Happy Halloween Eve! Halloween is one of my favoritest days of the whole year.

Oh, it's the most wonderful time of the year ...


Ah-woooooooooooo! Werewolves of London!


That is all.


Hmm. Well, the Eagles won. That's good. The Yankees didn't. That's even better. But Grady Little is going to be fired. Not good, although he kind of had it coming. Oh, and no word on the house yet, either. But we remain cautiously optimistic. FBAEW.


Pottstown. Hmm.


I got a certified letter once.

It was from my alma mater, writing to inform me that, although I completed all the requirements for graduation in a satisfactory manner (cum laude, actually), I would not be receiving my "actual" diploma (as opposed to the little paper thingy that they give you at the ceremony for looks), nor would they allow me to enroll for my free lifetime membership in the alumni association, until I paid my University Bookstore Charge Account in full.

Total amount due: $21.86 (including the charges to send my final statement via certified mail, which they so graciously passed on to me).


Another Poem (Haiku)
Why won't anyone
Sell us a house to live in?
We need to stay dry.
A Poem
The rain in Wayne
Falls mainly on my cigarette
Please help save The Bottom Line! (Assuming, of course, that anybody but me reads this blog.) The Bottom Line is a club in NYC that has let lots of (now) famous people play there, like Warren Zevon, Miles Davis, Bruce Springsteen, and of course the rockin'est band on earth, The Rock Bottom Remainders. Sign the online petition and help save this landmark. Additional information is available on the website.


Well, I guess we're just the biggest losers who ever lived, because once again, we did NOT get the house. We are 0-for-3, with not a lot of prospects for the future. Why can't we get a house? I really don't understand why we have such bad karma in this department. There are lots of losers out their with their name on a mortgage - Diddy's ex-husband is one of them. What is our problem? Why won't anyone sell us their house?
It's starting again. Another offer, another load of nothing. Are we cursed? Do we need to change our last name to Chicagocubs-Redsox? What the hell is going on?

On top of it all, I am getting a migraine. Whoo hoo, what fun! Gonna be a helluva day, I can just tell. As Arthur says: "I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my life-style."


Today's List: Top 10 Football Players I Hate

1 - Joe Montana. Not the second coming of Christ, OK? Get over it.
2 - Steve Young. Not the second coming of Joe Montana, OK? Get over it.
3 - Dan Marino. Him, and his faggy Isotoner commercials.
4 - John Elway. Looks like Jani Lane from Warrant. Ick.
5 - Ron Jaworski. Don't blame Dick Vermeil - he won a Super Bowl.
6 - Joe Jurevicius. How did JoePa put up with this self-fellater?
7 - Jeremy Shockey. Nobody is as good as he thinks he is.
8 - Warren Sapp. Just pay the money and knock it the fuck off, would you, punkass?
9 - Kurt Warner. His wife is so irritating.
10 - Doug Flutie. Didn't like him at BC, didn't like him in the USFL, couldn't watch my beloved Buffalo Bills when he played there.

But ... as an addendum to this list, I will say that I have a lot of respect for Flutie and his work with autistic kids. Best of luck with that! These are kids that really need help, and I am glad someone is putting their money where their mouth is.
You know, I really have nothing to report, but I feel like a degenerate if I don't post something, so ... Go Mr. Snail.


From the Dave-Barry-Page-A-Day Calendar, page dated October 16: "Sharon Canada sent in an English-language driver's manual for foreigners in the Republic of Korea, which contains this statement: 'Drivers must not allow passengers to make noise or disorder such as dancing on vehicles to the degree of interrupting safe driving.'" Good advice, that.
Eh. Apocalypse has been averted but I don't feel any better about it. Damn Yankees. At least Clemens had a crummy game. Oh, well. Go Other Team!


Read my earlier post, my open letter to Steve Bartman, to chembug. His reaction: "Jesus!" So obviously, I have said exactly what needed to be said, in exactly the right way. I am not sorry.
I can't say what I really want to say right now, for fear of being a jinx, so I will say this instead:
Why do churches and file rooms make me sneeze?
Dear Steve Bartman:

You. Festering. Fucktard.

I hope you are happy, dumbass. I really do. You can apologize "from the bottom of this Cubs fan's broken heart" until the goddamn cows come home, but you know what? It still won't change the fact that you are a world class, grade A moron.

Let's hope you are coaching the kids on your team better than you yourself have obviously been coached. Instinct, schminstinct. Reflex, schmeflex. You leaned over the railing. You interfered with the play. You cost the Cubs their first trip to the Series in how many years.

Now you say you are mortified and embarrassed by what happened. You should be. If there is any justice in the world, you will crawl into the hole where you belong and die there, alone, with your precious little baseball. I hope that what you have done haunts you for the rest of your life. I hope you can't sleep. I hope your children and their children hate you as much as I do.

Truth be told, you are not 100% responsible for the Cubs losing Game 6. The Cubs themselves do bear some responsibility for that. Eight runs in one inning is pitiful. But ... if not for you, if not for your wanton eagerness, if not for your irresponsibility, if not for your interference, then the Marlins might not have scored eight runs. Perhaps they wouldn't have scored any. We'll never know, will we?

Do you realize what you and your ilk - you and the Jeffery Maiers of the world - have done? Forevermore, the players on the field will have to contend not only with the ball and the batters and the baserunners, but the fans, too. There are only 3 men in the outfield, and there are 40,000+ of YOU in the stands. And really, if you wanted to be part of the game, then you should have tried out for the team.

Be glad you are from Chicago and not Philadelphia. If you lived in Philadelphia, and you did this to the Phillies, you'd be dead already right now. You wouldn't have had time to disconnect your phone and hire security. We'd have beaten the everloving shit out of you, and we wouldn't have blinked. I'm a pacifist and I'd have driven down to the Vet just to get a crack at you. You may be the dumbest person on the face of the Earth. I've never met you, and I hate your guts. Just rest assured: there is a special place in Hell for you, buddy boy.

And you'll be surrounded by Philadelphians there.


Sigh. Cubs and Sox both lost. Sigh. And that idiot at Wrigley better hope he doesn't get found, although I suspect he'll be floating face-down in Lake Michigan by Friday. Jackass.

Memo To All Dork-Ass Baseball Fans Who Reach Out To Catch Live Balls: Nobody is paying money to watch YOU catch the ball, OK? We don't want YOU to win the Pennant or the Series. We want the PLAYERS to win. For the love of God, DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING IF YOU ARE NOT ON THE FIELD!! Jackass.


Updated Traitors List

1 - Roger Clemens
2 - Art Modell
3 - Roger Clemens
4 - Curt Schilling
5 - Roger Clemens
6 - Scott Rolen
7 - Roger Clemens
8 - Eric Lindros
9 - Roger Clemens
10- J.D. Drew (tie)
10- Roger Clemens (tie)
Upon further reflection, this entire SDMB thread is HYSTERICAL and you all need to check it out.
OK, this is funny - from the SDMB: "Don Zimmer should not be starting fights with 30 year old men who can kick his ass. If Zimmer had been anybody BUT a 70 year old fat insane man, he would have had the everloving SHIT beat out of him, quite rightfully, by the Sox bench." (Emphasis mine.)

For the record: I am in favor of someone, ANYONE, taking out Don Zimmer, just on GP. Just for blowing a 14 game lead. Just be-fucking-cause.
Well, I never. Recently I was accused of "jumping on the Red Sox bandwagon" - as if ANYONE in their right mind would ever do such a thing! - and so now, here I am, having to explain myself. So, I hereby respectfully submit for your perusal ...

The Incredible True Story Of The "Outing" of rockle and chembug

For the record, chembug has "always had a soft spot in [his] heart for the Red Sox," in his own words. I think I have always known this, even before we got married, but even though the Red Sox are obviously not the Phillies (they only traditionally choke in October, not May-September), I was willing to put up with this. I was allowed to bring home any man I wanted, as long as he is not a Yankees fan. So.

Somewhere along the line, probably when I went to school in upstate New York and became a Bills fan, I started cheering for the Cubs. Back then, they sucked hard. But I have never been one to back away from a challenge, and being the perpetual proletarian underdog myself, I found a special kinship with them. But the Cubbies are an NL team, and so are the Phillies, so I had to keep my feelings for the Cubs a secret. Have to stay in the will, after all.

I think that in our ten years together, chembug and I have rubbed off on each other. Once in a while, I will catch him cheering for the Phillies or the Flyers or the Eagles. He has definitely impacted me, as three of my top five favorite football teams are now in the AFC (although, in my own defense, I became a devotee of My Beloved Buffalo Bills entirely on my own). So it is only natural that, somewhere along the line, we would both begin to foster an appreciation for each other's baseball teams.

Of course, we outed ourselves last year, after the Eagles lost the NFC Championship game to the Tampa Bay Suck-an-ears. That was the straw that broke the camels' backs, as it were. We announced then and there that we were officially changing our allegiances to our "secret" favorite baseball teams, the Red Sox and the Cubs, since we had at that point resigned ourselves to lives of constant disappointment. No sense in hiding our feelings any more. We were going to cheer for the Sox and the Cubs out loud. All our other favorite teams were bunches of losers! We made peace with our affinities for the Underachieving Underdogs of the Universe.

Imagine our surprise ...


In retrospect, my "List Of The Day" is a little bit harsh. Art Modell is a whore, but he is not a complete traitor. So he should only be on the list twice, instead of three times. Please replace Art's name at #10 with "Roger Clemens." Thanks - Ed.
List Of The Day: Top 10 Biggest Traitors In The History Of Sports

1 - Roger Clemens
2 - Art Modell
3 - Roger Clemens
4 - Art Modell
5 - Roger Clemens
6 - Curt Schilling
7 - Scott Rolen
8 - Eric Lindros
9 - Roger Clemens
10- Art Modell
The party for my parents went great. If you are reading this and happened to attend - THANKS! They were really surprised, and I am sure it meant a lot to them that everyone was there. Hope you took some cake home - there was TONS left.

No update on the house situation yet. As always, further bulletins as events warrant.


Oh no, not again ... we put an offer in for another house. At lease this time we got a counteroffer, but of course the counteroffer is for the original asking price. I don't want this to start all over. Please. I just want it to be done. A decent house that we can afford - is that really so much to ask for? Really?


Oh, yesterday was a GREAT day for sports, even if none of it happened in Philly. The Red Sox won. The Cubs won. And the Bucs got beat. Yippee!


Had to reschedule the "second opinion" walk-through with my parents until tomorrow night. Eh. I am trying not to get to worked up or emotionally invested this time around. Although (not-so) secretly, I am still terribly disappointed that we couldn't work things out over Cecily. She's a fine old dame, and I really hope she ends up with someone who will love her and take good care of her.

My crisis of the moment is that not too many people at work have said much about my hair. Why? It is obviously different - shorter and A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COLOR! Are you all BLIND? Sorry, I did not do this for "their" approval, and I am completely happy with it, but for Chrissakes, don't you people notice anything? You freak out because someone wears black shoes with navy pants, or carries a brown bag with red shoes, and you haven't noticed what is going on with my head? Criminy Pete. LOOK AT ME! I'm gorgeous and I feel good about myself for a damn change!
Took the weekend off from having a life. Looked at another house. My parents are coming down tonight to do a walkthrough with us. Need an "objective" perspective, one that isn't influenced by having seen the old house. Also, cut off 5 inches of my hair and dyed it red. Nice change. Needed that. chembug loves it. Apparently he has a soft spot for redheads I never knew about.


One last time, just for the record: FUCK YOU, COLBY. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Fuck you and the entire state of Texas except the Dixie Chicks. Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU! And also ... "nah nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye!"
Well ... looks like no house for us tomorrow. Oh, well. I won't lie and say I'm not disappointed, but in a way I'm sort of relieved. At least we know we won't have to go into hock up to our eyeballs to pay for the repairs. Once I get a "final" confirmation I will post it. In the meantime ... maybe chembug and I can go to Atlantic City tomorrow or something on our day off. At least we'll be together.
Oh. Dear. God.

Now it looks like we're going to need a lawyer. Christ on a bike! Why can't I get just a small break, just once in my goddamn life? Why? Is that so much to ask? Forfuckingoutloud!

Took a sleeping pill last night, but I don't feel any better this morning. I slept OK, but I don't feel "rested." chembug didn't sleep much, I already know it. I am afraid that he is going to hate me more than anything, because I am the one who suggested that we start looking for houses in the first place. Because I am the one who fell in love with this particular house. Because I am the one who wanted to fight for it. Of course, I had no idea it would ever get like this.

Can't say I blame him, really - I blame myself too. But we can't afford NOT to fight to get our money back now. The trouble is ... what we both really want is the HOUSE. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. With all apologizes to Arthur - would it save everyone a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?

Cigarette count: 2. Having another one in about 20 minutes.


Dear Fucktard,

We have been trying to buy the house you are selling for over a month. You have repeatedly refused to negotiate or, in fact, be even the least bit polite or helpful during this process. We are trying to be reasonable here. All we are asking is that we get a house in good condition, with a roof that doesn't leak and an electrical system that is not a fire hazard. Really, we have asked for nothing but some consideration of the expense that the repairs will cost us. And you, Dear Fucktard, have been the Psycho Bitch From Hell. I hope you get festering crotch rot and die. Have a nice life, you evil toxic harpy!

Love and kisses,
rockle and chembug.
Looks like closing is going to be moved, but until I receive definite confirmation, there are 43 hours and 11 minutes until D-Day. Apparently all realtors in the area are observing radio and telephone silence, because nobody's been in contact with us. Meanwhile I have been sitting here trying to get through the day in one piece, and mostly failing. Cigarette count: 6. Tylenol count: 12. Word count: 0. Asked Spike's 8 Ball for help and got the following answers, in order: "Without A Doubt," "My Sources Say No," "Signs Point To Yes." Asked one more time for good measure and got: "Yes." Wonder if I asked the right question ... ?
47 hours and 12 minutes until closing. Still no definite word. Isn't this FUN, ladies and gentlemen? I am completely out of patience, and at this point I am so tired that I can't even cry any more. Do know one thing, though: I will never, EVER, buy a house again without pharmaceutical assistance. I don't know how they do things in Texas, but this is definitely NOT the way they do things on the rest of planet Earth. This seller may be one of the dumbest, rudest people I have ever had to deal with in my entire life, and if she actually shows up at closing, I might have to wring her neck.
51 hours and 16 minutes until closing. Two cigarettes. Four Tylenol. No word.