She Lives!

Having successfully, mostly brought my computer back from the dead, I bring you this, exciting new annoucement.
That was an amazing run-on.
But! That was not my announcement.
There is a fourth story in the works!
So to recap the second and third: since I haven't posted them and my copies crashed and burned with my hardrive, I give you the synopsis.

The Sequel:
DFL discovers a powerful ancient artifact, and SS must take it back in order to save the world. In this story we meet the Old Crone of Knowlege, (OCOK) Whitney. She is SS's wise, advice-giving, mentor type person.
We also meet the Don Of Decision (DOD) a henchman of DFL who is genetically incapable of making a choice.
The second story also featured the infamous rubber chicken and several lovely dance numbers.

Part the Third:
DFL attempts to takeover the world by fooling around with time. The OCOK sends SS back to ancient Rome, where SS is trapped and captured (gasp) by DFL. SS is handed over to the Borg Barbie, who put her through a grueling spa treatement and seaweed rap, in order to bring out her full, foxy potential. Now that SS has joined the foxy elite, only the OCOK can save the world from a seaweed wrap.
Also the DOD meets his just and timely end.

So the fourth will be a little different. We're doing it Round Robin style, so ANY commentator can join in. This means that both Schweet Schnookums and the DFL can have a say.
I just hope no one gets hurt.

The thrilling conclusion

At the sight of the hot, sexy, single, Maori warrior SS turned into a big gooey puddle of pudding. Not literally mind you, mentally. Her eyes glazed over into happy oblivion. She lost all power of speech and a small trickle of drool oozed out of the corner of her mouth. Janelle walked over and waved a hand up and down in front of SS's face.
"Yes I thought that might do it. Take her away and lock her up. Then I want this scrap heap in DC, and I want it there yesterday."
She turned to the HSSMW, "I want you to stay in her direct line of sight at all times understood?" Then she turned back to SS, "By the way... I love the outfit."
The words bounced around SS like so many jumping beans. In her head, she and the honey had a small house deep in New Zealand, and a little herd of sheep, and some pumpkins. Just then:

A) A blast rocks the ship
B) SS remembers that she doesn’t like sheep
C) The HSSMW comes out of the closet
D) SS breaks a stiletto heel




well as much as I'd love to see SS hook up with her Maui warrior, I'm gonna have to pick C
!

The HSSMW turned to Janelle, put one hand on his hip while the other flapped down “Lithen girlfriend, I am not going down to the prithon levelth until they do thomething about that thmell, hmmm kay?”
Good night he was flaming!! SS jolted out of her reverie, dreams shattered and crashing down about her in little sparkling bits.
“NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! But I’m the star!! No!!”
SS began to glow red as her battle aura grew, fueled by frustrated rage.
“Aw crap” Groaned the DFL.
Does SS:

A) Generally lay waste in a grand Kung Fu action sequence
B) Direct a focused attack at the HSSMW
C) Direct a focused attack at the Dictator for Life
D) Contemplate the vast mysterious hidden in her own navel



definitely A


With a mighty battle cry, SS started laying into the bad guys. Henchmen flew, furniture busted, machines exploded, and through it all danced DFL. “What are you doing? No, not allowed! What?! Who dares!! No! Not my new home theater!! That’s it!! I want her off my ship before she ruins the upholstery!!"
So they flew low over Holmes Lake and two burly Wookies gave SS the heave ho. DFL flew away to redecorate, ending the story in a draw. Until next time...
YEAH!!!!
Everybody clap.

Definition of a Man: Part Deux

Now, if you are a science, biology, engineer or some other strict adherence to reality major, you may believe that all it takes to be a man is a Y-chromosome. Not so my technicality minded friend. A Y-chromosome is merely a gender definition. We're talking about being a "man," man. (Pardon me, hee hee)

Okay. Here's the scoop. To qualify for the runnings you have to be taller then me by at least an inch. Hey I don't make the rules...........okay, you're right, I do make the rules; and you still have to be taller then me by at least two inches. I wear a lot of heels, okay?

Second, you have to have some definitively masculine traits. Not all of them, but at least one or two. Example, you have to know how to change the oil in the car, or rewire an electrical outlet, or be able to pick up really heavy things, like maybe me if the situation required it.

Third, you have to be a gentleman. If you think burping the alphabet is going to get you kudos I'm sure you are probably not even literate enough to be reading this. But it's more then that. How about opening the door, pulling out a chair, or offering your hand as I get out of the car? Remember my birthday, I am serious, it would also help to remember anniversaries, Christmas, and the fact that I hate anchovies. Is that so much to ask? Just remember it's the little things that count.

I ask that you please refrain from commenting about other girls' hotness in my presence, unless I comment first. Let's face it, there are some gorgeous girls out there, and I can admit that. But if you drool on me while watching some foxy vixen strut her way too short skirt down the street we are going to have an issue. Trust me.

Finally, please please please, check your ego at the door because you know what? If you were really all that I would notice it for myself and you wouldn't have to spend all that time talking yourself up. Be real, be personable, be kind. For heavens sake is there too much kindness in the world, you have to stand apart by being a tough guy? Don't dis my friends, be nice to my mom and every once in awhile send me flowers, just for the heck of it.

By the way, if you know this guy could you send him my way?

Relearning an old lesson

So I took a few moments for introspection the other day, I know, I know, with a subject as awesome as yours truly who can resist, right? Any-who, I was introspecting and discovered anew that I have a pretty rockin' life. I believe I was bemoaning my date-less wonder of an existence when it occurred to me that a) I live in a nice apartment with working plumbing and central heating and air conditioning b) I have a job where my boss likes me and I can afford to splurge on a pedicure whenever I want and c) I'm 25 and have no reason not to be living a fabulous life, and I am. So what brought this onslaught of self-realization you ask? I am going to wax philanthropic here momentarily so feel free to check out at will. I spent my Saturday morning (repeat SATURDAY MORNING) lending my very able hand to the local Habitat for Humanity project. What a project. First of all, walking up to the construction site I passed several individuals casually loitering about the adjacent property watching in wonder as a couple dozen crazy people spent their free SATURDAY MORNING performing manual labor of their own free will. CRAZY PEOPLE. We started out the day taking down scaffolding and moving it to the house next door. Within the first 5 minutes I had started to regret my volunteer efforts. Scaffolding is not flimsy stuff folks, it's heavy. After moving one house of scaffolding we moved next door and finished the existing scaffolding to three levels. When the second layer of walkway wasn't nestling down properly on the frame I was instructed to go up there and "jump on it." Now let me tell you that standing 20 feet in the air on a bunch of tin constructed by your fellows is not something that fills you with security much less makes you want to jump. So I held on to one of the studs handily available from the unfinished wall and gave it a good stomp, at which point the other end promptly popped up into the air. We went this way back and forth stomping each side of the scaffolding trying to get it to settle down until finally we had two people on the first level ROCKING the scaffolding back and forth and I haphazardly stomped my way around the perimeter. Finally the scaffolding was steady and secure and everyone could climb aboard. Now you may not be aware, but Habitat for Humanity is a non-profit operation, hence they put their income toward the necessities, land, nails, wood. Not luxuries like power-tools, namely nail guns. So here's our lovely hero, not exactly a husky broad, hauling 8 x 4 sheets of OSB board up 3 flights of scaffolding to HAND NAIL it to the side of a house. I believe I've done enough manual labor for this year. As much fun as this was, it is not the point of my story. The point is this, well almost, I am now leading to the point of the story, hang on. So part of the Habitat deal is that homeowners have to put in 300 hours of "sweat equity" toward their home. We had a woman join us who was working toward just that. She was probably in her 50's, heavy-set, and just not in a position to be climbing up and down scaffolding all day in the heat. Bless her heart she was there though, it was her 3rd Saturday and explained to my roommate that she had been trying to get her family to come out but they just wouldn't yet. The neighborhood we were building in was not Park Avenue, the homes would never equate with Trump Towers, in fact every first floor window was outfitted with it's own brand spankin new set of bars. And here we were, a dozen or so 20-something single latterday saints spending our free time building houses. There's something fulfilling in that. There was a time when the work of your own hands came much more readily. When having a home didn't mean filling out the lease forms and providing proof of employment. There was a time when people came together and helped one another for the common good. But it's not past tense, I just can't bring myself to believe that humanity has sunk that far. And I am part of the truth in that. So what is the point of the story really? I don't know if there was one. But it's pretty fun to tell. When I sit at home with all of my creature comforts and start to complain, I have one more thing to hold me back.