the veiled sibyl

I have heard and said more inanities, since you took me in tow, than in all the rest of my life.

My Photo

like a dripping faucet

Monday, August 15, 2005

Sibyl's Insidious Plot

I just took a Benadyl, so I have about 35 minutes to get this post typed before I faceplant on the keyboard.



A while back, Sunrise and I came to the conclusion that people -mainly females - with names that start with an "A" are fucked up in some way, shape, or form. This hypothesis was independently confirmed (well, not confirmed, let's say supported) by Okashii and DocD.

Our original thought was that only two "A" names (you know what they are...) were particularly problematic. However, upon further research, we have found that almost without exception, ALL A's are insane.

Anecdote the first: Double A-dude anecdote. There are a couple of dude A's I know who "gots some problems." The first, well, you've seen in this blog what's happened to him. Poor guy's been more a victim than an instigator. The other one, good ol' creepy Spigot... What're you supposed to think about a 36-year old dude who hits on 19 year old girls??

Anecdote Two: In my previous incarnation as an analytical chemist in Houston, I worked with a woman named Amanda. She was the accountant at the company I worked at, had a son about my age, and on the surface seemed to be perfectly normal. However, as I got to know her, the real story started to come clear. Amanda was about 50 and had been married several times. When I met her, she was on her sixth, and unfortunately, her husband died unexpectedly. Within six months, she had met and married number seven.

Anecdote Numero Tres: Sunrise has another Amanda - married to a fucking drug-addled freak - divorced said drug-addled freak when he went to prison - got back together with "reformed" drug-addled freak.

Anecdote Four: If you ask a woman you have been romantically involved with to live in your home, that woman will not decide to run off to a foreign country with another dude. Unless her name is Amanda. If her name is Amanda, she will do this, and will expect you to be okay with it. (She'll also invite her arsonist brother over to stay at your place while you are gone on a business trip. But it's okay, because the only thing he burned was a few of his girlfriend's mother's paintings...)

Five Golden Anecdotes: Amanda T. was someone I worked with during my stint in Hell. Also in our lab was a grad student, Porn-Loving Doofus. P-L Doof was dating a lovely Lebanese girl - a girl who had followed his skinny and useless ass to Austin from the Land of Entrapment - and they were engaged to be married. The Lebanese girl worked in another lab, and Amanda had a project which required them to work directly together. They became fast friends, until...
I don't know the full story, but somewhere in there, P-L Doof and the Lebanese girl were no more, and before you could say "homewrecker", Amanda was with Doof. (Fear and loathing were HIGH among the former dwellers of Hell when we found out.)

The Sixth Anecdote: This one is an "A" double team. You've heard the story of Gherkin and Cakes. (And you know Cakes is an "A"). Of course, you can't have another woman unless there is an initial woman, and that woman, Gherkin's fiancee, was named... (can't you guess?) Amanda. Gherkin must have some sort of special A-bane that allowed him to come outta that one alive - God knows I wouldn't want to dare mixing two A's - the risk is just too great!

Sieben Anecdote: Cunt. Licking. Whore.

Anecdote two times four: I had a friend, Amy, back in my Houston days, who fell madly, crazy, head over heels in love with another friend of mine. Unfortunately for Amy my friend, her dream husband, was gay, gay, GAY. Oh, so very gay. I knew Amy because I worked with her mother, and when Mom told me how nuts her daughter was for my flaming friend I didn't know what to do. I ended up telling her Mom the truth, and she asked me if I would break the news to Miss A. I did, and boy, did that not go well. It finally came down to the guy having to show her pictures of him and his boyfriend to convince her.

Anecdote IX: A name that shall not be mentioned in the DocD household... A girl's name, three letters, starts with an A, ends with a Y, has a consonant in the middle.

Ten Little Anecdotes: Cakes. 'Nuff said.

Bonus Anecdote: DxB's crazy motherfucking dog Annabelle. Goddamn FREAK that dog is!

See what I mean? (I wonder if other people have similar ideas about us L's, S's, and D's??)



One of my favorite things to do while bored to tears is scroll through Blogger. Wade through the random ad-blogs, the stuff in foreign languages, and the drivel (TheVeiledSibyl averts her gaze...) and you will occasionally find something great.


(Ha - you thought you were gonna get some links, didn't you? Well, there's NO LINKS FOR YOU!)

Um, anyway, Blogger's a dry well, etc., etc. The only thing I found that was even remotely amusing was this passage from Kristen from Texas' blog. (If you couldn't figure it out, Kristen is a Christian homemaker/wife/mother.)

"I am about to go completely stark raving mad over the gas prices in Dallas (I know they are high everywhere in the country). It has reached to $2.59 a gallon here in north Dallas. Am I the only one that is confused about why they are so high right now? I mean I really don't get it. What I do know is that Kevin is speaking now of "budget talks" because we had not factored in spending so much more money on gas when we last did our budget. I am telling you that if a high gas price hinders my need (yes, I said need) to shop for clothes at the Baby Gap, I seriously might go mental! I have been looking up our congressmen's names & addresses so I can write letters to them explaining my frustration over this. I never thought I would be considering voting Democrat next time...ugh!"


Ugh indeed...


Thursday, August 11, 2005

Put that in your fucking book

in a
goes to:

Congratulations on the successful (?) completion of harassment training, you PERV!!

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

You Know You Want To

Sibyl is buried up to her fishy gills in work this week, so she won't be updating.

Go look at some porn.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

To Dream The Impossible Dream

I'm short, white and balding - with a little dick." - You

Being the dear (and superstitious) friend I am, I hurried to the local curandera (ie, the HEB) for a prayer candle to help you in your predicament. Among the many candles before me, one red and black beauty filled me with awe and intrigue:




I placed the candle lovingly into my shopping cart, knowing that THIS was the answer. Instantly upon returning home and unwrapping the icon from it's cradle of plastic bags, I lit it and called you to tell you to expect to feel it's healing power immediately.

Little did I realize that this candle, which I purchased with good intent and loving thoughts - this candle which I thought would be your savior - would turn so violently against me.

What happened?? I believe that the reversing power of this candle did not direct itself toward you, your height, your melanin content, your hair, nor your willy. NO - the awesome REVERSING power of this candle rested itself upon me - upon my brain - to the center of my (ALLEGED) intelligence.

The following anecdotes will PROVE my hypothesis:

A. Shortly after lighting said candle, I went to weigh my laptop on the bathroom scale (I needed to know it's weight for a completely unrelated reason.) I placed the computer on the scale, but there was no reading, only a digital "C". Assuming the scale was broken, I picked up the computer and got on the scale myself. I was shocked at the weight it displayed. I got off, rezeroed, and weighed again - once more - shock and disbelief. After a third time, I ran into the kitchen proclaiming to Lee: "Oh my GOD - I gained seven pounds in like, three days!" I realized in between the words "three" and "days" that I'd had the computer in my hands while I was getting on the scale - hence the excess weight.

But, my ineptness did not stop there - oh no... I then said, out loud - "I wonder how I'll get the weight of this computer - it's too light for the bathroom scale." About five seconds passed and I noticed Lee's deadpan look - then it finally hit me like a bolt from the blue:

I. can. weigh. myself. with. the. computer. and. then. without. it. and. get. the. weight. by. difference.

B. You will recall this (approximate) exchange that we had on the phone yesterday:

D: I wasn't really at a concert - it was NPR.
S: (silence) (blank stare)
D: (silence)
S: (thinking, "in P.R."?? WHERE'S THAT??)
D: (silence)
S: Ohhhhh - NPR. - - - I thought you meant "in" as in i-n...

There you have it. That's what I get for dabbling in the black arts. (You'd think me and the black arts would be a winning combination, wouldn't ya?) Guess it's not to be.

Thus it is my conjecture that there is little that can be done about your vertical challenges, your skin tone, your mane or your manliness. However - - - FEAR NOT, balding little white man! For you can still take advantage of the awesome power of THE CANDLE. How, you ask? Simply give the candle to any woman of your choosing and instruct her to burn it. Within minutes she will be transformed into a blithering idiot who won't be able to spell her own name, much less realize that she is with the likes of you.

The perfect solution.

Much love,

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Oy! The SeaCow Likes It.


You're not going to believe this, but I spent the entire day actually doing work yesterday! Even took my computer home and continued there. I know, I know - what the hell is up with that, you ask... I have the RealFishMan to thank for that one. He sent out a letter on Monday calling for papers for a special edition journal and he wants tentative titles and author lists by next Monday! Arrgh!

RW wants me to do two papers, and I only have data for one so far... I'll get fish in Friday and DrZ and I will start collecting data for the second paper Monday. Yeah... I'll submit the title for the paper before I even start an experiment. This could be bad.



Last night there was a "National Night Out" party in my neighborhood. I thought it would be an excellent time to rob the neighbors' houses, seeing they were all at the party...



I have a cold, and that pisses me off. Actually, I think it's an aspiration infection - that is aspiration as in the inhalation of foreign matter into the lungs, not aspiration as in the desire to achieve something great. You know how you inhale spit in the middle of the night, and you wake up KNOWING that you are dying the most painful death possible?? I did that the other night, and now - phlegm city.

But, you know what pisses me off waaayyyy more than inhaling spit and living in phlegm city?

Call-in talk shows.

I don't know what it is about them, but everytime I hear some jackass calling in to talk to a host I want to KILL EVERYONE! I turn absolutely RABID. I have no freakin' idea what that's all about, but I do know that half the time the callers don't have a freakin' point, or if they do they can NEVER seem to get to it. (That was Sheila - the pointless wonder writing that! Talk about irony!) The other half of the time they are just goddamned idiots stammering on and on.

Who calls into those shows anyway? I mean, I was flipping through the channels yesterday and there was some broad who'd called in to QVC to tell them what she'd purchased. The fuck? WHO CARES?? She rambled on with barely any direction as if she was casually talking at a family member. Near boiled my blood. (This is obviously a HUGE problem for me...)



Monday, August 01, 2005

Like a peacock feather tattoo


Saturday was the big two-shows-in-one-night thing for the T Rockets. At least, that's what we thought...

We got to the first venue, the vile Room 710, and started setting up for the eight o'clock show. Just about then, the owner came up to the band and said that he wanted us to leave because he saw that we were also booked down the street for later that night. We explained that that was sort of a booking accident - that Headhunters had called us and we didn't want to turn down a gig, blah, blah, blah, apologized and all that - but the owner was a little shit and told us to leave. Okay, what the hell ever - we said fuck it, and packed up and went and drank over at Bull McCabe's next door.

First off, the band was playing gratis - for. fucking. free. - and the dude at 710 didn't even list us on their calendar until Friday, so we weren't really sure we were playing there or not. We weren't playing Headhunters until 10:30, so there was certainly no scheduling conflict. The 710 owner just got his little panties in a wad and threw a drama queen fit at us. Maybe it was shitty to book another show on the same night, but hell, TR plays everything for FREE - so I figure it's our perogative to play whenever and wherever we want.

What made things especially fantastico is that one friend had walked into 710 at 8:30 thinking she'd see us and she said there was NOBODY in the 710 - the band that was to follow TR was playing to an EMPTY room - only the bartender, the bouncer, and the fuckerowner were in there. The rest of the TR party (20+ fans and family) was at the pub next door spending lots o'cash. HA!

Anyway, the band played their gig at Headhunters and it was most definitely the best show they've had - so it all worked out for the best. We ended up with a bunch of TR fans there: the whole O clan, FreebirdSteve and TheNewGuy each brought a bunch of people, Smurfette's pals from Houston came, DocD, the Miracle Girls, and Sunrise even braved a crooked "Click It Or Ticket" cop to drive in from San Angelo!



"I'm a short, white, balding guy with a little dick." This quote will be revisited at a later date.



I started, or rather tried to start, watching C.S.I. last week. I freakin' HATE that show! I hate, hate, HATE it! Here's ten reasons why:

1. The "scientists" stand waaaaayyyyy too close to each other in the lab scenes.
2. The goddamn ubiquitous, "dark laboratory" scene...
3. The dramatic (and overwhelmingly silly) "Eureka gaze".
4. "Blood experiments" are kept in the food fridge and no one is castrated with a dull scalpel.
5. Regular Joes of the world: See, your stereotypes about scientists are right! They are a bunch of freakin' kooks.
6. Many "Las Vegas" scenes look remarkably California. (Forests??)
7. Squiggly colored lines = science? Hmm.
8. Hello, overacting.
9. There are three different versions of this show.
10. It's just plain dumb.