I am one of those weirdos that still has all four of her wisdom teeth. There is no point in going through a bazillion needles and having someone dig into my jaw with a big knife as they are perfectly healthy. In fact I’ve never had a single cavity. I also apparently have “ample room.” (Yes, yes, I know, I have a big mouth. Even my dentist says so.)

However….. A couple of times a year, those oh-so-wise teeth way in the back do a little shift and shimmy just for the hell of it. The pain lasts a day or two and is akin to having your braces tightened which, for those of you wore them, know that this is a little piece of fresh hell. My entire mouth aches in bright red pulses of pure hate.

The only thing that could possibly make me feel better at this point would be Leonard Cohen tickets. Just putting that out there.

Dear Magic Fairy, rich philanthropist or lotto winner,

Leonard Cohen will be playing Vancouver on April 19, 2009 and this is most likely his Last. Tour. Ever.  Short of being on a cheesy reality show Willing to do anything to attend. Pride, self respect, and dignity all negotiable.

Sincerely,

Kim

Holy Mary mother of Dog, it’s FRIDAY. And thank fuck because there were about 11 Wednesdays this week and I’m a little hung over today. Steve & I dined on copious amounts of red wine last night served with a small side of pad Thai. It was our farewell to booze as we are attempting to climb back on the “I quit smoking” train yet again, seeing as it didn’t stick this time or this time or this time or even this time.

I am stating this publicly so that you will all heckle me mercilessly should I bust out the Export Gold pack again. If smoking were a health supplement, I would be the healthiest motherfucker on the planet.

I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them!

…..but I’ll do it. Damn you Discotrash! DAMN YOU!

ok… so the deal is that I’m stranded on an island with only the bible ( or for us folks that don’t believe in an all knowing dude with superpowers floating around in space; a big book of weirdly written short stories) the complete works of Shakespeare and I get to pick some stuff, compliments of a surly genie in a bottle. 1 essential, 1 luxury, & 1 book.

Book- Tom Robbins “Still Life with Woodpecker”(and as I’ve already read it dozens of times I would start devising codes using a complicated counting system with the words to send myself exotic messages)

Essential item- A lifetime supply of moleskin notebooks (unlined) and black sharpie pens (the no bleed-through ones)

Luxury item- A lifetime supply of Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale. (The bottles would later be used to send my semi coherent ramblings out to sea. It would be like a blog with a really slow refresh button.)

This is my last meme ever. To prove my point, I tag no one.

Hey no one, you’re it!

Just a guess here gang, but I can see a few people being fired in the near future…..

This little tidbit is burning up the interwebs & made me laugh my ass off. Check out the original blog post here particularly comments #10 #15 & #26. The best part is, after that display of “customer service” a Ryanair spokesperson had this to say;

“Ryanair can confirm that a Ryanair staff member did engage in a blog discussion. It is Ryanair policy not to waste time and energy in corresponding with idiot bloggers and Ryanair can confirm that it won’t be happening again.

“Lunatic bloggers can have the blog sphere all to themselves as our people are far too busy driving down the cost of air travel”.

Yes my friends, you are reading that correctly. That is the official position of Ryanair with regards to the matter.

The last few weeks have been beautiful. The air is starting to smell sweeter, almost spring like. Okay, not exactly spring, but when I walk Maggi before work at fuck-off-o’clock I often skip the gloves or scarf or just wear a sweatshirt, sans jacket. The only reason that I’ve been wearing boots is to keep my feet dry from the deep clear puddles scattered through out my neighborhood. It’s the kind of weather that makes you want to whistle. It’s the kind of weather that makes you happy, and reminds you that spring is in fact on it’s way over to kiss your cheek with sunlight.

This video was taken 10 minuets ago. It isn’t grainy, that’s the asshole wind blowing copious amounts of snow.

Mother Nature is a fucking bitch. Try and tell me otherwise, I dare you.

Today is my school’s 5 year accreditation audit. As the sole administrator of said school, it means that random people are spending their whole day poking through everything I do on a daily basis. As I hold the school government accreditation in my wee shaking little nicotine stained hands, it’s basically a huge fucking deal. So what am I doing right now as they are scouring every piece of paper I’ve ever touched looking for any conceivable mistake?

I’m sitting in my office eating bacon & eggs & writing a blog post.

Yeah. Am I that fucking good? Or that fucking stupid?

I’ll let you know which.

After commenting on several of my favorite blogs, it has suddenly occurred to me that I have begun to use the word Jackass ad nauseam.

Personally, I like the word. I don’t get dirty looks because it’s more socially acceptable than cunt or fuckface and yet it is still pretty damn descriptive.  When I lived in Germany the only English programs that I got were CNN and the show Jackass. As I was there during the chaos of 9/11 there was only so much CNN I could take before experiencing sensory overload, so I would watch Jackass for my English language fix. I didn’t particularly like the show all that much, though I did Jiffy marker “I love Johnny Knoxville” on a t-shirt but it was just an esthetic thing- I thought he himself was a jackass, but a hot one. The show gave me a couple of good chuckles, like the fart joke that would normally be lame but happens to be told at just the precise moment you feel silly enough to giggle. Mostly I liked it because it was in English and after nearly a year of struggling with the hawking de hawk of German, I craved English like a debutant craves a Maserati & a prince charming. Since that time, the word Jackass has floated in and out of my vocabulary, planting itself for a few months and then vanishing for several more.

This time around, it’s being a bit of a whore- dropping itself into every conceivable sentence or situation when in reality, shithead, asshat or ratfacedmotherfucker would have worked just as nicely.

It appears as though my record is skipping. Jackassjackassjackassjackassjackassjackassjackass.

Rinse and repeat.