The Birds

I have done something to offend them.

I live in a new neighborhood. No trees. Yet recently my car is covered in bird crap. Chunky, shadow-casting bird crap. This photo does not do it justice.

I wash the car. It happens again. Overnight. Frank's car? Clean. Not a spot.

Birds, what did I do?

Thank you for reading Scented Glossy Magazines, the birdshit edition.

I'm pretty sure Google has a drinking problem

Seriously, I'm concerned. I'm almost afraid to bring it up because Google is such a corporate giant and is currently the only bright spot in my retirement portfolio, but something has to be done.

Google has been falling apart lately when it comes to performing simple tasks. Tasks that are really hard to screw up. For example, I asked Google (who owns Blogger) to let me know when someone comments on this blog. Not a big deal, right? Wrong. I am notified about 33% of the time, and Anons are totally and completely ignored. I think it's kind of an important clue that Google is ignoring all types of "Anonymous," don't you? Anyhow, I am missing out on some really funny comments, like when Susannah at Petunia Face suggested that we should all have a bonus lesbian pick on our Free Pass Fives* (I think I'd go for Ashley Judd).

Don't even get me started on Google Alerts. I'm STILL waiting for it to notice that Mamacita tagged me on April 24. And it is so obvious that Google was drunk of its ass yesterday at work because in the middle of the day it sent me two Google Alerts from August and September 2007. Here's the proof:

WTF? A little late, maybe? And what about the fact that I didn't even start writing this blog until October 2007. How could these blogs be linking to my blog when IT DIDN'T EVEN EXIST, Google?!

You want more evidence, Google? Okay, then. You must have had quite a hangover after this little incoherent gem:

Unbelievable.

If this weren't enough--do you remember when you showed my children porn? Oh God. You are so lucky you're not in jail right now.

Google, listen. I know that you are the top search engine on the web. I know that you get several hundred million different requests every day. I can't imagine the stress you must be under, but take a vacation! Hire more people! Don't turn to the bottle. Your drinking is not only affecting your job performance and your reputation, but our relationship, which is very important to me.

Let's have an intervention to convince Google to go to shape up.** Is anyone else having issues with Google? Who would be your bonus lesbian pick? Speak up.

*UPDATE: Frank just called to inform me that I have a free pass to hook up with any woman at any time. He told me "not to limit" myself, and that most husbands feel the same way. So. There you have it.

**Yes, maybe I am watching too much Intervention, but there's clearly a problem, right? If it's not alcohol, then it's meth, herion or problems with code. I just want Google to do its job and get better.

Thanks to zenzenok for the photo

Later Days

My dear honeys, I am taking a blogging break for no good reason except that it's so nice outside. I love you, and will be back next week-ish.

I will leave you with this because it makes me happy (and how AWESOME are those dancers?!).

The Garage Update and also I LOVE YOU FRANK

Back in November, we were forced to empty our basement so that the foundation of our house could be repaired. The whole process made me feel like some sort of gross consumer a-hole, which in turn led to my spending hiatus of indefinite length. I wrote about it here, but really, don't bother because it's one of my earlier posts and it makes me cringe a little bit.

Here is what our garage looked like when we dumped the contents of our basement into it:

Garage then

Although the repairs were completed within 2 weeks, it took us FORFUCKINGEVER to sort through all of our crap. We donated a lot of it, trashed a lot and put some back in the basement. There are only a few stubborn items that refuse to magically disappear and allow both of us to park in the garage:

Garage now

Box springs for a double mattress. Did you know that the Salvation Army will not take this? WHY?! As part of a non-violent protest, we are refusing to move it back down to the basement. So here it stays until the Salvation Army bows to our pressure.

Prominent in the garage is a farm table which fit nicely into our old brick bungalow, but just looks too country in this house. Frank refuses to move this (with me at least) because I am a big pussy and will bang up the walls and whine a lot trying to get it back into the basement. We may just sell it because we are too lazy to move it 15 feet and down some stairs.

I don't know if you can see a smidge of orange behind the farm table, but those are the beloved* Broncos stadium seats, purchased by Frank when Mile High Stadium was torn down. When we eventually finish our basement and turn it into one big shrine to the Broncos**, the seats will be the centerpiece, along with this:

Ah, the John Elway stand-up liquor store display that manages to scare the shit out of one of us at least twice a week due to his extremely life-like presence in the garage. Love it!***

One last thing, because everyone, even strangers walking by our house, asks "what are those dental chairs doing in the back? Are you a dentist?" The answer is no, no, a thousand times no. They are antique barber chairs we brought from Kansas when my dad closed his clothing store. They are the heaviest mothereffing chairs you will ever see in your life, but the plan is that they will go in our basement (when we finish it) right by the pool table in the Broncos shrine.

So there you have it. When two cars are able to fit into the garage again, I will let you know. It will probably be around the time the Broncos shrine in finished, so . . . yeah. See you then.

* Okay, they are not beloved AT ALL by me, but I said that because I am trying to make up to Frank for calling him a fucktard in the comments of this post. I am so sorry Frank! Who knew you even read this blog? I was just trying to bond with Elaine and got carried away.

**Still trying to kiss up to Frank but there will be no Broncos shrine. Shhhhhh.

***No I don't but I love you, Frank!

I need to talk to the people buying these

Marc by Marc Jacobs Starburst clear tote, $137.90, on sale from $198

Bulga clear tote for $277 (on sale from $462)

Fendi Clear Prism bowler, $1150

But first I would like to slap them across the face, or maybe throw a cup of cold water on them. Haven't decided.

Then I would tell them a little story. Once upon a time many, many years ago when I was a student, I worked at Saks. The security staff, being a very suspicious group, would not let employees bring regular handbags to work. No, we had to leave them at home and bring in a clear bag, much like the Marc Jacobs one above, so that they could search them easily and know that we weren't stealing lipstick or an Escada evening gown. Guess what? Saks provided the bags for FREE. It's true!

If you are really dying for a bag that looks like a free gift with purchase, just apply for a job at Saks, Nordstrom, even Macy's. They'll give you a clear plastic bag and you can quit before your first day. You can then bedazzle it or quilt it--whatever. Spend the money that you saved on a cute dress from Anthropolgie or, in the case of the Fendi bag, I recommend that you save it and put it toward getting some treatment for that brain injury you've obviously suffered.

Just a little money-saving tip from SGM. Good luck!