Little Miss Muffintop

For whatever reason, DC loves all things monkey & gorilla. Pretty much anything you can’t and/or wouldn’t imagine a gorilla or monkey doing, DC has em doing it. I have many favorite monkey covers (I’ll admit right now that I have never ever actually read any of the comics) but this one is at the top of my list and I’ll tell you why. We have a grumpy, talking gorilla. In a library. With a gun. And a thought bubble. He wants to take over the world and thinks he can do so by reading Treasure Island, Moby Dick and Robinson Crusoe. Why these three books, I’ll never know because I, for one, am much better off not knowing the “Secret of the Man-Ape!” But here’s why the gorilla will fail in his bid to conquer the world. He’s not wearing any pants. The only monkey capable of conquering the world pantsless is yours truly, Little Miss Muffintop. Maybe that’s the “Secret of the Man-Ape!” but if I listened to the boys in the warehouse, it would have something to do with his balls instead.

eta: Andy Panda just brought me over a comic about DC Super Heroes battling DC Super Gorillas or some shit. Funny enough, but I flipped it open to see Gorilla Grodd running for governor AND some random woman commenting, “Look at all that fuzzy black hair…he’s so fascinating!” There’s a joke in there somewhere about testicles, I just know it.

This, from my coworker Sean when I asked him how Dead Sea was. He finished the book in 2 days and now it’s sitting on my desk taunting me, wanting me to read it when I should be working (and totally not blahhhging). I know I’ve pimped Brian Keene before, but he’s worth pimping again. He is such an amazingly entertaining author and more than that, he seems like a fabulously cool dude who (whom? fuck it) I would love nothing more than to sit down and have a beer with one random evening. No, make that we (that better, Seany Boy?) would love nothing more than to sit down with Mr. Keene, have a beer or five, and talk Iron Maiden & Zombies.

I’ll even take it a step further and say that his website is a must read and now that he got his twitter all straightened out, he is that much more ummm… what’s the word…stalkerable. From what I understand, twitters are tricky things indeed and I’m just glad he didn’t hurt himself.

If I had to recommend just one book…..yeah, I wouldn’t be able to. You need to have The Rising AND City Of The Dead because if you just have the one without the other, you’ll cry yourself to sleep for a whole different reason. After that, you’ll just have to read em all. Like I am. But in between, read something happy. Like Batman. And then this!

In conclusion, Brian Keene: he’s the bee’s knees!

eta: I read Dead Sea in the car on the way home and I can sum it up in one long, drawn out, despair filled fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Just know that you may get your ass kicked by a very expensive pair of shoes — and that they’ll probably match both my belt and my shirt.

But from what I understand, shoes don’t have to match your outfit, they just have to go with your outfit. Now onto more important things. I hate to be the one to say it and pete knows I’m not perfect, but that haircut you’re sporting in that slide show makes your head look like an egg. An easter egg. The kind I used to color when I was a kid with Paas only I ended up with the shit all over my hands and face but my mom said I did a good job anyway.

This post brought to you by Zyrtec that I took 30 minutes ago and only getting 4 hours of sleep last night. Sweet dreams and jelly beans!

Pursuant to my second to last post and my ummm..whole big thing…I just wanted to set the minds of the curious, concerned and worried (but who are obviously too shy to say anything) at ease.

I am not getting married (to Roger Federer or anyone else), I am not pregnant, I am not suddenly single, I am not sick, I am not unemployed, I am not moving to Scotland nor am I running away to join the circus, I have not been attacked by bear, turtle or moth, I didn’t get my tattoo (yet), my dogs are not dead (though Deuce’s man-boob is quite large now), I am not homeless, nor do I want to even contemplate all of this Rangers legal nonsense that they might not play at Madison Square Garden anymore if the NHL/Gary Bettman has their/his way. Donna in this past episode of Doctor Who (”Turn Left”) made me cry so many times, the last episode of BSG left me empty inside (OMG WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO NOW), and I’m pretty sure this is my friend (and his penis) from college.

I got a whole big ole thing coming, but I just wanted to say that I love waking up in the morning not knowing where the day is going to take me. I love getting up, having coffee, getting out of the house, coming to work and having fun with the boys here and right now I am so tickled I can’t stop grinnin’ and I have half a mind to drop my linen. Seriously, life is good right now even though I had to sort 30 boxes of comics this afternoon, half of which contained 1970’s porn/bondage magazines. That was not a good time for naked.

A classified ad in a swingers magazine (I was looking for articles) caught my attention though. This particular dude was into photographing “heavy, hairy women lifting weights.” Indeed. That’s almost poetic.

oooohhhnnoooezzz!

I should be watching the French Open finals. I tried to watch it, but Nadal bothers me. He looks like somebody plucked him off of some random school playground and said “here, hold this racket.” It’s not the way he plays of course - it’s the way he dresses. I guess that would make me a tennis snob and also a hypocrite because I’m sitting here topless in boxer shorts that actually have a duck embroidered on the crotch. The embroidered duck is peeking out of the crotch. I have a matching shirt (that I have yet to put on because oh my fucking god it’s 110 degrees outside and even though it’s cool in my house, I know that heat is out there waiting for me and I’m grumpy about it) with the same duck that says “No Peeking.” I’ll let you make the connection.

Also, it took me until just this morning to realize that Roger is 10 years younger than me. Does that make me a cougar? Does me wanting him to give me a piggyback ride while I eat ice cream and play with his hair make me a prevert or a pedophile? I think I just violated myself and I’m not comfortable with that. And I think I’m going to play with my duck and watch Beverly Hills, 90210 on the Soap Network instead.

/pervert

p.s. and the answer to that question up there at the very tip top in the title bar? It’s YES YES OH MY GOD YES. Thank you for playing.

eta: ok, he’s down 6-1, 2-0 AND it’s a Ray Pruitt episode. Grrr. Argh. I think I’ll watch Doctor Who and go back to bed. And I’m bringing my duck with me.

Early this past Monday morning, the doorbell rang. Shit like that frightens me because nobody rings my doorbell. Ever. I’ll admit that when I used to live in the apartment in Pennsylvania, a little tiny thrill of fear ran through me every day between 1 and 4 when the UPS/FedEx/Mail person knocked on my door to deliver some new piece of shit Kiss memorabilia for Ross. Clutching my coffee in one hand and my courage in the other, I tiptoed to the door to see who it was. Nobody was there. Nobody was even around. Determined to not let my fear (ok, I’m this close to being a total shut in, I’m aware of that) get the better of me, I opened the door and released the hounds. One of them went to roll in something dead and the other went to eat a clump of sod. I looked around and saw this guy, who in a teeny tiny voice, introduced himself as Martin and oh by the way, would I be interested in mating?

I politely declined and ran to get my camera instead. I tried to convince Ross to put his face in there for scale, but he was afraid I was actually photographing earth’s 1st alien face hugger and wouldn’t come near us. Pussy.

Late yesterday afternoon, we were pulling into the driveway after a long day’s work when Ross slammed on the brakes and my Clash Of Kings novel that I’d been reading (for the third time) went flying out of the open window. I peered over the dashboard to see what I thought was something all curled up dead in front of the garage door. No, turns it was just Jack stopping by to see if we wanted to hang out. When we politely declined, he accepted the rejection with grace and only took 2 and a half hours to leave. I know, I kept peering out the upstairs window to see if he had gone. Look though, he’s totally looking at me with love in his eyes. Thank Pete for a camera with a decent zoom lens cause I took this picture from my neighbor’s property. Those things are scary but his feet are really fucking cute.

And finally today, Luke alerted me to the presence of these 2 in our backyard. Kate and her mom unfortunately didn’t stick around nearly as long as I wanted them to.

Oh, and Yogi & Boo Boo apparently got the word out about our animal friendly property cause just as I was about to post this, I heard music coming from waaaay back at the edge of our yard where there’s nothing but trees and brush and frog ponds and good places to hide. While I might be afraid of a knock on my front door, I do not stand for trespassing and grabbed the phone and camera and ran out to the back. And found these guys:

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I measured my hips this morning and as it turned out, my measuring tape wasn’t long enough. Oh no.

But it’s hard to be upset about anything when you’re listening to the Xanadu soundtrack.