Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Posts Tagged ‘NOT WANT!!’


Posted by Lissa on October 21, 2010

Well, okay, that title is a bit misleading, since we killed the f***er.  How about

“Things I’ve Learned as a Home Owner #6: Sometimes horrible creatures will invade your house and you will have to do battle.”

It’s eleven o’clock at night.  I’m making the nightly round, checking the locks and doors, and I reach for the sawed-off broomstick that wedges the sliding patio door.  As I sweep back the curtain and reach down, I notice A SPIDER THE SIZE OF A F***ING CADILLAC SITTING ON THE INSIDE OF OUR GLASS DOOR.

My gasp leads Mike to call out worriedly, “What’s wrong?”


(Seriously.  I cannot emphasize enough the SIZE of this monster.  To a girl raised in the Northeast, it looked big enough to swallow Rajah whole and then chase small children.  It was horrifying.)

Question: What caliber for gigantic terrifying spider?

Answer: STING.  But Bilbo hadn’t given me one.

Here is the chain of events, as I can most properly recall it:

ITEM: Lissa and Mike go running for rubber gloves, shoes, 409, RAID, and magazines.  Lissa curses herself for not having a stainless steel flyswatter. Considers sacrificing her favorite kitchen spatula, which would of course have to be bleached, doused with flammable liquid, and burnt.

ITEM: MIKE: “Um, I have bad news.  The spider’s gone.”


ITEM: We discover that the spider has retreated to higher ground.  It is now lurking in the corner of our box-like curtain header, perhaps ten feet off the ground.

ITEM: In the process of re-locating the beast and in the interest of preventing future hiding places, we rip down the curtains themselves. They were getting in our way, they were ugly and I never liked them anyway.  I immediately fling them onto the back porch, lest they be hiding a million renegade spiders between their layers.

ITEM: Using an light bulb changer extension pole, we attempt to squash the spider.  It thumbs its nose at us and climbs higher still.

ITEM: Mike fiercely wields the sawed-off broomstick.  The monster judges discretion to be the better part of valor and makes a run across the wall.

ITEM: Mike SLAMS the scurrying bastard with a back-handed broomstick.  Two legs fly off and the fiend drops to the floor.

ITEM: Lissa flies across the field of battle and douses the fallen corpse with copious amounts of 409.  Just in case.

ITEM: Lissa photographs the vanquished enemy.  Pix will appear below the fold for the benefit of the arachnophobic.

ITEM: Mike notices that he has dented the wall/dinked the paint where he slammed the broomstick.  Then realizes that it’s just a big blog of spider guts.

ITEM: Lissa gingerly uses a pair of disposable chopsticks to pick up the corpse and place it in a plastic container with a tight lid.  She also picks up the two legs that flew some three feet from the body.  She douses the entire battlefield with 409 and scrubs compulsively.

ITEM: Lissa and Mike pour drinks for themselves.  Lissa drinks her Glenlivet with shaking hands.

And now: The Vanquished Foe!

Read the rest of this entry »

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Once seen, cannot be unseen

Posted by Lissa on July 6, 2010

Good morning, everyone!  I hope that you had a long weekend, and I hope that it was as lovely, relaxed and enjoyable as mine was!

Thank you all so much for your comments on the last post.  It’s nice to know that my readers have tastes every bit as random and eclectic as my brain droppings.

And in true LookingForLissa form, I’m going to show my gratitude by posting . . . THIS.

Mike called my attention to this a few days ago.  I literally shrieked as I watched, alternating between genuine hysteria, hilarity and horror.  I hereby dedicate this video to TOTWTYTR, who posted the original (for women) version. (TOTWTYTR, I couldn’t find the post.  If you drop it in the comments I’ll update the link.)

Because I love you all, I’ll also provide this:

Have a great day, y’all!

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Double bleg

Posted by Lissa on October 21, 2009

Two pieces of advice being solicited this morning, dear readers!

First off . . .  how does one choose a holster?  I know, I know, try lots of stuff and see how it works . . . but where’s the starting point?  There are lots of things one needs to purchase before actually getting a gun (e.g. holster, bulletproof vest or big bucket of sand, cleaning kit, gun safe, etc.).  Where do I begin?  Which shops do y’all patronize?  How do I go about this business WITHOUT dropping a few hundred bucks on experimental holsters that I’ll never use?


And the second piece of advice I’d like today is:


The woman in the cube next to mine has severe sinus problems.  She continuously sniffles, snorks, and snerks.  You can HEAR the gunk in her neb move about as she snorts.  It’s absolutely disgusting.

And she does it VERY BLOODY FREQUENTLY.  I counted once — in the space of one minute, the longest she went without horking was thirteen seconds.

Mind you, there were a lot of five- and six-second intervals before we made it to that golden thirteen.

I freely admit that I have my fair share of character flaws.  It so happens that one of my flaws centers around aural cues such as sniffles — said flaw being that I cannot tune them out. No matter how hard I try to concentrate on my work, I find myself keeping half an ear out for that next, repulsive HNGKKKKKKK inhale.

It actually got bad enough that I broke all sorts of work etiquette rules and offered her a tissue.  Very politely, very sweetly, very hesitantly called her name and, when she looked up over the connecting wall, held up a box of tissues and sweetly, hesitantly asked if she needed one.

“Oh,” she said blankly.  “No,” she said flatly.

Four seconds later:  “CNHNNNKKKKK.”

I’m contemplating wearing my hair down and loose today so that I can hide earplugs.

There’s gotta be a better way.  Help me, Readers wan Kanobe — you’re my only hope!!

UPDATE:  Jay G links, and SayUncle links us both.  Thanks!  And thank you, readers, for the great suggestions in the comments!

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Gun show undercover

Posted by Lissa on October 9, 2009

Did anyone else wander by HuffPo and see the story about Mayor Bloomberg’s undercover gun show sting?

I had a few thoughts on this.  In no particular order:

1) Wait, so undercover camera work is GOOD now?  Huh.  Could have fooled me.

2) This is bad, any way you slice it.  This isn’t a private seller making a sale to a private buyer and innocently fumbling a few of the rules; it looks like vendors deliberately dodging laws in order to skip fees.

I understand that gun laws can be stupid, cumbersome, confusing and time-consuming; I’m going through the song-and-dance myself and it’s taking both time and money.  (Thank you Mike for doing the lion’s share of the forms!)  But breaking those rules and laws to make a few bucks, and doing so brazenly, seems to me like A Bad Idea.

If wishes were horses and I had my way, I’d have stupid gun laws pointed out Rosa Parks style, rather than Mayor Bloomberg’s exposé.  I.E., I’d have two law-abiding citizens get up in front of reporters, then have the licensed gun owner hand a bullet to a non-licensed resident, daring anyone to arrest them.

But wishes are not horses.  I’m certainly not volunteering for such a stunt.  I have other, important things to do, like a) not break the law, b) continue to go to my job and earn money, c) cook dinner, d) pet my cat, e) muddle through this state’s confusing restrictions as best I can, etc.

3) First trans-fats and now out-of-state stings.  To me, these seem like odd things for a mayor to concentrate upon.  Shouldn’t he be concentrating on local problems?

You all know I’m a baby gun chick searching for knowledge, so as always I welcome your thoughts.  Enlighten me!

(h/t the Hot Air headlines)

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Trouble with plumbing

Posted by Lissa on July 9, 2009

Poor Shoothouse Barbie had a nasty episode with her new digs.  It reminded me of the troubles I had a few years ago. . .

Once upon a time Lissa lived under the rule of Slumlord Jim.  Now, I need to emphasize right off the bat that I don’t regret living in the Hobbit Hole for three years — it was cheap, it was safe, it was conveniently located, it had a private garage for my car, and there was laundry through an adjoining door in my bedroom.  (Which, yes, was irritating when folks woke me up Saturday mornings doing laundry, or that one time the water main broke and my entire bedroom went for a swim, but whatever.)  However, despite its great locale — a block away from a bar and three blocks away from the police station, hooray! — its flat utilities rate and its full-sized bathtub, there were a few little hangups that occasionally caused problems . . .

Like, oh, lemme think, having the toilet pipe run through the storage closet.  Which was located roughly four feet from my bed.

And, oh, hmmm, having said toilet pipe start . . . misbehaving.

Now, it wasn’t a Golgathan, thank goodness.  It’s just that, well, the pipe stopped really doing its job. Instead of carrying the water away down the pipe, it sort of just pooled around the base of said pipe.  In my storage closet.  Next to my bed.

Did I call Slumlord Jim?  Well, of course I did!  And then I ghetto-fabulously continued to deal with the thing in the three-plus months it took him to call the plumber.  “Dealing with it” meant picking up the bend of the pipe and then letting it fall back with a smack, which usually led to a sucking sound similar to a huge toilet being flushed and the water fleeing down the hole like it’s ‘sposed to.

Months later — I’m not kidding, MONTHS — after one feeble attempt by Slumlord Jim’s plumber to clean it out and tell me it was fixed, they took the whole pipe apart.  BOY was that fun — having my slumlord and his plumber traipsing through my bedroom and my storage closet taking apart a pipe habitually used to get rid of human waste.  Oh, the memories.

And to add insult to injury . . . Slumlord Jim informed me it was my fault because they had found a bunch of, er, feminine products clogging the pipe.

I informed him in no such terms that his problem predated me, his latest tenant, as I was very careful about such things.  (That goes back to the unmentionable incident with the Golgathan.  I’m still not telling that story, as it gives me the heebie-jeebies.)  Happily, the pipe stayed fixed for the rest of my stay there.

And now — pictures!  No, none are gross.  But d’ye see the bubbles around the pipe?  That’s from my shower!  Yes, the shower water built up in there too.

Futility (n): Taking a shower and scrubbing yourself clean, only to go to your storage closet and manhandle a pipe which carries away sh*t.

May 1 054

May 1 055

May 1 056

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The best line I’ve read today

Posted by Lissa on July 2, 2009

A snippet from the (fictional) romance book being written by Sanford (highlighted from the original Ace post):

“Her bosom heaved like a college freshman on dollar beer night.”

I laughed so hard a jelly bean almost came out my nose.

Oh, and what do I think of Sanford?  I pray God it gets less sustained attention than when Brad Pitt hit his mid-life crisis, ’cause I’ve had my fill of the trainwreck called Brangelina.  Seriously though — I know a lot of married couples have problems and liaisons and stuff, but if you’re MIA and you’re a governor, that is a PROBLEM. 

I think he should resign because he unforgivably neglected his job as the governor of South Carolina when he ran off to Argentina and was unreachable for days.  I really, really, really wish he would resign quickly because his selfish o-poor-me-without-my-soul-mate melodrama is disgusting.  It disgraces himself, his wife, his children, his mistress, the position of Governor, the state of South Carolina, the Republican party, and every poor sot unlucky enough be caught within range of ABC without earplugs.

UPDATE: Seems like a good opportunity to link one of my favorite funnies.  My two personal faves?  “She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.”  And “The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.”  Enjoy!

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Public service announcement

Posted by Lissa on May 20, 2009

In these trying times, it is wise to take a few basic common-sense precautions when traveling on the subway.

For example, it is prudent to always carry a pack of tissues.  Should you suddenly be overcome with sniffling, or sneezing, you will be able to tidy yourself neatly and quickly.

It is also wise to carry a small package of Sani-wipes or alcohol wipes with you at all times.  They are very handy if, for example, you wish to eat something but have not recently washed your hands.  They are likewise useful if you wish to cleanse your hands but there is no soap in the bathroom. 

Finally, if you have forgotten to carry tissues, Sani-wipes can be useful to clean yourself in the event that YOU HAVE SNIFFLED AND SNORKLED FOR THE LAST FIVE MINUTES AND I FINALLY LOST CONTROL OF MY STOMACH AND THREW UP ALL OVER YOU.

Thankfully, she was not sitting directly next to me, but rather a few seats down.  That way, the sounds that she was making – rather similar to a hippopotamus at feeding time, mixed with a healthy dose of a toilet coming unplugged – were not QUITE as loud as they could have been.  Still, I’ve lost all desire for breakfast.  *hurl*

P.S.  Yes, I did have tissues.  No, I did not offer her one; she looked, er, uninviting in the extreme.  Hearing someone snork and sniff for five minutes is preferable to getting in an altercation, which seemed the likely outcome judging from her appearance.

P.P.S.  CrankyProf wrote recently that “Before I was a mom, I had never been peed on, pooped on, snotted on or urped on — all in the same day.”  I have noticed that small children seem to excrete bodily fluids from various orifices at regular intervals; does this somehow become less gross when they are your own children?  Does the goo that they spew magically become less disgusting?  Inquiring minds – and future parents – want to know!!

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A survey so I feel less embarrassed

Posted by Lissa on May 8, 2009

And if enough of you participate, I might — MIGHT — relate a very very embarrassing story from this past month . . .

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I think I have sunburn on my tongue.

Posted by Lissa on April 9, 2009

A post to put your teeth on edge. Literally.

If you have any fear of the dentist whatsoever, THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU. (Likewise, if you don’t want to hear me whine like Rajah when he wants to bite me, then you probably need to go elsewhere.)

I spent almost four hours at the dentist yesterday. FOUR. On the upside, I am no longer afraid of the pain that will accompany childbirth.

Did you know what the tool of the devil is? You’d think it was a scraper, but you’d be wrong.  It’s a hideous, ungodly melding of evil, an unholy alliance in the name of dentist tools.

The progenitors of this evil contraption:


Tool of Satan + Other Tool of Satan = PLEASE GOD KILL ME NOW.  (A.k.a., a scraper that also shoots water.)

Now, I am the first to admit that I deserve some pain at the dentist, for I have the unmitigated temerity to be a NON-FLOSSER. I floss when I get something stuck in my teeth and that’s it. I *know* that’s bad. I am prepared for agonizing pain at the dentist because I know I deserve it.


Do you KNOW what that fiendish tool does? DO YOU????

It doesn’t just scrape your teeth, oh no. It emits a high-pitched keening noise RIGHT INTO YOUR EAR and it VIBRATES and when it hits your teeth you feel GRINDING and THEN IT SHOOTS WATER DIRECTLY INTO YOUR NERVE SOCKETS, INDUCING UNQUENCHABLE ANGUISH AND MISERY.

I’m not particularly brave, but I’ve got what I consider a decent threshold for pain. I’ve been through numerous sprained ankles, some lovely dry socket from my wisdom teeth, a rather large tattoo, etc. etc., without much difficulty. It’s nothing like SEAL school, or SERE school, or a serious car wreck or anything — I’m not THAT stupid — but I’m not exactly a whiny little girl.

They shot that Manifestation Of All That Is Evil into my gums and I jerked like a fish on a line. I was physically spasming in my chair with tears running out of the corners of my eyes. I’ve been the recipient of accidental electric shocks (stupid frayed lamp-cord) that were easier to deal with.

Apparently I *am* a whiny little girl when it comes to the dentist. *sniffle*

Oh, and I’m also an idiot to boot. In the interests of saving time and not using any more vacation than absolutely necessary, I decided that while I was at the dentist I should get my teeth professionally whitened.


I’ve already informed Mike that he’s not allowed to divorce me because I’m never doing that ever again. After they shoved plastic into my mouth to hold my lips off my teeth, and covered my gums with gel, and treated the gel to harden it, and applied bleaching agent to my teeth, and swabbed sunscreen on my lips, they shoved a UV-light directly at my mouth and left me to cook. The first two fifteen-minute sessions were bearable, despite my sensitive gums. Towards the end of the third session I became utterly, irrevocably convinced that the UV-light was home to an unusual species of tiny alien, who selected among themselves the strongest and bravest to essay forth and jab their heat-tipped spears into my tooth sockets.

I’m pleased that my teeth will be whiter for the wedding photos.

I’ve also got sunburn/bleach burn on my lower lip. And a scrip for Tylenol 3 at night.

*whimper* *sniffle*

P.S. Thank you to Dr. Borepatch for his scrip for wine. Unfortunately, I’m prohibited from masticating any strongly-colored foods or liquids for the first 24 hours. Like red wine. Or Diet Coke. Or ketchup. I dined on plain chicken breast and bread last night. I’ve been eating white-colored yogurt and string cheese today. I’d absolutely kill for some Cheetos. Only chewing them would hurt too much.

P.P.S. I will admit that the new system of  X-raying teeth — taking photographs that instantly pop up on the computer, rather than developing actual X-ray film — is WAY COOL.

P.P.P.S. The doctor asked me to show me his teeth. I bared all my teeth in a self-conscious grin and he just STARED at them for perhaps thirty seconds. I haven’t felt that awkward since I snapped at a guy for calling me “Shorty” and my roomie explained it was a term of flirtatious affection. *oy*

P.P.P.P.S. After all the x-ray-photos they grabbed my cheeks with plastic spreader-things and took a zoomed-in full-color picture of my teeth clenched in a bite. Then they left it on the screen for about five minutes while they discussed my dental situation. I had nightmares about sharks last night.

P.P.P.P.P.S. At what point do post-post-post-post-post-scripts get utterly ridiculous?

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I don’t know, but I’m quite, quite sure I’ve passed it.

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Movie Review: Watchmen

Posted by Lissa on March 8, 2009

Short review:  It sucked.  I want three hours of my life back.

Longer review:  Well, let’s start off with Mike’s warning when I told him there was a movie review coming:

MIKE: Okay, but don’t give away the plot!

LISSA: There was a plot?!?

Let’s run down the checklist, shall we?

  • The most awkward, embarrassing sex scene I’ve ever witnessed.  And I watched A History of Violence, so that’s saying something. 
  • The above was followed not long afterwards by the most stupid, ridiculous sex scene I’ve ever witnessed.  I think it was supposed to be romantic or sensual or something, but the whole theater was laughing.  You would think it would be difficult to kill any and all libido a sane male (or female) might have on seeing Carla Gugino Malin Akerman topless.  This director must be a genius.  AN EVIL GENIUS. 
  • Three different, separate scenes of such gratuitous violence that I could not watch.  I covered my eyes.  Would you like to know some of my more favorite movies?  Sin CityKill Bill I and IIDesperado and Once Upon a Time in Mexico.  In general I do not mind what my mother calls “the ketchup factor.”  I could not watch parts of the movie I saw tonight.
  • Disconnected shards of character background, presented as if somehow one could shake the cinematic kaleidoscope and cause a pattern to emerge.  (In some circles this pattern would be known as a “plot”.)  Nothing was shakin’, y’all.
  • Poor Carla Gugino way slimmed down from her Sin City days, Malin Akerman (see update) shoved into an unflattering costume and with such annoying hair that I wanted to drug her and introduce her to a Flowbee.  (She can manage a super-tight latex outfit, a superhero identity and go flying in a huge robot-toy, but she can’t manage to locate a freakin’ HAIR TIE???)
  • Last, but SURELY not least — seriously gratuitous CGI penis.  Repeatedly.

In summary:

If you’re going to see Watchmen for the plot . . . don’t.

If you’re going for the characters . . . REALLY don’t.

If you’re going for the super-cool special effects . . . find a friend with a large TV and a Blu-Ray player and get yourself Ratatouille from Netflix.  Watch the scene where the rat gets washed down the sewer; you’ll save yourself $8.00 and roughly 2 hours, 40 minutes of horrific awfulness.

You’re welcome.

P.S.  On the other hand, I cannot WAIT for the upcoming Wolverine movie.  Lissa want.  Lissa like.

UPDATE: Mike pointed out that I had the wrong character for Carla Gugino.  That makes me marginally less sad.  But the movie still SUCKED.

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