kothz

There are just some phrases that FORCE my brain into misinterpreting them.

You didn’t see this.

Turn the page.

After some careful fumbling and a quizzical look, I was told that he was just “adjusting the twiggenberries”. Or, at least that’s what I heard. On further quizzical looks, I was told it was actually “the twig and berries” or, as they call it in that circle of folks who skronks onstage at the opera, “the twig and potatoes”.

There you go. Today’s non sequitor.

Strangers in Paradise

If you ever get the chance to see this movie, don’t. It’s what would happen if an early Pedro Almodóvar teamed up with John Waters to make a mainstream American movie rock musical. It ends up being RHPS-esque without the redeeming qualities of being campy; having decent music or
Tim Curry in a teddy.

Early Sunday morning television programming at its best.

I’m admitting passive agression.

After the better part of a week suffering a migraine calibre headache brought on by the removal of caffeine from my daily life, I started drinking coffee again yesterday.

Then I got drunk to help with the headache.

It’s all good.

Of course, there’s strong evidence to suggest that I started drinking coffee again so I had something to serve as the delivery mechanism for Bailey’s, brandy, and amaretto during the day. An intoxicated I.T. department is MUCH more amiable than your every day, run of the mill I.T. department.

It’s been over 48 hours since I stopped drinking coffee.

Yeah, I know. Crazy talk. Whatchoo talkin bout, Willis? Who in their right mind would stop drinking coffee.

I agree with you.

The “I stopped drinking coffee” headache showed up today. The only thing that seems to fix it is putting my whole head in the fridge. I don’t seem to be snarly this time — maybe the body is saving that for tomorrow’s bit of joy.

Mmmm…. uncaffeinated herbal tea.

Sigh, it just doesn’t sound the same.

If you have ever, ever, EVER been involved with a community theatre company, you need to go rent Waiting For Guffman. It’s a hilariously frightening view of community theatre that strikes a run-away-screaming chord in anybody who has slathered on greasepaint, shorted out a body mike, or worn a dance belt… and not gotten paid for it.