A spoonful of knowledge.

Well, probably a little more inanity than knowledge, but, that's neither here nor there. Apparently 2008 is the year of the footnote, and rumor has it there might be a thing or twelve that I say that causes a little confusification for my BFF, the reader. I guess thanks to Patrillo / McCain 2008 and the Straight Talk Express, mystery is a thing of the past.

So, pals, at the behest of the masses (ahem), here are some Occasionally Asked Questions and their oh-so enlightening solutions.

The name of this fair blog: Is it "this blog is eggsalady" or "this blog is eggs a lady"? Well, reader, I'd say that's open to interpretation. Originally, this blog was intended to epitomize all that eggsalady stands for. I guess I was under the impression that everyone had seen the breathtaking cinematic masterpiece that was robbed of the 1988 Academy Award, Big Top Pee Wee (whatever, Rain Man). Not to give the plot of the powerful film away or anything, but Pee Wee's suitor is trying to impress our stud by making him a picnic lunch, including (but not limited to) an eggsalad sandwich. How's it taste, PW? "Mmm. Eggsalady." To me, eggsalady is, I guess, just pretty sweet. You know what else, though, I realize is pretty frickin sweet? Egging a lady. In my head, that seems like it would be hilarious. So, you know, your choice.


Your name seems a little dumb. What is What's a Donzer supposed to mean? Sigh. This one is, I guess, a little weird to hold on to twenty three years or so later, but Ramona Quimby was always kind of my hero growing up. If you don't know who Ramona is, then you have some serious literature reading to do. Anyhoozle, here comes the pepperjack: I always thought the following story was really endearing (awwwww). You see, in my favorite Ramona book, Ramona the Pest, five year old Ramona gets a little mixed up. I'll let the omniscient answerdeity Wikipedia explain this one to you, as it does a pretty good short and sweet job, and I am not feeling like using the mindpower to paraprase at the moment. Here she is: "[Ramona]decides to impress everyone with what knowledge she [has] and tells her older sister Beezus to get a "dawn-zer" to provide "a lee light" to help Beezus read. This confuses sister and, eventually mom and dad, until they all realize that Ramona has misunderstood the opening lyric to the Star-Spangled Banner: 'Oh say, can you see, by the dawn's early light.' Pretty great, huh?



Did you really name your poor kid Cornflake? Well, that does seem like something I would do, but, no; I didn't name her Cornflake. It's Suri Apple. She kind of issued forth from my womb looking a little like a flake o' corn, and when it's time to awaken, "Wakey wakey, Cornflakey" she doth hear. Hence, Cornflake.



Did you really name your poor dog Timmy? Yes.





Why aren't there pictures of you on this blog? How do I know you aren't a thirty nine year old world-weary convict named Lonnie who is suffering from a case of the doldrums? Hmmm. You're weird, reader. I dunno. It feels a little Jerky Jerksmith being all la la la look at me. Besides, the guys in cell block four would be even more feelsies than normal if I started posting my Glamour Shots all over the information superhighway.


Who and what are the "BSGs"? Good question. Here's a clicky to bring you back to their introduction. If you're lazy and don't feel in the mood to get your click on, in short, the BSGs are part of my core fanbase. They are first-rate computer gurus; they are Battlestar Galactica Gangstas, they are BSGs. They just so happen to be my muses for Sexy Programmer Thursdays, which can be found here and here , if all of a sudden you are ready to let clicking back in your good graces again.


Speaking of Sexy Programmer Thursdays, from where are the SPT candidates plucked? That's easy. Heaven.




How you're not chewing and all: break it down for me. This subject is still a little embryo-ish not to sting. So, I'll explain in haiku, entitled A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart.


A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart
Goodbye, wisdom teeth
Mygod you just shivved two nerves
Thanks a lot, asshole




What does "there's an ass over my shoulder" mean? It's basic perfection. It's Eden in your backyard. It's a jaunt on a tugboat and a disembarkment at the promiseland. Succinctly, it's Wolf Blitzer. Aaaaahhh.

Well, I'm sure there's more, but I am distracted by Kim Kardashian's heinie at the moment and I can't seem to concentrate on this task at hand. If there's anything else I can clear up, let me know. I'll open up my brainfile of Afterschool Specials and see if I can produce an answer for it. Because, to me, you're worth it. Kisses!

And things just when waaay downhill.

Remember a while back when I told you that I kind of have the maturity of a nine year old boy? I may have been exaggerating a little bit for effect. Out of respect to my homie fairness, and since you have been such loyal readers (What up, BSGs!) and all, I need to pony up and reveal that, on the reals, my actual-time mentality might be a little bit more twinsies with a lad around the age of twelve. This fact came to light quite clearly while I was driving back from my local Targetopia today. Picture it: I am cruising along, happily providing background vocals to the smooth sounds of Man Man emanating from my stereo (they really remind me of the Muppet Band, and little Cornflake seems to really dig Muppet-sounding melodies - especially anything in the Rolf family). Speaking of little Cornflake, she was bopping along from her still-backwards-facing car-seat (less than two months til the big switcheroosky - get it, girl!)sucking her right thumb, loving life. All of a sudden, seemingly from out of nowhere, this wanker in a sporty black automobile swoops in and cuts us off all abruptlike as wankers are wont to do. Instantly my mouth flew open and I shouted (cleverly), "Hey, Jerk, in your Audi TT." And that is when I just started giggling, and giggling uncontrollably. I had the full on I am laughing by myself out loud moment, and not because I had just labeled the wanker a jerk. No, no. It was because the guy drives a car I had just called an Audi Titty ( pronounced "teety", naturally. Your car is named after boobs, Wanker!). Oh - that sounded like something your annoying nephew Kevin would say? Yeah. I know. So would I.

So, this got me thinking. There have been many occasions in which my inner Kevin has reared his pimply head and I've snickered at some other Audi TTs of the world. If you have a moment, I'd like to share just a few of them with you. Here are ten stooopid reasons I have had the occasion to turn all twelve year old boy up in here.

1) Long before I was twelve, my I12YOB (inner 12 year old boy, obvs) emerged. My lovely 2nd grade teacher, Miss Sexton - God bless her, was my favorite teacher ever. She had the ingenious idea to make every kid in the classroom buy his own stick of deoderant to fend off any unfortunate early stinkers and she was responsible for singlehandedly bringing about my love and subsequent poster purchase of William "The Fridge" Perry; HOWEVER, sadly, I found it impossible to say her name aloud during the first two months I knew her, and then I couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly giggly/embarrassed each time I finally did manage to spit out her surname.

2) This next one's obvious. I think I'll go ahead and stick the picture in so you can say it with me.All together: Hello there, Boner. I mean, really? The nation turns hysterical when Justin Timberlake (allegedly) aids and abets the most famous teeniny covered-nip release in all of history, yet thanks to that family programming paradigm Growing Pains, the name Woody McWooderson becomes a household name - nay - a household institution on a weekly basis?! Regardless of the hooplah, I got a case of the tehees each and every time Richard (we couldn't have gone all the way and used that other euphemistic chortle causer, too?) "Boner" Stabone danced across my screen.

3) While I am in tvland, I am going to step a little bit out of order and just pose a question, really. Since naming tv characters after tent pitchers was obviously appropriate in the 1980's, was it apparently likewise seemingly kosher in the 1950's to name America's favorite scoundrel and Wally's little brother, "the Beav" after June's hoo hoo? I mean, did people object back

then, or even notice? I'm just asking because I wasn't around in the olden days to get the giggles. If I never get my answer, I do know this: that Ward Cleaver sure had a helluva sense of humor! And, since I'm posing questions anyway, are we still allowed to name kids "Whitey," or has that little pet
name fallen by the copacetic wayside?

Out of the fondness I feel for you, I am going to move this little list along and stop writing my life story with each entry. But just so you know, I have a lot of questions about some of the following. I'll mainly keep my mouth shut, though in the interest of time.

4) Faygo - I am not being disrespectful here - really. This drink name just always made me spit grape flavored bubbles of heaven each time I said its name.

5) Lemme say hey to another drink - circa high school - from the local now-defunct grocery store Delchamps: Dr. D. This Dr. Pepper impostor literally made me wet my pants as when you are a twelve year old scamp in a seventeen year old girl's body, you can't just say "Dr. D"; you are contractually obligated to only call it "Dr. Deez Nutz." Of course.

6) Speaking of grocery stores, Hi there, Publix. A friend's grandmother in high school used to honest to God pronouce this beloved chain with a long "u." And the hilarilty commenced.

7) Dear Dominoes Pizza: Thank you so much for inventing the Mighty Meaty. I don't eat it. Didn't even when I chewed. But I love you.

8) Oh, Cherry Pie Filling - you really know how to put a smile on my face. Honestly, I'm not a snob. Any flavor will make me snicker. A special shoutout to my husband who introduced this terminology to my twelve year old male brain. If you are scratching your head, good for you. Innocence is much more becoming than moral degradation.

9) Next, I'd seriously like to publicly apologize to two adorable characters from a sweet little book called Guess How Much I Love You: Big and Little Nutbrown Hare. I am sorry that my family members cannot seem to remember the proper order of your middle and last names. From here on out, I am going to try to stop addressing the mail that I send to your burrow to "Big Brown Nut Hare and Little Brown Nut Hare." I'm sure you can understand wherein the confusion

lies.

10) Last but not least. I'd like to say hello to the Northerners in the house. Northerners, you really know how to do it for me. Some of us say "hot dog"; others of us select "franks." But you, my friends, take it all the way to the hoop and drop a "tube steak" on us like it's hot.

Case in point: Mitt Romney and his favorite treat:

Where do you think Mitt was going with that? "They look like they're..." My inner Kevin's mouth is salivating just thinking of all the giggly possibilities...