My Second Millenium
So I checked my people counter today and it hit 2000. In honor of the party, I'd like to share with you a small portion of terms that people perform searches for which lead them to my blog. No, they don't all make that much sense to me either.
mice smothering me in a dream
job of hair mouse
tree octopus
"got moose" shirts
rohl dahl autobiography books
"PAPER PICKLE CARD"
"moose in a can" 2005
rohl dahl literary agent
prokaryotes and rosebush
"hiccups in the" great
Fake mouse hole for my kitchen
stuffed belly
stephen colbert
Rohl Dahl recipes
In the movie crash what is the name of the drug the mother had used
Reviews of Eliza Dushku's new play.
Sweater Fetish
"naked cars"
underwear pattern briefboy
information on schrodinger and heinsburg the scientists
progector television made in china
kids crafts "valentines day mailboxes"
vegetarian oyster sauce rcipe
"fruit roll-up" demographics
male mouse mounting and pacing
"pie in the face" sexiest
"life of a garbage man"
hollywood hair dew
Float Fairies Postcard
how to hold conversation to females in chat room
sexiest "pie in the face
the eagle has landed and the fat man walks alone
ex-boyfriend enemies spam
The Circularory System
high-octaned person
author + dodo bird, roald
Dear Eliza's Hair Salon
duck duck goose rap video two and one half kids
free south park mr towely wave file
cruel toenails
ways to take hair to school
homemade jello wrestling ring
Well, I hope you found that slightly amusing. Cheerio!
-Miss Eliza
Mis Eliza Bites The Apple
Dear Miss Eliza,
Well, it looks like I have dirty rotten luck. See, whenever I go to bite into an apple, it always has a bruise or a worm, or half of it has been chewed off by a wild animal. And this isn’t something recent. My mom says I’ve always managed to pick the apple that is really only any good for target practice. She says I’ve been at it ever since I was a baby and I used to get sick off the applesauce that she would feed me. How do I learn to pick the ripe stuff?
- Enough with Mac the Knife
Dear Apple Corer-Peeler-Slicer,
Now I was born and raised on a Windows operating system myself, and after years of dedication, I can’t think of one advantage that it has over Apples… except price… and that’s a pretty big advantage. But everyone knows that apples are more fun, and they taste much better with cinnamon and nutmeg, so it’s worth the extra money to try and overcome your truly spooky condition.
You know, my Paddy hit it smack on when he used to say, “A bad apple a day? I hope you got some good health insurance.” Now Paddy is, as usual, self explanatory, so I won’t bother going into depth on this one. Suffice it to say, and your mother would agree, that these bad apples should absolutely NOT be going untreated. Especially not if you have any desire to overcome this handicap. The only way to get through this is to find yourself the best kind of apple there is. That’s right. You want to hook yourself a doctor.
So you eat a bad apple every day. This sends you to the emergency room where you will need to see a doctor. Try and see someone different every day. Playing the field has several logical reasons:
1. That’s just the way dating works. You try out several different electric blankets until you find the one that gives out just the right amount of heat.
2. Think of all those prescription bottles you can add to your medicine cabinet. This should really give your nosy guests some interesting reading for the toilet.
3. Dating is not part of the doctor-patient relationship. So you don’t want him to remain your doctor for any longer than it takes you to meet him. Once the two of you are free of these shackles (because you went to see someone else the next day) then you will be allowed to see each other socially and therefore move to second base.
And once you are emotionally safe and secure with your knowledge that you can pick out the best apple, then you’ll never have to worry about picking a bad one ever again. And you won’t. I promise.
- Miss Eliza
Dear Miss Eliza: Just Call Me Lara Croft
Dear Miss Eliza,
I am a college student (please don’t hold it against me) with that all-too-common college student problem called Too Many Video Games. Once I get started my brain goes numb (which I guess is the point) and 12 hours later I wake up with drool all over my couch cushions. I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s affecting the rest of my life. I haven’t been on a date since my girlfriend dumped me nine months ago; I can’t remember the last time I passed in an assignment and I’ve run out of grandparents that I can kill off for excuses to get out of my job. Miss Eliza, is there any hope for me at all?
- This Halo’s Starting To Wobble
Dear Fallen Angel,
Your only hope is that you made it through Psych 100 before this affliction set in. Because, as my Paddy used to say, “The only thing I remember from Intro to Psych is that guy Pavlov and his classical conditioning.”
“But,” you reply, “I’m completely brain dead. There’s nothing left in there to psychoanalyze.” Well friend, fear not. Classical conditioning is so easy, you could teach a dog to do it. (Now that’s my idea of a good pun. I just wanted you to know that.)
Here’s how this works. You are going to need access to music you truly detest. Lets pretend that you hate country music. It’s obnoxious and self righteous and arrogant and you’re from a blue state. Listening to it makes you feel slimy and rotten all over. This is good. This is the feeling you’re going for. Now if only there were a way to associate this feeling with your video games… you see where this is going, don’t you?
Granted, you will have to impose some ground rules.
Volume control: The music must be loud enough to get on your nerves. Set yourself a minimum volume level and stick to it. For objectivity sake, you might even let some third party ( I jest, by third party I really mean second party) set your minimum volume level.
Diversity: A few songs repeated endlessly for a disgusting number of hours on end can make you feel really, really yucky. I would suggest finding one CD (or its equivalent of you’ve got an ipod) and putting it on repeat. Better yet, find one single song that really, really pushes your buttons and play it endlessly. I might suggest “Have You Forgotten” sung by Darryl Worley.
Duration: Constant, of course. The devil music must be playing any and all times that you have your video game going. The point, of course is obvious. Eventually, that hate and pain that you feel for yourself whenever you listen to country music will become associated with the video games. After a few trials, you will be able to despise yourself with only the games. And in order to avoid this discomfort, you will come to wean yourself off such unhealthy activities and have time to focus on doing things that make you like yourself again… you know, like ballroom dancing.
- Miss Eliza
The Return of Miss Eliza
Dear Miss Eliza,
May I ask you a personal question?
- Mr. X
Dear X Man,
Land sakes, what are you thinking!?! (Yes, an exclamation point, and then a question mark and then a comma ARE required to convey my emotions correctly.) Of course you may not ask me a personal question. I have excellent reasons for my decision, all highly amusing. Let me explain.
1. The question is a cliché. I’ve heard it far too many times in my life to feel that it has any vitality left whatsoever. As my Paddy used to say, “How do you know you’ve got the right words? They have the flavor of Moxie.” [At which point he would stare off to some random spot in the universe with a smile on his face and sigh.] And he was right. As always. Any words crossing your mouth devoid of verve and élan need to be shot. With a very big bullet out of an exceedingly high powered rifle. Such stagnation of language deserves to be left bloated on the side of the freeway in a large congealed pool of blood. Under no circumstances should you show favor to such distastefulness by basing an entire conversation on the topic.
2. I fear for my life. Against all good judgment I’ve ever shown (ok, laugh if you must) this question forces curiosity onto my fragile ears. And we all know what Curiosity has homicidal tendencies towards animals of my persuasion. So this is likely one of those things better left for some other poor advice columnist.
3. If the world knew anything about my personal life, then no one would ever come to me for advice again. I mean, lets say that you had a question. Are you going to ask some agoraphobic binge eater who lives alone with 32 cats and sets her alarm to the Seasame Street theme song every morning? Umm no. Advisees want their columnists composed and together. Face it, you’re not looking for someone who gets her kicks off kitty crack and goes through a case of hunter orange shoelaces every week.
Hmmm, I’m starting to think maybe I’ve revealed too much. Please promise me you won’t tell anyone. I really like this job.
- Miss Eliza
Dear Readers,
Well it's been a while since last we were in contact. Such is the universe after all. But you'll be pleased (at least I like to think you will) to see that I'm back from my sabbatical and wiser than ever. What? Don't believe me? All right. I'll prove it. Send me a question, any question. I'll answer it for you, honest. You can read that sentence however you choose. Well if you'd like to take me up on this dare you can e-mail your question to me at selizawalden@yahoo.com or just post it in the Comments section of this blog. And with that, I'll leave the issue in your capable brains.
- Miss Eliza
