My never-ending search for a house takes me to yet another 'viewing' this next weekend. From the pictures and virtual tour, this place has potential! It was built in the late 80's, has funky wooden railings up to the second floor, a giant old fireplace and the most wonderful wooded lot.

The best thing about older houses are the history that come along with them - wanted baggage in my case. I love walking into a house that has a sense of time lodged between the walls.

Of course, with my luck, I'll get a wonderful deal on the house, use up all my savings, move in and discover it's haunted. The first night will pass peacefully and I will be content and smug in my newfound purchase and home.

The next morning will dawn, bright and cheerful with twittering birds and upbeat 80's music blaring from my alarm. It always begins well... Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnn.

Small things will occur at first: objects moved elsewhere about the house accompanied by strange creaks and groans that I will attribute to the foundation 'settling'.

Eventually, in all horror movie-esque ways, I will begin receiving disturbing messages in the fogged up mirror of the bathroom after a shower, where I will not notice it until it's too late as I fumble for a towel to wipe the soap from my eyes.

"Put down the toilet seat next time." will appear in scary finger printed font that starts to drip once the fan kicks on.

My first communication with the other side will be via a trite remark on my bathroom etiquette.

As time goes on, the entities will become further displeased by the following: my choice of groceries (if they don't meet up with their exacting standards the food will instanteously rot once placed in the fridge or cabinets), my house cleaning (my cleaning devices will chase me about the house carried by a disembodied figure screeching "You call this clean?!"), and my choice of fashionable clothing (my articles of clothing will constantly be launching themselves out the window to the cold, uncaring ground below while screaming "It isn't worth the Tide anymore!").

I will eventually be forced from my beloved home by a tribe of feral yard gnomes wielding various rakes, dandelions and blades of grass in a harmful fashion under the influence of the malevolent house spirit.

I'm still recovering from staying up all night long watching Inuyasha ( I have determined I almost hate this show, yet cannot stop watching it). No creativity for you! Only bad interviews from our beloved station: Maladroit News.

"Good morning!" [Insert large smile, showing highly polished and bleached teeth that nearly blind the camera man. He stumbles, video angle wobbles momentarily and a whimper is heard in the background] "This is Tina, junior staff reporter for the Cubical Maladroit News." [Insert another brilliant smile, choked sob emits from behind the camera]

"Well, folks, it's the day after Christmas and everyone has eagerly returned to work." [Coworkers barely coherent, shuffle past camera in robes and slippers, bare teeth and hiss at bright lights]

"It was difficult for us to leave our family behind. The cheerful smiles, the brotherly love, and the twinkling laughter of children brightened our weekend immeasurably. Wouldn't you agree, Tom?" [Shoves microphone under the nose of a skinny, twitching man whose eyes dart left and right ceaselessly]

Tom: "Whu-whu-what?"

Tina [3,000 quantity 100 watt bulb smile, sound microphone crashes to floor, technician runs screaming with hands over streaming eyes]: "The children, Tom. Wasn't it wonderful dangling the little dears on your knee and joining in their sweet games?"

[Tom's eyes widen, he pulls his hair and dances from foot to foot hysterically] "Children? CHILDREN?! Here?!!" [Trips, runs, stumbles down hall, richoting off the walls while screaming - "They found me! They found me!"]

"Um, er, well, ha ha, wasn't that a lovely piece of humor. That Tom...always...joking. Back to you, Jill." [Nervous smile, camera crashes to floor, cameraman's feet flop in front of lens, twitching]

[Weather woman Jill stands before world map electrical taped to a large bay window] "That was wonderful, Tina. Just wonderful. Well, everyone, it's going to be a beautiful day outside." [Loud clap of thunder rattles window] "The sun is shining, the birds are singing. It's perfect weather for a picnic." [Boulder sized hail pours from the black sky, birds peck frantically at window panes seeking safety of news station] "It's so gorgeous, in fact, that I'm going to the beach right after work." [Tornado appears outside of building, Jill smiles at camera blissfully unaware, streak of lightening, power goes out, static on t.v. stations in Blogstream Land]

[Blip! Picture of smiling news reporters on a sunny background with happy elevator music playing appear on screen. Message reads, "Have a happy dappy day! Maladroit News will be right back! Remember, in case of emergency, put your head between your knees and squeeze"]

My idea of a night on the town is going to the local coffee shop (not Starbucks) and whittling away the night either sketching or reading. Eventually, I ingest so much caffeine that the very atoms of my body are vibrating at such super-sonic speeds that I come this close to breaking the barrier to another dimension or even the fabric of space and time itself.

My ultimate goal if this were to happen, of course, would be to rocket back in time and seed various tales and myths about my eventual birth so that, come the year 1982 AD, I will be placed immediately upon the throne of a technologically advanced world-wide civilization that exists solely to serve my every infantile whim.

As I grow, having no knowledge of my previous existance thanks to the convoluted workings of time travel, I will become spoiled, conceited and filled with spite - ruling with a selfish and haughty hand. The oppressed world will grow to hate me, secretly wishing that I choke on the mile-high pile of Hershey's Kisses that I insist for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Through an accidental (though tasty) cross ingestion of cafe mocha and Maxwell home-brewed roast, my previous time hopping self will be flung into the future world that I created and will see, first hand, the chaos which I had wrought. As all scripts demand, I shall be overcome with guilt and the overwhelming pious urge to "make things right".

With painstaking effort and charisma, I shall form an underground rebellion to lead against myself. After years of subterfuge and political maneuvering, the final attack and trap will be sprung.

War, in the likes of Dune and Tombstone with mighty battle steads of blind spice-excreting worms, fast slung revolvers and the rapier wit of Doc Holliday will ensue.

I shall face myself in combat and, as swords clash, the fabric of time will shudder at this supposed impossibility and bending of physics.

A microscopic explosion, caused by the universe's own righteous indignation for being so put upon by evolved monkeys (that should have stayed where it had originally put them in the trees, beating one another in the head with grapenuts), will blast both of my incarnations into a whirling and lightening fast dance through the past, future, and (always, for us) present.

Our never-ending battles will rend the timeline and every law of science to shreds. Abraham Lincoln will become Tiny Tim, constantly belting out "And McDonalds bless us, every one" on holographic viewing tubes levitating in the station quarters of the ruling class of highly evolved and super intelligent hamsters named Stan.

At this point, I awaken from a week long coma to a crowd of paramedics arguing over who will revive the girl twitching in the corner of the coffee shop while drowning in a puddle of suspiciously foaming saliva.



...Where's my coffee?

"Squee!" Fear the wrath of homicidal teddy bears with knives and space aliens abducting your parents. Comics are bad for your health, kids.

I can't think of anything to blog about tonight - I blame it on watching SG-1 and having my brain cells summarily fried. So, you get pictures tonight taken last month.





This is Sam - the dog that will never stop growing.



Me and my latest drawing with subject in tow! Ack! Blinded with science - or is that the sun?


And, finally, this is me about to get squashed by a dog. Oh, the humanity!

Lesson 53,214.2 ... and 1/4th of a Semi-Crunchy Malt Ball.

Some things in this world should not be combined. Today's lesson consists of the following list:

1. New and snug white socks.

2. Three cups of strong Maxwell House coffee.

3. A freshly mopped linoleum floor.

4. An easily excited and clumsy large dog.

5. Lacking in all grace yet attempting the Electric Slide.

You figure the rest out.





Screw it! We've got bigger problems than a butter shortage.