"I didn’t say it was a *good* story!"

This evening I found out that our local take-and-bake pizza place – a place that’s been around forever as far as I can tell – is not long for this world. The entire set of buildings on one city block in Aberdeen have been sold and the businesses left to their own devices. My half-assed guess is they were probably paying a very low rent and now that they’re forced to go seek leases in the real market, they can’t survive and decide to fold tent.

With a lot of whinging I might add, which is what I’ve been subjected to the few times I’ve gone in to purchase goods from the shops in the doomed locale. For instance today I’m told I can’t get sourdough crust for my pizza. I say, “Oh, you’re out?” innocently enough and the proprietor looks at me like I’m, yes, fucktarded, and tells me they’re discontinuing items because they won’t be around for more than a couple weeks. “It’s been all over the papers,” he kind of scoffs, clearly disbelieving that I would be so misinformed about matters of such global importance. Now, I love the pizza at this place – it’s fresh, tasty, completely unlike Papa Murphy’s or any of that franchise crap, inexpensive, and familiar. But the business owner giving me shit right now? He looks like an older, stringier, scarier version of the really bad guy in Fargo (we’re talking doppleganger, here). He’s also Russian (“or somethin weird”), tends to the surly side, and sometimes wears snug jeans that display his genitalia with too much precision for my taste (right above the counter at eye level since he’s on the tall side). So, um… yeah, it’s kind of hard to buy pizza from him. Even when he’s not treating me like an ass.

When I get home I tried to look the story up on The Daily World for the scoop on the business closures – but as I couldn’t find it after five minutes of searching, I gave up.

I’m sad I won’t get to have that sourdough crust ever again.

OT – one of the sweetest things about this story is not only the sweetness of this British lad but his teeth as well.

And dear God. If you recognize this, you know what I mean:

lovely gifts in the mail. and … ass.

In a few minutes: the family all-out for Sophie’s 5th birthday party. Yay Sophie! Yesterday she received a simply lovely birthday package from her friend Olivia (daughter to my friend Abbi):

From left to right: miso pretty gum, picture of Liv, fabulous summer fisherman hat, optical illusion book, small pewter night and dinosaur card.

Thank you, Olivia!

A few minutes ago I overheard my mom quickly turn to my dad and angrily say, “He smells like shit. Check his ass!” (referring to the dog who came in from his afternoon outside dump). And my dad kind of shrank in his chair when she yelled at him because he knew he’d have to do it. 10 minutes later and I am still laughing, laughing, laughing.

"Do you have to use so many curse words?"

For the second time I find FM transmitter technology just isn’t cutting it for the enjoyment of my iPod. Oh sure, sure – it’s lame I’m even buying something so chintzy with a weird, cock-like appendage and an even weirder, cock-with-elbow-like secondary extender. After all, there are classier, more expensive ways to put your massive iPod music library in your vehicle. However, the well is not bottomless, and even though my iPod was this year’s sole Kelly expendeture from the Hogaboom coffers – well, I am looking for a more reasonable solution. After returning original FM doohickey (and vowing to hate radio technology, despite the lovely and informative article on the cellular phone I read in last edition of Invention & Technology magazine, P.S. I am not kidding, I really do read that magazine) today I find out from an IM conversation, innocently enough, that a simpler and more mechanically-based adapter is available in town. I rush my daughter and I out early for our date so I can hit the store in question and grab it up (and a quarter the price of FM device).

Inside the car I begin tearing at the packaging like a monkey (“That’s a little bit awful,” observes my biscotti-eating child-date watching me scratch at the vacuum-sealed sarcophagi), finally breaking the seal thanks to my keychain swiss army knife (yes! I’m a dork. But who’s laughing now?!?), plug the “cassette” in, mash everything on the face of my iPod (Sophie requests Starsky & Hutch‘s “Two Dragons” for our maiden listen), only to have the stereo readout tell me in its fuckspeak: “c | n ” – a code meaning either, “Please clean your tape deck” or, “I will never work again”. Don’t know which yet and get to find out.

Once again, no instant gratification for yours truly.

Oh, tonight’s movie; Eragon. Don’t see it. Billed as “Lord of the Rings Light“, I’d phrase it “Lord of the Rings LITE (TM) with ‘artificial meat flavors’ and Miracle Whip“. Why do I watch this crap? Oh yeah: because I have a daughter, and we go on dates, and I refuse to watch kiddy films. This movie works for her because she has a huge affinity for anything scaly (and an even huger affinity for anything huge and scaly). And even SHE was bored by the end. Your average crap fantasy film: a young boy’s turn to manhood and the loss of loved ones (you can predict exactly when they’ll go); evil badguy (with repetitive idle threats toward his minions that remind me of so many parents on the playground and their errant toddlers, and John Malkovitch enough already and retire please), his really evil-henchman (whose makeup inexplicably gets re-creepified 2/3 of the way through the film, but I still find Robert Carlyle cute only when he’s playing a psycho); token buff warrior dude with obligatory horrific mulletude (P.S. Hollywood, I want my Djimon Hounsou served up in a loincloth, gladiator toga, ass-cheeked thong, or half-nude in a period drama, thank you!), blah blah. It actually started to get better by the end, especially when I realized they were going to save some of the typical storyline for, yes! another film. P.S. I think something sexy was going on between the boy dragonrider and his dragon. Or maybe it was just my feverish, bored mind casting for something to enjoy. I gotta admit, it was kind of hot.

So in looking up links for the last paragraph I stumbled upon the fact I have seen two movies in one week with a main character named “King Hrothgar”.

Um… look. I’ve watched a lot of movies in the last few days, people. No really… I’ve been sick and had nothing else to do. Wait, don’t leave …

I’m going to go hang my head in shame now.

the horror

Today Blogger Beta (or I guess it’s not beta anymore but you wouldn’t know it from it’s assed-out performance) ate my post from earlier. Believe me, if you’d seen it, you would have thought I was witty yet heartbreakingly eloquent… You would have been moved to tears.

Given that I don’t have the energy to dredge up then post my awesomeness again, I’ll offer you today’s list of:

Other (Besides Blogger-Goofs) Top Annoyances / Evils of the World:

1. Bad hair. Normally I don’t care, but this quasi-Peter Cetera fuckup is pretty bad.

2. People who, once you find out where you disagree, hammer away to keep proving you’re “wrong”. I used to be good at this. I don’t do it anymore; at least, I try not to.

3. Girl-lisp. You know what I’m talking about. Contrived.

4. People who take me for granted. I’ll show them. I’ll show them all! P.S. have you noticed I’m not really speaking to you?

5. Cries for help. Just go get help already.


1. Texan girls. Why are they so awesome? The ones I run into, anyway.

2. My husband. He’s a goddamned hero. His ass looks good in jeans too.

3. My kids for enjoying scalding-hot baths with me. We Hogabooms don’t raise wussies.

4. Teapots delivered from Victoria’s Chinatown to my doorstep. Thank you!

5. Thai donuts from “1 2 3 Thai” restaurant. Yeah. That’s a name of an actual restaurant in town. Three seconds later, move said donuts up to “Evil” category.