James Spies--name of doc who removed Condi's fibroids (or whatever he did with them)

At least, she had it done at Georgetown University Hospital.

Ah, the safety of the blog. You can vent, rage, and concoct the most refreshing ways to hurt the liars and the cheats without having to deal with the mess of actually disposing of their bloody remains. At least, you could until the Patriot Act. Sigh. However, I'll risk possible arrest and imprisonment:

One effective way to deal with a liar-liar is tie him up by the thumbs, hang him from the ceiling in front of the TV (first confirm you have a concrete deck ceiling or locate the center of the overhanging beam, which may mean moving the TV set to that spot) with Yanni's 2005 tour set to constant replay. Next, begin delivering swift but moderate kicks to his family jewels, keeping to about 8-10 every six minutes for three hours. (Moderate kicks will over time produce the same results as hard ones but require less physical strain. Recommended frequency and timing are purely arbitrary.)

Once treatment is complete, the subject will need to be...debriefed. Place a flat surface below him, gently untie thumbs and let him fall onto the surface. (More advanced subjects may be allowed to fall ungraciously to the floor. Hardwood or concrete floors a plus.) Secure him in that position--method left at the discretion of the lady--for him to continue viewing the Yanni tour.

IMPORTANT NOTES

- DO NOT STOP THE YANNI TOUR IMMEDIATELY AFTER THUMB-UNTYING. Ending it in this abrupt way may cause seizure or stroke. Give him a beer spiked with two crushed sleeping pills (store brand OK) and allow him to fall asleep before stopping the DVD/tape. The beer will assure him that you are simply exacting fiery judgment on him and/or strengthening his character, and you mean him no harm.

- If your liar-liar is of above-average stature or strength, it may be necessary to crush one or two sleep pills in his beer in order to begin treatment. Or scare him with threats of cutting of his jewels entirely.

This treatment, though not yet tested, is 104% effective.

I love sweet peas. Best greens on earth this month.

I've decided that I'm not getting married anytime soon. I'm not dating either. Most men are dogs--useless, mindless dogs that cannot be trusted not to roll around in their own poop. And it seems I always attract useless, mindless dogs with a propensity for grave idiocy. For instance, they always expect me to believe that despite the fact that I caught them in a liar-liar lie three minutes ago, they're not lying right now. The best policy, therefore, is to steer clear of all men and place my distractions some place else. Like fly fishing. Or basket-weaving.

Think there'll be an arm in the Clinton Library on how not to get caught? (Is Barbara Bush playing a gameboy?? Inquiring minds wanna know.)

Barbara Bush.

I've come to the conclusion that alcohol, drugs, etc., are not the way to deal. When in doubt as to how best to dispose of the body of the person who's caused you grief without the evidence trail leading back to you (hey, I watch a lot of CSI), do this: Change your bedding. The scent of fresh sheets and clean jammies will solve almost any problem. Now the insomnia that results from hearing bad news is a different animal. You need drugs for that. Or at least, lots or NyQuil.

I've been gone for a bit. Was sick for a minute and had to be hospitalized for a little over a week. (When morphine and oxycontin quit working, you know it's time to leave the hospital. Or start a meth habit.) A friend called to find out where I was cos she hadn't received my indiscriminate email forwards in a week. Another one thought that the best way to cheer me up was to tell me she was pregnant while I was laid out on the abovementioned narcotics, then say it was a joke. Yet another dear compadre decided that the best way to bring a smile to my face shortly after I was discharged was to ask, "So, lose any weight when you were in there?" As can be expected, I'm reevaluating the friendships I've invested in thus far.

Post Headline: "Clinton Tells Dems to Work on Image." Hey, being the playa he is is his right.

A writer for the Washington Post is named Nora Boustany. Now, is that fair?

The font took this time, so I'm quite the happy camper. I've just had to rearrange my posts in the correct chronological order because, being the genius that I am, I only remembered to specify the right time zone after my first four posts. How many do I have now, anyway? Think I'm on a roll. On a Friday night. I think my office just closed for the day. It's getting dark and my my rat-phobia is coming to the surface again.

It's a sad, sad state of affairs. I wonder how Britney Spears' new marriage is panning out?

Alright, so I don't really care. I'm not big on celebrity goings-on, but I thought to at least pretend to be current. What I really wanna know is what's new on NeimanMarcus.com. But can they get Ms. Anorexic Bulemia 2002 off the website? That chica gives me the shivers. And makes me want to chow some Thai.

Gotta go powder my nose for my meeting.

Frank Lloyd Wright was a genius of gargantuan intellect, but he was an itty bitty man who built houses with low ceiling to make himself feel taller.

I love architecture. (There goes that font again.) I just can't stand to design anything. Or maybe I fell out of love with the process of design because sadly, it has become a hostage to technology. Yes, the computer has drained the life force of the demiurge that was once the birth mother of groundbreaking, breathtaking, arrogant expressions of self, of environment--organic architecture. It has replaced the pencil, once channeler and tamer of the conflicting desires of the heart, with the mouse, resulting in static--howbeit structurally innovative--design. Architecture in the new millenium is still arrogant, but it has no reason to be.

Who am I kidding? I just can't be bothered to keep up with the many versions of AutoCAD.

Anyhoo, here's that email I was talking about before I got distracted by the voices in my head. Actual names have been replaced with fake ones to save from embarrassment the bearers of the actual names. I know you'll appreciate the hysteria:

I need your advice on something:

Upon returning from a settlement this afternoon, I set down my chai latte on the receptionist's desk in order to make copies for my boss of the check we received. He had just walked into the lobby and I happened to glance up to see him putting down my coffee which, I assume, he had picked up to examine. Just to, as they say, make assurance doubly sure, I called the receptionist as soon as I got back to my desk to ask him if he had sipped some of my coffee. She said yes. This is maybe the tenth time he's done this.

Now, what I need advice on is this: Do I accept this as part of a normal, healthy boss-employee relationship or do I sue his butt for beverage harassment? It should constitute harassment, since I always have to think on my feet to find creative ways to chuck the coffee once "sippage" has occurred.

I appreciate any thoughts you may have.

Doesn't look like I had any names to change there, but since everyone at the office heard about that little bit of drama, woe betide me should one of them actually read my blog. Consequences be damned, I say! One friend suggested spiking my chai with cyanide next time, but I prefer the course of action another friend came up with: Spike it with a liquid laxative.

Oh no, I think I hear those footsteps again! Sorry, it was just the phone ringing. All the same, I need a refresher on ADA handrail requirements. (Alright, I really wanna go surf the web for more Roy Orbison in clingfilm-related sites.)

With the US bombing the pants off Falluja, I'm wondering if democracy is all it's cracked up to be. Or if this isn't how the British Empire crumbled.

My 4:00 meeting that got pushed back to 6:00 just got pushed back to 6:30. So here's an email I sent friends--wait a sec, I hear someone approaching!! Shut down, no close screen!!! Quick, quick. (By now, they should be standing right behind me, but I see no one. Oh, well. I guess I'll catch up on my email (or IM) for a sec.

Alrighty then, I'm back. But what's up with changing up the font on me, eBlogger?? There. That's better. OK, where was I? Oh, yeah, my meeting just got pushed back another half hour. Could my weekend get off to an even worse start? I think not. Unless the dead mouse drags its butt onto my desk. Then I'd really be panicked.

I realize I must now say something profound or else I'll lose your long-suffering attention, so here goes:

We all have a lot to learn from seeing Roy Orbison in clingfilm.

Think about that. I hope I didn't disappoint.

It's been a while since Steve Martin--or Jon Stewart for that matter--had brown hair. Then again, it's been a while since Britney Spears did either.

I've got this coupon for Quiznos pinned to my board at the office. It stares down at me, mocking me. You see, the problem with me and coupons is that I never seem to be able to use them on time. I clip them--or, as in the case of Quizno's, they accompany my paycheck, since getting a raise may not be foremost in my bipolar boss's mind--put them in my pocketbook, and remember them the week after they expire. Or the year after. Yes, I'm a pack rat, but that's your problem how exactly?

Stop making me digress! Yes, Quizno's. I've only just gotten over the shock n' awe of the mutant rat commercial, so I may one day use the coupon. But it expires on the 14th! I have little time to waste! It's $2 off. $2!! A shiver of anticipation just racked my body. But will I make it? WIll I finally remember to use a coupon before it expires??

Will Hillary Run in 08??

I can't believe I have to work late on a Friday night. A FRIDAY NIGHT!! And not because I didn't get my work done on time, but because my 4:00 meeting won't be here--hold on while I open up an Excel document to make me look busy in case someone walks in--till 6:00. Who wants to be working till 8pm on a Friday, for crying out loud??

So I've got time to burn now. I guess I could try doing some filing. Nah, I work better under pressure.

Only one other person in the office blogs. The rest are either over 55 (no disrespect for our senior bloggers) or somehow care more about Sean Jean and Avirex (is that how you spell it??) than the nuances of the PC. It might not be a fair statement, but hey, it is what it is.

I blog because I am

Yes. It's my reason for blogging. I do have a lot of filing to do, seeing that my office is a shrine unto paper and I don't have a personal assistant, but this is so much more rewarding.

I'm trying to decide what's up with this guy: The Original Playa From Himalaya. If you figure it out before I do, I'd like to know.

Political Blunder of the Week: Commenting on Arafat's Death. OK, so maybe Bush commenting on Mr. Arafat's supposed passing wasn't a political blunder, but I got nothin.' It's a pretty slow day. Not a good day to start a blog.

Last week, I walked into my office to find a dead mouse on the floor. Needless to say, I was pretty freaked out.

Dunno why I remembered that, seeing that I'm in the middle of my five grams of fat Subway lunch. Gained about six pounds in the last couple of months and I'm trying to rectify the situation. I guess my diet would be a little more effective if I didn't have the fried chicken w/fries two days ago and the two-cheese omlette last night, but life is about learning from mistakes--which is why I'm making up for the potato chips I'm having right now with a diet soda. It's all about striking a balance.

Anyhoo, my blog of note for the week is Overcompensating. I plan to make it a weekly theme (not the websites, but my very original blog of the week idea). Overcompensating ties with everyone's favorite Roy Orbison in Clingfilm.

"It's like earning capital. During this campaign, I earned capital, and now I'm going to spend it."--President/President-elect George W. Bush

I'm not as big a politics buff as some, but I felt compelled to pay homage to the power of the vote, since I did start a blog after Nov 2. My quoting the Pres doesn't make such a powerful statement as "Vote or Die" or say the entire line-up on Fox News, and it doesn't quite explain why one vote counts more than the other depending on where you live or why a friend of mine didn't vote cos she doesn't want to do jury duty. And it doesn't quite tell me why the heaviest blogging traffic is in the middle of the day when most bloggers--present company included--are purportedly contributing to the economic growth the current administration keeps reminding us of. Or why my jeans suddenly got tight in three days. No, it doesn't shed light on life's biggest mysteries, but it shows I care about political process. Sort of.

Now, I must bid you good day as I race to cash my paycheck.