Mark: Fake boobies are like a Dime bar. Hard on the outside, squishy on the inside. Wait- soft on the outside, crunchy on the inside.
Sarah: Crunchy?
Mark: Yeah.
Sarah: Are they edible?
Mark: Well no. But the silicon is dangerous if you get too much in your bloodstream.
Sarah: They don't make them with silicon anymore.
Mark: Fine, the stuff. It's.....
Sarah: Saline?
Mark: Yes! Saline. There was a woman on a plane. They burst and she was on a long haul flight. She died. They aren't a long term solution. You're supposed to get them replaced every twenty years or so.
Sarah: It's 4:40 in the morning there huh?
Mark: Yeah why?
Sarah: Just checking.
Mark: I swear, if this conversation turns up on your blog.
Sarah: I love you.
Mark: Damnit Sarah.
Sarah: I still don't know what a dime bar is.
Mark: You haven't googled? Google. Watch a commercial. Watch it now
Sarah: Omg. Ok. Ok.
.....silence....
Sarah: "the surprising alternative to armadillos?"
MarK: That's them.
Sarah: Weird.
no seriously....watch it.
http://youtu.be/ZwTHVZHqSb0
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
I need your nose to help me find the dead thing
There's something dead in my kitchen. Although it might be in my dining room.
I'm not exactly certain what it is or where it is. I simply know it exists.
Okay, I'm not actually certain of that either, but I've got a strong suspicion that SOMETHING dead is hanging out in there.
And let me clarify, it's not like some dead spider on a dryer sheet rotting quietly (in fact, the spider has been removed- Demetrius pitched a tantrum and outright refused to eat at a table that also displayed the carcass of a large arachnid. After three weeks, he stubbornly threw it away for me since I still refused to touch it).
No, this dead thing is smelly.
I think.
Perhaps I should explain that i've been sick for about a week. I've been suffering from a curious strain of virus lovingly known as the pneumonic plague. My erstwhile colleagues contracted it while in England, and brought it back to me as a souvenir. They are always thoughtful and kind in their gift giving. They also brought me a smushed penny from the Tower Bridge, which I will cherish much longer than the plague.
Said plague reached a nearly lethal level late Monday night and by Tuesday morning I had been reduced to a quivering pile of mucus. My human remains were untouched as the week passed, excepting only the growing tower of tissues. Hercules, was in his finest form, and keenly slept by my side during the entire ordeal. Indeed, I believe he thought he was being rewarded for some previously unremarked deed. Kora however, grew ever more tense, which cumulated in my Saturday mornings 4am wakeup call, by which time, she had clearly, had enough.
I open my dreary eyes to see the form of an enormous St. Bernard crouched over me, her nose level with my own. I blink, once, then twice, and she begins to bark. The noise is enormous and only quenched when I drag my weary butt out of bed and take her on ridiculously overdue walk. It's animal warfare.
All of this is beside the point though. The dead thing.
Today I regained my appetite. And my smell. Actually, I can smell only one thing. And that thing is dead. And somewhere in the kitchen. As near as my nose can tell, it's dead center in the middle of the kitchen. Possibly on the floor. Which I've checked.
And double checked.
It's rancid.
That or else I'm still sick.
I can't tell. Which is maddening. I think I smell it. But I can't smell anything. Which makes me distrust my own nose.
All of which brings me to my desperate plea to several friends this evenings, ""I need your nose to help me find the dead thing. Please come"
No one has yet responded.
I'll be waiting.
I'm not exactly certain what it is or where it is. I simply know it exists.
Okay, I'm not actually certain of that either, but I've got a strong suspicion that SOMETHING dead is hanging out in there.
And let me clarify, it's not like some dead spider on a dryer sheet rotting quietly (in fact, the spider has been removed- Demetrius pitched a tantrum and outright refused to eat at a table that also displayed the carcass of a large arachnid. After three weeks, he stubbornly threw it away for me since I still refused to touch it).
No, this dead thing is smelly.
I think.
Perhaps I should explain that i've been sick for about a week. I've been suffering from a curious strain of virus lovingly known as the pneumonic plague. My erstwhile colleagues contracted it while in England, and brought it back to me as a souvenir. They are always thoughtful and kind in their gift giving. They also brought me a smushed penny from the Tower Bridge, which I will cherish much longer than the plague.
Said plague reached a nearly lethal level late Monday night and by Tuesday morning I had been reduced to a quivering pile of mucus. My human remains were untouched as the week passed, excepting only the growing tower of tissues. Hercules, was in his finest form, and keenly slept by my side during the entire ordeal. Indeed, I believe he thought he was being rewarded for some previously unremarked deed. Kora however, grew ever more tense, which cumulated in my Saturday mornings 4am wakeup call, by which time, she had clearly, had enough.
I open my dreary eyes to see the form of an enormous St. Bernard crouched over me, her nose level with my own. I blink, once, then twice, and she begins to bark. The noise is enormous and only quenched when I drag my weary butt out of bed and take her on ridiculously overdue walk. It's animal warfare.
All of this is beside the point though. The dead thing.
Today I regained my appetite. And my smell. Actually, I can smell only one thing. And that thing is dead. And somewhere in the kitchen. As near as my nose can tell, it's dead center in the middle of the kitchen. Possibly on the floor. Which I've checked.
And double checked.
It's rancid.
That or else I'm still sick.
I can't tell. Which is maddening. I think I smell it. But I can't smell anything. Which makes me distrust my own nose.
All of which brings me to my desperate plea to several friends this evenings, ""I need your nose to help me find the dead thing. Please come"
No one has yet responded.
I'll be waiting.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Tea with the Queen
recent conversation
Sarah: TEA WITH THE QUEEN!
Mark: it's not tea with THE Queen. Just tea.
Sarah: Why would they say tea with the Queen if it wasn't? Is she coming?
Mark: She's not coming to have tea with you.
Sarah: What? Does she know I'm going to be there? She might want to come. I'm rather special.
Mark: She doesn't know you're coming. She's not having tea with you.
Sarah: This is ridiculous. After you taught me to curtesy and everything? Someone should tell her.
Mark: She's not coming to have tea with you.
Sarah: Do you like candy canes?
Mark: What?
Sarah: Candy canes. Do you like them? I love them, I eat them all Christmas season. But I hate them because I always suck them down to a point and end up poking myself in the gums with the really sharp point.
Mark: What's a candy cane?
Sarah: What?
Mark: (slowly, and with a VERY English accent) WHAT IS A CANDY CANE?
Sarah: You've got to be kidding. It's a candy cane. Like a peppermint, that's shaped like a cane. Long with a hook on it. Red and white striped. Like a barber pole. How can you not know what a candy cane is?
Mark: Well, it's called a "candy" cane, which means it's American, because we don't call them candy, we call them sweets.
Sarah: But you MUST have seen them! They're iconic. They're Christmas. They're, hell, they're candy canes.
Mark: Repeatedly using the word will not make me understand what they are.
Sarah:AAARGHH! How can you not know what they are? This is mind boggling. You must Google. Google them now.
Silence follows while Mark googles.
Mark: Oh. I've seen those before.
Sarah: Of course you have, they're candy canes. Do you like them?
Mark: I've never had one
Sarah: I'm hanging up now.
Sarah: TEA WITH THE QUEEN!
Mark: it's not tea with THE Queen. Just tea.
Sarah: Why would they say tea with the Queen if it wasn't? Is she coming?
Mark: She's not coming to have tea with you.
Sarah: What? Does she know I'm going to be there? She might want to come. I'm rather special.
Mark: She doesn't know you're coming. She's not having tea with you.
Sarah: This is ridiculous. After you taught me to curtesy and everything? Someone should tell her.
Mark: She's not coming to have tea with you.
Sarah: Do you like candy canes?
Mark: What?
Sarah: Candy canes. Do you like them? I love them, I eat them all Christmas season. But I hate them because I always suck them down to a point and end up poking myself in the gums with the really sharp point.
Mark: What's a candy cane?
Sarah: What?
Mark: (slowly, and with a VERY English accent) WHAT IS A CANDY CANE?
Sarah: You've got to be kidding. It's a candy cane. Like a peppermint, that's shaped like a cane. Long with a hook on it. Red and white striped. Like a barber pole. How can you not know what a candy cane is?
Mark: Well, it's called a "candy" cane, which means it's American, because we don't call them candy, we call them sweets.
Sarah: But you MUST have seen them! They're iconic. They're Christmas. They're, hell, they're candy canes.
Mark: Repeatedly using the word will not make me understand what they are.
Sarah:AAARGHH! How can you not know what they are? This is mind boggling. You must Google. Google them now.
Silence follows while Mark googles.
Mark: Oh. I've seen those before.
Sarah: Of course you have, they're candy canes. Do you like them?
Mark: I've never had one
Sarah: I'm hanging up now.
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