Everyone needs a fleet of flying monkeys to rip the stuffing out of the annoying people in their lives
— Laura

Bento Lunch

I didn’t make any New Year resolutions this year. I don’t need the pressure, or the guilt, so I just didn’t. I have however made a wee promise to myself to eat better, and move my ass more. I thought I’d really get into portion control and in researching a few things (actually J told me about them) I stumbled upon (J sent me a link) the bento lunch. They are basically small containers, or thermal jars, that you carry for lunch. Not only will they control your portions, but will save you money from ordering out. Oh, check out this Bento Porn Flickr group. No, they aren’t doing nasty things to their bentos. They take pics of their containers and meals.

I got the “Ms. Bento” from Amazon and the other cute colorful one from a Japanese store in Ebay. They are cute as can be, which I hope will prompt me to use them everyday. They make a “Mr. Bento” for men by the way.

They are really small compared to what we Americans would consider a proper size for a meal. Even the “Mr. Bento” isn’t as large as you’d think. Maybe I should have looked for “Sumo Wrestler Bento”.


A few days ago I bumped my leg on the corner of a desk at work. Wait, I didn’t bump it, I practically impaled it. It hurt so bad that tears filled my eyes. Almost immediately a nasty huge knot and ugly bruise appeared. I’m used to bruising. Being a ginger, I bruise if someone even sneezes on me, or for that matter, just stares hard enough. I had mentioned to my supervisor at work that I had run into a corner of a desk and had a knot and bruise and she wanted to make an incident report for HR. I suppose in case a clot formed and traveled to my heart or brain. Or if I just wanted to file some workers comp and get some time off to go to Disney World.

She asked about my injury again today and I told her I was fine. Later I found myself going to the restroom with my cellphone in my pocket, and sitting there I looked down and thought, “Hmm, I think I’ll take a picture of it.” I knew it would sound real strange to someone if they heard the shutter on the camera going off while I was in the john, so I basically sat there until everyone left. Later I showed my supervisor the pic ( which isn’t very clear, I know) and she at first was all “Ouchie!” then she looked closer and said ” Laura, I see Jesus in that bruise!” I looked at it again and sure enough, there was Jesus! Not the sweet eight pound seven ounce baby Jesus, but the thirty something year old carpenter Jesus.

Jesus Bruise

Yeah, I know , I know, I kind of photoshopped it so that you didn’t have to squint your eyes and stand back like 3 feet and cock your head to the left. But I swear, Jesus is in there.

The thing that kind of scares me is the pic is taken with me looking down. That means to look straight at me Jesus is kind of inverted. You know, like upside down. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know what inverted crucifxes mean. Does this hold true with Jesus images? Should I start searching my scalp for three sixes? Or should I just chill and try to figure out how I can profit from my holy apparition?

Next boo boo I’m hoping Elvis appears. Not the old bloated druggie Elvis, but the young cute sexy one.



 New Year

Well, it’s been a very busy holiday season and I apologize that I haven’t blogged much.  Today is actually no exception, for I am off to eat my collards with possum fatback , black eyed pea lucky New Year meal. I trust everyone had a safe and happy New Year eve. If not, don’t call me to bail your ass out.

Well, I’m outtie to eat my southern meal and watch “Resident Evil: Extinction” that just released on DVD today. Nothing says Happy New Year quite like flesh eating zombies.

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One Missed Call

Last week my friend Duane called and during the conversation he mentioned that he wanted to see a new horror movie that was releasing called ” One Missed Call”. It’s some kind of teenager horror flick about receiving a cellphone message that is actually your final last moments- meaning you listen to your own death. If you ask me it’s just a tweaked version of “The Ring” and “Final Destination”. But no one asked me.

After work today I called Duane’s cellphone. I knew he was in New Orleans and since it was 4:30 in the afternoon I knew he’d be falling down stinky drunk inebriated and probably licking on some male strippers unavailable. Luckily for me the call went straight to voicemail and so I was able to leave my version of his untimely demise. Let’s just say it involved a random meeting with a stranger in a public bathroom, bruised knees, and at least five minutes of making choking sounds.

I can’t wait for my voicemail from him. I’m really hoping George Clooney is in there somewhere.