Support the Rabid

I heart you, The Office.


So our weekend was fairly uneventful. It actually rained here on Saturday, so C missed her weekly swimming lesson, and we had to cancel our outing to the park. Hubs B-Day was on Sunday, so we went out to a nice local bistro we've been to before for dinner. Then on Monday, I cooked him homemade lasagna and Mom's strawberry pie (his favorite!). Sunday was, of course, a football disaster, but we're slowly becoming immune to this sort of let down from the Bills. I think Hubs might die of joy if they actually win a game this year. Of course, we could be as confused as Chicago...



"Rex Grossman is our quarterback."

"Rex Grossman is our quarterback."

"Rex Grossman is our quarterback."

"Rex Grossman is our quarterback."

"Rex Grossman is our quarterback."

I mean...

"Brian Griese is our quarterback."



Well, maybe they'll actually start winning some games. It just sucks for Buffalo that our back-up is just as crappy as our starter. *sigh*

The Wisdom of Toddlers or How I Got Woken Up Sunday Morning

Sunday morning I am sleeping soundly in my big, warm, comfy bed when suddenly I sense a sinister presence hovering just above me. I sloowly crack open one eye and try to focus on the mischevious brown eyes and ominous mass of red curls looming just inches from my face. "Mama!" the small yet menacing beast shrieks joyously.

"Good morning, Billy Goat." I murmur sleepily.

"Biwy goat." she repeats happily and promptly smacks me in the face to indicate her pleasure.

"Ow! Don't hit mama. Hitting hurts." I tell her, rubbing my face.

Twenty pounds of red curls hurl themselves at me in a small but comforting bear hug. "Sowy, Mama." she says contritely, snuggling her head next to mine. Then, to express her deep remorse, she summarily heat butts me (as billy goats are known to do) and tries to stick her finger in my nose.

"Ouch," I say, removing her finger from its precarious position. "Don't pick mommy's nose."

J looks at me in great confusion. "Pick no' no hurt." she tells me, and proceeds to demonstrate by sticking her finger in her own nose with great gusto. "See. No hurt."

Can't argue with that!


Job Hunting Military Style

No, I'm not referring to the utilization of guerilla tactics (though it is a thought should it continue to take much longer). Searching for a job in my area of expertise is a unique experience. I suppose it doesn't really suffice it to say military style, when what I really mean is intelligence style. The intel world is its own beast with its own language. Since I've been in the community for 10+ years and have knowledge up the ass (too much knowledge as it turns out), I'm able to read these job descriptions and decipher them. Unfortunately, I'm either overqualified and/or it the job description reads like this:

JD: Must have working knowledge of ABC
Me: I have working knowledge of ABC
JD: Must have practical experience with ABFQ
Me: I have practical experience with ABFQ!
JD: Must understand intelligence systems like CROOZY BYTCH, FILCH, and FSTR
Me: Oooo, oooo, I've used CROOZY BYTCH, FILCH, and FSTR
JD: Must be an expert in QRL, BDQ and XYZZZFRTWRD

Me: I am an expert in QRL, BDQ and XYZZZFRTWRD!!!!!

JD: Must be willing to travel overseas* for extended periods of time

Me: Fock
*read: Iraq
Other Tidbits

If you are at a loss to explain my obsession with Top Model (and, rest assured, you are not the only one!), you must read this!

My new favorite song