I never get to play along.

There's another internet meme in the works, whereupon people are giving each other questionnaires to answer, and having them post the answers on their blogs. Being the social tard I am, I find myself watching it all in bemusement once again, unsure how to butt in and participate.

Coyote and I have periodically discussed how every internet questionnaire that flies around the world's email servers invariably sucks. They always ask questions that involve no risk on the answerer's part, so you don't really find out anything about them.

So we decided to correct that dreadful problem.

Plus, you know, offensive questions are funny. We're mature that way.

I've kicked various questions around in my head for a long time. We decided a long time ago that twenty was the optimal number for such a list. Or maybe it was ten. Or thirty-seven. I forget. Anyway, the latest internet phenom has people giving and answering five questions, and it's way easier to come up with five than however-the-hell-many we decided we needed. So I'm copping out and posting my five favorites.

Answer my questions, bitches.

1. What's your favorite book of all time?
2. Now that you've given a totally bullshit answer in order to impress people on the intarwebs whom you've never met, stop being a poser and tell us what your real favorite book of all time is.
3. What famous person, past or present, would you ravage sexually given the opportunity? Addendum: this person must be counter to your own sexual orientation. If you are heterosexual, they must be of your sex. If you are homosexual, they must be of the opposite sex. If you are bisexual, they must be an animal or a plant.
4. What's the most bizarre sexual act you've ever committed? If you puss out and post something that's not interesting, we get to make fun of you. Make something up if you have to. Use lots of adjectives.
   
5. Can you get the image of your grandparents fucking out of your head?

How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?

Inga: fett and i have been playing this game

Taco: Oh, now just so we're clear
Taco: FETT IS MINE

Inga: oh yeah? well YOU CAN'T STOP OUR LOVE

Taco: I bought him mashed potatoes! You just try and beat that!
Taco: Oh wait... yeah... boobs.
Taco: Shit.

Confidential to the Blonde Lady Who Works For the Other Company on Our Floor:

If I can tell with my eyes closed whether you're in the office or working from home today, you're wearing too god damned much perfume.

Shit neck deep and rising

Allow me to recap the raging shit-hurricane that has been hovering for the past few weeks, refusing to make landfall and spend itself:

• Faithy, the teensy and adorable daughter of some long time friends of ours, already suffering from cerebral palsy, is diagnosed with a brain tumor. I already bitched about that. Fuck life. I'm stabbing life right in the fucking face next time it gets near me.
• Ray, a guy who was very involved in my high school band program, died. He was one of my mom's best friends back when we lived in that town. I loved him to pieces. He didn't just keep his mouth shut on that one school trip where we broke out after curfew and went to Hard Rock Cafe; he went with us. Bonus points: I think he died from the same form of cancer my dad has.
• Wifezilla gets a call from Faithy's mom. Tommy, a long-time friend of wifezilla's, had been home alone with the kids for a few days while her husband was out of town on business. When grandma couldn't get her on the phone for a few days, she got scared and called the sheriff's office. They broke the door open to find her on her bed, having passed away in her sleep. Nobody knows why. She was younger than me.
  
• I get a call from Luke, who's been a friend for so long I can no longer think of him as anything other than family. He's supposed to be getting married at the beginning of September, but now it's being postponed. His fiancee has a tumor, which has to be removed. Fortunately, the tumor is benign and the procedure is very low risk. But she's not allowed to do anything stressful for six weeks after the surgery, so the wedding has to be postponed.
• I get a call from Mona, who I've known since I was 13. It's weird to think that someone you occasionally go years without speaking to could be such a close friend, but Mona knows me better than almost anyone. It's one of those relationships without any hangups, where you go ages without contact, and then pick up without missing a beat, and without worrying when the next time you'll meet is going to be. Her dad has been fighting cancer for a while. It suddenly exploded throughout his body, and he lost the fight, as we all seem to eventually do. He passed away on Saturday. I think she was tired of talking about her dad. We talked for ours and covered just about everything but that.
  
• I get a call from wifezilla. Her dad, who's in town for the week, noticed a lump on his neck yesterday, and scheduled an appointment with our general practitioner. He didn't like the looks of it, and sent him for an ultrasound. They found that the lump is six centimeters in diameter, and scheduled a CAT scan and a biopsy. Wifezilla is freaking the fuck out. Grampa is playing it lower key around her, but is worrying just as much. He's already shuffling money around so wifezilla can get it "in case of the worst."

That's the last couple weeks. Not months. Weeks.

Those of you who know me, save yourselves. I'm clearly an albatross hanging around your neck.

I do believe I'm fucking flattered.

So I got an email from a recruiter at Google today, asking whether I was interested in jobs with them. I probably won't pursue it, since it's almost certainly located in California (and I Hate California). But still, I'm fucking flattered (check out that alliteration... no charge to you, dear reader).

Go me, or something.

I wanted to play too

So Blue posted one of those promotional viral campaign things they do for movies these days. I fiddled around with it, and was highly amused to see that they'd paired me with my old high school's mascot. I guess they didn't have any daemons that are cranky, mean bastards.