Monday, February 27, 2006
Why I Like Mimes
I was reminded today by Laney that mimes being kicked in the crotch was not being featured here at Twisted Rantings. I started thinking that maybe this hatred of mimes is dangerous. After all, mimes could seek revenge on me for my gonad-focused attack advice. I certainly don't want an army of mimes coming after me, thankyouverymuch.So instead, I present to you... Why I Like Mimes:
- Because I am so preoccupied thinking about them, they prevent me from having nightmares about that most frightning of all two-legged creatures, Florine Mark. That woman's face is just not natural I tell you.
- Anything clowns hate can't be all bad.
- Mimes just plain taste good. If you cook them at the right temperature, then they will be tender and juicy. But the real key is the sauce. If you don't marinate them in each other, you can use my personal favorite, peanut oil. Why peanut oil? It makes a neat crackly sound you just can't get with other oils.
- David Bowie studied under a mime who studied under the Mother of all Mimes, Marcel Marceau. Yes, that's right, David Bowie.
- When you kick them in the crotch, they whine a little and then you can say HA! I KNEW YOU COULDN'T KEEP QUIET! WHERE ARE YOUR SKILLS, MR. MIME? HUH? Oh, crraaap, here comes the mime army... eeeeeek!
- Lastly, they make for great T-shirts. And who doesn't like a little commercialism with their mime-bashing?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Blondes Have...
Well this certainly explains how The Significant Other (seen at right holding Princess Diva) and I came to be...
Now I don't know about you guys out there, but when I read...
A study by the World Health Organisation found that natural blonds are likely to be extinct within 200 years because there are too few people carrying the blond gene. According to the WHO study, the last natural blond is likely to be born in Finland during 2202."
... I start thinking forget Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran... it's time for an armed invasion of Finland! We must save the blonds!!!! If we don't, they may "go the way of the DODO"! Oh, yes, I did just say that.
Alas, it might also explain why English people spell it "blond" while Americans say "blonde". What is with this little "e" and all of its optional glory? Damn this language. Maybe Mary Beth Ellis can explain it....
---- Dantelope @ Ooga ooga
When Restaurants Go Bad
Today I ventured out to Detroit to see Sesame Street Live with The Significant Other (TSO) and the Two Evil Genius Midgets. People say things like "ventured out to Detroit", but what they really mean is "packed a 9mm and an extra box of ammo". We, of course, took the Purple Beastie, which feels like it has armor plating on it. Plus it has a gazillion cup holders so that we can, uh, uh... um... stuff it full of garbage?
Detroit was dead. And I don't mean with all the decomposing bodies, no. Nobody around. I thought maybe we'd neglected to listen for the nuclear/bio terrorist attack alert (is that orange? red? polka dot?) but no, it just appears that people -- gasp -- don't want to visit downtown Detroit on a pleasant Sunday morning! Go figure, who would believe it?
After Sesame Street Live we made our annual pilgrimage to the oasis of an actual restaurant -- where they serve... get this... food. Yes, yes, yes. I kid you not.
Our choice this year was Little Daddy's Parthenon in Southfield. That also happened to be our choice last year. And I believe the year before that as well. And let me tell you something -- Little Daddy's is not my Daddy anymore. Three consecutive years of decline in ambience, food quality, and now, this year, service. So here's how it went:
12:15pm - get to restaurant, tired, hungry, ready to eat
12:16pm - Greasy Hair Guy sits us down at a table and goes to get a high chair for Princess Diva. Both TSO and I notice immediately this will not allow anyone other than Kate Moss on a diet to go by. We also observe that we are on one of only two direct paths to the bathroom. We mention this to Greasy Hair Guy as kind of a bad thing. He looks at us as if we are there to destroy the restaurant.
12:17pm - get moved two whole tables down as apparently this will make everything all better.
12:18pm - get crayons and water from waitress - so far so good.
12:24pm - waitress comes to take order. The Two Evil Genius Midgets are mucho hungry and they, we note, have turned on the ignition to the Chaotic Meltdown Machine and moved it into first gear.
12:29pm - Firstborn accidentally topples a humongous plastic cup of ice water. Yours truly hears haunting echoes of the waitresses previous suggestion that he get a plastic-capped smaller cup ("oh no, he'll be fine" I said... like an idiot). Water gushes over table like a tsunami, covering everything including our coats. Firstborn gets three drops of water on his pants and cranks the gas on the Meltdown Machine. I begin devising a plan to become invisible.
12:29.0004 pm - TSO asks waitress for help. I ask for napkins but am told, no, no, no, we'll get a towel. Oooooooh, but it's dripping, I say and am promptly ignored.
12:31pm - waitress finally gets around to bringing a towel over to the table. By now the flood has extended to the floor and is threatening to remove the grime and dirt and actually make the place look respectable. TSO asks waitress about drying up the floor. Waitress makes critical mistake in suggesting -- if it's okay with TSO -- that she do it after we leave. TSO pulls out her pocket Nuclear Fuming Machine and enters secret passcode. Doomsday has begun.
12:41pm - we were told this was a restaurant... with actual food... which everyone else seems to have found, including the 4 people behind us who showed up 7 minutes ago and the 2 people across from us who showed up 4 minutes ago. The big group two seats away came in after, ate, and have already packed it in and left. TSO switches the Nuclear Fuming Machine to Kill Mode.
12:43pm - waitress says "your food will be out in just a moment". Sighs of relief.
12:44pm - waitress brings out Firstborn's hamburger. Nothing else. Walks away without saying anything. TSO looks like a bloody beet.
12:46pm - food finally comes out, but Princess Diva's spaghetti, which was supposed to come with "sauce on the side" (sounds kinky) has come smothered in red goo. Also, there is the matter of it residing in a small tidepool of water. TSO mentions this in a voice which should alert waitress to her impending death by Nuclear Fuming Machine, but the tone is lost on her and she goes on her merry way to replace the spaghetti.
12:52pm - despite my strong desire to become invisible, I have not, and Firstborn has managed to spill yet another glass -- thankfully not so full this time -- of water. It covers only my coat and we decide not to tell the waitress, whom I have fittingly dubbed "Ignoramus".
1:18pm - we have, against all odds, finished. Princess Diva has entertained us by throwing crayons across the table and also into the seats of other people. She has also flung a piece of spaghetti on my arm and, as I am working very hard on becoming invisible, I hadn't noticed it until now. Oh yes, we are that family unit. TSO detonates her Nuclear Fuming Machine on the manager, we pay and leave a tip (a small note at the top of the receipt that says "Dear Ignoramus - you're a stinky doo doo!" -- Firstborn's suggestion) and, after slipping and sliding on the wet floor, haul ass out of there. I have made a mental note to take significant amounts of drugs later to help me forget this meal.
They say sitting down at the table together is a very important family bonding experience....
---- Dantelope @ Elmo probably gets VIP service
Detroit was dead. And I don't mean with all the decomposing bodies, no. Nobody around. I thought maybe we'd neglected to listen for the nuclear/bio terrorist attack alert (is that orange? red? polka dot?) but no, it just appears that people -- gasp -- don't want to visit downtown Detroit on a pleasant Sunday morning! Go figure, who would believe it?
After Sesame Street Live we made our annual pilgrimage to the oasis of an actual restaurant -- where they serve... get this... food. Yes, yes, yes. I kid you not.
Our choice this year was Little Daddy's Parthenon in Southfield. That also happened to be our choice last year. And I believe the year before that as well. And let me tell you something -- Little Daddy's is not my Daddy anymore. Three consecutive years of decline in ambience, food quality, and now, this year, service. So here's how it went:
12:15pm - get to restaurant, tired, hungry, ready to eat
12:16pm - Greasy Hair Guy sits us down at a table and goes to get a high chair for Princess Diva. Both TSO and I notice immediately this will not allow anyone other than Kate Moss on a diet to go by. We also observe that we are on one of only two direct paths to the bathroom. We mention this to Greasy Hair Guy as kind of a bad thing. He looks at us as if we are there to destroy the restaurant.
12:17pm - get moved two whole tables down as apparently this will make everything all better.
12:18pm - get crayons and water from waitress - so far so good.
12:24pm - waitress comes to take order. The Two Evil Genius Midgets are mucho hungry and they, we note, have turned on the ignition to the Chaotic Meltdown Machine and moved it into first gear.
12:29pm - Firstborn accidentally topples a humongous plastic cup of ice water. Yours truly hears haunting echoes of the waitresses previous suggestion that he get a plastic-capped smaller cup ("oh no, he'll be fine" I said... like an idiot). Water gushes over table like a tsunami, covering everything including our coats. Firstborn gets three drops of water on his pants and cranks the gas on the Meltdown Machine. I begin devising a plan to become invisible.
12:29.0004 pm - TSO asks waitress for help. I ask for napkins but am told, no, no, no, we'll get a towel. Oooooooh, but it's dripping, I say and am promptly ignored.
12:31pm - waitress finally gets around to bringing a towel over to the table. By now the flood has extended to the floor and is threatening to remove the grime and dirt and actually make the place look respectable. TSO asks waitress about drying up the floor. Waitress makes critical mistake in suggesting -- if it's okay with TSO -- that she do it after we leave. TSO pulls out her pocket Nuclear Fuming Machine and enters secret passcode. Doomsday has begun.
12:41pm - we were told this was a restaurant... with actual food... which everyone else seems to have found, including the 4 people behind us who showed up 7 minutes ago and the 2 people across from us who showed up 4 minutes ago. The big group two seats away came in after, ate, and have already packed it in and left. TSO switches the Nuclear Fuming Machine to Kill Mode.
12:43pm - waitress says "your food will be out in just a moment". Sighs of relief.
12:44pm - waitress brings out Firstborn's hamburger. Nothing else. Walks away without saying anything. TSO looks like a bloody beet.
12:46pm - food finally comes out, but Princess Diva's spaghetti, which was supposed to come with "sauce on the side" (sounds kinky) has come smothered in red goo. Also, there is the matter of it residing in a small tidepool of water. TSO mentions this in a voice which should alert waitress to her impending death by Nuclear Fuming Machine, but the tone is lost on her and she goes on her merry way to replace the spaghetti.
12:52pm - despite my strong desire to become invisible, I have not, and Firstborn has managed to spill yet another glass -- thankfully not so full this time -- of water. It covers only my coat and we decide not to tell the waitress, whom I have fittingly dubbed "Ignoramus".
1:18pm - we have, against all odds, finished. Princess Diva has entertained us by throwing crayons across the table and also into the seats of other people. She has also flung a piece of spaghetti on my arm and, as I am working very hard on becoming invisible, I hadn't noticed it until now. Oh yes, we are that family unit. TSO detonates her Nuclear Fuming Machine on the manager, we pay and leave a tip (a small note at the top of the receipt that says "Dear Ignoramus - you're a stinky doo doo!" -- Firstborn's suggestion) and, after slipping and sliding on the wet floor, haul ass out of there. I have made a mental note to take significant amounts of drugs later to help me forget this meal.
They say sitting down at the table together is a very important family bonding experience....
---- Dantelope @ Elmo probably gets VIP service
Friday, February 24, 2006
Welcome
Welcome! You are here either because:a) I invited you here, proving once again that the power of suggestion overwhelms any sense of decency a person might have;
b) I posted to some other blog or website that you frequent, proving that my scandalous ways and warped mind have created a black hole into which you find yourself unable to escape, or
c) You came here by accident (admit it, you were looking for porn, weren't you?)
However you got here, I'm glad. Counting you, there are exactly 3 people in the entire world who I can count on to tell me I'm an idiot on this blog. Normally, that honor is reserved for people who know me really, really well.
Okay, let's get this out of the way:
dantelope (dan tuh lowp): (n) a 30-something married creature with 2 oh-my-god-my-father-is-insane kids, a seriously twisted mind, and absolutely no ability to prevent inappropriate statements from frothing from its mouth. Not to be confused with the jackalope although in certain instances "horny bunny" might be appropriate.
This blog was born out of my admiration for Mary Beth Ellis of Blonde Champagne fame. If you're unfamiliar with Blonde Champagne, I highly recommend a visit. Mary Beth Ellis is an MSNBC contributor, english professor, and funny as hell. Her writings are top notch. Don't expect that kind of work from me. I'm in Little League still and quite possibly still wearing diapers. Clean diapers, of course.
A big huge thanks to Laney, a frequent Blonde Champagne reader, for suggesting I start my own blog. So don't go blaming me... it's all Laney's fault.
Let the games begin.
