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2007-01-27 - 10:40 p.m.

Butter Up

I think K-Y and Victoria's Secret should collaborate on a line of upscale lubricants called "Slippery Seraphims."

Because really, those two companies are only a shade of perception away from Astroglide and Frederick's of Hollywood.

They could focus on the lucrative 'tween' market (the women who fall in the spectrum between runway models and Detroit crack whores).

I'll get busy on a marketing proposal tomorrow. Even though I'd originally planned to sit around tomorrow and dust my video tape covers.

Ahhh, well, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Anyhoosens, let's see here. What's been going on at chez Halo?

1) I came up with a fabulous idea yesterday to become a part-time amateur handicapper at the horse track. Play the numbers, devise my own system, win a few hundred here and there. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep.

2) I cozied up with the dogs this afternoon and popped on my latest Netflix DVD, "Eight Below." It's that Disney movie about 8 sled dogs that the owner is forced to abandon in Antarctica. Good flick. I cried at the end. And then I smiled through my tears. Typical Disney. Now my dogs are convinced THEY are sled dogs. And I'm supposed to refer to them as "Max" and "Maya" now. I politely informed them that when they learn how to walk in a parallel straight line for more than 30 seconds, I'd consider their request.

3) While I was watching an episode of "Flip This House" tonight (a secret ambition of mine, but not enough to do anything about), the flippers, if you will, walked through the dump of a house they'd bought in Atlanta and commented on the cat feces all over the wooden floors, and smeared on the walls. The main owner, Sam, looked around and said "Now that's a shitty paint job." HA! Anyhoo, amazingly enough, they managed to renovate that house in 14 DAYS, sold it promptly, and made a profit of $40,000. Holy feces is right! If you've ever seen that show, you'll either watch people who have no idea what they're doing (very enjoyable), or folks who know exactly what they're doing (very enviable). Good stuff.

[Note: Out of curiosity, I did some checking on Sam from Atlanta and it turns out he's a fucking scam artist! Also, check out the realities of flipping with 10 Mistakes That Made Flipping a Flop. I'm loving my laziness right now.]

4) I made a new blog buddy! I told her we're two peas in a pod. She prefers the phrase "two boobs in a bra." Plus, we both love cheese, and you know what they say about bonds that are forged by dairy products. Go check out DanjerusKurves and tell her Halo sent you. Or I will bop you with this here stick of string cheese.

5) I dreamt I pitted two mob bosses against each other, figured out that I couldn't shoot a gun in the dark, blew off Justin Timberlake's right hand and put the clammy appendage in cold water when he pointed with his left hand to his handless right wrist. And the wrist nub was all, how shall I say this?, "shaggy," so I cut the messy bits off with a knife. Perfectly even, like the cross section of a ham in a Looney Toons cartoon. I was proud of myself. I admired my work from several angles while he was passed out from shock and blood loss. And I'll tell you something: Cameron would never take him back in that condition, but I'm sure Britney would.

6) I unloaded the dishwasher, did a load of laundry, rearranged the storage container cabinet (ASS PAIN, esp. those goddamn roll-y lids!), took out the trash, mailed some bills and went to Kroger. All in one day, people! Um, what day was that? Oh, yesterday. Friday, the...the..20 something-ish of January. 27th? No, 26th. I think. Yeah, yeah. Like it matters.

Every once in a while it hits me that sometime in the future I have to go back to work. Ugh. I don't WANNA. Oh, and shit, I have to update my resume, look for job openings, write bullshit cover letters and buy (AND WEAR) an interview outfit. Why can't I just wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt? Or my PJs and slippers? (How much do you dare me to show up for a job interview like that?) Of course, it would be a job I have no interest in doing. Fork Lift Crew Manager. Director of Landscaping, Decorative Awnings and Religious Concrete Statue Sales. Call Center Supervisor (Malayasia via Yonkers). Asses & Elbows Manager (Third Shift).

Then I think: eat your donut, drink your coffee, walk the dogs, and go back to sleep. It's what I do best. For now.

And you know what I wish? That you all could play hookie from life/work, cozy up with me and the dogs in bed (bring your cats, cuz it's pretend!), and I'd prop you up with pillows and cover you guys in warm blankies and run into the kitchen for orange rolls and fruit and juice and coffee and pancakes and bacon/eggs/sausage and we'd put on a movie, nibble our breakfast, snuggle and giggle. Like a big slumber party on Grandma's Feather Bed. Then we'd take a long nap, have some lunch (sammichs!), gather round the fireplace while it snows and play the most bestest game of Monopoly EVER! Kittens flying across the board batting houses and hotels is not only expected, it's rewarded. We'd just resquibble, open another bottle of wine, and everyone gets $500. Or $2000. Whateves. And whoever owns Boardwalk has to walk my dogs, so you can stay humble. Don't forget to call them Max and Maya. They might decide to regurgitate half the hotels they ate. Finders Keepers!

So, you in? I will kick your 'tocks seven ways to Sunday in Monopoly, but you will forgive me when I jump up and decide to make flaky buttermilk biscuits at 4 in the morning. Pop another log in the fire and reset the board for ROUND 2. I only serve Land o' Lakes butter to my most respected mortal enemies.

HEH.