Duck Hunt, Other Kinds of Huntby Freelance Midget

What is appropriate at work? I spend a fair amount of my day "communicating" (yes, that's a nice, diplomatic word) on backchannels with other monkeys at work, and I find myself mulling over this question quite often. The guilt hasn't quite set in yet.

Today was quite interesting as I was privy to the manatees communicating outside my office. Between the clicking and sonar pings (maybe this is for dolphins-only, but who cares), I learned that there is to be a gathering this evening at some undisclosed location in preparation for a wild, debaucherous night on the town. But where is this undisclosed location? And in which town will they gather to "rage" like crazed beasts? Such mysteries fill my life. Along with my speculations on super-string theory, Kaluza-Klein dimensions, and how does Duck Hunt work??!!!

Actually, I have solved that last mystery. I can enlighten you if you wish.

Seriously, though. I would love to witness these manatees in line at Butter (ha!) or Harlot. Visions of "Knocked-Up, Scene: Outside the Club, Status: 9 months preggers" flashes to mind. Doorman. Doorman. Doorman. Doooooooormaaaaaaaan. My guess, however, is that you could find them in San Jose, or maybe Oakland, posting up at Golden Corral or Charo's Nut House.

But moving on, there's the question of dress in the office. Business casual is the name of the game, and admittedly, I stretch that definition to accomodate my wardrobe, but there are a few outliers that I enjoy spotting around the place now and then. Shock? Speechlessness? Amusement? Sly disdain? Just a few descriptive mots aux jour that spring to mind when I pass these Bai Ling's and Elton John's in the hallway. On my last few safaris, I was lucky to encounter: a referee from Russia (female), a pimp, a total dexter (both male and female), and a wannabe Nicole Richie, and of course, Ralph Wiggum, Senior Partner, in his never ending parade of Aloha shirts. I hear there's a guy that enjoys the occasional liederhosen and knee socks, but alas, until a sighting is confirmed, he will remain in the realm of Sasquatch and Nessie. In a slight aside, I need to update my Celebrity-Look-Alike tally. Welcome! Kim Jong-Il!

Now this N. Richie troglodyte is a curious mystery to me. I usually see her prancing around in microscopically-strapped silk tops and total (Eastern European) FOB shoes - you know, it really is true that you can gauge a person's social skills just from his/her shoe coice (yes, I will always notice your shoe choice) - yet...I also always run into her in the bathroom, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Ah! And lest I forget: the warm, intoxicating smell of just regurgitated food wafting through the (already-gross-in-my-mind) bathroom ether. Forgive me if I have misjudged, but don't people who think they are "fat" usually try to cover up said "fat"?

Well, maybe I'm wrong. I'll reconsider this point. It does seem to be a prevalent trend that celebrity skeletors enjoy stalking around with all their points uncovered in order to further enjoy the wind whistling through their brains and legs.

ANYWAY. I've got a club opening to attend and I have to get my hair did. Golden Corral is calling my name.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Forgive me...!!

Please accept my sincerest apologies for this late posting of Saturday's hike. There is good reason, though. Instead of giving you the usual "[insert color here] wild flower" description of the flora and fauna, I did some research and figured out the scientific names of each of the flowers Stillman and I encountered on our hike. I just thought that it would be nice to learn something for once in The World of Nonny Nu. So, here we go...

When I got up in the morning, I was super giddy because I had bought a new camouflage hiking outfit and I couldn't wait to see how well it would work. So, I donned my camou-wear and headed off to Buck's in Woodside* to have breakfast with Stillman, and then off to Purissima Creek Trail. Before setting off on the hike, we made double sure that we didn't have any contraband and took a refresher course on how not to be dumbasses. (Dudes, notice the posting above the one about the mushrooms. We are so in NorCal...)

We set off on the trail where we were met with a fresh-faced banana slug.** Soon, we came upon Purissima Creek proper. Sure, there were a lot of rocks of all shapes and sizes in the creek and, sure, rock crushes scissors in a game of RPS. But,

[deepthought]
in the game of Life, fern grows out of rock.
[/deepthought]

The trail was well-marked and bedecked with trees that were straight as arrows or of the Marianne genus. We continued along the creek and headed into the forest, and encountered a field of magical ferns.

Not to be outdone, members of the Halle genus popped up to say, "Hello!" We also saw some Salad and Orangina (two species that have been known to go well together).

[soothingly]
Shhhh...I know you have questions right now, but you really just worry too much. Sure, anyone in your situation would be wondering how to get a refund from the educational system that never introduced you to the scientific names of these beauties. But, hush...relax. Just enjoy your newfound knowledge. Trust me--I'm a doctor.
[/soothingly]

There was no shortage of (everyone's favorite) Yellow Faced Pink Lions. There were even a few Spotted Spunky Spamajamas. While it's easy to like the elusive Purple Palloja al Shanti Shanti, true camou-wearing sherpas know how to appreciate the rare Spikey Globe Bebop. At this point, our banana slug friend opted for an afternoon nap and Stillman decided to trek on.

Good thing, too, because we next sampled some vistas(!) and some more vistas (!). We then got into a more sunny area where we encountered my camou-competitor. There were also a lot of Jurassic sized plants (taller than Stillman), and the place was just ablaze with activity. Not just bees, butterflies as well. [Stillman: "Oh, look! It's a butterfly gang bang!]

Anywho, it wasn't a surprise that the bees and butterflies were out in droves to see the Purple Panic Punk Rock, and the Aloha Mello Yello. The Pom Pom Peabody were in season and, set next to the White Widow Walanda, the Redrum Redrum! was exquisite. With all these colors, my camou-wear worked like a charm.

* I had the Chorizo Scramble and Stillman had the Buckwheat Pancakes with eggs and bacon (and didn't offer me any of the bacon, just like she didn't offer me any additional blackberries).

** Does anyone know why banana slugs are always so clean, even though they spend all day rolling around in the dirt? Yeah, that isn't one of those questions that the asker knows the answer to.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Off to Tulumby Cl. Panic, fresh water guest blogger

While Ms. Nu is in for some disappointment, the rest of the readers are in for a treat. I received a demand for more pictures of fish. Any fish. Problem is there were no fish to speak of today. Why? We dove in the middle of dry land. Now, you're probably asking yourself, "Did Cl. Panic eat the worm, because that's crazy talk!" Well, my friends it's not the worm talking. We took a trip to the mainland for some cenote diving.

To get there, we drove into town, hopped on a ferry to Playa Del Carmen (how would you like this guy's job?), hired a bicyclist to carry our gear to a van, and were then whisked off to the dive site.

What the hell is a cenote? Glad you asked.

Much of the Yucatan land mass used to be under water. Sediment from dead ocean-things, combined with coral "skeletons," pelagic ooze, and other such goodies formed into layer upon layer of limestone. At some point the limestone rose above ground to form the happy land masses that we now know and love as Cozumel, Cancun, and other tropical paradises.

Limestone, or calcium carbonate for the chemists and geologists in the house, isn't the most stable of materials. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, limestone is ready for a meltdown. Just the slightest bit of acid, and limestone will dissolve. In fact, rain water and ground water can either dissolve limestone, or precipitate it, depending on the pH of the water.

Over millions of years, water and the elements wore away at the limestone and created a series of underground caves, caverns, and natural canals. A series of underground rivers still exists throughout much of Mexico, and still form a primary source of drinking water for many people. As the water table rose and fell, the stalactites and stalagmites formed. Occasionally, the roofs of the caverns break free, creating sinkholes -- entrances to the cenote systems -- usually in the middle what would otherwise be semi-desert.

In fact, the Mayans built Chitzen Itza near a cenote, which they believed to be a portal into the other world. They even tossed a few people in there for good luck.

We dove a cenote called "dos ojos." If you really look at the panoramic picture above, you can see why: there are two entrances, and they look like eyes beneath the surface of the water. That's right, the innocent looking swimming hole is actually a portal to the underworld! In this case, the underworld consisted of crystal-clear fresh water that was somewhere around 75 degrees.

The diving in dos ojos was simply amazing. The water was so incredibly clear, it was like diving in air (maybe clearer than if you dove in the air of Los Angeles). Really, it was like we were floating. Even though dos ojos is a cavern system and not a cave, it was still dark and hard to photograph. For a first-timer, it was a great site, as the systems was nice and wide, and a line guided you through the system in a loop. Our guide warned us that there was an alligator at the half-way point.

We ended up doing two dives at dos ojos. On the second dive, we surfaced in the bat cave. Yes, there were actual bats. They were really hard to get in a picture, but trust me: there were bats.

We all got out safely, in spite of a some rather ominous warning signs, thanks in part to the fantastic guides that escorted us through dos ojos. Once back in Cozumel, we were treated to a fantastic sunset and then headed for an awesome dinner at El Moro, which happens to be Cl. Panic's favorite restaurant on the island.

After an fantastic dinner and a Mayan Sacrifice, sleep was not too far behind.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Water World, part fourby Cl. Panic, guest blogger of wetness

Unfortunately, I've fallen behind on my blogging duties. But it's not my fault. The internet connection at the resort is a tad flakier than the one provided by the IT staff at Nu Nu & Nu, LLP. And while threats of my termination and a new "cod oil" status are being thrown around, I continue unphased.

We awoke to a beautiful morning. Admittedly I'm liking the schedule here: waking up and checking the surf beats waking up and checking Outlook any day. (At least the waves are supposed to crash.) Anyhow, I forced myself overboard, and we soon encountered a few angel fish. Two in particular stood out, since they were engaged in some sort of shenanigans.

During our surface interval, we stopped off at a secluded stretch of beach. Too bad it wasn't secluded to the biting insects. Or litter! At least is was themed "beach" trash. I won't bore everyone with a bunch of photos of fish.

I should mention that there is more than just diving (the tourism board requested that I make this sufficiently clear). NN was kind enough to loan me the firm yacht for my vacation, and I had to seize the opportunity to do some sailing. With the wind in my hair, I felt free. Good thing the wind was calm, or we might have ended up in Cuba. (Castro's not dead yet, is he? News doesn't really reach me here.)

After all of that boating it was time to head to town for provisions. We headed to Chedraui, which is a little like a Wal*Mart, except that the employees and customers were pleasant. Food in hand we explored town a bit. For some reason the street lights are purple. We visited the shopping mall (Punta Langosta), which is (shockingly) attached to the cruise terminal. Though they offered an escalator, for obvious reasons I opted for the stairs.

Tomorrow we plan to dive in a cenote on the mainland. Now that is something I'm looking forward to.

Backyard petting zoo, Cozumel style

No petting zoo would be complete without some feral cats, right? Actually, I'm sure those cute little things earn their keep, making sure that the resort is mouse-free. And what about that little insurance salesman? They are around here everywhere at night. On the walls, on the ceilings--amazing little acrobats. And doing their part to keep me free of mosquito bites.

Of course, no aquarium is complete without one of these.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Attack of The Endorphinsby Man from U.N.C.L.E. (guest blogger)

Perhaps I'm still under the effects of the natural opiates of this weekend's performances, but I'm feeling tremendously great so far this week. Sure it's only mid-afternoon Tuesday, but I hope this stupor continues through 'til Friday! See, I would guess a bunch of you will not understand the pleasures of making a fool of yourself in front of a large gathering of other supposedly humanoids, but since an early age it has been a passion of mine. I love performing!

So around the time I was finishing High School I bought the elementary version karaoke machine that has since been upgraded many times over. And in the ten years since, I now have amassed over an astounding 2,500 indelible song favorites in my karaoke library which I share with throngs of thrill seeking, self-deluded star wannabes at often wildly drunken functions for a small (read sizable) fee. (Hey, I'm a social worker - my career is basically pro bono - so I have to make up for it somewhere!) Other times, especially during the Holiday Season, I donate the use of my services, equipment and library to my client's for our annual Holiday Party as a "rehabilitative" incentive.

For those of you who have never had the nerve to try karaoke, there is something inately cathartic in singing your ass off. And get real! Everybody is a closeted performer! Some of you sharing the gift of song with only the appreciative criticism of your loofa sponge and bath gel as your audience, while others among you are classic car singers. Confess - you break into song quicker than Judy Garland in Wizard of Oz when one of your jams comes on while you're tooling to the grocery store for some Maggi Sauce. My developmentally disabled clients understand the freeing nature of music and can just dissolve past their limitations when they have the mic in their hands.

So getting back to this weekend, I KJed (karaoke jockeyed, not to be confused with KYed) a friend of a friend's friend's 40th birthday party bash. As the host of the festivities, it is my responsiblity to warm up the crowd with some lively tunes and demonstrate how awesome and professional even the least talented among the crowd will sound with the goal to get them to let their inhibitions go. Intoxicants also help.

So, as usual, I broke out some soul stirring R & B to get things started. Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours), and The Spinners' "I'll Be Around" are routinely well-received, showing both fast and slow tempo songs can be admirably performed. Then I turned things over to the crowd. Several grossly inebriated versions of "YMCA," "Brown-Eyed-Girl," "Celebration" and "I Will Survive" were to follow from the party attendees. One guy had seen Wayne's World one too many times and butchered "Bohemian Rhapsody". James Brown's "I Feel Good" was given an amazing rendition complete with choreography. But before things got broken - meaning both furniture, windows and James Brown's tibia - I took back over the mic for some more R & B standards. During this time the guests could find their way back to the booze and I could briefly regain control of things. Almost as cliched as "Celebration", Al Green's "Let's Stay Together" always works well as a sing along because everybody knows it. Then I segued into an incredible version, if I do say so myself, of "Drift Away", another sing along , then right into "Me & Mrs. Jones" and The Temptations' "I Wish It Would Rain" that had people reaching for their Zippos. I really get off on those '60s and '70s soul tunes. I was feeling like Prince in Purple Rain!

After a brief intermission, the crowd had their turn again, unleashing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", a Madonna medley of "Like A Virgin", "Papa Don't Preach", and "Music", "Mack The Knife", and then some fellas felt like crooners and showed that there will really only ever be one Frank Sinatra. But the thrill is more infectious than Legionnaire's Disease. Speaking of Prince, I unveiled "Little Red Corvette" and I finished things off with a duet with the guest of honor's
husband (who was to afraid to go solo) singing "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World" for her.

Now there are some amazingly talented karaoke singers that I've come across in ten years and some ultimately dreadful ones. I think the dreadful ones could become better if they had the benefit of virtual 24 hour access to practice karaoke in their basements like I do. I'm sure all of you could proudly strut your stuff with enough rehearsal and serious car tunes!!! What would be your signature song?

...there's more to this story--click me!

The Sopranos: What a load of crap! *spoiler*

Okay, I was not planning on watching the season finale, but Mr. Nonny Nu turned it over to HBO while I was making dinner. We just finished watching it. Lame. I wish we hadn't and said we didn't. This show has been stringing me along for seasons with promises of death and destruction. But, no, last season (the one I thought would be the final season), nothing significant happened. Half the time, we were in Lala Land, bouncing around in Tony's effed up mind. That mob boss with a psychological problem storyline got old about four seasons ago. I was hoping that maybe AJ would accidentally shoot Tony or something (God knows AJ wouldn't have the guts to do it on purpose).

But, back to this show. Tony doesn't die. He doesn't even have a brush with death. Practically everyone else around him either bites it or has something happen to them, but not Tony.

Lemme tell ya, this show has been one disappointing episode after another. Stringing us along with ominous hints about something happening. Nothing. NOTHING. I'm not sure if this was supposed to be like a modern-day extended Godfather (I'm reading the book right now, btw), but if it was, then it's just like every other modern-day rendition of something great from the past--a load of crap.

[edit] Okay, I have now watched half an hour of John from Cincinatti. This show has too high a stress to understanding ratio for me. Once again, lame. I wish HBO would stick to real shows like Rome. Now THAT was a real series that was worth paying for. Especially worth paying for was Ciaran Hinds, who portrayed Julius Caesar. Hubba hubba!! Well, I'm off to clean up the kitchen, take a bubble bath in my newly scrubbed tub, and then watch the newest episode of Flavor of Love: Charm School. (Go Becky!!)

...there's more to this story--click me!

Backyard Petting Zoo

Did you know that we have a petting zoo out back? That's right. Correctamundo. Es verdad.

Now, I present to you...La Cucarachas.

Possum (The People Under The Stairs)
Okay, so maybe they're more like under the deck, not the stairs. But, we have a family of possum living under the backyard deck. They will eat ANYTHING. Cat food, human food, you name it and they'll eat it. Here they are busily chomping away.

Blind Kitty (Missing In Action)
This little kitty might have went to the big market in the sky. Mr. Nonny Nu tells me that Blind Kitty's family may have just moved and taken him with them. I hope so. I really like Blind Kitty.

Skitty (Little Lady)
Now, here is one of the most ladylike cats you'll ever see. Her name is "Skitty" (short for skiddish kitty). One thing about Skitty, though--she can't control her tongue. See? It's still there!

Slim (Wolf in Wolf's Clothing)
Now, here's something I can't explain. There are some cats who are "stand off-ish" and there are some cats who assume they are welcome. This one is the latter. Can you tell? Slim visits us everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Sushi Cat (Head Honcho)
Sushi likes to lounge and she doesn't like being bothered. Sure, sometimes she's nothing but a fleabag, but doesn't she have a pretty little face? Here she is with a goofy grin. But, she isn't just good for striking a pose. While the Nus snore away the starry night, Sush (pronounced "soosh") is busy patrolling the compound. Generally speaking, though, she likes to stay put on my lap.

...there's more to this story--click me!

The Motht Hated Profethionby Man from U.N.C.L.E. (guest blogger)

You know thothial workerth and lawyerth get a bad rap. There'th all kindth of thtereotypeth and bad joketh about people who have chothen thothe careerth. Everybody'th heard them ridiculed ath heartleth thelfith, and thleathy. But ath I thit here typing thith, with immeathurable amountth of thaliva oothing from the corner of my mouth - I've dethided that the real motht hated profethion thould be the dentitht.

Look at him up there^^^^, all wrapped in antitheptic gear, rubber gloveth that go up to hith elbowth, jutht waiting to dig hith little handth into my incredibly overthtretched and gaping mouth, hith whirring thounding toolth of math dethtruction ever ready to inflict inthcrutible pain to even the motht thuthpecting of thweet patientth like me. That'th what I had to fath today, cuth of a thingle cavity that needed fickthing. Now my teeth hurt worth than before. That'th why I believe the dentith ith offithially my motht hated profethion. Can I get a thecond opinion and pleath path the drool cup.

Thee, it wouldn't be tho dethpicable if the dentith would have left me with thome thembelanth of a chanth for otherth to underthtand me - but ath he wath concococting the mythtical potthion he thearched my fath and thaw the fear in my eyeth. He thwifthly moved forward - thrynge in his thweaty gloved up handth and without warning protheeded to thtab my gumth with thith thtrange and incapathitating fluid that may have left me permanently dithabled.

What'th with theth thadithtth? I mean it taketh a thpethial kind of thick to want to thpend 10 hourth a day with your fingerth in thomebody'th nathty mouth, doethn't it? Think of all the timeth theth bothoth are conthtantly plathing their notheth at the rethieving end of the putrid thmell of halitothith. Could you thtomach that?
Thith type of attracthion to the theedy thide of life ith what thetth the dentith up ath the motht hated profethion.

...there's more to this story--click me!

So, What Does This Tell You About Me??

Remember a while back when I told you that we were playing musical chairs at work and I was moving into a new office? Well, there have been developments. I hope you weren't too attached to the little desk by the window or the hutch by the other window. Because they are both gone now. I had to give them up. I ordered something for my office and it arrived over a week ago, but I was just too busy to actually assemble it. So, for the past week, I have been squeezing between boxes and furniture and piles and piles of paper around my office.

Until now. Here, do you notice anything different? How about now? Yes, it's my new couch!* Oh, my little couchy pooh...

Oh, and here's my new table top.

But, let's check out my couch again! Hey, wait a minute...who's that?? Oh, it's Stubbie's Godmother hiding behind the pillow that MonkeyPig gave me before she went to Afghanistan.**

Anywhooo...I went for a run in the late afternoon, around quitting time, and here I am after the jump. (No, your eyes do not deceive you--the ends fold down into a twin futon bed!)

*Special thanks to Stubbie's Godmother for her assistance in putting together the couch.

**See, MonkeyPig? I was just waiting for couchy pooh to be delivered so that I could put your pillow in a prominent position in my little home away from home.

...there's more to this story--click me!

One Small Step for Man from U.N.C.L.E.by Man from U.N.C.L.E. (guest blogger)

So The World of Nonny Nu will never be the same, as The Man from U.N.C.L.E. ventures for the very first time into the realm of guest blog contributor. Let's all pray to our personal higher power(s) that it isn't all awkward and fumble-y and pre-mature like so many other first times. I've taken the necessary precautions such as they are (*thought about cement* *recited alphabet backwards* *got hung up at the illusive PONML and had to start over*) and hope Nonny Nu's readers will do the same.

When Nonny Nu asked last week if I'd be interested in contributing, I was all gung-whore, thinking that I could whip something off without much thought. But writing - even minus all items of apparel which were quickly shed (obviously with no brain activity) - only showed how bereft of clothing and original thought I was. I got filled with anxiety like I was during my other first time, worrying if I'd measure up to all the guest bloggers that Nonny Nu had had before; the adventureous Monkeypig, the cleverly frustrated Freelance Midget, and the fish seeking Cl. Panic. Would I be as good as them? Would I be as good as Nonny Nu was to her own blog? Would my contributions warrant a second date? Would it be as good for you as I hope it'd be for me? And what about my needs?

After I pulled myself together and stopped whining like a little cry-baby bitch, I pulled up my bootstraps and turned my brave face to the world (of Nonny Nu). I began bold brainstorming as a technique of foreplay. I put on my most seductive, pleading gaze and romanced this blog. Soon this very blog entry was screaming, "Yes, Yes, Yes!!!" Then, "No, No, No!!!" To which, much like my last first time - I replied "Ooops!"

Damn! Pre-mature again.


So with that as the pre-amble of this very first guest blog contribution by the Man from U.N.C.L.E., I am still filled with questions. I spend a lot of time on the internet and find that most often the people I end up conversing with are women. Women of all ages and backgrounds with diverse levels of education and a multitudinous range of personal and psychological development. It would be like striking gold or finding diamonds or falling into an Amazon Jungle if I were a straight male, but that is not the case. So I ask you - wise and beloved readers of TWoNN - put on your Will & Grace thinking caps and tell me what it is about us gay guys that straight women find so fascinating? Why are we so safe to befriend? Do you think that somewhere in the recesses of some straight women's minds that they want to be the one who straightens out us men loving men (pun intended)? Or are we really just substitute girlfriends for them?


* I apologize in retrospect for my completely 1957 technological ability to post cool links within the text. Even with the previous Nonny Nu tutorial, I still require remedial lessons.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Island Paradise, numero tresby Cl. Panic, unpaid guest blogger

NN is sooooo demanding these days. I mean, here I am, on vacation, and all she can say is "only five fish?" As though I don't have wayyy more important things to do than float around and take pictures of fish! If I keep having to post pictures of fish, I'm going to petition my union rep for immediate tartar sauce status.

After consuming a few shots of Mexican life-blood last night, I got a tad artistic and took the above picture at the resort. On account of the drinking I couldn't be sure that I had it right side up the next morning. Thankfully, though, my fellow drunks the gold folks at Canon included a drunk-sensor that makes sure the pictures are right-side-up when downloaded.

Enough of that. Drinking and diving don't mix! After a plenty of [bottled] water and a good night's sleep, I was back in the water, armed with my camera. After navigating some swim-throughs, Jose*, our dive master, started banging on his tank.

Now, that banging either means that someone screwed up and better stop touching to coral, or else it means... holy &*%$, a shark! And this time he meant holy &*%$. Sure, it's not a big shark. And it probably doesn't eat people. No matter how you slice it, the damned thing's related to Jaws. Just to keep that slave driver happy, I swam in nice and close for a photo. Even though he lacks bones, he's still a fish. Or she. I didn't check under the tail.

There were other fish throughout the rest of the dive. Like this one. And a grouper that was a couple of feet long and pretty camera friendly. Like the Paris Hilton of the grouper world. Speaking of which, is it true? Being somewhat cut-off from the U.S. "news," I feel like the last person to hear the rumor that Paris Hilton is in jail? I mean, really, what is America coming to these days? You used to be able to buy your innocence. Must be that darned liberal Congress or something.

During a little surface interval, we paid a visit to the magical Conch Tree. Ancient legend says that one who hangs a conch shell receives good luck. That's what the doctor in our dive group said. Jose laughed at us. He said that the locals had no idea why gringos felt the need to tie shells to a piece of driftwood. Valid point.

We all decided to do a night dive. I was hoping to see some spotted eagle rays or some octopodes, as in more than one octopus. (I didn't shell out for Bryan A. Garner's book for nothing, you know!) Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Some sleeping fish, an eel, and more turtles. All of this diving sure is rough. I mean, look at what it's doing to my fingers. Someone better watch out, or she'll have a workers comp claim to deal with. We all arrived safely back ashore and got ready to head in for the evening.

On the way back to my room, I was encountered by a gigantic moth. What? The shoes? Quite comfy, really.

What's in store tomorrow? Just you wait and see!


* Yes, his real name. Even though NN insists on anonymity, I figure that's just about as close to a needle-in-a-haystack as you can get.

...there's more to this story--click me!

Congratulations to Lucy's Mom!

Yay! Someone passed the Bar Exam!! You deserve a pair of brand new of shoes! Yes, readers, you read right. The box says, "Manolo." Here's more Manolo for you. Okay, once more, but this time with toes.

Looks like your shopping habits have rubbed off on Lucy.

...there's more to this story--click me!

What A Steal!by Freelance Midget (guest blogger)

I joined a new gym a few months ago, and it's great (that's me on the left). Private. Clean. Never crowded. Ok, I'm kidding. I would never wear ankle socks, or Adidas shoes.

But I digress. As great as my gym is however, it is completely dominated by Palo Alto housewives with nothing to do besides go to Yogilates and Cardio Sculpt at 10 am on a Tuesday, and a smattering of private equity/VC dudes who flex in the mirrors (yes, I can see you, AC Slater). Although this means I only get to choose from a menu of 3 classes that begin after 6 pm, it has a few perks like free bottled water, machine-wiping minions, in-house masseuses, and free muffins and fruit. Last week, I noticed they had a little stack of flyers advertising free goodie bags at the spa next door, so given my background, and my just-out-of-college status, how could I resist?

I had no idea what was in store for me. This wasn't just any spa, it was a "spaaaaah." I actually have no clue what that means, but it was fun to say in my head. Really though, this place isn't your Spa at the Ritz. It is a full on post-op, derma peel, teeth whitening, wrinkle-injecting (restylane? perlane? derma-lene? your choice.) chop shop. I should have realized this - it's next door to a plastic surgeon's office and post-op recovery cottage. Heaven forbid anyone realize that your once-wrinkly face didn't naturally metamorphose into this.

I walk in, and I'm the only person in there under 25 who isn't working the desk. And I'm definitely the only person in there with a boob-size that isn't the letter E in the alphabet. But who cares, I want my goodie bag. So swag in hand, I skipped home. I tell ya, I was excited.

However, as I pulled item after item from the bag. My face went from this, to this. W.T.F.

Not that I wasn't grateful for my TNS Eye Brightening Cream, Rejeuve Rejuvenating Toner and Lotion + Ceramide Treatment, and Apple-Pear-Mango-Rhino-Horn Mask...but lo and behold, what do I find at the bottom of the bag?

A baby-tee with "BOTOX" emblazoned across the chest in Swarovski crystals. Yes, you read that right. Swarovski crystal. Baby tee. B-O-T-O-X.

Ok, the magenta makeup bag that said "Botox (R) Cosmetic - Botulinum Toxin Type A" was a somewhat predictable marketing move, but this, this one: my god, the genius.

Seriously, what fantastic brain at Ogilvie & Ogilvie decided, that in a world where post-face, neck, boob, lip, thigh, butt, and tummy nip patients are trucked off in armored BRINKS trucks to secret recovery communes, a pink t-shirt proclaiming "I got a face full of Botulism" would be a marketing gold mine? As if the constantly scared/surprised eyebrows weren't indicator enough, let's put 'em in tees! That say BOTOX! I can see the back-slapping and high fives now.

I thought about that for the past week, and I was pretty set on my conclusion about the viability of the absurd pink t-shirt, until I saw this: <<http://www.bestweekever.tv/2007/05/30/unemployment-check-this-video-contains-all-the-reasons-why-our-society-is-doomed/>>

Alright, for those of you lucky enough to have the right plug-ins, and a Comcastic internet connection:

I would have paid serious money to have been that tanning salon clerk that day. Fatty commission, plus priceless internal commentary. Ionesco heaven. I saw the actual TV airing of this indecent incident, but the ridiculousness didn't quite sink in until I saw this web remake because I missed the $1300 cocktail price tag. If this guy can sell a $1300 tanning session to an 8-year old girl, this man can sell a pink BOTOX tee to Ashlee Simpson.

On first pass, I thought to myself: the little girl probably saw Herbie Fully Loaded and The Parent Trap and wanted to be a pretty race car driver/twin who had mischievious adventures. Legit. But then I realized, this LA mom-bot has to have a Sky Spa gym membership, and a Lambertson Truex bag full of US Weekly's and People magazines. So although her not-so-bright daughter has an excuse for asking "to be like Lindsay Lohan" - mom-bot, what's your excuse for wanting your daughter to aspire to be an illiterate coke fiend? Well, let's be fair. Maybe she can't read either and just flips through the magazines for all the pretty pictures. Yaaaay. Yaaaay. I can bring two of my friends!*

I bet if I show these screen shots of the little girl getting air-brushed to random persons on the street, their first impression would be "Children of Chernobyl - The Aftermath." As sad as the scene is, it's pretty amusing to see the fear of mom-bot in the eyes of a dumb kid brought on by a woman with a spray hose and latex gloves - all while mom-bot stands outside directing. "Get her cheekbones. Ger her cheekbones! She has to look JUST like Lindsay Lohan."

If you look really carefully at this next picture (bottom), this just seals the deal:

If you can't fill in the partially obscured words: it says DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE. Magic. Utter movie magic. Voila! Mom-bot, you've got yourself a perfect 10:

I might be color-insensitive, but I know for a fact that this kid looks like an Oompa Loompa made out with her face. A+, mom-bot, A+. Man, and at $1300? What a steal.

*Note: 11 street cred points for getting that reference.

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Ultimate Fight: Reason vs. Monkeyby Freelance Midget (guest blogger)

I know you've all been waiting with bated breath for SS Sociopath, Part II - The Harvest, so here it is.

Scene: beautiful Sunday afternoon, a freshly showered FM is tidying her room. Outlook e-mail notice *bink*.

"Please leave a check for your June rent, along with half the rent for the empty 3rd bedroom. Your boyfriend spends too much time here. Yours Truly, SS Sociopath."

After a week of not responding to my e-mail requesting that we sit down and talk. This is what I get. Caging the beast within me, I write back:


"Dear SS,
This is something we should discuss in person. I'll be home all afternoon if you have time to chat."

Right as I push "Send", I look out my window only to watch her mount her broomstick and zip away into the night sky. Alright...so it was the afternoon. Live a little. Anyhow, I decide to run some errands since there's no chance we'll be talking while she's gone, and hardly any chance at all even when she's here. I later arrive home to her watching my TV on full blast, and baking her billionth batch of baked goods. Read carefully*:

"Hi SS, can we talk?"
[With zero eye contact] "I want to watch the debate on TV."
Agonizingly silent moment later:
"Well, is there a time we could talk?"
"Not now."

I don't know how she manages to bake with that club in her hand, but, knowing when I'm about to get knifed in the face, I retreat upstairs only to find this gem in my inbox:

"there is no discussion here. you continue to abuse my wishes and my things (ex. my stereo being moved to the garage) even after i made it clear 6 months ago it would not be tolerated. i may have to ask you to leave if i don't get some additional rent. i will also be collecting utilities and cable within the next few weeks."

Ah! The truth emerges. Sure, I moved the stereo to the garage because (1) it was broken and (2) SS explicitly informed me 6 months ago that she "doesn't know where the stereo came from, it was a previous tenants - I've never tried using it." While she dragged her knuckles around the kitchen, I hid in my room plotting my next move. I actually was so pissed off, that I got on Craigslist, managed to find someone who wanted me to move in within 2 weeks, and went and viewed the apartment all within the next hour. The apartment was actually a great deal except for (1) the fact that the kitchen and living room smelled like old Asian lady. I don't know exactly how to describe it but it evokes the image of brocade couches covered with plastic, Chinatown herb shops, and musty fireworks; and (2) the girl is a super-FOB from Beijing who wore socks and sandals, was somewhere between the ages of 17 and 40 (these damned Asian women...), and is a hardware engineer. But hey, who am I to complain? She looks like Giada De Laurentiis next to SS Socio.

I can't type all the details of the 1 hour+ tete-a-tete that ensued between me and SS, but here's a good synopsis of the incident:

In case I lost some of you: I'm not the monkey. Her grievances:

1. I moved the broken stereo to the garage, that she is now claiming belongs to her through common law marriage.

2. I placed the wine rack - yes, the one that fell off the wall and hit someone on the head because it weighs 5 lbs and is nailed into the plaster, not a wall stud - on the end table that sat below it.

3. I moved her cake tupperware (that had been sitting there for a week) from the kitchen table to a shelf.

4. I dared to set foot in her bathroom (which is adjacent to the laundry) to throw away the dryer lint.

Apparently, she considers these things "executive decisions." Holy crap, I mean...I didn't realize I was living with G. Dub.

Bottom line: I am not allowed to look at her things. Or think about them. Also, bear in mind that these are grievances she's been stewing about for 6 months, thus her reasoning for throwing my clothes on the floor? "I was making a point." And her reason for never communicating her issues? "Because I don't have to." Wow. Write QED on that one - we're done.

In any case, I managed to survive the spar, I don't have to pay for her unexplained need for 2 bedrooms, and best of all: she's moving out in August. If only you could see my shit-eating grin** right now.

*Note: translated from the original neanderthal, courtesy of babelfish.
**Note(s): definition 1, although since she's leaving, I don't care if you think it's 2 or 3.

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Behold the fish! (Cozumel Day 2)by Cl. Panic, renowned guest blogger

It's been a few years (and a few hurricanes) since I last visited Cozumel, and it was great to be back in the water. The reef hasn't completely recovered, but diving in California doesn't even come close. The water's 82°F (instead of 55), and there is a nice current that lets you just drift by all that there is to see.

Nonny Nu demanded pictures of fish. By the time this vacation's over, she just might be sorry she asked. (I think she prefers fish with Maggi Sauce... just don't tell that to Stumpy!). Armed with a new digital camera and underwater housing, I'm prepared to give the NN readers a first-hand view.

On our first two dives, we saw all kinds of stuff and I had to play with the settings on my new camera. Like macro mode. Some of the most amazing underwater animals (and real camera hogs) are the turtles. Their grace underwater is amazing, especially compared to those clumsy land turtles we're all familiar with. A good-sized smooth trunkfish got within shooting distance, as did a shrimp.

Okay you Where's Waldo fans... try and find the fish in this picture. Need a hint? I nudged him a bit and he swam off. See, it's fun searching for flounders! Oh, I can't forget to talk about the green moray eel. It was huge... probably as thick as my thigh. Okay, so most readers have never seen my thigh. It's not this big. Anyway the eel was and probably 18 inches around. (My significant other chastised me for taking that last picture... lots of underwater finger shaking).

After a nice day of diving, we're back at the resort relaxing. To give you real insight into my vacation, I present a first at TWoNN: A QuickTime VR view from the beach. Simply download and open with QuickTime.*



*Be sure you have the latest version of QuickTime installed, with support for everyone's favorite compression standard: H.264!

...there's more to this story--click me!