Her starbucksy and unstellarly way of using the word "stellar"

I'm sitting in Starbucks off 119th Street reading/researching for a paper. I've been here for a couple of hours already and think that I may friend the barista on facebook. Let's call her Little Miss Sunshine. This is not because I recently viewed that awesome movie with the unforgettable dance scene at the end, but because LMS brings nothing but sunshine to all the Leawoodites who happen to saunter in for their daily latte. And before I proceed, I just need to remind everyone that this little bubble known as Johnson County has been identified as one of the most educated regions in the nation. I'm pretty sure that once I get my own boob job I'll also grow smarter.

So, Sunshine likes to strike up some good conversation with all customers. She's really very sweet back there behind that little counter whipping up a skinny vanilla latte for all these already highly emaciated beacons of beauty. She likes to compliment people on their shirt, their hair, and whatever else she finds pleasing. I bet she was bred in the Starbucks Stockyard for the very purpose of what I am observing today. If she was also fed hormones and a good mix of corn/milo mash, she can go long periods without eating or sitting or even having to use the restroom. She's a machine.

But one thing Sunshine lacks, and makes me want to educate her, is the ability to correctly use the word "stellar". As defined by Daniel Webster, a man very near and dear to my heart, the origin of the word stellar is latin (just like everything else under the sun). It is from late latin stellaris, or the latin word stella, which means star. We are talking about a word that is synonymous with words like this: cosmic, astral, universal, supreme, galactic. But it also has meaning that can be similar to words like this: leading, major, essential, most important.

"Have a stellar day!"

So, is she telling people to have an astrological day? A starry day? Or is she wanting them to have a major day? Perhaps a primary one? Or what about a preeminent one?

She also just told a woman that she liked her shirt. Lady: Oh, thank you!

Sunshine: Do you know where you got it?

Lady: No, not sure, I've had it a while.

Sunshine: Oh, well, yours looks too big for me, anyway.

Aaaaaand, you just pissed off a highly botoxed stay-at-home Leawood mom. Just you wait until her philandering husband hears about this because when he does, I bet he'll wanna sleep with you too, Sunshine.

Next up, Target #2 is approaching slowly and in a very stealthy manner because her new size 6 Manolo Blahniks are just a wee bit tight and prolly rubbing a good blister on her actual size 9 feet.

Sunshine: Hi, welcome to Starbucks! I like your hair, did you change it?

Manolo wearer: No, I haven't done anything different to it.

Sunshine: Huh, well, I liked it better before.

Okaaay, and we have another one going down. Mayday! Mayday! Sunshine needs a quick recovery and we need to get this woman another pair of size 00 True Religions to squeeze her skeleton into!

Despite herself, Sunshine is really a pleasant person. She is constantly smiling and likes her job. Who wouldn't like a job where you have access to an array of pastries and a constant stream of caffeine? If I worked here, they'd lose a silly amount of profits cuz their newest trainee keeps eating the pound cake.

Moose likes Sunshine, he peed on her shoe and winked at her with his good eye. I like her too, 'cept I did neither of those things. Just gave her a dollar tip when I got my coffee.

Days of our Lives, starring Moose Wimpy Pants

He is unbelievable with is dramatics. One of his favorite things to do if he is on the bed or on the couch is to drop his toy deliberately off the bed or behind the couch. Before it even hits the ground he starts whining and staring at me to pick it up. At first, not quite caught on to his manipulations, I would pick it up and give it back to him. Not before too long, I noticed he would consciously get his toy, jump up onto the couch, stand on his hind legs, make sure I was looking, and then drop it over the back of the couch. Then the whining proceeds. That sneaky little mudda.

And of ALL the other toys laying around, he just so happens to NEED that one. Then it becomes a battle between us where I refuse to get it for him and his whining becomes more high-pitched. He eventually comes over, gets in my lap with his face in my face, cocks his head so he's glaring at me with his good eye, and emphasizes his whine. NO! I will NOT get your toy! You have 7 others laying in the middle of the floor and they are just as stinky as that one. Now go play!

Then he paces back and forth on the couch trying to show me that his anxiety is building and building and there are not enough apple bites in the world that could solve this crisis. Well, maybe a couple with a side of baby carrots, but that's IT! "No, mother, I will NOT let you rub my eyes or smash your face on my face. I will NOT let you cuddle me and make me laywith you til I fall aslee.....ZZzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzz...zz...

Thirty minutes later he wakes up and I'm thinking he's forgotten about the toy for now. I mean, he manages to forget that he ate half a roll of toilet paper that I was very clear about not doing. But no, he gets back on the couch to resume his soap opera drama. What's worse, he has a whole act put together. He throws his stumpy little paws into the air although they barely go above what should be his shoulders. Then he flings his head back and wails, "Why?!?! WHYYYYYY?!?! In the name of everything that is holy and sacred, why have you done this to me Vishnu?!?!?!"

"Um, since when did you become Hindu?"

"Since you gave me that Star of David bracelet."

"That makes no sense."

"Neither does the fact that you make sleep in a bed shaped like Noah's Ark and recite Confucian ethics before I fall asleep."

"Honey, that's just so my son grows up to tolerate and be open-minded. Now go get your Wiccan scepter and write me a poem about how you are one with the earth."

"No, I need my squeaky hotdog!! It gives me inner peace and makes all my chakras line up so I can get to Temple on time."

"I don't know what those words are that are coming out of your mouth. Help me get this bread out of the oven so we can get to the Mennonite Relief Sale on time."

Instead, he resumes his whines, paces back and forth and then turns to the couch and extends his paw dramatically with a longing look on his face: Til we are together again, my love, my dear sweet squeaky. Til we meet again...I will not rest until I can once again carry you around in my mouth and am ready to stuff you under the ottoman. Then and only then will I be able to curse the day that that damn L. Ron Hubbard ever was able to convince John Travolta and Tom Cruise that they had aliens in their bellies.

He's a dramatic little mudda who just wore himself out, so he's sleeping peacefully on his back exposing himself to the world as I study and apply to more scholarships.

Orkin came over

I realize that's standard routine for most apartment complexes to provide all tenants with a good service to keep spiders and other bugs away. The Orkin Guy (OG) came over this morning to spray and Moose was beside himself with excitement. He could hardly stand it long enough for me to at least open the door before he jumped up hit the door and fell backwards. As soon as OG stepped inside, saying, "Hello, ma'am. How're you today? Mind if I spray around your apt today?" I said, "Sure, why not...because the last time you did, the spiders seemed unfazed and came out of their corners laughing and slapping their little knees like you'd given them a few 'shrooms."

"Ok, ma'am, well, if you'll excuse me, I'll make sure to leave you some of these sticky traps as well. And just to let you know, they won't hurt your puppy in case he chews them."

"Oh, those...ok, yeah, whatever. They do make good snacks for him. Let's see, he snatched one up the first day you put them in my apt several months ago. And let me tell you, there is nothing like seeing my little wiener dog of a son running around with a sticky trap stuck to his paw. I even liked it when it was half stuck to his paw and half stuck to his nose. The spiders really had a hee haw of a good time watching that sight."

"Well, ma'am, I guess it's best if we just put the traps more out of his way then."

"Ok, that sounds good. But be warned: Moose is a stealth and agile beast who can burrow and dig his way into any crevice if it means getting his grip on a good piece of sticky trap."

Meanwhile, Moose is jumping up and down on OG trying to get his attention and even goes so far as to give him a few excited pee squirts right on his Orkin-approved uniform shoes. There are plenty of people walking around Overland Park and beyond in shoes that have been sufficiently marked with Moose's seal of approval.

In typical fashion, OG also happens to show up at a time when I am viciously searching and applying to various scholarships online. My apartment is not picked up because Moose has managed to pull all blankets off the couch as well as strewn his toys everywhere. I'm drinking coffee and totally caught up in what I'm doing so having OG here is not very welcomed. But he's nice and as he's walking and spraying (and the spiders are all following him taking pictures and putting "kick me" signs on OG's back), Moose is generously providing him with a guided tour. I'm pretty sure I saw Moose direct OG to the laundry room, put his paw to the side of mouth and quietly whisper, "This is where she keeps the ones that need to be cleaned...in a bit, I'll show where the cache is and it'll be like winning the green card lottery to Pantyville." (And since when can that little turd wink??)

Upon going upstairs to spray in the bathroom, I briefly think, "I think the bedroom is not the neatest right now since I have clean laundry stacked on my chair and more of Moose's toys laying around." But oh well, if OG hasn't seen underwear before then it'll be like taking his Victoria's Secret V-card. Then I hear a low voice from none other than my soon-to-be-neutered son.

"Hey, wanna know a secret? If you put down that sprayer and come over here, this is where she has her trove of goodies right in this spot. I'll give you 2 of my treats if you get me just 1 pair of those delicious panties."

Next thing I know, OG quickly comes down the stairs, nervously says bye to me and leaves. I quietly go up the stairs taking care not to make a noise and when I peek around the corner, there they are, a coupla spiders and Moose posing with my underwear. Moose says, "I know, aren't they great? And if you chew this part, you get a good elastic buzz going..." Next thing I know, there are high fives all around and then he notices me. That Benedict Arnold throws the panties toward his Arachnid cohorts and yells, "Hey! You are bad! Those are not your panties! This is an outrage and I won't tolerate this insolence in my mother's house! Oh, hey mother...hehe...sorry about that. I just get so fired up when they attempt this coup d'etat. You're so pretty when you don't get much sleep at night."

Moose is currently grounded from his favorite Atari game, "Pong", while I resume applying to scholarships with the hopes of one day completing my PhD and being able to move into the 2-bedroom apartment just a few doors down and with even bigger spiders.

Moose on Match.com

I'm sitting here in the cafe at Barnes & Noble and feel the need to take a break from writing a paper on crisis intervention. Although, this bit may be considered a crisis in itself, then we'll see if my skills are up to par. We'll know it's not a crisis if Moose winds up finding that hot little vixen who just so happens to be attracted to my cycloptic little poopsie. I sit here and notice a guy walk in to the cafe. He's probably about 5'4" but his muscles give him at least another 8-9" right? He notices me, but I make it a point to stand up to demonstrate my height would just ruin his already Napoleon-like complex. Guy, I think someone already invaded and claimed that little piece of land called Louisiana and then it was bought up by some guys who are much bigger than you. Give my love to Elba and tell Jospehine I said, "Bonjour." He moves on to hit on the nice young lady quietly reading. Her body language screams for someone to run her over with a truck before she has to endure another minute of this interaction with just another JOCO chachi.

Moose is with me at this little cafe and since they don't allow dogs in here, I've managed to disguise him in oversized Coco Chanel sunglasses and cute little Guess man capris. He also has on a pair of tiny leather flip flops but they keep flying off as he sits in his booster seat swinging his legs back and forth; he's listening to his tiny iPod and bopping along to the Pussycat Dolls. He's very metrosexual. I have to remind him that we are in public and when he starts to sing the lyrics too loud, the older lady reading her new book, "The Beauty of Plastic Surgery", looks over and shakes her head. I'm sorry, ma'am, we didn't mean to interrupt your journey to the ultimate Johnson County look. My son is just happy in his little world and could care less about botox, boob jobs, and the fact that your lips are about to overtake your entire head. I'll admit I want a boob job myself, but mine will never be as big as your double Fs and I'll still be able to run. Why I would ever want to leave the collagen center of the universe is beyond me, but I'm sure I'll find my niche in Fresno. Never fear, though, because since the West Coast tends to be about 5 years ahead of the Midwest, I'll send carrier pigeons with messages about how we can all catch up with the latest and greatest trend.

Anyway, as Moose and I sit here and silently have our own little moment of a high school dance where we aimlessly gyrate to Nicole Scherzinger and the rest of the Dolls, he looks at me and says he needs more attention. I look at him and say, "Really?? YOU need MORE attention?? What, you don't get enough kisses and cuddling from me? Are there not enough belly rubs or toys in this world for you, Prince of Tiny Balls?"

But as is typical, I proceeded to browse a couple of the most popular dating sites--eHarmoney, Match, LoversAnonymous, and WoofWoofLick. He thinks Match.com would be most appropriate and we proceed to fill out his profile. Name: Moose Poopsie; Age: 7 yrs (so he can more "mature"); Height: Stumpy; Color: Red.

Personality: I tend to constantly sniff everything under the sun. Even if I've sniffed it 10 times before I'm certain its scent will change this time. I'm always happy and whatever I can do to be near my mother I will do; therefore, she must be present at all dates. Not only that but there are not enough phone books in the world for me to be able to reach the pedals if I wanted to drive myself. If you have a cute butt, please know that I will constantly be smelling it and if it annoys you and you happen to snap at me and growl and try to intimidate me, it won't work. I'll simply think it's a game and will continue to do it. Your so-called aggressive tactics to get me to stop will mostly likely only encourage me to keep doing it. Also, being that I am blind in my right eye, if I really like you I ask that you stand on my left side so I can secretly give you the side-eye. I tend to get excited about everything and that blind side sometimes causes me to run into the wall if I turn to quickly in my effort to demonstrate my agility and talent in chasing my own tail. I can do that in both directions--I'll chase it to the right several times and if I'm woozy I unwind myself by chasing it the left a few times. Good stuff. I have no money, no job, and no education. But I got a killer playlist on my iPod and more toys than anyone can imagine. As a bonus, my mother has a lot of great underwear and if our relationship works out, I bet I can score the light pink pair she just bought. That top drawer of her dresser is a frickin gold mine, so if you have a ladder, you will go to the top of my list of prospects. Here's my best pose:

Moose Poopsie

And now he ran to the bathroom to groom himself and as he's running his right flip flop flies into the magazine rack. The left one would have hit Napoleon in the head if only he'd been a half inch taller. This Cougar is back to studying and working her way towards providing a better life for her poopsie...

A night out with drinks and games

We had dinner together at Thomas where I didn't hesitate to clean the plates of 3 of the girls as well as my own meal along with 2 beers, and a 5-layer chocolate cake dessert. This is reason I weigh 160 lbs. It doesn't scare me.


We proceeded to head back to Riann's house for a round of games, particularly Balderdash and Mad Gab. This night was not complete without Ginger wailing at the top of her lungs that we had to play Quelf--a game that can only be described as complete nonsense and without any sort of organization. All it does is leave a group laughing and carrying on. Specifically, while the object of the game is to advance your random token character through the board to win, the journey requires a complete assortment of random tasks that were obviously created by group of peyote-smoking, Scooby-Doo-van-driving crackers. An example of what a person must do:

"Eat a cupcake while putting all of your underwear in the dishwasher and singing the Spanish version of Frere Jacques."

Sometimes you have to do things without even telling the other players what it is that you're doing. And there can also be moments where you have to do things depending on what other players do. Example:

Joni was sitting there being pretty and playing the game with great concentration and intensity. Jill had just previously rolled her turn and picked up a card which indicated her current task. She read the card and then just simply turned to Joni letting her know she could now take her turn next. As Joni picked up the die to roll it, Jill jumps up, grabs her chapstick, runs to the window and looks outside while yelling, "But if we give you the chapstick you said we could eat the spaghetti!" Then she quietly turns around and comes back to sit down. The reaction that this ultimately produces is one where the rest of us just kinda look at each other cuz we don't know what to think or say, and then we move on and let Joni draw the next task.

It's hard to contemplate such a game, but with several beers and madras it can turn into quite the entertaining and thought-provoking event. But it wasn't complete without Jill wearing a sash, Ginger talking in a voice with octaves too high for even a dog to hear, and Riann wanting to see if the website "Hot or Not" still exists. All the while, Allison is in the corner hoping someone has posted a comment on her Facebook wall, and Sarah is insisting we all listen to Kenny Loggins belt out "Footloose" for the bazillionth time--no Sarah, none of us are going to reenact the prom scene with you. See, nothing about the night makes sense and it wasn't as if any of us were paying much attention to what anyone else was doing.

We are Quelf. And yes, it's a very real game, probably made by some German guy named Dieter von Schlicktenheimatenschwiegerblitz. One review has even said, "If 'Cranium' and 'Truth or Dare' had a baby, it would be called 'Quelf' "...true statement.

As is demanded, I have to also include this next little bit since it was a part of the night. But the incredibly horrendous images are burned forever into my memory. Now, it's elementary to know that the occipital lobes of the brain are the areas by which we are able to look at words and images. The image that is provided in this blog has made me seriously consider opening my skull and crushing my own occipital lobes in order to blind myself from ever having to view another image like this again. If you find yourself speechless, rest assured it is only the decision made by your Broca's area, located in a nearby place on the left frontal lobe, to disallow any thought to transform into words. I will do that for you: Buttaface. Buttaface is a word derived from the Greek word for "the most disgustingly flammable formation of what used to represent a pleasant species of the human race and can only leave one to curse the ever-living holiness of what used to be holy but is now nothing but a pile of leperous dung." The girl's got everything buttaface.

Russian Tranny Helga Lippinmoleykrizinskaya

And as for Moose, he's currently trying to get his own sexy schnozzle uploaded onto "Hot or Not" while this Cougar admits she fell asleep during said party like it was just another day...

About this blog...

This blog is going to be nothing but entertainment. I tend to have a wandering mind and when I see something that I find amusing I'll take it and run with it to develop a story. It's not total fantasy, juts a twist on things that happen in life and a fun way to think about it. Moose is my miniature dachshund who is blind in his right eye and provides me with a ton of "data" for good stories and he also ends up in many of my stories whether or not he was actually there. He has an obsession with underwear so that explains my blog title. This blog will be my outlet and relief from the everyday stresses of life. Hope you enjoy reading it and feel free to share it with anyone you want. You can also leave comments or whatever as long as it's respectful. Otherwise, get the hell off my blog and go find your own half blind Moose.