Wireless Hell

I was trapped at my father’s house for most of the T-Giving weekend– without wireless Internet.

AND shitty, non-3G coverage.

Le GASP! Le HORROR!!

I knew I was in for a treat when dad cornered me first thing and started asking for my help with his laptop.

He couldn’t connect wirelessly anymore and he asked me to take a look at it.

It turned into a dark foray of epic proportions.

Suffice it to say I’m not THE most tech savvy person. I can turn on a computer and do the fun plug-n-play stuff on my mac.

But PCs are a different, and not easy to troubleshoot animal.

Oh, and my dad informs me (after 30 minutes or so) that when he first had the problem, he called the Linksys people.

Uh oh.

They reset some things, he “clicked on some things” and may have accidentally deleted some stuff.

The next two hours was spent trying to reinstall and re-set up the wireless router.

Which I think I sort of managed with only one loss and reset of the cable modem.

And after all my work, I personally I think his whole problem is a bad router.

We would get a wifi signal for awhile, then it would shit out. Then we’d reset it.

And it would shit again.

But dad didn’t believe me that the router could be going bad and these were symptoms.

Especially after my I.T. trained stepbrother got it working again and said, “Nah, the routers probably ok.”

So- my weekend was spent mostly without wifi, and with spotty Edge network coverage.

It’s lucky y’all got the comix at all!!

Yippie Ki Yay, Motherfuckers!

So I bought some cowboy boots this weekend.

I KNOW, right? WTF?

Well, if you’ve read my blog at all, you know that I have fetishes for watches and shoes.

And I honestly have been wanting a pair of cowboy boots for a long time now.

I think the ones I got are dead sexy! And surprisingly comfy, too!

They’re actually Ostrich skin. Squeeee!

Anyway, I wasn’t anticipating getting any this past weekend, it just sort of… happened.

I was out running errands with my father (he needed to go to the T Mobile store at the mall) and right there was one of those RCC stores.

Dad said we should go in because HE was looking for some cowboy boots.

I was just along for the ride– not even looking, really. Just biding my time while he tried to find a pair that fit…

When I saw them. Almost glowing on the shelf. And in my size.

Naturally I picked them up and started caressing them in a most unwholesome manner.

That’s when the very cute salesman (in cowboy hat, boots, and VERY snug jeans) convinced me to try them on.

He was pushing major box– how could I refuse??

They fit like a glove, damn it.

So I bought them, even if they WERE a bit pricey. But they’re handsome and handmade and butter soft…

Now to start wearing them– but where? And can I pull off the cowboy boot look??

L.B.C. (Snacktacular edition)

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Hope your day was awesome! And as my thanks to you, here are some comix to nosh on.

Like dessert.

And show your thanks by bastardizing the last one!

Another Queer Bastard Winner

Some very good caption suggestions for last week’s Hagar cartoon!

But Jim over at the Pampered Queer combined my hatred of Palin and the spirit of the Word bubble with his entry.

Congrats sir!

Whyku (and Rant) Wednesday– Lady Gaga

Wha-ah-aht the FUCK?

You mean she isn’t British??

(Is that a penis?)

Ok, and now for my Lady Gaga rant.

I was discussing Ms. Gaga with My Friend Kyle (MFK) the other day.  And I think we both came to the same conclusion that we just can’t embrace her and go all gay “gaga”.

Yes, we agreed there is talent there.  Her songs are catchy and well-written and she isn’t just some dumb Britney-esque dancing figurehead.  She can sing, write songs, and play musical instruments.  These are all big pluses.

And I freely admitted to MFK that by all rights I should be absolutely smitten with her because she is all about spectacle.  And me likey spectacle!!!  The outrageous costumes, the hair, the over-the-top performances… I should be shooting Bellagio-style fountains of jizz that spell out “GaGa”.

But I’m not.

And neither is he.

We can’t quite put our finger on it, either.  There is just something… unsavory about her.  But just by a titch.  Maybe there is just a fraction too MUCH spectacle?  (Can there be such a thing?)  Maybe she’s trying just a smidge too hard?  Maybe she is just too damn overexposed?

Maybe it’s the fact that I want to poke my brain out with something sharp every time I hear “Pokerface”?

Anyway, my current working theory is that it’s because she isn’t British.

She sorta looks British, and I feel she should be British– but she most definitely isn’t.  Christ, she sounds like a druggie from Queens when she talks.  But part of me feels I would more readily accept all that is Gaga if she were only…

Foreign.

Like if she had a cool British accent and were quirky and posh, I think- no, I KNOW- I would absolutely adore her!  And it would be totally acceptable, too, because it’s hip to like the foreign types and British musical artists have a certain ‘cachet’.

But unfortunately she’s American.  And because of this, I guess I just view her as a slightly more masculine version of Adam Lambert.  (Yeah.  Ewwww.)

All spectacle, no testicle. 

(Although I will admit I used the last of my iTunes gift card to download her latest earwig “Bad Romance”.)

Ra-ra  ah-ah-ahhh,  Ro-ma Ra-ma-mah, Ga-ga, Oh la la…

Yeah, that fucker’s in there to stay now.

More Things I Do NOT Want…

I saw a commercial for this the other day:

It’s being released (straight to video of course) just in time for the holidays.

Or should I say “paw-lidays”?

Yeah, gotta love the puns.  Like how this film is subtitled “The Legend of Santa Paws”. 

**Retch**

From the commercial, I gather it’s a “reimagining” of the story of Rudolph.  What tipped me off is that one of the puppies has a glowing, bad CGI, red nose.  I’m being serious.

C’mon Disney!  You ain’t hurtin’ for money!!  Must you subject us to smarmy puppies pretending to be reindeer?  Just because you have the name doesn’t mean you can just take a piece of film, wipe some of frozen Walt’s smegma on it and expect us to squeee and coo in delight.

This thing looks like a big, loosely coiled, steamin’ pile of dogshit.

So, um… Disney?  Thanks, but no thanks.  I think I’ll stick to the Grinch and Ralphie for my holiday cheer.

And maybe “Christmas Vacation” if I get drunk enough.  The cat getting electocuted makes me laugh every time.

News Flash! Paula Deen Creamed by Meat!

While tossing out free hams to feed the hungry, one gets tossed back at her.

And nails her right in the face!

She better go put some butter on that!

(Yes, I actually giggled in my car when I heard the audio on the radio this morning).

Greased Up, Naked Deaf Guy

Ok, so maybe he wasn’t greased up…

Yet.

Lately I’ve been becoming friends with the deaf guy from my gym (aka Marco). I think I’ve mentioned him before.

But recently our friendship has moved beyond the occasional chat in the sauna at the gym to an actual exchange of phone numbers.

For texting.

What a godsend cell phones with texting must be to the deaf community!

But back to the sauna…

My sign language is really improving, even if I only get to practice on him. And because he can read lips and verbalize (yes, he sounds like Marlee Matlin) we communicate fairly well.

Plus I’m learning all kinds of interesting signs, like: bitch, whore, motherfucker, lesbian and sling.

Don’t ask.

He’s very funny and we joke a lot. He was telling me about this old dude at the gym that hit on him by presenting his ass for him to ostensibly fuck. He was so grossed out but laughing while describing the horror.

I told him next time he should cover his eyes and say “I’m not listening!!”

He completely lost it and now wants to make that into a t-shirt design for the deaf.

Yeah, I’m cool like that.

In addition to joking and laughing, Marco is also somewhat (very) flirty.

Because you are all probably wondering, he’s 6′2″, fairly beefy, fairly cute, kanji tattoos and he’s Italian (ITALIAN Italian… from Florence).

He’s also an artist.

And apparently bisexual.

Well, really TRYsexual, as he vividly expressed his love of fucking. Whatever, whenever.

(And no, I haven’t seen the goods yet. He is always modestly in a swimsuit in the sauna. But to me it looks like he packin serious cargo.)

Anyway, as I said we have now moved into a texting relationship as well as a gym friendship. And this weekend he invited me to go out dancing with he and his lesbian friends.

To a gay bar, no less.

I didn’t go.

I know, I KNOW… I’m a party pooper. But I was tired on Saturday, I didn’t get the chance to nap, and I had a band concert on Sunday.

I just didn’t have the energy for drinking, dancing, and deafness.

I guess I missed a good time, though. He told me all about it in the sauna on Sunday. They were grooving til 3 am.

I promised him that next time I would go. No excuses.

Of course I’m gonna need to brush up on my signing first. First of all, his group of friends include deaf and hard of hearing folks.

And secondly, how DOES one sign “Take me home and turd burgle me, ya big Italian stallion”?

Li’l Bastard Comix (Thanksgiving Edition)

He y’all. There probably won’t be any comix next week as I’ll be in Iowa for the holidaze.

These’ll just have to tide you over!

I gave you an easy one to bastardize this week, so think outside the stinktube and be creative!

Who’s an Inky Bastard?

Thanks again to everyone who participated in the caption contest!

And while there were many great bitchy entries, there was one ‘left field’ entry that made me laugh out loud

You know I likey the left field shit!

So this weeks win goes to… Erik Rubright!