Monday Bear

So I must admit, when I come to mondaybear.com and click on Site Admin, I get quite a rush. A power rush. Like the kind of power rush I get when I tell small children to go into the kitchen and make me a sammidge.
So I had the craziest dream about Monday Bear. Most of you know how difficult it is for me to differentiate between dreams and reality. Here’s an old story from way back:

Jade and I had been planning to go to NYC, and we planned on seeing Spamalot while we were there. Welp, I had a dream that my mom bought us tickets to see it. I woke up, not realizing that it was just a dream, so I went to school telling everyone that I had the best mum in the world, because she had bought us tickets to see Spamalot. (It should have been a dead givaway that she didn’t really buy them for us when I remembered that they were just $4 each.) When I came home, I gave my mom a big ass hug (not a big “ass hug”, but a big ass hug), and she asked me why I was being so nice. Welp, when I told her, she informed me that she didn’t do such a thing, and that it must have been a dream. Alas.

So the other day, I dreamt that I was browsing myspace, and I ran across Zataran’s Red Beans and Rice’s profile. When I opened the page, there was all kinds of Monday Bear stuff… banners, icons, buttons, links, and passages that said such things as, “Monday Bear Rocks!”, “We love Liz and her blogs!”, and “Monday Bear is the official blog of Zataran’s Red Beans and Rice!” Of course, I was flattered. Then I went on and noticed that they had about a zillion friends.
“Wow,” I thought, “If all of these people have looked at Zataran’s myspace, I wonder how many of them have clicked the link.” I knew I was famous. I looked through some of Zataran’s friends, and I noticed that I knew several of these people personally.
I wrote Zataran’s a letter of appreciation, and they asked if they could advertise on my blog. I agreed, but charged them an ass amount of money (and when you’re Liz, an ass amount is like, 12 million dollars). So Zataran’s Red Beans and Rice quickly became the official packaged food item of mondaybear.com, and Liz and Matthew, rich and famous. (Because, you know, he’s the one who actually -gave- me the website.)
I awoke from that dream all excited, and then, an hour later, I realized that it was just a dream. Because there was no black man playing a saxaphone on my website.
When I told Alley Jo about this dream, and I got to the part where I woke up, she said, “Oh my gosh, that was a dream?!?!”
…
Except she wasn’t being a smartass. She seriously didn’t know that that was a dream.”
…

I make her call me MondayBear.com now whenever we’re in public.
I have a quest for you all. Whenever you’re in a crowded place, you should loudly say “MondayBear.com” every once in a while. Here’s what’s in it for you: You keep track of how many times you say “MondayBear.com” around several people, and you come tell me, and I’ll give you a hug for each time you said “MondayBear.com”. Deal?
This is going to work completely on the honour system, because I can’t afford a pair of those camera glasses that they wear in those 20/20 specials or in those reality pornos, for every one of my subscribers. So tell the truth. Don’t steal hugs.
I got my first text message yesterday. It was from Zephyr. It was interesting. It took me 3 minutes to type a 20 letter reply.
So yes, I do have text messaging, but don’t text me very often, you over-zealous texters. It ain’t free.
Matt used to call me Poptart, but he doesn’t anymore. I’m more like a Poptard now.
He’s making this website for this woman. This woman sells marbles. Apparently, there’s a market for marbles. She makes money.

I told Matt he should start a business and sell his pogs. I bet there’s a market for those. I have some pogs. They have Sonic the Hedgehog and friends on them. But Matt, that’s a different story. You know those books with the pockets where you can put baseball cards? Yeah, he has one of those for pogs.

… yes, I love him…

I saw this band on myspace, and under genre, it said pop/indie.
Alley Jo and I were talking about mine and Matt’s car, the Tesla. Of course, it’s electric. She said something cute:
Alley: You’d have to plug it into the wall everytime you wanted to go somewhere.
Liz: But if you wanted to go somewhere far away, you’d have to buy one of those big orange extension cords.

Ever since I can remember, it’s been hot in my closet. Hot in, Hot in my closet.

My friends are always trying to make me put clothes on. Well you know what? I will not let them bring me down. I was just trying to show her this weird deficiency with my left nipple.
“I’m not looking at any nipple until you put some vagina on.”
- Alley. (She meant to say “panties” instead of “vagina”. That was definitely a “Where yo’ tweeza’ at?” moment.”
Oh. My. Gosh. I just turned iTunes radio on to this reggae radio station, and that “Poppin’ My Colla” song is on.
You know, the one by Three 6 Mama.
And why it’s on the reggae station, I have no idea. Reggea doesn’t mean, “by a black guy”.

Justin subscribes to the Harry Potter Podcast. Seriously.

I’ve been thinking about starting my own podcast. The Monday Bear podcast. The things that are just too funny and raw for text. What do you think? Would you subscribe? Hrmmm?

Oh, and it would be free.

Oh oh oh, and there would be a new show every Monday. Fabulous, right?

But yeah, I was listening to this couple’s podcast, and they have several subscribers, and they were not interesting at all. The most interesting thing in their show was them talking about the wife’s butt zits.

I mean, seriously, who wants to hear about something gross, like butts or zits? Psht. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. Psht.

So Alley Jo was picking at my bacne last night. (I don’t have gross amounts of it, just the occasional back zit and blackhead as most of you have).
Liz: This is fun.
Alley: Me too.
Liz: …
Alley: Matt got all the good ones. Damn you, Matt.

I bought fancy condoms. Those Elexa condoms by Trojan that are apparently designed from a woman’s perspective. They have them next to the tampons, so you’re more comfortable buying them.
But what if a guy is buying them? If he’s young, he’s more than likely already uncomfortable buying condoms. But from the femanine hygene aisle? Yikes.
But anywho, I opened them up (even though I won’t get to use them for another 2 weeks… I just like to look at what I bought). I’ve always loved the diagrams on the pamphlets that come with condoms, but this diagram is by far my favourite. I took a picture for you:

Yes, those are testicles. Yes, that is pubic hair. And yes, those are labia.
The pubic hair kind of reminds me of Matt’s beard after 5 days of not shaving.
Not that Matt’s beard reminds me of pubic hair. I think that his beard is sexy.
Not that I don’t think that his pubic hair is sexy.
Not that I think it is sexy, but I’m just saying.
I don’t mind either way.
But I like the beard.
That’s all.

…Whew… That got even a little too weird for me…
I also bought panty hose. So I’m laying on my bed, reading my pantyhose package:
“I like reading about the products that I buy… Do not iron?…fuck…
“Whoa, that was way too funny. I’ve got to write that down… I need a pen!”
*I look around, and there is no pen to be found. So I reach into my bedside table drawer*
“I guess I’ll just have to write with this squiggle pen.”
*I turn Barney on and begin to write with my new found “squiggle pen”*

It didn’t write very well.

You know how if you bite on a squiggle pen and stare at a TV, computer screen, or digital clock, everything gets all crazy looking?

It works when you bite on a vibrator as well.

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 29th, 2006 at 12:51 AM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Babies, Breasts, Dreams, Nasty, Secks. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.