Archive for November, 2010

November 30, 2010

Contemplations in boredom…Day Two

Sometimes Mbrotha and I have conversations that are strong evidence that we should probably be committed.  I often wonder if other couples have conversations like ours.  Mbrotha says no.  He also states that our conversations start out innocently enough and then inevitably they take a turn toward the awkward and just plain weird and the culprit of that turn is fabulous moi.  I contest that he’s an active and willing participant of all these conversations. 


After reading a recent blog post.

Me:  Did you like it?

Mbrotha:  Yeah, it was pretty funny.

Me:  What was your favorite part?

Mbrotha:  All of it.

Me:  That’s a lie.  Was it where you were gone and *not* the champion of the story?

Mbrotha:  Sure, that was it.

Me:  I know, right!  Did you like how I incorporated Smoky the Bear and Yogi aaaaaaaannnndddd The Lord of the Rings??!!

Mbrotha:  Yeah, that was pretty clever. 

Me:  I know!  I’m awesome!

Mbrotha:  You’re definitely something.

Me:  Yeah!  Awesome!

Me:  Babe? 

Me:  Babe?

Me:  Whatever, I’m awesome.


While watching the first episode of “The Walking Dead” on AMC.  The scene where the guy from Jericho is contemplating shooting his now-zombified wife.

Mbrotha:  I’d shoot you if you became a zombie.

Me:  Really?  I wouldn’t shoot you.

Mbrotha:  So you’d let me be a zombie?

Me:  No.  I mean, yes.  But no.  What if there’s a cure? 

Mbrotha:  What if there’s not?

Me:  I always have hope. 

Mbrotha:  Pretend there’s not.

Me:  I still couldn’t shoot you. 

Mbrotha:  I would want you to shoot me.

Me:  Yeah, you say that now because you’re still human.

Mbrotha:  You have permission to shoot me in the brain if I become a zombie.

Me:  Not happening buddy, deal with it. 

Mbrotha:  Well, I’d still shoot you.  I don’t want you to be a zombie.

Me:  You’ll never have to face that kind of dilemma because I’ll never be a zombie.  I’m prepared. 

Mbrotha:  Oh yeah?

Me:  Yup!  You’d be a zombie in like five minutes though.

Mbrotha:  No, I wouldn’t. 

Me:  Of course you would.  You aren’t prepared.  And then I’d have to bash you in the head with a shovel and tie you up in the basement until they find a cure.  Be glad you married someone so vigilant for Zombiepocalypse. 

Mbrotha:  So glad. 

Me:  I know.  It’s because I’m awesome.

About five minutes later after the sheriff dude shoots a zombie that’s missing its bottom half.

Me:  Okay, fine.  I’ll shoot you if you’re only half a body.

Mbrotha:  It’s all I ask.


Passing by a badly decorated house for Christmas.

Me:  Did you see that house?  The one that was decorated for Christmas?

Mbrotha:  The one on the corner?  With the red and purple lights?

Me:  Yeah.  That was awful!

Mbrotha:  I know.  It didn’t look like normal Christmas lights.  It looked like Halloween threw up on Christmas.

Me:  Exactly!

Mbrotha:  The red lights were like blood.

Me:  Yeah, like they were trying to go for a “Nightmare before Christmas” theme but failed.

Mbrotha:  Have a scary Christmas!

Me:  Hey kids, it’s Santa Claus….from Hell!  Ho, ho, horror!

Mbrotha:  Here’s some presents and some murder.

Me:  This Christmas?  Not so jolly. 

Mbrotha:  A little bloodier.

Me:  (to the tune of “Holly Jolly Christmas”)  Have a scary jolly Christmas, It’s the bloodiest time of year.

Mbrotha:  Nice one.

Me:  Thanks.

Three minutes later…

Me:  (still to the tune of “Holly Jolly Christmas”)  Say hello to severed toes, on everyone you meet.

Mbrotha:  Nice.

Three minutes later…

Me:  (Tune of “Holly Jolly”)  Oh, ho, the severed toes, hung where you can see.

Mbrotha:  Ok, babe, stepping over the line.

Three minutes later…

Me:  (Holly Jolly)  Somebody waits for you…

Mbrotha:  Babe!

Me:  Okaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy, fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

Three minutes later…

Me:  Kill her once for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

One minute later…

Mbrotha:  There’s something seriously wrong with you.


Probably, but don’t think I didn’t catch him humming it in the grocery store five minutes later. 

P.S. We’re probably going to hell for that last one. 

November 29, 2010

This is probably why I should not be left alone for long periods of time…

What happens when Ali goes bonkers with boredom? 


Today I think I’m going to introduce a feature that I think will really break some ground.  The working title of this feature is “Invented Interchanges with the Illustrious.”  (I do heart me some alliteration.)  I think it’s going to be HUGE.  How many celebrity interviews have you read where the interviewer asks the same old boring questions?  Answer:  ALL OF THEM.  I’m prepared to change that.  I plan on asking the real questions, the real nitty-gritty stuff.  What we, the bourgeoisie, really want to know. 

I chose Mark Salling for my first foray into the world of interviewing because I follow him on Twitter and well, gosh darn, he just seems fun.  Plus his dog?  Hank?  Pretty flipping awesome.  He does that whole hold a treat on the nose then flip it into the air and eat it trick.  How could you not want to fake interview this guy??

Ahem.  🙂

Mark Salling (Puck from Glee)

Image by VancityAllie via Flickr

Mark Salling rocketed to fame after landing the role of Noah “Puck” Puckerman on the hit Fox show, “Glee.”  In addition to being all-around-hottie, Mark has also launched a solo record entitled Pipe Dreams.  We meet for a round of golf near his childhood home in Texas.

Me:  Mark, I feel it imperative to warn you, I’m an ace when it comes to golf.

Mark Salling:  Is that right?

Me:  Indeed.  I average a cool eleventy-five.  And that’s just the front nine.  In fact, I’m so damn talented at golf they had to rename it to AITMAAT:  Ali is the most awesome at this.

(We take a break from interviewing because Mark is overcome with the giggles due to my cleverness.)

Me:  Fact.  You had me at faux-hawk.

MS:  Yeah, I get that lot.

Me:  So, Mark, we’re all dying to know…in a war between zombies and vampires…who wins?

(He pauses to consider this.  This bodes well for our future friendship.)

MS:  Vampires.

Me:  Interesting.  Why’s that?

MS:  Because vampires retain their consciousness while zombies lose all remnants of who they formerly were.  Zombies main goal in unlife are brains, brains and more brains.  Blood is merely the main staple of a vampire diet.  Sure they go a little nutty when it’s spilled, but they can function outside of this craving and therefore are able to strategize and ultimately defeat the zombies.

Me:  You make valid points; I’m tempted to agree with you.  Unfortunately you are incorrect.

(I show him the following graph to help illustrate my point.)

Edward Cullen? Not so much.

Me:  As you can see, vampires and zombies share some commonalities between them, such as they’re both undead and they can transfer their affliction through biting.  Unfortunately, vampires have two fatal flaws.  You see, vampires require three bites—or an exchange of fluids depending on your source—so this requires persistence and planning ahead.  Zombification requires just one small bite in order to be transferred.  While vampires are busy planning for their minions, zombies are running around biting anyone they please, thereby just adding and adding to their army.  Also, vampires are allergic to sunlight.  This is their crucial weakness.  Zombies have no such allergy and can therefore make new zombie minions at any time of the day or night.  So you see, vampires may have the strength, but zombies have the numbers and will therefore, ultimately, be victorious.

MS:  You’ve really thought this through.

Me:  Of course.  You never know when the Zombiepocalypse is going to occur.

MS:  It pays to be prepared.

Me:  Exactly.  Speaking of the Zombiepocalypse…your best friend has turned into a zombie so you are allowed to engineer a brand-y new one.  What qualities do you look for?

MS:  This is *during* the Zombiepocalypse?

Me:  Mmmhmm.

MS:  Well then, I’d suppose I’d want my new best friend to have awesome stealth ninja-assassin skills.  And some mad archery/sniper proficiency.

Me:  Excellent choices.

MS:  They’d also have to have a sense of humor.  No sense going through the Zombiepocalypse all doomy and gloomy.

Me:  Why make a bleak situation even bleaker?  I get it.

MS:  Exactly!  And they’d need to be loyal.  I can’t have my best friend thinking they see a pretty girl—or guy depending on their preference—and you know, it’s been a while what with it being the Zombiepocalypse and all, so they run off and turns out it’s just a zombie with a sweet caboose and BAM!  Best friends a zombie!

Me:  Makes sense.  Bro’s before ho’s.

MS:  Bro code number 179:  Stay loyal to your fellow non-zombies lest you become one.

Me:  True that.  Okay, Mark, now for the tough stuff.  Finish this sentence:  Tony Romo is __________.

MS:  Easy.  Two words:  Overrated and a douche-canoe.

Me:  My thoughts exactly!  And I don’t even know what a douche-canoe is, even though this whole interview is just a figment of my imagination!  If anyone’s a douche-canoe though, it’s Tony Romo.

MS:  You know, Ali, I grew up in Texas and I’ve always felt it a damn shame there isn’t a football team that better represented this fine state.

Me:  Well, the Texans are starting to come around…

MS:  I suppose.  Even still, they’ll never live up to the majesty of say, I don’t know, the New York Giants.

Me:  So true, Mark, so very true.

(We pause for a moment to savor this time of bonding.)

Me:  Okay, so there’s this new game-show.  It’s pretty simple.  You get twelve gazillion dollars for committing and following through with one of the following three choices.  A)  You tattoo an homage to Betty White across your entire back and chest.  B)  You participate in an ad campaign for an up-and-coming hot dog vendor by standing naked in the middle of Times Square shouting at passerby to please, ask you about your wiener.  Or C)  You drink a gallon of toilet water.  Which do you choose?

MS:  Hm, that’s a tough one.  How long do I have to stand out in Times Square?

Betty White at the premiere for The Proposal

Image via Wikipedia


Me:  Twelve hours.  That way you hit both the lunch and dinner rush.

MS:  Smart.  Winter or summer?

Me:  Summer.  We don’t want you to freeze.

MS:  The toilet water:  dirty or clean?

Me:  Clean.  We don’t want you to contract any communicable diseases.

MS:  Just Betty’s face or multiple photos?

Me:  Multiple.  We call it, “ Betty through the Golden Years.”

(He pauses to consider his options.)

MS:  B) Stand naked in Times Square shouting at passerby to ask me about my wiener.

Me:  Really?!  Well, color me shocked.  I honestly thought you’d choose A.

MS:  That’s abundantly interesting as this entire interview is a figment of your imagination.

Me:  Psychiatrists wet dream right here, Mark.  Ok, last question before I lay the most epic of smack downs on you in AITMAAT.  E.T.:  The Extra-Terrestrial…what are your thoughts?

MS:  Awful film.  Elliott’s a whiny bitch-ass.  And is no one concerned that E.T. goes all gray and zombie-like?  Their fucking scientists.  This doesn’t worry them in the slightest?  Thanks for the Zombiepocalypse, mofo’s.

Me:  You’re my hero.

And there you have it folks.  Ali S. – Fake interviewing celebrities around the globe.

FYI, when the Zombiepocalypse happens (and it absolutely will) I totally call dibs on Mark Salling for my Zombie-fighting posse.  He gets it.  And that’s a quality I admire.

P.S.  Zombies always win the vs. game.  No matter what.  Zombies ALWAYS win.  The world is doomed.

November 28, 2010

I’m a damn HERO is what I am

There are moments in my life that I’m pretty fricking sure I deserve an award of some sort.  Or a medal.  Yeah, I DEFINITELY deserve a medal.  Like instead of a “Purple Heart”, I should be awarded the “Teal Butterfly”.

“For strength and valor by a civilian in a time of great peril.”

 Or something that sounds equally as awesome-sounding.

I imagine it would look something like this:

Last summer, I absolutely deserved a “Teal Butterfly.”  And here’s why:

The day started out as any other.  Mbrotha was off doing manly chimney-like things.  Or playing paintball.  It was one of those.  I think.  The point is he was gone and not home and therefore was not the champion of this story.  Anyway, Mbrotha was off not being the hero of this story and I was home busy being awesome.  The dogs were outside and as they usually do, they were barking.  Here are some items that will spark their ire enough they feel it necessary to alert the entire friggin town of their existence:

General Squirrel Patton – preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse



Dangerous, dangerous Leaves.

And perhaps, scariest:

Nothing. At. All.


On this particular day, they began barking and I waited as I normally do because sometimes they’ll bark for a smattering of seconds before, Oo! Frisbee!  thus ensuring I do not have to interrupt my busy schedule of being awesome.  So I waited, hoping I would not have to politely request they cease and desist.  But, alas.  My awesomeness would have to wait. 

On this fine summer day, I left my house fully expecting to find my dogs barking at the lone dead leaf that skittered across the wasteland that is my backyard.  Below I have thoughtfully provided a schematic of my backyard. 

Google Earth ain't got nothing on this gal!


But I did not find a leaf.  No, Internet, I did not.  Instead I found something large and black and growly (ok, maybe not so growly…but it adds an element of suspense that was lacking so pretend it really was growly) and so odd that my brain could not process it for a full ten seconds.  And then I realized that my dogs, my precious, precious, lovely dogs were mere feet away from the large, black, growly thing and BY GOD! THAT WILL NOT DO!!!!

So I ran into the yard and placed myself between my dogs and the behemoth and shouted for it to SHOO! and BEGONE! and TRY IT SMOKY, JUST TRY! 

All this time I’d thought my precious, lovely dogs were alerting me to the impending squirrel world domination (they are vastly concerned with this.  It’s a for real threat, y’all.  For. Real.) but no.  No.  Unless you consider a two-ton black bear a second cousin twice-removed to a squirrel.  I don’t.  That’s just silly.  And this bear?  It had devious thoughts.  It definitely wanted to raid my fridge.  And my precious lovely dogs did their best to alert me.  But the bear was on the opposite side of the fence line.  And they knew, they knew if it crossed the line, it was a hop, skip and a jump to the fridge and all the deliciousness contained therein. 

American Black Bear
Image via Wikipedia

So it was up to me.  It was up to me to defend my home, and my dogs, and my refrigerator from Yogi over here.  I shoved my dogs back behind me and shouted at that bear and shook my fist. 

Yogi:  Hey, I hear you have some deliciousness inside your fridge.

Me:  Oh yeah?  Is that what you hear? 

Yogi:  Yeah, the squirrel’s have been talking.  I have it on good authority.

Me:  Oh well, hey, why don’t you give it a go then? 

Yogi:  Really?  Alright then.

Me:  Ha!  Trick question.  YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!!!

And then from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought the Bear of Jellystone until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the side of my yard.  Lots of darkness and stars and days as long as the life age of the earth happened.  And then I returned and I was “Ali the Gray” no longer.  No, now I’m “Ali the Magenta” and I’ve come back to you now, at the turn of the tide. 

So you plainly see, I am an obvious recipient of the “Teal Butterfly.” 

I saved my dogs that day.

And my fridge.

But mostly my dogs.

November 26, 2010

Swords, Zombies, and Cartoons: This post’s got it all

I had a conversation with a coworker recently and it inspired me enough to write this post.  She discovered that I’m a bit of a book whore and since then we’ve been making recommendations to one another.  Currently I’m in my Young Adult phase and was trying to describe the premise of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins and she was trying to remember a novel that pretty much every high-schooler reads in their high school career that had a similar post-apocalyptic/utopian kind of feel.  The only two books I can remember reading in high school are Animal Farm and The Catcher in the Rye

I hated both.  Like really hated them.  In a stab-them-with-a-sword-and-display-them-at-the-edge-of-my-yard kind of way.  (Behold!  I am Ali “The Book Impaler!”  Write an interesting novel and ye shall not be impaled!)

When I mentioned this, she regarded me in that typical you hated “The Catcher in the Rye”??? kind of disbelief that most normal folk exhibit upon hearing this sort of earth-shattering news.  Yes, yes, I did.  Holden’s a whiny bitch-ass.  And I don’t much care for repetition.  At certain points of any story, it can be quite effective, yes, agreed.  Calling every person you meet—every single damn one of them—a phony?  Not effective.  It’s aggravating in a stab-you-with-a-sword-and-display-you-at-the-edge-of-the-yard kind of way.  Grow up and grow a pair, Holden. 

But then my co-worker surprised me.  She admitted that she, too, hated it initially.  But she reread it this summer and you know what??  She realized that it’s actually quite funny.  And she suggested I reread it.  Great.  Now she’s on the bandwagon of “Holden Caulfield is the shiznit!”.  Sigh.  Somehow, though, this whole conversation inspired me though.  I realized I barely remember TCITR.  I don’t remember the plot at all, other than Holden’s a whiny bitch-ass that apparently has a limited vocabulary.  So how can I honestly say I hate this book?  And that line of thinking led me to think of all the other things in life I hated that everyone else loved.  And I realized most of the things that I hate originate from my childhood and I haven’t really viewed any of them with an adult eye so perhaps I really don’t hate these things in all reality. 

So you know what?  Challenge accepted, Linds!

Without further ado, I present to you the list of “Things I’d prefer to stab with a sword, but everyone else pretty much loves.”  I’ve decided I will revisit these terrible things and possibly formulate a new opinion.  I will then post said opinion on this here bloggity blog for your viewing pleasure.  I know, I know, I’m just too awesome for words.  It happens.  It’s science.

Things I’d prefer to stab with a sword, but everyone else pretty much loves:

1.  The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger –  My current opinion:  Holden’s a whiny bitch-ass who needs to open a thesaurus once in a while.  My updated opinion will be a while on this one.  I’m rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows because I desperately want to see the movie but I read it so fast the first time three years ago that I barely remember what happens.  So once that’s all set and done, I’ll tackle TCITR.

Cover of

Cover via Amazon

 2.  “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial” – My current opinion:  Elliott’s a whiny bitch-ass who needs to get some friends.  Some human ones.  I was nervous about displaying my opinion on this one.  People feel really strongly about E.T.  Mostly I think I hated this movie because E.T. goes all gray and zombie-like and Elliott’s really annoying when he cries about it.  I’ll let you know.  I’m pretty sure I can on-demand it so my updated opinion will be along shortly.

3.  The Beatles My current opinion:  I actually really like them.  So, why then, you ask, are they included on the sword-stabbing list?  In high school (well beyond The Beatles era) it seemed everyone and their brother were experiencing Beatlemania.  And to this day I cannot figure out why.  So that’s why I’m including them on this list.

4.  “A Charlie Brown Christmas – My current opinion:  Kill me now.  Honest to God, I’m looking forward to this one the least.  I want to viciously stab this movie.  But it’s been years since I’ve watched it.  So I don’t think it’s fair that I want to stab it and impale it on like seven different swords. 

That’s all I can think of right now.  Give me some suggestions.  Chances are if you liked it, I probably hated it.  I’m contrary like that.  Maybe we’ll make this an annual thing.

November 24, 2010

TAPS should probably hire me

I should probably preface this post by stating that I have an overactive imagination.  An extremely overactive one.   The kind that dreams up things like gorilloceros, and beds made of clouds and rainbows.  That being said, I’m about 99.99% certain my house is haunted.  I have investigated and debunked and have come to the expert conclusion my house, is indeed, HAUNTED.

How did I come to this expert conclusion? You ask.

Fear not.  I have thoughtfully provided the evidence below.

Exhibit A  – “The Bee”

Sunday, Mbrotha was off saving the world, one chimney at a time.  Because I like him a bit and think he should stay around a while, I decided to clean up our dining room in preparation for Thanksgiving Day festivities (he’ll be doing all the cooking, because we decided that we actually want to eat on that day and if left to my own devices we’d end up with grilled cheese and funfetti cupcakes.  Like the Pilgrims ate.).   I vacuumed, I dusted (no, that’s a lie, I didn’t dust…yet) and I noticed that my Christmas cactus and my orchids looked thirsty.  I left the dining room for all of thirty seconds.  When I returned…THIS:

Motheringfucking Bee.

A motherfucking BEE.  In November.  Inside my house.  On my window.  ON. THE. INSIDE.  As I don’t carry a beehive in my backpocket, I’m utterly perplexed as to how this little fellow came to be upon my window.  Nonetheless, I left him as is (Mbrotha takes care of the scary things.  Like spiders, and insects with stabby needles in their butts.  And lizards on the ceiling.  You know, the usual.) and continued cleaning.  I had already vacuumed the entire floor and started using the wand to suck up the elephant sized tumbleweeds my dogs feel it necessary to shed on a daily basis.  And stumbled upon this:

Exhibit B – “The Bee Part Deux”

Motherfucking dead Bee.

A dead BEE.  Naturally I thought the fellow from the window had somehow managed to make his way across the room without me noticing and expired mid-flight, but NO.  There he was living his merry old bee life upon the window.  This was a second bee, dead as a doornail, upon the floor.  Which I had vacuumed in it’s entirety just minutes before.  I’ve seen the Amityville Horror.  Bees just don’t appear in your house without a damn good reason.  Like it’s haunted by a hell beast, for instance.

Maybe you’re not convinced.  Well how about this??

Exhibit C – “The Basement Door…OR…The Gates to Hell??”


Maybe this looks like just a door.  And it is.  Or is it?  This is the door to my basement.  And you know what?  I’m pretty sure one of these days I’m going to pass it by to turn off the outside light and I’ll hear a knock and the following conversation will take place:


Me:  Who’s there?  What’s that?

Hell beast:  Johnny.

Me:  Johnny who????!!!!

Hell beast:  Oh, you know, just a boy.  But all work and no play makes him a dull one…Do you want that?  Do you want Johnny to be a dull boy? 

For real.  My basement is super scary.  Not in the standard old scary kind of way.  I’m talking the kind of scary where you’re minding your own business doing laundry and you catch a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye and you glance toward the far, darkest corner, where light goes to die.  You glance toward this forsaken corner expecting it to be empty, but no.  No, instead there’s a creepy-ass black-and-white child staring back at you…meowing

That’s the kind of scary I’m talking about.  Take a look again.  Yeah, now you see the hell beast.

Exhibit D – “The Footsteps” 

I don’t go down in the basement at night.  I refuse.  True story.  If Mbrotha needs laundry switched, he accompanies my terrified ass or his laundry does not get done.  During the day though, I have courage.  It still spooks the crap out of me, but I figure I have a reasonable chance of outrunning the scary child/hell beast because we all know monsters are afraid of daylight.  Generally I sing very loudly while I’m down there because I figure if I’m annoying enough, scarychildhellbeast won’t want an eternity with me (thus far, this plan is a success! Go me!).  Sunday, whilst Mbrotha was out doing manly chimney things, I made my way into the basement.  I was going about my merry way, avoiding looking at the forsaken corner, singing “Build Me Up Buttercup” when I heard them.


Naturally I thought Mbrotha had returned.  So I finished up and raced back upstairs, happy to see my hubby.  But you know what, Internet?  Do you know what?

No.  Hubby. 

Nope.  Mbrotha didn’t return home for another four hours.  Are you creeped out?  Because I DEFINITELY am.

So you see, you put four and four together…my house is fucking haunted.  For real.  True story.  Case closed. 

Jay, Grant, Tango, Steve, you might want to hire this girl.

**UPDATE** So Mbrotha tells me today, before I go to post this post the story of how the dogs scared the bejeezus out of him right before I returned home from work.

Exhibit E – “The Mysterious Bang”

Mbrotha tells me he heard a bang today which he believes, but is not one hundred percent positive , that originated from the pellet stove, displayed here:


(The pellet stove with a Keeva in front of it.  A Keeva’s not so scary.  Unless dogs spook you.  In that case, I’m sorry.)

All three dogs went ape-shit and tore ass through the house, barking like mad.  He then heard a knock he thought came from the front door.  Do you know what he found though Internet?  No one.  They continued running through the house, barking like mad and Mbrotha could find no evidence to explain what caused the uproar.  But I know, Internet.  It was scarychildhellbeast.  I know it. 

Or maybe  a Keeva:

Heh, heh,