Fetus Sandwich

This morning, Tom tells me about a dream he had last night:

"So, I dreamt that we were making these egg sandwiches for breakfast; you know, like breakfast sandwiches. I cooked up the egg and put it on the Engish muffin or whatever, and I started eating mine. But then I looked over, and when you went to take a bite of yours, it had a chicken embryo in the egg....like.... a chicken FETUS! It was not a good dream."

religious zealots and other natural disasters

this past weekend, on the glorious stretch of boulder that is pearl street, a friend of mine and i were innocently taking her 8 month old niece on a lovely stroll. we walked leisurely, taking in the sites and sounds of boulder, breathing in the fresh mountain air and generally just enjoying in saturday afternoon merriment. as we proceeded, i opted to go into a local bike shop to outfit myself in some proper cycling gear (posts on this to follow) while she remained outside on a bench in order to feed the now hungry and slightly grumpy baby. little did i know what traumatic event was about to befall her. after about 20 minutes, i emerged from the store, new pedals and clip-in shoes in hand, looked up at my friend and saw a strange look on her face. in usual form, i assumed i had food stuck in my teeth or something on my face, however as i walked towards her she stated "you will not believe what just happened here". apparently, while i was perusing a fine selection of shimano shoes, she was approached by, what at first glance, appeared to be a normal, albeit slightly scruffy male. as he stopped in front of her and the precious wee babe that is her niece he accosted her stating "YOU'RE GOING TO HELL". naturally, my friend was caught off guard by this comment, and looked away trying to avoid him, however he followed by saying once more "you are going to hell for having a child out of wedlock, you know that RIGHT?" once again, my friend was befuddled by situation, responding by telling the man to go away and that this was actually her niece and he was being quite a rude hobo.

the world is filled with crazy religious folk: mormons, pat robertson, southern baptists, jesus freaks, earlocked orthodox jews and of course, those who believe god sent a giant killer fetus in the form of hurricane katrina to send a message to the u.s. about our tolerance of abortion. have any of you ever had a run in with any of the above?

smiling happy people

so having a job as a graphic designer with many customers who are in serious business services, i tend to spend a lot of time researching images of offices, business meetings, lunch meetings, water cooler chit chat and general workplace schennaganins. every time i search through these ridiculous images, i wonder...who are these people? is it possible that there are people whose only job is to be a business person model for getty? or are they strippers and ice cream truck operators who are strapped for cash? or do they spend their days playing halo and dungeons and dragons when they are not in business casual wear for getty?

i bet being at a photo shoot for that must be hillarious... i would go a little something like this,

"hey laugh at his joke while you type on your laptop"

"now move the move the mouse while Jenn looks over your shoulder"

"everyone look busy while the black guy in front smiles at the camera(filter the image so only the black guy is in focus)

"black guy, shake the white woman's hand"

"someone sit on the edge of the table with a cup of coffee, laughing"

"pretend you love cubicles"

"peek up over the top of your cubicle to talk to the asian man next to you"

"high-five"

"now be serious, point to a large pie chart"

"point to the laptop screen and have everyone gather around a large conference table"

"sit outdoors with your laptop and look out towards the horizon"

gay-tastic vacation

This weekend, I am very proud to say that I am becoming a real New Englander and finally making my first venture to Cape Cod- Ptown nonetheless! AND the Shums have proudly informed me that I will be staying in the same hotel that they always used to stay in! Flamboyant fun, here I come! I am hoping that this will out-do the Gay Pride parade that we stumbled upon a few years back in Manhattan. One can only hope...
I will come back with many stories and hopefully some souveniers as well! (anal beads or titty tassles perhaps?)

please take a number

so who decided that the place where you get your blood drawn should handle their business the same way that stop and shop's deli department does? first of all, i get there before the place even opens and there's a line 12 people deep. you'd think they were waiting to get first picks for dave matthews tickets.

while waiting in line i had to, of course, be in front of a mentally challenged man smelled so offensive that i wanted to spray him down with lysol. half way through the wait to get in, his father tells hims... "maybe we should change up that shirt today" (it was a hand colored special olympics shirt none-the-less). the man ahead of me was wearing a hootie and the blowfish concert tee shirt and that i found almost funnier than the hand colored special olympic tee.

needless to say, we all sit around at 7am with our numbers in hand waiting to be called back. "number 11" is called, thats me i win and i sarcastically run in waving my number in the air, which i have decorated with flower drawings while i waited a half hour.

behind door number 2.... the nurse from hell. now i don't mean to brag, but living with two chemists, i have been complimented on my great veins and in the past the nurses have quickly obtained their sample with no problems whatsoever. well not this woman, she could not have skewered a cantaloupe with a kabob rod!

she tries arm number 1... inserts the needle and proceeds to wriggle in around, talking to herself, "man that vein keeps on moving".... after a bit of agony, i suggest lets try the other arm, perhaps you might find something there instead. she pulls out the needle and does not apply pressure, just leaves it to turn her focus on arm number 2. arm two, she picks the smaller of two veins and yet again wriggles it around and mumbles to herself, this time she finally finds what she's looking for, so 6 tubes of blood later, and a near coronary from the pain of the stick, its over. she fails to bandage it properly and i go home looking like a heroin addict craving a fix. my dad near shits himself when he sees the damage this woman has inflicted on me and is in awe of the nurses massive failure.

so i sit here at work, my arm is throbbing like no other with a giant bruised lump and i really wish i had gotten a better number. maybe next time ill be lucky number 13, god knows what would happen then.

when life gives you lyme make venison

so i have a real suspicion that i have lyme disease. leave it to connecticut to be the home of the most complicated and absurd of diseases. i don't even have a deer near my house for miles. none the less its filthy blood sucking friends make sure to take frequent visits to my neighborhood.

well... not to jump the gun, i'm not sure if i really have it yet, but i'm getting blood work tomorrow. i got ambitius and went onto webmd to search for the copay-less answers to my medical woes

the main symptoms go as follows.

1. the feeling of having advanced arthritis in all my joints for two days straight, which then went away completely there after.
2. my eyes hurt...not when i look forward but in every other direction, i stared straight ahead for three days, then it went away completely.
3. large lymph nodes in the back of my head by my hairline, didn't even know they were there, but when they get big you tend to find them. i thought they were just big zits, but when i realized they were in the same place on both sides of my head, that made me take a second look.
4. the constant desire to eat grass and make friends with bunnies and skunks
5. a non-stop craving for salt and tequila

in a nutshell, the internet has explained to me that most people will never figure out they have lime disease because its a whole crap load of stupid symptoms...... but i'm agile and stealthy and have gotten to the bottom of this situation. as i sit here cold and hot with most likely a fever, i hope to god that i don't have this damn connecticut plague.

i need to move away to an island....

please do not urinate in reservoirs

I apologize in advance for this R rated post.

PG part:

As a born and bred cross country runner who has become accustomed to the scenic trails of Brooksvale and the New Hampshire woods, discovering even remotely scenic routes in the wonderfully cement covered city of Boston has been no easy task. My favorite go-to spot is a beautiful reservoir just a quick 'yog' from my apartment, and I frequent this route quite often.

R part:

This afternoon, as I set out for my usual run, I ran into (no pun intended) a very NON-scenic sight. Something that I would clearly never see at Brooksvale, or in NH, or anywhere else halfway normal. Let me preface this by saying that there is a homeless-like man who I see on the reservoir trail often... he is unmistakeable because he has a GIANT potbelly (see image above), is quite hairy, has a long curly white ponytail, and wears nothing but the teeny-tiniest tan colored running shorts that are hiked up to wedgie proportions. These shorts cause me to think that he is naked everytime I see him, but I always breathe a heavy sigh of relief as I run by and realize that there ARE shorts there (despite the fact that they are so short they barely count as clothing). Well today, he was not wearing the shorts. He was standing totally naked- penis facing me- at the edge of the reservoir, water up to his ankles. Let me tell you, if you were ever curious as to what a disgusting, fat, pot bellied, old man looks like naked... it will give you nightmares for weeks. Apparently, he thought it was okay to urinate in the reservoir. So when I ran past (along with a few other horrified people), he was just finishing up. Thanks to the dirty fat hippie man, there is now piss in Boston's water, and I had to see the most disgusting sight ever.

Question of the night: what is one to do when they see something like that? Is there a 'naked hippie man peeing in reservoir' hotline? 911? 1-800-SUICIDE?

the regulars

I think for some point in eveyone's life they should commute at least an hour too and from their place of work. without my morning commute i would miss out on endless hours of quality people watching.

when you've been commuting for a year as i have, you begin to notice a certain "regular" crowd. and while your waiting for your train/bus/goat/golfcart/lark scooter to arrive.... you will find your own personal set of regulars that you start to have an attachment to.

lets start from the top.....

person i watch #1
pillow cruncher
this man is about 6'8" and build like a wooly iltalian/spanish gorillla. he is notorious for always shoving all kinds of people aside to forage for a seat, almost always sitting in the middle seat of a three seat bench sticking up like a dandelion in the grass. now lets get to his name..... we will start from the end and work our way to the front.... cruncher... this man has a certain penchant for baked lays potato chips and brings them with him every single day, no exceptions. he waits until he is seated, always between two tired overworked financial analysts and he breaks out his snack. he does not eat them like a normal person though, he stacks three chips on top of one another and then forces the stack into his mouth unbroken, upon the crunch down, he creates a high-def, surround sound crunching that can be heard three cars back. and once he has completed his louder than once knew chips could be snack, he proceeds to take his afternoon nap........in comes the pillow part.... he dons an inflatable, bolo tie-on contour neck pillow.... there is nothing better than a giant man wearing a neck pillow.... and for that i love him.

person #2
hoochie
.... do i need to say much more? the name is self explanitory. this woman is the metro north morning commuter slut, a spanish woman who travels from man to man sharing her woes and her low cut selena-esk tops. we chose the name hoochie because she truly is the essence of that term, shes not a whore or a slut, she's just a hoochie mamma (in the sixth grade sense of the word)

person #3
jew-fro
this man is a little squirrely guy with a large white man jew-fro. he wears a backpack up around his neck and ear plugs. he has no mercy when it comes to getting a seat. he is like a quarterback zipping through the defensive line with no regard to the people he shoves out of bounds, which in the past have actually included the elderly and pregnant.

i wonder what people think of me.
more to follow...

In Memory

This is in memory of the small bit of flesh that KShum lost while scaling a telephone pole and retrieving this wondrous work of art that now lies deep within the dusty depths of my closet in good old HTown. As Mikey's older brother, Orrin is often referred to as the 'real Bolton,' and yet... neither him nor Michael ARE real Boltons! I am a real Bolton!

Spread the word so that I stop getting mistaken for a relative of these no-talent ass-clowns.

streisand attacks! and other stories from a chicago garage

arriving in chicago today i parked my uber delicious rental vehicle in the garage across from the affinia hotel . now usually i use some sort of memory game, mnemonic device, or simple lead/ink and paper to document the whereabouts of my parking spot...in a pinch i have even been known to store this info as a contact in my phone--i'm that neurotic/ocd. anywho, while riffling through my overloaded, travel crap laden bags, groping for a writing implement while getting on the elevator, low and behold an absolutely genius, integrated, free and public memory trigger for the garage: each floor is named for a classic singer/musical artist. as i observed the floors i noted some of music's greatest. frank sinatra, etta james, miles davis...i myself had the pleasure to park on "tony bennent" and whilst i waited for the elevator, i swooned to his greatest hits played via speaker. still waiting for the elevator (normally my vote is for stairs, but remember, i am luggage toting) i continue to amuse myself while perusing the other "floor artists" when i get up to the 7th floor, hark! is that....barbara freakin' streisand among music's elite denizens of cool? at first i wonder if this is a joke, perhaps a renegade "babs" fan stuck on a sticker or something? but no, using my finger in attempt to scratch her off floor 7, I come to the stark conclusion that someone out there proactively chose streisand to be the valiant keeper of floor 7 and for you, parking structure music curator, my head hangs in embarrassment...

m'lady manifesto

what it means to be a m'lady blogging
1. all posts must have images*, all images must be ridiculous to the point of making you pee your pants a little, just a little squirt will suffice but images that create a need for a change of clothing are ideal.
*graphs and charts for all content largely appreciated
2. each mentioning of a particular m'lady must always use a new name, nick name, sudo-name, wrestling alter-ego, stripper name, etcetera.
3. always use lower case arial, size-normal, those who do not follow these mandated standards will be pants-ed in public or severely goosed to the point of a hematoma.
4. content of all blog postings must contain a ratio of
97% sarcasm
23% mlady shenanigans
10.73% bathroom humor
1% chuck norris
1.5% stephen hawking
15% black dollar store figurines
3% kamakazie squirrels
and the remaining filler may contain one or more of the following:
queefs, tom green, feti, hot dogs, sun chips, cat fetishes, wonky thumbs, lip sluts, g-string m.r.s, scharks (in the gary sense), home & gardening tips, do-it-yourself pointers, craft projects, recipes, get-slim-quick tips, trivia questions, when a man loves a woman, corduroy harrys, kitty grooming tips, baked beans, meatloaf, molly mcbutter uses, spooning, nervous laughter, embarrassing prom dates, margaritas/jimmy buffet, man panties, roadkill, balls on balls, ford escorts, naughty encounters on washing machines, the pike, heart shaped jacuzzis, long walks on the beach, candle lit steve erwin vigils, llamas, bison, other exotic game, mull, callowness, farts, red neck neighbors, banana rotted antennas, jeff gordon appreciation, nascar in general...et.al

5. above all else, blogging participation is mandatory and comes before all other duties, responsibilities, relationships, bodily functions, legalities, regulations, u.s. customs, and trade agreements.

signed most severely,
the standards consistency rights order of technicalities and underwater management
aka s.c.r.o.t.u.m.

the prologue: deep thoughts by 2 m'ladies, a bag of booty and some helium

there comes a rare time when two special mladies can unite under the joys of a bag of trader joe's ghetto booty, 6 week old helium filled mylar balloon, some lactaid and a gallon of ice cream. with those ingredients the possibilities are endless. our lives can take us all over the country but deep down our main ingredient is 100% farm fresh ct m'lady, a rare breed that has only four members. one part wonky thumb bolton (no relation to michael), one part crazy better cheddar-eatin' cat lady, (aka long john feline), one part rocky mountain half jew (aka le petit hook) and one part shuttlin' bootylicious designer (aka lj celery general). when these forces align there is a super nova of delicious spooning. some day we will tour the country in a mark II abductor van called mlady listening to van halen (sammy hagar years) with a fetus hanging in our rear view mirror.

we here by declare this blog the m'lady mothership. starting an era of blogg-ed connection. we shall share our separate lives through this blog to catalog where we go and where we have been, all with an undertone of delightful sarcasm and hard hittin' sick/usually offensive humor.

manifesto to follow...
- k-shum & c-ho