Well, that's a new one!

I got some salted caramel hot chocolate today partly because it was chilly, but mostly because the first time I had it (way back in October), this was my reaction:



When I picked it up at the counter, the barista said, "Do you want a splash guard?" and I was so confused that I just looked at him without responding. My thoughts were racing, trying to figure out what he was talking about. A splash guard? Is it like mud flaps on a car? Is splash guard a euphemism for something sexual? As soon as my mind went THERE, I had to say yes. In the name of science or something.

Turns out, if you didn't know, we live in a world where someone came up with the idea of molding a plastic oval the exact size of the hole in a cup lid, so when you're walking around, your way-too-expensive hot beverage doesn't jump out and get all over you. No joke. It's like the evolution of the stir stick.

Check it:



A splash guard. Not what I envisioned, but still, kind of cool. Sure, more waste to go into the landfills, but something has to even out all the talk of saving the environment and being green, right?

Putting the Hump in Humpday: Bacon FTW*!

*FTW= For The Win

You read that headline right. Bacon is November's Hump of the Month! It's a little more interesting than that, though.

One of my neighbors is a really nice guy who has a cat. He used to walk the cat on a leash, but now just follows the cat around whenever he decides to let it get some fresh air. It seems that no matter when I open my door, they're both just outside of it, or whenever get home, they're by the mailbox. This happens several times a week, and nearly always happens on the weekends I'm in town (and probably when I'm not in town, for that matter!). Whenever I open my door, They're. Right. There. I don't want to make it sound worse than it is, because he's a harmless guy and as far as cats go, this one hasn't tried to kill me in my sleep yet (like THIS one), so it could be worse. However, I never really feel like doing the friendly nod or neighborly hello when they're literally on my doormat. This has happened more than once, the doormat sitting, and it scares the sh*t out of me every time.

My friends know about this, and many have witnessed it themselves. I find it unbelievably satisfying to see the look on a friend's face as they see him with their own eyes, especially after hearing all the stories about my neighbor's uncanny ability to be right outside my door at the exact time I decide to leave (it doesn't seem to matter if it's 8:30 a.m or 2 p.m.). One friend in particular, the aforementioned Scooter ("MY Alan Thicke?"), is a big fan of The Tomcat Tales™. Having witnessed it in person, she enjoys hearing about all the sightings when she's not here. I usually send her the details via text message before I get out of the parking lot.

Last week, there was this text messaging exchange:

Me: "Dead bird by mailbox. I suspect neighbor's cat, or neighbor himself."

Scooter: "I bet it was some kind of symbolic gesture of love."

Me: "Or some kind of symbolic gesture of violence."

Scooter: "That, too."

My friend KJ (aka Kristabella) has a feature on her blog in which she asks BACON the answers to life's toughest questions, and we get to submit the ones that perplex us the most. I decided it was time to get to the bottom of things with the neighbor & his cat, and I knew I could count on BACON to shed some light on the subject.


This is BACON and he has all the answers to everything.

Dear Bacon,
Why does my neighbor always take his cat for a walk right when I pull into the parking lot and why do they always linger near my door, when there’s a huge grassy area with trees and a creek and other things I assume a cat would enjoy 4 steps to the left?
Love your sizzle,
Jules

--

Dear Jules,
Bacon says that you really are preaching to the damn choir. You people have no idea the madness Bacon goes through on a daily basis with these stupid cats of Kristabella’s. Bacon wishes someone would come over and take them on a walk. And then just leave them outside for someone else to take home so Bacon could stop gathering dust and cat hair. But to answer your question, Bacon says you must “Taste Really Good” and that is why the cat is always lingering near your door. And Bacon guesses your neighbor really is hoping to find out how good you really taste, the cat on a leash is just an excuse to see you. And also the worst way ever to impress a woman.
Spittin' hot grease,
Bacon

--

Dear Bacon,
I’d like to kiss you, but I fear that when bringing you to my lips, I'd get a whiff of your deliciousness and then I’d end up eating you. It’s probably best we never get together. I will, however, make you the Hump of the Month for November. You've more than earned it.
Salivatingly yours,
Jules

That Bacon really knows his stuff, doesn't he? I think in addition to making him the HotM, I'll also show my appreciation for him by sharing this link for candied bacon ice cream with you. It's by David Lebovitz, who is a pastry genius, so don't get grossed out. It's probably great. Click HERE for the recipe. The best thing about it is that the photo of candied bacon ice cream makes me forget about cats altogether, or at least the one that tried to kill me in my sleep.


A big thank you to KJ for letting me incorporate Bacon's wisdom into this post, and especially for allowing the inclusion of Bacon's official portrait, no doubt taken by one of her cats.

Pablo for President 2044!

I will have a longer post later tonight about cats & bacon (for real!), but until then, there's this:



No matter which way you lean, you gotta admit this is kinda funny. Don't you? Really? C'mon, laugh a little. It keeps you young. Personally, I thought it was hilarious except for the bombing Vietnam part.

Let it be known that from here on out, I'll be ending all conversations with, "I'm done with this."

Help me Help You... but mostly, help me.

Does this count as today's post? Let's say it does. I mean, it definitely should!

Okay, so I need help: If you know the html coding for a solid/filled in star (that I can use as a star rating in an upcoming post), please either put it in the comments or e-mail it to me. I've tried Googling HTML coding for this specific thing and so far haven't found coding that works.

I want it to look something like this:

It doesn't have to be yellow, but I need it to be around this size

Put me out of my misery.

Defying nature, he's even hotter than those 200-foot flames

Please understand that I'm not making a joke out of the California fires. However, in reading THIS story about the state of things in Montecito, I feel the need to say something:



Whatever Rob Lowe is doing to stay this pretty, he should keep doing it. It's like a gift to those of us who, in the 80's, thought nobody could be sexier than Billy Hicks from St. Elmo's Fire. Somehow-- 23 years older-- today's Rob Lowe makes the saxophone-playing Rob Lowe of 1985 look downright homely.

The side-by-side comparison, for scientific purposes of course:

Well, alright... the 1985 Rob Lowe isn't exactly HOMELY, but still. The man is a national treasure.

The same thing goes for John Stamos.

Netflix as a**hole life coach

This is what happens when I don't pay enough attention to the order of movies in my Netflix queue:

Alright already, I can take a hint!

Paging Dr. Jason Seaver! Someone wants to get you alone.

File this under: "Just when you think you know somebody".

Scooter--my friend of 20 years--and I were chatting away while getting ready for a night out. I had my iTunes on shuffle, and about 40 seconds in to Robin Thicke's 2002 breakout hit, When I Get You Alone, she stopped talking in mid-sentence to give it her full attention. It was one of my favorite songs that year, not only for his hot lyrics (flirty words that made me want to paw at him while saying, "RAWR"), but also because he cleverly sampled Walter Murphy's A Fifth of Beethoven:


Thicke, circa 2002


Don't invest all your energy into that background information. You'll need your wits about you when reading what started as a harmless musical discussion and ended with her letting something slip, leading us both into hysterics.

Scooter: "I love this song!"

Me: "Yeah, if he sang this song to me, he'd barely get through the first chorus before I'd start getting handsy."

Scooter: "HA! Typical. Who is it?"

Me: "He goes by 'Thicke'. As in, the son of Growing Pains' Alan Thicke." 

Scooter: "MY Alan Thicke?"

Me: "..."

Smells Like Teen Spirit and chlorine

My first semester of college started in September of 1991. I was already musically-obsessed by that time and quickly bonded with like-minded people, mostly guys. I attended a university boasting of a 5 male-to-1 female ratio. Okay, the university didn't boast about the ratio nearly as much as I did. I'm not going to lie, it was fun being around all of that testosterone and cologne.

I remember whose dorm room I was in the first time I heard Nirvana's Nevermind. We were having a party that involved quarters, red plastic cups and a foam-topped beverage. I was newly 18 at the time, and we were all underage, so don't assume it was an alcoholic beverage or that we were playing a game of quarters. It could just as easily have been that they were charging .25/cup of Sprite. But they weren't. I mean, it was college. C'mon now!

One of our friends worked at the local indie record store, and he came to the party after his closing shift ended. By the time he got there, we were all lazing around on the couch and floor. He made quick work of stepping over the people blocking his way to the stereo. As usual, he had a new CD in his hand, by a band none of the rest of us had ever heard of. We all sat up and leaned in toward the speakers as soon as we heard the opening guitar riffs of the first track, and when it ended, we made him play it again. And again.

"Hello-hello-hello", indeed.

Seventeen years ago, the album with a swimming baby on the cover made it all the way from Seattle to Wisconsin, and we couldn't get enough. It was the beginning of an era, a noticeable shift in our group's collective musical mind-space. Nirvana not only opened the door for this new genre of music, but ripped that door right off the hinges. Grunge had arrived.


The swimming baby aka Spencer Elden, then.

More than 17 years ago, when he was still an infant, Spencer Elden's parents dropped him into a swimming pool in California, where underwater photographer Kirk Weddle was waiting to snap an entire roll of film of the naked, buoyant baby. The picture was later used as the cover image for Nevermind, the second studio LP from a little rock band out of Seattle called Nirvana.

Now, 17-year-old Elden is a high school student, who told MTV News last year that "it's kind of creepy [to think] that that many people have seen me naked — I feel like I'm the world's biggest porn star." Elden recently re-created the iconic album's cover in the same pool at the Rose Bowl Aquatic Center in Pasadena, California, where it was originally shot — only this time, he was wearing shorts. Elden's parents were paid just $200 for allowing him to be photographed back in 1991.

Spencer Elden, now.


Source

My conversation with Madonna

In 4 easy steps:

1) I read just enough media coverage of her marriage contract and subsequent divorce/visitation rules that were allegedly put in place to keep her world from spinning 'round the wrong way.

Doing so has seemingly shrunken my capacity for catering to bullsh*t (which as you probably guessed isn't sizable to begin with) down to the size of a peanut. Coincidentally, she prefers her men's juevos to be peanut-sized as well.

2) I watched the following video of Madonna on stage performing Human Nature, which consists mostly of her singing, "...and I'm not sorry, it's human nature. I'm not your b*tch, don't hang your sh*t on me", until Britney Spears joins her on stage and Madonna adds, "I'M NOT YOUR B*TCH... SHE'S NOT YOUR B*TCH!".

I was hoping Madonna would then point at Britney and say, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!", but it was not to be.


I really have always liked this song, though.

3) Human Nature played on an endless loop in my head for about 16 hours yesterday. I was working hard on a photo shoot, so it was awkward when I'd sing just loud enough for my clients to hear me say something about not being their b*tch.

4) After all of the above, last night Madonna & I met for drinks (in a dream), where I sat her down to say this in an extremely firm tone:

"We can agree on this: You're not MY b*tch, but you ARE a b*tch."

Then, I left her there, alone at the bar. She was no doubt berating herself for failing to have had me sign a friendship contract.

You are not forgotten

Today I wanted to thank all Veterans for your service and sacrifices, with much love and respect to each of you; but especially:

Dad
Willy Springer
Mike Pinksaw
Jim Leigh
Jim Carolyn
Dave Minto
Ron Clough

...and all the other top notch men of the 60th LCC Jungle Eaters; US Army.


Michael Kopaczewski, 1st Cavalry; US Army

James Wells, USS Theodore Roosevelt; US Navy

***It is in your honor that I continue to adopt soldiers who are forging ahead in your tradition of excellence and bravery. You're all my heroes.****

If anyone is interested in adopting a soldier, you can find a number of websites through a simple internet search. The below hotlink is the one I have used to adopt no less than 30 soldiers over the past 4 years, and the one I still use today. The process is extremely straight-forward. The soldiers really just ask for basic things that we take for granted every day; like socks, soap, razors, deodorant, sunscreen...and pretty much anything at all you'd like to send them. It's a great thing for school teachers or scout leaders to involve kids in, as well.

I've found that what the soldiers crave and appreciate the most is a reminder that they haven't been forgotten; and the kindness of a stranger will work wonders for every one of them. What will end up surprising you the most is how much it does for YOU...

Click here: Operation AC: Adopt-A-Soldier


Thanks Dad!