SPECIAL ELECTION!

Everybody's seen this bumper sticker, right?

I think it's a bit preposterous. First of all, we all know that Al Gore is NOT running for president. But okay, if we're dreaming--as this bumper sticker boldly dares to do--why not come up with a running mate who's also a total wild card? Well, I've taken it upon myself to conjure a few stellar pairings of my own, and here's what I've come up with: (My only rule was that, following the Gore/Obama model, I needed to select one somewhat-senior member, and a not-so-experienced partner.)



HILLARY '08
LEWINSKI

BUFFETT
LOHAN '08
(not Jimmy, you nimrod--Warren! we need a designated driver)

VICK '08

DOO
(yes, as in Scooby)


Vote for your favorite... and feel free to add one of your own to my comments!

THE SECRET

Secrets are fun to tell, but they usually end up hurting someone. So I was looking for just the right person to confide in, who I knew would lend a safe, neutral, unflinching ear. Well, I found him, sitting right there on a bench in beautiful Cambria, California, just two short weeks ago. And let me tell you... I don't understand why people waste so much money on shrinks, when this guy helped me figure out just how to deal with all the twisted backstabbers, addicts, and neurotics in my life, and all it cost me was the price of a 1/4 lb of rocky road fudge at a nearby storefront ($6.50 U.S.) Worth the trip, believe me--even accounting for our devalued currency!

P.S. Thanks to all you midwesterners out there who have rallied behind me and my blog! (Coastal readers, check out the clustermap link below to see how many heartland visitors have joined me since my previous post lamenting their absence. Do I feel a competition coming on???

P.P.S. Welcome Canadians--your newcomerness was not lost on me!

This dog, Saint, not only gets barreled on a regular basis, he's also a volunteer therapist (no joke) for a women's shelter. In addition, he hikes, climbs, and loves to kick the soccer ball around. I might try to set him up with one of my single friends.

Read more about Saint here.

MORTGAGE ALIEN?

Hi Readers,

Has anyone seen that dancing mortgage alien? He's been very ubiquitous lately. Apparently, he's the spokes-alien for LowerMyBills.com. If you are blessed enough to stumble upon the animated version of him, you won't deny that he really does have the moves. Truth be told, he actually dances EXACTLY like this one friend of mine--I won't say who, other than that she's an Asian female. But anyway, they've both been gifted with astonishing rhythm.

I guess I'm just a little confused by the choice of a green space alien raver as a symbol for mortgage savings. Can anyone explain that to me? Any marketing execs out there? Bottom line is, I'm both drawn to and repelled by him. Maybe I've just answered my own question...

Tune in to ABC next season for a sitcom about a space alien who sells home loans by day, and attends raves at night. His dream is to be a professional dancer, and to legalize Ecstasy. And for all you "intellectual" property thieves out there, I've already registered this idea with the WGA, so fuhgeddaboudit.

ALL MY FLYOVER STATES IN THE HOUSE, SAY YEAH!

Okay. So, I was looking at the neat little clustrmaps (not a typo) feature on my blog, and it looks like, in addition to some of my European brothers and sisters, my main traffic--if you can call three people on a country road traffic--is coming from the east coast and the west coast. well, what about the flyover states, I ask? why aren't those lovely people from the land of corn and potatoes paying me a visit? too busy producing ethanol? well, that's all great and fine, but, corn based ethanol is totally inefficient, and i would really appreciate some more (or any) heartland lookiloos.

So, dear readers--and you know who you are--I implore you, please spread the word to those who may not boast an ocean view, but might still be likely to squander away a few minutes getting to know me and my oh-so-special e-persona.

Thank you, and enjoy the negative ions.

MUSCLE-BOUND GIRLSCOUT?

Do you ever google people from your past? Oh, come on, yes you do! You KNOW you do. Just random people. Your third grade teacher, that bitch who beat you out for cheerleading, that really hot soccer coach you had when you were ten. Still no? Okay, well, some people are big enough and proud enough to admit to weird hobbies, and I'm one of them.

Usually, when I google folks from my past, either nothing associated with their name comes up, or it's something really boring like an accounting firm or a useless piece of sculpture made of dreamcatchers. But last week, when I googled junior high pepsquad member and fellow Girl Scout Christy Wolfe, boy did I get a surprise:


Now, if any of you readers know me from junior high, and I've got the wrong gal, by all means, please set the record straight. But to be honest, I'm kind of hoping you don't. I would prefer to believe that that prissy little girl who couldn't live without her curling iron is now a grotesque
muscle chick.

GOING METRO

Hi Readers,

I know what you're thinking from the title. You're thinking, maybe Buckwheat's gone metrosexual? Well, first of all, I don't know if that's possible for a girl, or what the female equivalent of that would be. jockosexual perhaps? anyway, that's NOT what this post is about. it's about RIDING THE BUS. it's really an ode, more than anything. yes, i will profess. I must confess. I do suggest. I love riding the bus.

My favorite part about riding the bus is thwarting the establishment; making a childish tongue- poking face at the naysayers, or those who claim that Los Angeles has no public transit. They are wrong. It's poor public transit, sure, but you can make it work--and if you do make it work, you should probably be given some sort of honorary degree. I think I'm going to give myself one, since the phones don't seem to be ringing all that much.

Another thing I love about the bus is it's a great time to catch up on all that reading that you can never seem to do safely while at the helm of your car. I do see people trying to pull that one in LA, sometimes with the newspaper, but I don't stick around very long to observe what page they're on. Something tells me they probably don't get much past the news headlines.

One of the BEST parts of the bus ride is the people watching, inside and outside of the bus. A lady brought her pet rat along for the ride (in a little pink cage--awwww.) A cute guy with a skateboard and a pretty, fresh-faced girl, both late teens, met and flirted and disembarked from the bus together. A psychotic woman yelled at her tote back. A field trip for retarded children originated on my bus. It's eye candy I tell you. Or at least eye french fries. Or eye mac and cheese. You get the idea.

There are drawbacks, don't get me wrong. One night, on the later side, I boarded the bus and was horrified to see a rider embark with a big cardboard sign proclaiming, "I HATE WOMEN." He made sure he flashed the sign in front of my face before sitting his sadistic little ass in the back. That kinda freaked me out. And then there's the occasional smelly person, who finds it just fine to take off his or her shoes and settle back for a fully-supine nap. Not to mention, the occasions that the MTA neglects to inform its passengers of a route change. (I waited for my 304 bus last week and waited and waited and waited, only to find that the line had been discontinued, and replaced with another line that originated from a different location. Thanks for telling me, MTA! Thanks a lot!)

Despite these inconveniences, the bus is a great way to see that beyond the metal and vinyl (or leather if you roll that way) of your car, that there IS life going on in this city, and spirit, and bustle. And you'll not only get to see that on the actual bus ride, but on the walk to and from your stop. Okay, this concludes my ode to Los Angeles public transit. STOP REQUESTED! (You'll have to ride the bus to get that joke. Is it worth it? Only you can find out.)