The Crazy Rants of Samantha BurnsI Need To Get Off My A$$ And Blog, Too
At least, those are the words of Ole Blue The Heretic in a meme, and I'm sure most of you concur.
So, here's the meme I was tagged with and as always, I'm not tagging others, but if you choose to do this on your own, let me know and I'll go check it out.
· When tagged, you must link to the person who tagged you.1. At the moment, I'm struggling with finding an occupation that utilizes my skills and wills. If blogging were a job, I'd love to go to work every day; unfortunately, it doesn't pay my bills.
· Then post the rules before your list, and list eight random things about yourself.
· At the end of the post you must tag and link to eight other people.
2. I'd like to try my hand at acting/improv/or some form of performance, regardless of how much most celebrities sicken me.
3. I bought a drum set even though I shouldn't have and couldn't really afford it, but I've been missing playing the drums for over 15 years and couldn't take it anymore. It's great to wail on them as a way to take out my frustrations and to give me peace of mind.
4. I wish cars would revert back to the good ol' days when they burned gas big time and looked smokin' hot! Nothing beats the old Dodge Charger, Challenger, Malibu, Camaro, Firebird, Roadrunner, Barracuda, GTO, Nova, Pinto (oops, did I say Pinto?).
5. I took up knitting recently. What was I thinking? It is definitely not me. I made something that Mr.Big looked at and called an "Elf Hat". I'm that bad at it; I have no frickin' clue what I'm doing.
6. I hope Santa brings me a great job opportunity for Christmas. That, and a Jag.
7. It's taken me two days to come up with 6 random thoughts. Now that I'm on the 7th, I'm stumped more than ever. One more thought to go. Come on brain, you can do it! Oh ya, 7 is one of my "lucky" numbers - heck I was born on a 7, must be lucky for me.
8. Duh... Uh... My cat's breath smells like cat food.
Ya, I've completely lost my ability to think randomly. How about you? Got 8 of them in ya?
Comments
A few random thoughts:
I wonder where you found the Hello Kitty "personal massager". I mean, you just opened your browser window and there it was, smiling vapidly at you? Reminds me of the time I got hit in the, um, mouth with a "personal massager" (hereafter to be referred to as a "PM" or "dildo") at a Quaker meeting.
I'm not a Quaker, but one of my summer jobs as a teenager was polishing brass for old buildings; it's a science, you see, and something you need to train to do. Too much varnish eats away the metal, and not enough leaves the brass dull. If there's scrollwork involved, that's a pain because you need to get into all the little nooks and crannies. You get it. So what I'd do is come in before the meetings and polish the brass on the chair corners, doorhandles, and assorted trim once a week. Summers were the busiest because people have damper palms when they touch things. You know, sweating.
I was having a rough morning and running late because my alarm clock broke and the cat needed his arthritis pill (which involved a great deal of running and climbing and screamed obscenity, but that is a different story). I had a few runs to do before the House of Friends (the Quaker church, so to speak). In any event, by the time I got there, the meeting was already in full swing. I had a job to do, so I made my rounds in the hot room, generally suffocating the Quakers with Brasso and the occasional quiet raisin bran fart.
Suddenly, a lady sprang to her feet and shouted to (I think it was her husband) the person next to her, "OATS? JUST WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK IS SO FUNNY ABOUT OATS?!?" She then swung her pocketbook in a short arc at the fellow, who blocked it with his arm. You can guess what happened next: the bag popped open, spraying change, makeup, tissues, keys, and the aforementioned PM everywhere. It sailed up and over the heads of the congregation, going end over end, and as I looked up to see what the commotion was (mouth open so I could breathe through that instead of the miasma of Brasso and my own gas), it landed square in my mouth.
I involuntarily closed my mouth over it for a few moments, shocked. I won't try to describe what it tasted like, though I was spitting lint for days afterward. Now horrified, I pulled it out, accidentally hitting the "ON" button, and got to my feet with the buzzing, glistening thing in my hand. The once angry, now embarrassed woman fled from the room, leaving a circle of unfriendly, uncomfortable, and unhappy Quakers staring right at me and my new PM.
Needless to say, I no longer work as a brass polisher. And the PM, which was thankfully unadorned, was thrown into the nearest dumpster.
What were we talking about again?
Posted by: Dave D | December 5, 2007 12:50 PM
Sam, it's good to see that you're still alive. There's no reason why you can't pursue a career as a paid blogger ... but I guess it means "selling out" in a sense, because comedy blogging doesn't really pay as well as, say, gadgets and stuff.
Posted by: Dossy Shiobara | December 5, 2007 01:53 PM
About time you came back! I have missed your unique outlook.
Posted by: GMC | December 9, 2007 03:24 AM