Technical Difficulties

We had planned on posting the nice li'l mugshot of everyone's favorite Hollywood star arrested over the weekend for being, among other things, a douchebag, but the photos won't upload.

So on that goes to the list of, well, the rest of things that didn't work today, like the dryer that wouldn't dry our clothes tonight, and the post office that has only one stamp machine, which, of course, is broken so one has to go stand in line with 27 other people *before* the lunchtime crowd, the myspace being down, again, and the perpetual squeeling sound our stereo has been making lately.

OK. We'll take responsibility for the stereo. But the photo uploading and the post office broken stamp machining and the page can't load myspacing? Sh*t. We're breathing deeply, don't worry.

At least there's this. It's about f*cking time.

Why we are the way we are

So we called the CVS as soon as we saw what could be the beginnings of a cold sore*.

We told nice Melanie at the CVS the prescription we needed. She said she would fax the information to our primary doc. She suggested we call them to make sure the prescription went through.

So we did.

Mind you, this is the same primary who, every time we call, thinks we're our Uncle Old Man Snap and not us. We give our birthdate, explain that we are the younger and better-looking Old Man Snap, and ask, nicely, for assistance.

"What do you need, now?" the woman asked.

"(We) have a cold sore and (we) need the prescription to get rid of it before the onslaught occurs and (we're) ugly for a week," we replied.

"OK. I'll let the doctor know."

"OK, but could you tell (us) when it will be ready?"

"No."

"Um. OK, even a ballpark figure?"

"We have patients in the office now," she said, voice as pleasant as a truck slamming on its brakes on the Jersey turnpike right before it rear-ends a group of tourists from Ohio, killing them all. "Patients that are seeing the doctors. No one is available right now."

"Could you at least tell (us) if it'll be today?"

"YES."

"OK. Thank you."

There's more, but we'll spare you the part where the doctor's answering service asks us if the cold sore is "around your lips" and when the doctor who called back lectured us on calling the emergency contact number for non-emergencies when we called the non-emergency number in the first place.

This is why, ya'll. We don't hate people. We just have an extremely low tolerance these days for assholes.

* not the herpes. Cold sore. We get them when we're stressed and/or overly-caffeinated. The rest of us is all good and healthy. But thanks for your concern.

No caterin'?

Man. We expected gifts, at least. Maybe just a pint o' Guinness?

What. B*tches. What.

PISCES: Where's the fire? You've been running around a lot lately, trying to keep a lot of plates spinning. What makes you think you're responsible for entertaining others? You need to take the pressure off of yourself -- there's no need to get nutty for the benefit of others right now. Instead, slow down and let everyone else rush around for you. It's their turn to do you the favors and make your life more comfortable. Be gracious when others cater to your whims.

Gets a-caterin', ya'll. Gets a-caterin'.

To the woman behind the plant at the dealership

1. Please put your phone on vibrate.
2. Please take the call outside.
3. Don't f*cking put her on speaker phone. You just put her on speaker phone. F*ck.
4. Seriously? Still with the speaker phone?
5. Now with the off speaker phone and repeated Hellos?
6. Did we mention the outside and the taking the call there?
7. Now with the hanging up and calling right back.
8. And the Hellos and the dropped call.
9. You're calling her back. Oh. My. God.
10. Yes. We can hear you.
11. YAY! You're walking outside! Yay to better signals! Hooray!
12. Now we can resume our quiet, peaceful morning of waiting for our car and listening to the soothing sounds of Journey. Whew.
13. Oh good. You're back.
14. And your phone's ringing.
15. And you're answering.
16. How are we to listen to Peter Cetera in peace?
17. Damnit.

What we do sometimes when we feel we're not really part of, you know, like, the world and stuff

We watch the Sliver.

Any movie that ends with the immensely in-touch statement "get a life" immediately makes us feel better about ourselves and the same monotonous godd*mn routine we tend to embark on over and over again each and every godd*mn day.

Er, we mean, Sharon Stone was hot and who *doesn't* like the UB40?

*sigh*, part 2

So this must be why we put blueberries on our cereal this mornin'. What. Nothin'?

File this under things that creep us the f*ck out

Mailman: (Smiles, knowingly). Hey, Oldmanathan. Good to see you today.

OMS: Hi. Thanks for the mail.

Mailman: (Still smiling, as of to say he knows we still get the magazine in the black plastic wrapper -- you know, the one he called us out on getting last summer when we were playing guitar on the porch and he was all, "Hey Oldmanathan! I delivered the magazine you like!" from the street below).

OMS: Well, have a good day.

And END SCENE.

His Leading Lady

So in keeping with a trend of what we do on our days off, we caught the Dawson's Creek again this morning. See, Dawson and the gang take us back to an innocent time in our lives. We had just graduated college and were working in the middle of nowhere writing about all kinds of fun things.

We always had a soft spot for all the Capeside hijinx, mainly because we thought Joey was adorable and ever so sane. Plus, we were in our somewhat early 20s and boy did we wear white socks too much.

So today, we caught the one about Dawson's movie. We'll attempt to put into words, now, just how much this episode means to us.

Dawson is all I need a leading lady. And Rachel Leigh Cook without her dork glasses is all I'm hot and short and into method acting. And Joey is all I'm wearing horizontal stripes but what, bitches, you got a problem with that? And Jack is all not gay and into Joey and Jen is all I'm Jen and I'm dying in the finale but who cares I'll be f*cking a gay cowboy in six years and all up in Oscar's bidness.

Pacey, of course, is all, I'm Pacey bitches and I call everyone, including my sweet basketcase can't deal with death Andie, by their last names all the time because I'm hip and that's what I do.

And then Bruce's voice shows up in a teen soap opera and it's on. Oh hells yeah it's on.

Joey is all Dawson why are you doing this to me and Dawson is all I'm still in love with you and why'd you kiss someone else and Rachel Leigh Cook without her dork glasses is all I'm hot and short and into method acting.

And Andie breaks up with Pacey, who's all nobody breaks up with Pacey, bitches, so I'm putting a long stem rose in my mouth and climbing the ever-so-cleverly placed vine holder thingy into Andie's second-floor bedroom window. And Jack is all I'm still not gay laaaaaaaaa and Dawson is all CUT! GREAT SCENE everyone.

And then Bruce with the singing again.

See what we mean?

HEY KIDS! LET'S GET READY FOR THE MORALE-BOOSTING COMPANY SOFTBALL PRACTICE! COME ONE, COME ALL! LET'S HIT SOME BALLS! YAY EVERYONE! YAY! YAY! YAY!

Player 1: (Talks to friend about the big practice). You have your spikes, right?

Player 2: (Interrupts witty banter) I'm coming.

P1: (Awkward smile). Good, good.

P2: But I didn't bring my glove.

P1: That's OK. I'm sure you can borrow someone else's.

P2: And I have sneakers.

P1: OK. Well, I'm sure you'll be fine without cleats.

P2: I don't think I'll be able to play in the game next week anyway.

P1: (Stares).

And END SCENE.

Why we're addicted to the You Tube these days.

It's cliche to say, but we got chills then, and we get chills now. Goddamn Vedder is the man. And the band is pretty OK, too.

So had our Uncle John lived, he would've been 39 and we'd be jamming.

He died when he was 27. We were 19 and had just dove/dived/divened into our frat years. We were full of ourselves and hellbent on showing the world just how awesome we were. We listened to Snoop Dogg and hit the 40s and macked on chicks by implementing the now-(somewhat) famous spin move.

He had recently started nursing classes and was volunteering at a hospital. He was dating a mother of three, and he'd taken the kids to see The Lion King on July 12, 1994.

Life, as they say, was good.

John had the epilepsy, which destroyed his heart. He played the piano and loved the Yes. He once gave us a tape of old Police songs. Tonight, we played So Lonely on our porch and dedicated it to him.

On this day last year, we took a one-man trek to Troy, NY to his grave. We played Dead Flowers and asked for his opinion. We prayed for him. And us. And our family. And the world.

On this day 12 years ago, we were smacked upside the head with the fact that people die, and we never really recovered because no one ever does.

We miss John, only because we think he'd be a kick-ass Uncle and friend. And because he'd be laughing. And playing the piano. And enthralled with those around him.

So there's that.

Meanwhile... back at the grocery store... (part 2)

So the deli guy gave us a fist knock when we approached the counter. We made small talk. He found out what we do for a living after some witty back and forth banter.

"So what, you wear a suit and look pretty all day?" he asked.

"Um, yeah. Hah. Huh. Haha. So can (we) get a half-pound of the ham that's on sale?"

We'll take "Still Don't Know What You Want to Do for the Rest of Your Life?" for $500, Alex.

PISCES: From the moment you wake up to the last minutes of your day, you'll be filled with a strong energy that encourages you to act. This may not be a literal physical energy (you may still get those afternoon-nap urges), but it will be potent. Don't be surprised if your thinking is lightening quick, and you're the first one to supply the answers that everyone's searching for. Trivia games could be your forte, so see if you can get a game going with friends. You'll clean their clocks.

We *so* can't wait for our afternoon nap. Wait. We can't nap because we'll be too busy, you know, working. Sh*t. How can we work around this? There's got to be a way.

Let's see how they spin this

We're pretty much fed up with politicians these days. You?

File this under we quit

Seriously? How is this even remotely a good idea? Is it *that* hard to teach and learn and maintain basic societal standards? Mr. Smith, our grammar-laden Latin teacher, is rolling over in his grave right now, and this is the type of sh*t that makes us want to join him.

(We know. Asterisks as part of words is not proper spelling and therefore we are somewhat hypocritical. But we can spell hypocritical, b*tches, so ease up off us).

And boy oh boy do we ever want to drop-kick the reporter who wrote this: Americans doen't aulwaez go for whut's eezy — witnes th faeluer of th metric sistem to cach on. But propoenents of simpler speling noet that a smatering of aulterd spelingz hav maed th leep into evrydae ues.

We quit. Not even a move to Canadia will help us now.

We'll take a poll

On second thought, we won't. There's no need for multiple choice or essays on this one, kids. And alas, this makes us sad. (Thanks to MJ for the photo).

Hey! Coming tomorrow, thoughts on Kiera Knightley's rapid weight loss! That's right, Porchers, we're covering entertainment news three days late from here on out! With exclamation points! YAY!

Why we absolutely, positively cannot root, root, root for the hometeam right now. Like, ever.

From philly.com:

In his last eight appearances, Rhodes is 0-2 with a 14.40 ERA (with eight earned runs in five innings). In his last six appearances, Gordon, who has been the team's best pitcher this season, is 1-1 with a 6.35 ERA (four earned runs in 52/3 innings). He also has one save and one blown save.

Manager Charlie Manuel said afterward that he plans to stick with Rhodes in late-inning situations. Rhodes is 0-3 with a 5.40 ERA overall.

"His stuff is still good," Manuel said. "He's a veteran. He's one of our guys that we depend on in the back end of the bullpen. Now, if we've got somebody else who can go back there and do the job, we'll try to iron it out. But I like Arthur in that role. If we work with him some, I think he'll be fine. At times, he's done it this year."

A message from Bear

Um. Hi, ya'll. OMS asked me to post and let all ya'll know, his tens of readers, that he is OK. He's a little hungover from trying to figure out the rest of his life, but he's OK and that's the important thing.

He asked me to maybe tell a joke, too, to keep some brevity on the porch. We haggled back and forth because most of my material is about immediate family, and the other most of it is about fat kids, but I think we reached a happy medium. Besides, if he's not posting, then he's probably bearly even reading. HAH! Get it? Bearly!

Anywho, what does you say to a woman who went to the store?

Good job, woman. You know your ro*** Bear, that's it. You're fired. We can handle it from here. Just because there's North Korea missle launches and rain on perfect blue Tuesdays and terrorists to smoke out of their holes and state disarray in some parts of the world doesn't mean we won't get off our sick couch and set the record straight.

Pack your sh*t you unfunny puppet. Gets a-steppin', if you will. We have no use for hack jokes and budget gimmicks in these here parts.