Archive for November, 2007

You guys, high fructose corn syrup.  It’s so bad for you.

Normally I’m not a big “rules” person when it comes to nutrition because it makes people go completely insane, but in an effort to up my healthiness I’ve recently decided to (try to) eradicate high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) from my life.  

Now I’m no scientist, but from what I’ve gathered:  letting this stuff in your body is as futile as eating plastic.  You know what’s tastier and infinitely better for you than HFCS?  Sugar.  Sugar, you guys.  It’s a consumable good.  Sugar.

Anyway, this morning I was having a cup of yogurt and I decided to check the protein content (Rachel’s always driving home our need for protein).  While I was looking at the label I saw that HFCS was the second ingredient.  This stuff is everywhere! 

Anna Leisa joined me and shared my woes by further informing me that HFCS is not only killing us, but it’s also: raising the price of corn, furthering world hunger, and is the 1st (or maybe 2nd) sign of the Apocalypse.

I found a picture of corn online that I’ve altered to further drive home my point:

I added a mechanical device in the background to represent the processed-ness, a drip to show that it is a syrup, and horns to represent the corn’s spiritual well-being.

Wait, this stuff isn’t in soda, is it?


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What is my blog, anyway?

At the wedding on Saturday, I met one of the contributors of the Chris & Qualler Pop Culture blogulator.  I told him I was one of the links on the side bar and then this conversation happened:

Harry:  So, what is your blog anyway?  What do you write about?

Me:  Um…

Harry:  Do you write on a specific topic regularly?

Me:  No, not really.

Harry:  Is it like a personal diary of your life?

Me:  …Uh, no.

Me:  Ummm…okay, I think I’ve got it.  My blog strives to say absolutely nothing in as many words as possible.

You’d think it would be weird to describe something you do on an almost daily basis as being completely void of all meaning, but I’m pretty okay with it.

Anyway, I was reminded of this conversation while watching this youtube video on JK’s blog, which describes, at length, everything I stand for writing-wise:

Some People Call Me Maurice:  Perfecting the Art of “Passive Voice” since 2005.

You know?

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The Waller-Mussack Affair

Who would’ve thought good ol’ Malki Waller would end up marrying the very girl that four years ago we were discussing and analyzing, in agonizing detail, over the AIM text boxes we called home? (College!  Instant Messenger! Spring Jam!  Wooooo!)

Well, me, I guess. I would’ve thought. I like these people together. Mark and Brigitte, two of the funniest most fantastically puppy-obsessed people I’ve ever met in my life, finally got themselves wedded this weekend.  It makes perfect sense.

Unfortunately, there were no puppies anywhere in sight and I was refused all my flower girl rights, but despite those minor setbacks, the ceremony and reception were pretty flawless.  The colors were beautiful, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the bride was gorgeous, the bridesmaids and groomsmen looked stunningly brown, the speeches were funny and touching, and the food was more than gorge-worthy.

And much to my delight, Mark (the musical elitist that he is) created his own playlist for the dance portion of the evening.  It was spectacular.  I felt a bit like we had been transplanted into a wedding scene from a Wes Anderson movie.  Everything and everyone was just so undeniably cool.

I think something is dawning on me.  Just now, right at this moment.

Mark and Brigitte are the coolest people I’ve ever met.  

Way cooler than ice cold.

Congratulations you guys!  May your dozens of future children come out in droves!

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In my office today we’re having a soup & chili cook-off.

Crock Pots are taking over the office.

And because it’s Friday, everyone is walking around all smug in their jeans and/or casual pants.

You guys, I am the only schmuck here that is not in jeans. 

I’m going downtown this afternoon for a meeting with clients, and since these people pay us money, it’s important that we don’t look like cowboys when we see them.  So this is why I had to leave my blue jeans at home.  To make matters worse, it’s soup/chili cook off day!  Who is going to let a jeanless girl eat a hearty bowl of chili?  Probably nobody!  They’re going to kick me out!

Plus, seriously, these crock pots are everywhere.

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Bachelorette Party Ponderings.

Dictionary.com defines “bachelorette” thusly:



an unmarried young woman.

[syn: bachelor girl

Dictionary.com defines “bachelor girl” thusly:

bachelor girl


an unmarried woman, esp. a young one, who supports herself and often lives alone.

[Origin: 1890–95]


See girl.

I have the distinct pleasure of going to a bachelor girl fete tonight.  These sorts of festivities are customarily thrown shortly before a wedding ceremony (but not the same day, not that shortly before) to celebrate the fact that a bride (in our case, Brigitte Mussack) can no longer be defined in these ways come her upcoming declaration of marriage (in our case, this Saturday at 6:49ish).

I’m not exactly sure what we’ll be doing, but we were told to dress semi-formally, so I can only assume we’re going somewhere where there is waltzing.  That or horseback riding.  Brigitte’s the bachelor girl in question, so who knows what sort of inane caution we’ll be throwing to the wind.

If I’m being honest, I’ve never actually been to a bachelorette party before*, so I don’t have a darn clue what sort of what’s what and who’s who is going to go down.  Should I be prepared with questions for the bride?  Should I ask her to explain, in detail, every last-minute task she has to perform before the ceremony?  Should I ask her embarassing questions about her fiance, Mark?  Should I ask if she has any questions for me about Mark?  After all, I have known him longer than her.  Surely this must mean I know him better.  That’s just logic, right?

Does she want pie?  Is she expecting me to bring pie?  I love Brigitte, don’t get me wrong, and I’m really excited for her upcoming nuptials, but I am not going to be able to bring pie tonight.  I don’t have time for that. I mean, I have a job.

Ben, will you be bringing pie to Mark for his bachelor boy party tonight?  Are you guys going to go horseback riding too?  It’s so cold outside.  Don’t you think they should rethink that? Do horses get cold?

*This statement is false.

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Miss Minnesota

A former Miss Minnesota came by our office yesterday on behalf of the United Way.  I don’t have much to say about it – she seemed nice enough.  Good public speaker, very poised, laughed a lot.  I did feel a little bad for her, though, as it seemed like the speech was written more for an auditorium of 3000 and less for her actual audience of 25 people, business casually dressed, snacking on crackers and soda. 

I don’t think we elicited the amount of enthusiasm she’d hoped for. But what else were we gonna do? It was so cold.

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It is cold in here

You guys, seriously:  It’s really cold in here.  Can somebody turn the heat up?

Where is it warm?  Las Vegas?  Tucson?  Texas?  The Sahara?  That’s where I’d like to be.  Any of those places.  I bet they’re all a lot nicer than my cubicle.  Warmer too.

I sure am cold.

You know how sometimes your fingers get that smooth, white, cold feeling?  I got some of that.  I think I’ll put on some mittens.  One moment.

Ahh, mittens.  My coworkers laugh during the winter when they walk by my cube and find me bundled up in mittens and a winter jacket.  It’s cold though. What else am I gonna do?

The thing about mittens though is they make your fingers so much bigger.  Like 20% bigger probably.  It just makes it so hard to type, you know?  I’ve always prided myself on being extraordinarily dextrous so, if I’m being honest, having to type with mittens on is a gigantic blow to my ego.  But at least my fingers feel warmer, right?  That’s probably what is most important right now.

Because it is freezing in here.

You know what I don’t want to do right now? 

Have a snowball fight.

So help me, if you come after me with a snowball, I’m going to throw hot tea right in your face.  Right in your face!

Yeah, okay, I’m bluffing.  I probably couldn’t throw tea at you.  Maybe a hurt stare; maybe I could throw one of those at you.  But probably not tea.  Because I like you.

I like you and I like most other things.  Not goosepimples though.  I sure don’t like goosepimples.  I get them sometimes when it’s cold, and as you would do well to learn:  I don’t prefer the cold.

You know what else?  I’m not going to vote today.  This is just too much.

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