh!

It's true what they say about the unborn sucking up all your resources. Brain go bye-bye or something.

Rock out: This Just In!

I have an incredible amount of sadness in my life lately and an incredible amount of work to do today, but it's all just going to have to wait.

Can you see that wee-tiny font? It says 2010 album AND tour!!!

* !! *

This is definitely good enough for me, good enough for right now.

Thank you, universe. This is a great start.

Another Entry in the "How Come No One Told Me About This" File

I've spent the last THIRTEEN years residing here, South of the Mason-Dixon, searching for specific delicacies not easily nor often found south of Brooklyn. These include: edible knishes, edible bagels, edible pizza, and the true unicorn: real Italian ices.

Alas! Here they were, the whole time. At Three Brothers, a localish chainish pizza-ish place.

No, I didn't sample any (it's like eleven degrees today) so they might very well taste like asphalt, but isn't it just a beautiful sight to behold? Look at that rainbow of possibilities. I have no idea what flavor that green sludge is trying to be but hey, hope springs eternal.

Do This Don't Do That

Something that has always boggled my mind? Sign stores with really bad signs. They're everywhere. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen a sign store with a decent sign, let alone a good one. Isn't an eye-catching sign a basic, mission critical, function of a sign store? Well, it should be.



This "Signs By Tomorrow and Beyond" sign store sign in and of itself isn't terrible. Not the best use of space and hidden in the far corner of a stripmall, but still. The font is legible, the spelling correct, the grammar nearly so. Albeit a little squished in there and a bit of a head scratcher regarding what the "beyond" entails but hey, as sign store signs go, not terrible.

But what, may I ask, is that eagle painting about? Why was it necessary to capture this eagle in 20x20 foot splendor, the moment he lost his fish (or his testicles)? It's almost insulting, really. Eagles spend 99% of their lives in regal splendor. This is the moment you chose to capture?!

Don't drop the fish, people. Get your professional signage elsewhere.

New Cube-Neighbor

I don't recall ever being quite so tempted to steal something as I am to take that stickypad.

Winter and Discontent

Snow No

By the time I was able to break free of the 8 foot (12 foot? Who can tell anymore) snow drift blocking my car in it's icy parking lot tomb, the streets were pretty much clear. Getting out of the parking lot from there was merely a matter of navigating a Hoth-like Wolfenstienian maze of snow walls, which was really quite awesome... until the dude heading straight for me failed to recognize that the passage was one-way. The resulting honking could have easily caused an avalanche, burying us all for eons. But, alas, after yet another narrow escape, I did successfully make it to Target. With another foot (or more?) on the way today, and our electricity source hanging by a thread, it's a good thing that I got out when I did.

My claim that I was seeking eggs was a rouse (you were right, honey) as we were running dangerously low on essentials (read: Chips Ahoy and foodstuffs whose first ingredient ends with "ose". Most importantly, we were out of Chips Ahoy. Bambino's favorite).

Much to my dismay, the cookie aisle at Target looked like this:


800 different types of cookies and wafers, not including crackers (those were one aisle over). Guess which was ONLY COOKIE IN THE WORLD THAT THEY DID NOT HAVE!

Grammar Question

Should it be "we ARE close for remoderlation" or "we IS close for remodelation"?

English are so trickly.

Finally, Some Good News!

Or maybe this is bad news?

Sign noted this very morning outside of our neighborhood Starbucks.

Now I have good reason to get that jogging stroller, imagine all the chow downs followed by runs with the wee one and grandpa around Goosepoop lake. I only wish they would just hurry up and put cupcakeries IN the gym and stop wasting everybody's time.

Separated at Birth?

Spencer Pratt and The Syndrome.

You decide:

Happy New Year, Spring Is In The Air!

Aloha, ya'll (or, "you there", as the case may be). Hope you had a pleasant end to your 2009 and a very festive "two-seconding holiday"; as my mom calls New Years' Eve. We stayed home and watched the ball drop, also witnessed Dick Clark's countdown. What did you get into? Come on... you can tell me... I won't tell anyone. Pinky swear.

Alas, it is with great shame in America, but great pride in the gall of Reeses, that I again bring you a head-shaking demonstration of Rushing The Season. Remnants of The Blizzard of 2009 still line the streets and Christmas candies haven't even reached the pivotal 70%-off phase yet, but here we go hocking Easter goodies?!

It's just wrong.

Makes me want to bite someone's delicious, delicious ear off.

Our Little Guy

If you don't talk to your cat about the perils of catnip, who will?


At the very least, teach him how to roll a proper blunt.

5 Guys Burgers and

Really? Really Really?!

I --- I --- I don't even know what to say.

Apparently We Need a Little Christmas

The photo below was taken on November 3, 2009, in downtown Bethesda, Maryland. And yes, mom, I was there for legitimate work related reasons on a weekday. Mostly.

Isn't it a little early for Christmas decorations? I mean, I feel like we just went over this last October when I spied my first Valentine's window display. What's with all the season rushing? Oh the poor, pour souls out there who work so hard to live in the present, to enjoy the day. Your efforts are surely for naught. How can you possibly walk down the street on a beautiful fall day, chin tilted towards the sky as your stroll turns into a care-free skip, admiring the blend of blue sky and orange leaves, and then BAM there's this 20 foot arbor-ation forcibly reminding you that the future is closer than you think.

Maybe this display actually is for arbor day? I think, technically, we're closer to arbor day than Christmas day. Maybe it's a sign of our questionable economy? To urge shoppers out of their packages to stimulate the economy? Probably just a sign that Bethesda can't afford tree-sized storage space space. Considering that parking a mini costs $18 an hour, can you imagine how much it must be to park this badboy?!

Anyway, please continue doing your best to live in the moment and enjoy every second. Life is short. Skip a little, but don't skip a lot. Merry Christmas and happy arbor day.

Happy Halloween

you creepy, creepy cookie you

King Wesparkinhood

Things about which I wonder:

• What happened to Cary Elwes? And I don't even mean the botched plastic surgery, I mean how did he go from being the romantic "As You Wish" handsome movie lead slash savior of the Princess to being an extra on Psych? Not even an extra that makes you go, "oooh! Look! It's him! The dude from the Princess Bride! I just love the way saying his name feels... Cary Elwes... Cary Elwes..."! But more like, "wait, is that him? Whatshisface from the movie with Andre the Giant? No, I think it is. Really. Look! You don't think so? Okay, I'll look him up on IMDB".
  How does that happen... without drugs?

• How did this guy make it through the focus groups? Maybe they were mesmerized by his fuzzy black sweater?
  

• Who exactly is being turned on by these Match.com commercials? I find the one where the dude proclaims his love for cheeseburgers, taps his hat and swishes around, then mashes a Hostess cupcake into his mouth to be particularly disturbing. I'm no vegan and have surely torn into more than my share of sub-par cupcakes, but come on, no one needs to see that.
  
  
• What gender is the Snuggle teddy bear? Are we talking cling-free sheets or dryer balls here?

That's it for now. I need to go wonder about some spreadsheets.

Investigation Into the Curious and Peculiar Bathroom Habits of Female Homosapians Continues. Today's Episode: The Encroacher

Welcome back to our provocative and deeply disturbing series on bathroom habits. Thank you for joining us, do have a seat.

In previous chapters we have visited a variety of long-standing and questionable norms, such as the insurmountable requirement that estrogen carriers visit the commode in pairs and, in episode 32, the genetically driven inability for women to leave more than three square molecules of unutilized space in medicine cabinets. Today, as our psychologically traumatic investigative series continues, we will discuss: The Encroacher.

Seen here: The Encroacher

Recently obtained photographic evidence of The Encrocher phenomenon demonstrates the preference of The Encoracher to occupy the stall immediately neighboring an already occupied stall. Note how The Encroacher appears to be completely relaxed in her native environment (and in her Doc Martins from the Spring, 1993 line), seemingly unaware of the plethora of unneighbored thrones to her avail. With eight stalls from which to choose, only a true-blooded Encroacher, as seen here, opts to mount a Swisher mere inches from the exposed butt-cheeks of a stranger.

The Encroacher, humming and oblivious to the discomfort of The Encroachee, often lives a life of social malevolence, riddled with reckless abandon; including the transmittal of phone calls while in elevators, unnecessarily parking in more than one space at a time, and storing stinky food remnants in shared office receptacles. The inconsideration of The Encroacher often knows few social boundaries.

Unfortunately for The Encroachees, studies show that few tactics prove to be successful in the permanent discouragement of The Encroacher (outside of spankings beginning in early childhood). However, in order to likely remove yourself from the occasional interaction with The Encroacher, do consider initiating a game of "footsie".

Please do join us for our next riveting episode of Investigations Into the Curious and Peculiar Bathroom Habits -- "Hand Washing, Swine Flu, And You! Yes, YOU, YOU DISGUSTING PIG!"

Good Job, Sears!

Thank you, Sears! You have done a thoroughly awesome job of mucking up our entire lives! And not just because the dirty, rank dishes are piled to the light fixtures, with mere moments to spare before 100 of our closest family and friends come to town, but because I've now officially used more effort and vacation time to get absolutely nowhere with you than ever thought possible! Sears customer service is the embodiment of what is wrong with customer service in America.

I've done the math, check this out: more effort and time has gone into dealing with Sears this month than has gone into dealing with Comcast, and our internet has been down for 5 weeks! Just when I thought no one could care less than Comcast *insert mushroom cloud fantasy*, along comes Sears. Way to go, Sears!! Thank you for restoring my faith in rockbottom! All tolled, the time we have spent waiting for Sears to show up (which they haven't) or on the phone with Sears is longer, including the 10 hours of flight time, than our entire honeymoon.

I no longer have any faith in the "confirmation" call. Originally designed to instill confidence and encourage accurate scheduling, it is now merely a device of destraction. Oh, you "guarantee" that someone will be out tonight? Well, then I'll stop yelling.

Mistake. Big, big mistake, Sears.

Inconsiderate People Should be Shot: Exhibit 11

Seriously, why? Why must you insist on polluting our shared space with your toxic, greasy fumes? How is one supposed to get any procrastinating work done while sitting under an orangey-yellow cloud dripping with fried chicken aura?

Where is that you go every day for an hour (not that I mind, mind you! Please don't misunderstand! Take a 4 hour lunch for all I care!) only to come back with this dastardly abomination to all things gastrointestinal?

Seriously, why, WHY must you make those noises as you dive into the bucket like Mario Lopez in the Greg Louganis story?

Please, please, oh horrible cubemate from the depths of idiot hell, please pull an O'Malley and stop showing up here.

Five Dollar Foot Long Diabetes

Do hope you enjoy your new year...

...because it's going to be your last as a non-diabetic!

I mean, are you kidding me? LOOK AT THIS THING! It's a gargantuan rainbow cookie! It's the size of my anorexic friend's thigh! I'm going into insulin shock just looking at this thing!

It's like the grocery store went out of its way to mock me personally and assure that I never made it anywhere near the fruit aisle.

I just can't get over this thing.

The pot of gold at the end of this thing must be angioplasty.

Safeway, you just do not play fair. So very, very unfair.