A Near Life Experience For Nanny Goats

When I started this blog in 2005 for two or three of you, I couldn't have cared less where I got my accompanying pictures. I'd just search on Google, grab something appropriate and insert it in my blog post, copyright be damned. Also, you were lucky if I posted something three or four times a month. Juvenile, uncultivated crap like, "Oh I went shopping today. It was fun. The End."

In 2008, when my readership soared to an audience of five or six, I figured I should think twice about plagarizing and only put up my own photos or get them from the public domain.

A few months ago, when I revamped my blog, I created the banner above from a picture that I stole found on the internet. It was from a website that was semi-public domain. The author's name was listed as A Aevtrd, or some such nonsense with a bunch of umlauts and Norwegian-looking bits dangling over the letters like left-over mouse droppings. The site said I could use the pictures for my blog and edit them as long as I didn't make money off it. And I had to attribute the author and follow his rules. Well this goat picture didn't have any rules.

Or so I thought.

Meanwhile, my readship continued to grow and I grew to LOVE the banner. LOVE it. I wanted to marry it.

Anyway, the other day, I went back to the original site where I found my little goats and this time I noticed a link for the author's Flickr account. Uh oh. And he wasn't Norwegian. He was American. With an American (well, Irish, if you want to put too fine a point on it) name and everything.

Oh my God! What do I do? "Oh, sorry sir, for destroying your picture for my purposes for the last few months but is it OK that I used your picture and continue to do so?" What if, after receiving my sorry-ass plea, he went to my blog and was mortified at the desecration of his art? And I hadn't asked permission! What if he pressed charges? What if he - GASP! - had me arrested and sent to (OH NO!) Blogger jail!

Have you ever been to Blogger jail? Oh My God, it's absolutely horrifying! First, the Blog Police come to your house in the middle of the night and rip you out of the arms of your loved ones. They strip search your hard drive and confiscate your IP address. They slap handcuffs on you and throw you in the Blog police car and threaten your domain name as they speed down the information super highway to the station.

The next thing you know you're sharing a cell with a bald-headed thug named TurdBot108 who's in for Googling Weenie Man song lyrics. And he hogs all the toilet paper. I'd be forced to eat porridge and fold standard issue laundry with my fellow prisoners: web stats whores and content thieves.

I agonized over whether or not to contact this guy. Maybe he would never find out. But if he did, and not from me, I could be put away for life! I resigned myself to doing the right thing and sent the photographer an email begging for forgiveness, offering my first born child, anything. I HAD to have my goat banner. Nanny Goats In Panties just isn't Nanny Goats In Panties without it.

As I clicked SEND at 12:30am, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep all night, wondering if, when, and how he would answer. I imagined a vitriolic response, hurling spam and threatening to expose my HTML. He would flame my ass and the goat I rode in on. He would tear down my firewall, leaving behind a pitiful pile of rubble.

I sobbed. I prayed to the internet gods. "Please!" I cried. "Have mercy on a smalltime blogger like me! I'm nothing! Oh, boo hoo!"

Five minutes later I got a response:  "Sure," he said. "No problem."

Woo Hoo!

I would like to kiss the feet (proverbially, of course) of Kevin Collins for betstowing his kindness and downright upstandingness unto Nanny Goats. He is a wonderful photographer - you can catch his stuff on his Flickr page here.

TRIVIA QUESTION: Without cheating, can you guess where the Nanny Goats In Panties banner picture was taken? I'll let you know the answer in the next blog post.


* * * WHAT ELSE? * * *

Nanny Goats In Panties is now listed on Alltop.com under the Humor and Midlife categories. They "help you explore your passions by collecting stories from 'all the top' sites on the web."


NGIP would like to profusely thank the following fellow bloggers for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to their blogroll:

Olga The Traveling Bra - keeping the world abreast of all her traveling adventures.

Feisty Charlie - A shit-kickin' writer from Texas whose birthday falls two days before mine. Yesterday was her birthday, it's not too late to send her good wishes!

Los Cuatro Ojos - where some days you're the dog and some days you're the hydrant.

Musings - A lovely young couple from Paso Robles, California - hey, my great (or is it great-great?) grandmother is buried at the Old Adobe Chruch in Paso Robles!

Honeywine - A ghetto-trailer (her words, not mine) woman working on her PhD. I should apologize to Anna right now for all references I have made and will undoubtedly continue to make about trailer trash.

Laughing Wolf - Author Dave "holds the distinction of looking like Uncle Fester (or a shaved Panda)". Dave also had a birthday this week, so go throw some cake at him too.

What Part of "Squalor" Don't You Understand?

I would ask that you not get me started on this whole housing crisis thing, except that I've already decided to get started without you. Come with me in the Wayback Machine to 2005, when gas was still less than three bucks a gallon but a 2000 square foot home was pushing $450K, in the country's fastest-growing, least desirable suburb: Elk Grove, California. Ask anyone from the Sacramento area who changes their underwear every day, if they had their druthers, would they live in Elk Grove? Who wants to put "Elk Grove" in the real estate search box when the nation's headlines about the poor city lead with "Squalor"?

And I don't want to hear, "Well it used to be nice." "Used to be" doesn't let you sleep at night. "Used to be" doesn't keep you from getting shot while pulling out of Chili's. "Used to be" doesn't stop the house from across the street, and another one around the corner from becoming pot farms.

We held out as long as we could. Our tight-knit neighborly little court began to disperse, saying the neighborhood was going downhill. Plus, in 2004 and 2005, they were panic-buying like everyone else, buying bigger McMansions before they were priced out of the market. Of course they exacerbated the blight of the street by abandoning us, moving out so fast that all we could make out were elbows and assholes in the dust. And everyone who moved in after them were loud, rude, obnoxious, wouldn't speak to us, etc... Eventually our annoyance and fear won over our laziness and we moved.

Now, by "going downhill", do not mistake for a minute that I mean anything racial. In fact, when we were a happy little party-having group, I was the only white girl. Well, actually there were two of us, but the other one high-tailed it out of there because she saw the writing on the wall long before we did.

No, I'm talking about class. I'm talking about behavior. I'm talking about moving two or three families into one house and parking your 12 cars all over the court leaving no room whatsoever for our own guests. I'm talking about letting your yard go. I'm talking about leaving your front door open all day long while your unsupervised children run around half naked and barefoot in the middle of the street, screaming until well after midnight.

So, late to the party, we finally gave in and sold our house. Here is a picture of it just before it sold in November 2005. Please note the green and well-maintained lawn.



A few months after that we began to hear rumors of our old house going into foreclosure. More than once.

Last week, my niece happened to ride by it and snapped a picture from her phone. It's the one on the left...



What is that, a "For Sale, Sort Of" sign?

This is the backyard when we moved out in 2005...



I'm too chicken to climb the fence to see what it looks like now.

When we left, we bought a bigger McMansion. In Elk Grove. But that's another long story.

One year later, we moved again, out of Elk Grove and into Sacramento, which is another long story, one that involves bending WAY over.

Wishful thinkers, manipulative speculators, and real estate talking heads are now going to be calling the bottom of the Sacramento market every week for the next 2-3 years. We'll just be calling it "rent".

* * * W H A T     E L S E * * *

My book review of Driving With Dead People by Monica Holloway is up at Curled Up With a Good Book. You can click on the links in the previous sentence or right here if you wish to read it.

Nanny Goats in Panties wishes to thank Wendy over at wining and ironing for adding NGIP to her blog roll. Wendy joins our global network as she hails from South Africa and is "not your average desperate housewife".



Some of you may recall last week's post about the new Hands Free cell phone law. Have you seen this parody?




Please click here if you wish to rate this post on Humor-Blogs.com

MootchAss GrassyAss, Senyureeter

I can't tell you how many times I've been caught at an Undocumented Workers Ball without a lick of Spanish to use for decent conversation. It's so embarrassing. Once I'm discovered, I'm relegated to the children's area or the punch bowl table, where people resort to wild gestures or yelling to communicate with me. I'm not deaf people, I just don't understand your language.

I once overheard a man accidentally speak English at one of these foreign affairs to his wife after trying to shoo me off to the pinata corner: "If she'd just learn the language," he'd said, "maybe she'd be worth something, but as it is..." and then he shook his head and sighed. His wife, who I'd like to say has a very big nose, clucked her tongue and looked at her long red nails. Bitch.

I ran into the bathroom and cried. As I ripped paper towels out of the dispenser and blubbered, two men came out of the stalls and said something I couldn't understand. They gestured to the door, pointing to the sign with the little man on it. I covered my face and raced out of the men's bathroom, as they snickered in my wake.

Apparently, the Ambassadors heard tell of my woes and knowing my award whoreness, had their people call my people and the next thing you know, I'm walking down the red carpet in a Vera Wang with spanish light bulbs flashing in my eyes and spanish media hurling questions and microphones at me.

A skinny sequined one-hundred-year-old lady, Ho-Ann Rivieras, who had clearly been under the knife a few times, grabbed my arm, looked deep into my eyes and asked me a question. As I looked at her eighty-year-old daughter standing next to her, Ms. Rivieras pulled at my hemline and sniffed my shoes.

I felt so sorry for this woman who had to smell my footwear simply because I could not speak her language. I vowed right then and there that I would learn Spanish. Oh sure, I've bought the book, a set of CDs, a one Spanish Word A Day calendar and subscribed to the podcast, and the amount of effort I have put in to using them all provides me with the ability to say to you: "Taco, burrito, and Nacho Libre." Hence the vow.

Plus, how am I supposed to brag about my new Spanish Award if I can't understand the website that founded the darn thing?

Here is a picture of my award...

The award was presented to me by Shadow Crystal of Impeccable Items of Interest and Natalie of Tell Me About It. Usually the presenters enter the stage together, say something lame according to the cue cards and the audience laughs as a courtesy because they are on international television and must appease the advertisers and the TV audience. Not so with these people. If the presenters aren't funny, tomatoes are thrown and they are booed off the stage, TV cameras be damned.

Had I understood Spanish, I would have known when to duck during my acceptance speech, rather than stand at the podium, chattering on about the little people who know who they are, and waiting for the exit music to drown me out into commercial. As my Vera Wang took the brunt of rubber chickens and apple sauce, I slinked off stage where a translator told me I had to present this same award to 5 other people.

"Oh really?" I said, dripping with latex poultry and crushed apples in cinammon.

"Well you can take this award and shove it up yo-"

"Or you can take this rubber chicken," he sneered, waving a pink pimpled blob with a beak near my face, "and shove it up yo-"

I held up my hand. "Right. I get it."

So, Nanny Goats In Panties is pleased to present the following five bloggers with the Arte Y Coup Award.

merlotmom
Midlife Misfit
sue doe-nim
Twenty Four At Heart
Jan's Sushi Bar

* * *

NGIP thanks you for your support and all those votes and clicks on Sacto Top 25 and Humor Blogs. Humor Blogs.com is changing their rating system. You have to have a userid (which is relatively quick and painless) in order to vote and you rate a blog post by clicking on the LOL smiley face for my post when you get to the Humor Blogs site. I am truly grateful for each and every click you can spare. Please click here to vote for NGIP on Humor Blogs.

If you're interested, my book review of Chip Kidd's The Learners was published today on Curled Up With a Good Book. Click here if you'd like to read it.

Nanny Goats In Panties would like to thank Midlife Misfit for adding NGIP to her Blog Roll. Midlife Misfit is a fellow Humor Blogger. Thanks MM!!!

Nanny Goats In Panties Makes History (Channel)

That's right. Nanny Goats In Panties is featured on The History Channel.

Well, actually it's the History Channel Website.

See, zero score and four years ago, these two dudes walk into the forum. The message forum, that is (as opposed to some Mel Brooks joke). One dudes asks the other dude if, well, here. I'll show you:

Ancient China vs. Rome
Posted: Nov 13, 2004 1:04 PM (1 of 213)
If a hypothetical war occoured between the Roman Empire at its height, and the Chinese Empire at its height, who would win. I say China, but I would like to hear your opinions.

Two hundred twelve posts and three and a half years later, some random dude asks:

Re: Ancient China vs. Rome
Posted: Jun 20, 2008 3:57 PM (212 of 213)

Would goats be forced to wear panties?

Does Magna Carta mean nothing to you? Did she die in vain?

You are more than welcome to go to the post to try to figure out why either of these questions were asked, because I don't see how the Huns and Mongolia would inspire someone to inquire about goats.

Neverthless, it's the now famous response to the above question that launched Nanny Goats In Panties to the fame it enjoys today:

Re: Ancient China vs. Rome
Posted: Jun 21, 2008 4:44 AM (213 of 213)

lol that reminds me of this website http://www.nannygoatsinpanties.com/

And then, ladies and gentleman, a star was born. The question is, do I feel elated that this blog was put out there to attract all the world's history buffs to NGIP, where they would be wooed by my unrelenting gift to raise the mundane to poetic platitudinal proportions? Or am I deflated because the mere mention of my blog brought the nearly four year conversation to a screeching halt?

Also, did you notice how this guy sort of cheated, claiming that the dude's seemingly nonsequitor question about goats in panties, "reminded" him of my blog? Because it didn't. I saw the google search he did on "goats be forced to wear panties" which in turn led him to the NGIP lair.

On the other hand, did you notice how I sort of cheated, claiming that Nanny Goats has become an overnight star thanks to the History Channel? Actually, it wasn't so much cheating as it was exaggerating, misleading, and to some degree, lying. I assume they won't hold that against me, once they've discovered the gold mine that is the penned brilliance on this blog. It's all just show business, right?

You know, we famous cable television celebrities have to play the game to stay in it. I mean, the fans may stretch the truth a bit, but we should accept it and at times even find it flattering. I expect at some point soon, The History Channel will approach me to write and produce a highly successful, allegedly nonscripted, reality show about the fierce and dangerous world of locksmithing. Either that or the equally tension-filled and dramatic, historical documentary about copy machine repairmen as told through a seasickening hand-held camera - doesn't the mere thought of it make you nauseous already?

It's only a matter of time before I hear from them, and when I do, I will cull my cast from the message forums on their very website. It's that whole, "I'll scratch my back, you scratch yours" philosophy that makes Hollywood what it is today, God bless 'em.

* * *

Nanny Goats In Panties would like to throw a shout out to Crotchety Old Man Yells At Cars for adding NGIP to his "My Favorite Places" blog roll. Thank you Crotchety Old Man!

And don't forget to click on this Humor-Blogs link to check our current ranking. A click is a vote for Nanny Goats!

Coming This Summer to a Blog Near You: The Remodel

My bathroom hasn't been cleaned in months. You may or may not be asking why. Well, ever since demolition was scheduled in February, I keep thinking: what's the point of scraping all this mildew off the peeling walls and what's this black gunk all over the grout, and is that a dead mouse in the back of the cabinet?

The contractor (let's call him George because at this point, I still like him) and I agreed on the terms. I ordered and paid for all the materials. Each time I see the corosion on the fixtures, I figure why go to all that trouble when I'm only here one week out of the month and he's just about to demolish it all? And whenever there's a debate about cleaning anything, I win hands down every time.

OK, I haven't exactly paid for the materials yet. I was able to finance it for no interest, no payments for twelve months. Twelve months! And I've only had to call their customer service once so far to have them change the terms BACK to twelve months after I discovered a recent statement suddenly read six months.

Between my travel schedule and the contractor's workload and our miscommunication and his taking on other projects when I thought he was supposed to show up at my place, this thing keeps getting postponed. Twice now, I've had to call the interior designer and tell her to reschedule the delivery of all the new materials only to have the warehouse call me days later to confirm delivery for the day that was supposed to be postponed.

I thought for sure I would have a brilliant Consumer From Hell story to tell you by now, but the project has been postposed until the end of next month. So, I apologize for not having anything to complain about on this remodel front.

Just wait until that first swing of the sledge hammer. I'm sure something will go wrong by then.


* * *

Nanny Goats and Panties would like to thank Boondocks Ramblings for mentioning us the other day:

I got kicked off Humor Blogs for whatever reason and yet something called Nanny Goats in Panties is ranked in the top 30 blogs?

Kicked Off? Eek! Help prevent Nanny Goats from getting kicked off by going to Humor-Blogs to keep apprised of our ranking.

No Thanks, Guvnuh. We Closed.

Sometimes you just don't want to go all the way to Cuba for good cigar. That's why I get mine illegally from Mr. Wortheimer down at the local Fireworks, Bank Robbery Supplies and Contraband store. I cruised by last week to pick me up some fat stogies. Here's a picture of the place:




See the white sign in the window? Here's a closer look:





Now, what I want to know is, what could the Terminator have possibly done to piss this guy off? Any ideas?

* * *

For a very brief time yesterday, Nanny Goats was #1 on Sacto Top 25.

Go here to see where NGIP currently ranks on Humor-Blogs.com.

Nanny Goats Secret Identity Revealed

Since inquiring (enquiring?) minds want to know, Nanny Goats is going to give its fans a rare inside look at the author. You'll have a chance to see beyond the brown goat. The secret identity of Nanny Goats and Panties has been revealed on another website. What you're about to find out may shock you. (Like, for example, I'm not a guy, even though at times I may swear like a sailor.) I am also not a brown goat. In fact, none of the goats in that banner at the top is me. I don't even know them. I was just out prancing around in the hilly meadows behind my Highlands castle one day and there they were. So I took a picture, had them sign a waiver and poof! - it's on the NGIP website.

So, go take that potty break now before I send you to the inner sanctum, because you won't wanna miss this big scoop! And it's only for a limited time, until these words scoot down the page too far to be noticed anymore.

It is a privilege and an honor that Nanny Goats In Panties is featured this week on WomenBloom.com. Look for the Featured Blog Post of the Week (NGIP) and click on the "To Believe, Or Not To Believe" link to get the FULL STORY!



* * * Nanny Goats Shout Outs * * *


A big NGIP shout out goes to P.S. Original for adding me to her list of "Wonderful Blogs". While you're there, checkout her cool display of hand-made earring shrines!



A big THANK YOU to Tricia over at Shout Daily for adding NGIP to her blog roll. Tricia, as some of you may recall, recently threatened to kiss the brown goat for promoting the mezzoman.com website. Check out this week's featured post on her site entitled "Turn the Car Around, We're Having a Baby". You soft-hearted readers may want to have the Kleenex box nearby.

I was just checking out my blog roll earlier and saw this:




How cool is that? And now Abby at I'm Not Neurotic has all that traffic stemming from everyone who Googles "rocks in panties" to look forward to!



As Nanny Goats In Panties goes to press, we are ranked #28 on Humor-Blogs.com. Having broken into the Top 30, the banner now appears on their Front Page. Yay! Keep on clickin'!



You can click on the graphic above and see if the ranking for Nanny Goats has changed since press time.

How To Meet That Loud, Annoying, and Embarrassing-To-Be-Around Friend Halfway

Have you ever hurtled through space, dodging asteroids and other interstellar detritus, and wondered when someone was going to find the next inhabitable planet already because dang, it's hotter than Hades in your studio-apartment-sized moon-hopper?

You haven't?

Well, have you ever let a pile of unread magazines grow so tall that you wished an elf would materialize from your toaster oven and draw you a long hot bubble bath?

No?

Have you ever tried to make plans for dinner with a friend whom you don't really like because all they do is talk, talk, talk about their boring life with their boring family in their boring house and you resent having to drive all the way over to their side of town because when they ask, "Where shall we meet?", you can't think of a place before they throw out the perfect little spot on their side of town? Don't you wish someone would create a website where all you have to do is enter your address and their address and voila! - you get a list of restaurants that are halfway between you and your blowhard buddy?

You DO?

Oh.

I wasn't expecting that answer. Uh, just a minute...

[fumble, fumble, fumble,... sounds of pots and pans falling out of frantically searched boxes and crashing to the floor ...]

Here we are! Yes, look no further than mezzoman.com for your "Neither Here Nor There" needs. mezzoman.com is the perfect geographical compromise companion when you need to, say, get together to sign those divorce papers, or find a neutral public location in broad daylight for that internet blind date. Why go all the way when halfway is good enough? Why go clear across town to their House of Pancakes when you can go the halfway House of Pancakes?

Thank you, Amy, for telling Nanny Goats In Panties about mezzoman.com

If you fancy yourself the discoverer of a cool or useful website that everyone in the world isn't talking about already, let Nanny Goats In Panties Know About It. If it passes the Turn Your Head And Cough test (you know, if it isn't just a webpage with a big picture of someone's engorged entrails, but rather a site that maybe sells foldaway away furniture for your tiny shoebox of a shack in space) then feel free to suggest it here, or click on the new suggestion box and tell us about it. Maybe we'll mull it over and pass it on to the rest of the NGIP fans.


And now it's time for ...

* * * Nanny Goats Shout Outs * * *

Nanny Goats is currently climbing in the Humor-Blogs rankings every day, thanks to you guys! When we hit #50 the other day, each NGIP post now appears on the aggregate post feed on the their home page. Kinda like this:



At press time, we are at #38! When we hit #30, the Nanny Goats site and banner are featured on their home page, so keep clicking! You guys are awesome!

NGIP would like to say THANK YOU to two fellow Sacramento Top 25 members for adding Nanny Goats to their blog rolls:

Melly from Cooking Schmooking who for some reason recently found it necessary to buy some halibut cheeks and is requesting recipes for it. If you don't know what halibut cheeks are, she's got a picture. So send your recipe for Halibut Sweet Cheek Surprise to Cooking Schmooking.

...and Lori of Hahn at Home who gives us a humorous, well-written and engaging look at the woes of lesbian dating in her post, Dating For The More Mature Crowd.

Opus McGee, Private Eye

On Friday at approximately 11pm, I made contact with the target during a reconnaissance flight over the World Wide Web: one Mr. Jeff Corriveau, or The Pen Man, as the project file refers to him.

My client, a rich widow who shall remain nameless pays me astronomical sums of money to procure information about The Pen Man and his dealings in the art world. She didn't tell me what her relationship was with him and I didn't ask. She ensured my placement next to him in the cockpit of a stealth internet jet on a seemingly routine mission.

The Pen Man was disguised as a pilot. I was disguised as a co-pilot. It took us several hours to operate the seatbelts, but our very hip aviator sunglasses, mine equipped with the NGIP Nanocam X-3000, remained in place and soon we were cleared for take-off.

My name is Opus McGee. I'm a private investigator.

At a cruising altitude of 34,000 feet, I introduced myself as Lieutenant Captain Colonel Booker T. Snodgrass, a mild-mannered newspaper editor. It was nearly midnight and the whiskey served by the flight attendant, a dame whose name I would find out later was Destiny, went down smooth.

The Pen Man let it slip that he was a newly-syndicated comic strip artist. I knew from my days back in Nam that this was code for "The green moon will set at dawn".

I decided to go along for the ride. "Oh really?" I said, "Well our local paper could sure use some fresh ink humor."

I was calling his bluff and he knew it. Sweat began to form and trickle down his right temple. I pressed on, certain he would crack under the pressure. I pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from the front pocket of my flight suit and lit a cigarette. Then I stared at him as he white-knuckled the controls.

"Are you...any good?" I asked.

"Oh boy, am I!" he reached underneath his seat and pulled out a few drawings. I blinked as fast as I could, snapping the photos, and accomplishing my mission faster than I'd hoped. His poker face gave him away. If he didn't hurry up and fold, he'd lose all his chips.



By the time we touched down in Sacramento, he had divulged everything.

I must admit, his disguise was clever. He almost had me fooled. His comic strip, Deflocked, happens to be appearing on a trial basis in the Sacramento Bee. Phase 2 of Operation Green Moon is about to begin, and requires your assistance.

It is vitally important to national security that Deflocked be incorporated into the Bee's funny pages. I urge all Americans, for the sake of this country and the health and welfare of your children, to check out his comics by clicking here. If you agree that it's better than most of the crap that can only be holding on due to tenure, then go to the SacBee comic forums and say something nice about Deflocked. A vote for Deflocked is a vote for America!



Oh yeah, and that dame, Destiny? She was all wrong for me. She twisted me around like a clown twists long skinny balloons into a giraffe who then discards me into the hands of a ten year old boy who loses me in the Fun House ten minutes later.


But Seriously Folks...

In all seriousness, due or otherwise, Nanny Goats In Panties finds a comrade-in-humor-arms in Jeff Corriveau and wishes for him to succeed one newspaper at a time. The Sacramento Bee Comics editors, whose decision of will-they-or-won't-they-publish depends on the feedback they see in the forums. If you could make this one-time comment on his behalf, he would appreciate it, NGIP would appreciate it, and America's funny bone will appreciate it.

Click here to go to the Deflocked samples page.
Click here to go to the SacBee Comic forums.


You've been a lovely audience. I'm here all week. And don't forget to tip your waitresses. Thank you and Good Night.




* * * Nanny Goats Shout Out * * *

A big shout out to the fans for voting Nanny Goats In Panties into the Top 50 rank level over at Humor-Blogs.com. You guys are awesome. You can click here to keep it climbing!

Nanny Goats would also like to thank Abby over at I'm Not Neurotic for adding us to her blog roll. Thanks Abby, you TT crazy girl!

Beware of Dangerous Internet Connections!

I agreed to meet someone online the other day. And by "meet online", I mean "meet offline", as in in-person. A very very dangerous thing to do. Nanny Goats in Panties does not advocate such behavior, nor do its sponsors. In other words, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Do as we say, not as we do, that sort of thing.

It was to be a neutral and public location (Bread and Porridge), in broad daylight (11am), on a busy street (Santa Monica Blvd).

The internet introduced us and my blind date had the distinct advantage of knowing what I looked like. That's right, a brown goat.

I arrived a couple of minutes early and sat in the waiting area, trying to remind myself that newer cars have those trunk latches that you can open from the inside, should the need arise while barreling down Topanga Canyon at 75mph. I tried to calm down by telling myself that I was meeting a harmless woman. Who was married. With kids.

Or was I? What if I'd been misled all this time and it was a giant Tasmanian Devil-looking perv-man who had located me by a simple Google search for "timeshare panties" or "anti-masturbatory nanny goats"? What if he'd created a women's blog for the sole purpose of luring me and others into his lair?

Or worse, what if this strange person came in, took one look at me, and walked out? Why, I'd be devastated. What am I, not good-looking enough for abduction? Not sexy enough to warrant 4 weeks of solid coverage on Greta Van Susteren? Not worthy of showing the same 3 pictures of me (including that embarrassing shot of me making out with an alligator that NO ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT - I thought what happened in New Orleans stayed in New Orleans) over and over again on Nancy Grace while she tearfully makes the event somehow about her and her twins?

I'll have you know I'm drop dead gorgeous! And you wouldn't know what you're missing, you two-bit kidnapper! I know people! I'd be worth a fortune in ransom. Shame on you!

Anyway, as it turns out, merlotmom and I found each other and hit it off. She's fabulous and I think it's the beginning of a beautiful relationship, or whatever Bogart says as he walks off in the mist with Claude Rains.


* * * Nanny Goats Shout Out * * *

A big THANK YOU goes out to Librarian Lee for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to her blog roll. If you ever find yourself in a big hairy monster's trunk, you could learn a thing or two about perspective and optimism from Librarian Lee.


Also, as of press time, Nanny Goats In Panties is only ONE rank spot away from making the Top 50 on Humor-Blogs.com. Click here, to help propel us into the Top 50! A big THANK YOU to YOU (you know who you are) for shooting us past 900+ other humor blogs to reach #51.

Culture, Schmulture, Where's the Can?

Anybody who uses "Sacramento" and "Culture" in the same sentence is lying. Not only have I personally witnessed Sacramento citizens' lack of support of the arts (I give you Bodies Revealed), but I have also been a victim of its steadfast squashing of any hope to stir up interest in such matters.

Why, just recently, I was visiting an art gallery and took a liking to their featured artist. I thought it would be courteous to ask if I could photograph the art for my blog. You know, show the world that Sacramento could actually have some cool stuff.



But when I asked the woman in the rear of the gallery about the art, she kept her back to me the entire time, stirring her cauldron. Her hesitation to grant me a decent audience with her majesty dripped with an attitude so thick with part seething judgment and part bitter NYC MOMA wannabe, that my intentions quickly transformed from a glowing review of the art gallery itself on an internationally popular blog (hello Dublin!) to a review that is fighting the urge to name names as well as call them. Let me warn you now, I do not succeed entirely. She had the audacity to act as if WE were the local yokels and SHE was not. Never mind the fact that I was accompanied by a woman from Marin County (which is NOT Sacramento in case you were wondering) who used to be the coordinator of THE largest art festival in the country.

As any writer hell-bent on revenge would do, I present to you an open letter to that person in that unnamed (so far, anyway) establishment.

Dear Art Gallery Beeyotch,

You had a chance to promote your gallery, yourself, and the potential to sell a few pieces of art. But you chose instead, for some unknown reason, to judge my friend and me. Was it something we wore? Something we didn't wear? Not that you looked. You are clearly a bitter, bitter woman who either flunked out of Sotheby's Art Academy, or couldn't even get accepted and have had to settle for managing a gallery in a substandard city that is beneath you. And that bitterness shows.

I would think that if your job is to SELL art, that you might spend some time trying to SELL that art. If you think people from Sacramento are lame and uncultured, why not try educating them so they can appreciate what you have to offer. When we asked you if the artist was local and had a website, you sneered and said that he might, but you wouldn't help us with that information. I tried to take this as a poor attempt at humor, and forgave you this blunder, and presumed this meant that if we wanted to buy his art, we would have to buy it through you, but you did everything in your power to prevent us from becoming interested in purchasing from you. You never stopped once to turn around and look me in the eye and engage me. I know if I came in again next week, you would not recognize me from the week before.

You know nothing about customer service or sales. When a potential buyer comes in and brings up the possibility that an artist must have a website because it's probably a great tool for promoting and selling their own work, you do not say, "Well, not really."

And you do not hire assistants who simply mirror your ability to contradict the customer. I explained to your mini-me, that I know how some places forbid photography. I was trying to demonstrate a courtesy to you and the artist. But instead, your "helper" used it as an opportunity to condescendingly tell me how a true art appreciator would never be so gauche as to photograph someone's paintings and besides, the pictures on THEIR website would be far superior to anything I could take (was she referring to the gauchely taken ones or the non-gauchely taken ones on their website?) Clearly, I appeared inept in every way, including that of a photographer. I mean, look at this piece of shit photo... you can't even tell what it is, right?

The Persistance Of Bunnies by Mark Bryan

Do not ask me why, but I tried to engage your better half in conversation by mentioning the idea of how you couldn't photograph the Mona Lisa, and she jumped right in and said, "Yes you can." Why the hell would you continue to boldly contradict the customer like that? When was the last time you garnered a commission from THAT approach? Since she decided to take me literally and get argumentative about it, I stooped to her level and informed her that I knew for a fact, based on experience, that you were not allowed to photograph (with or without flash) the ceiling of the Sistene Chapel. I should have said "Sixteenth Chapel", just to see what she would have said. But she neither confirmed nor denied my claim. Why? Because she's never been there! So HA! I guessed I showed you and your little secretary there.

Anyway, I circled the gallery and came back to try again. I thought I might appeal to the self-centered part of you by asking what you thought of the artist, if you'd met him, what you thought of his work. Granted, you let me see one side of you I'd never seen before. Your left side. But it wasn't long before you flashed me with your back again.

Do you think Mark Bryan would appreciate such poor representation, hearing about how you refuse to talk about his paintings to someone who probably makes way more money than you, you mere docent? If you knew anything about his work, you did not demonstrate it. Your unprofessional attempt at art snobbery came across as tart snottery. You obviously had no idea who I am and how powerful my words can be when wielded against your sorry ass. I mean, my good woman, I could eat your lunch for breakfast! Dare I say, I...drink...your...milkshake!

My point here is that as long as people like you are running the art galleries in Sacramento, the cultural IQ of the area will continue to stagnate and wallow. In other words, fuck you and the tight-assed easel you rode in on.

And another thing, I hope your face freezes like that.

Sincerely Yours,
Nanny Goats

P.S. If you like something, you'll tell one friend. If you don't, you'll tell ten. If you have a blog...

So anyway, there's this new artist whose work I found compelling. He's got a bit of Dali, Alice In Wonderland, and Wizard of Oz with some clowns, robots, bunnies and politics thrown in. Do check his website out. Not only did I find the website by merely Googling his name, but also because the art gallery where I first saw his work had it, along with the artist's contact information, visibly displayed at the front of the gallery. As opposed to the back, where the "experts" are, who can't help you with that kind of information.

This here's another shitty photygraff of a painting I had tooken while scratchin' my crotch in public and spittin' on the floor while sneakin' a chug o' moonshine from the jug in mah overalls.:

Again, here is Mark Bryan's Website, since I'm so stoopit I kan't remember the shop that showed the nice pitchers, so y'all won't be able to buy nuthin' from them. Duhhhh..........What's this button do?


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Nanny Goats Shout Out

A big shout out to Domestic Glamour who has so generously added Nanny Goats In Panties to its Blog Roll. Domestic Glamour's post entitled: Bathrooms are Not For Food, Drink Or Toys may find all parents nodding in sympathy.

Also, a big THANK YOU goes to WillThink4Wine for putting Nanny Goats In Panties on her list of Five Blogs That Make Her Day. Big HUGS right backatcha darlin'!

* * * The following is for NGIP Loyalists Only...This means YOU! * * *

If you've made it this far, could you extend Nanny Goats the favor of clicking on this link or the Humor-Blog logo on the left hand side of this web page? At press time, Nanny Goats is rated #88 on the site (having climbed over nearly 900 sites to get there). If we get to #50, then something faboo happens with the traffic because our posts will suddenly appear on Humor-Blogs's Home Page! Then some executive from some major movie studio like Sony discovers the awesomeness that is Nanny Goats In Panties and we're inking a screenwriting deal like THAT! And all because of you guys.

Tap, Tap, Tap...Is This Thing On?

As I witnessed my Amazon Reviewer Ranking plummet from 49,674 to 49,838, I thought, man, I gotta buy more stuff and tell the world what I think of it. And fast! I mean, once I tumble beyond that 50,000 mark, I may as well just throw it in.

But that's not why I brought you here today. I wanted to tell you about my niece, a rising rock star on the local punk scene, who was a guest on Rob Fatal's Waxaholixxx show on KSSU the other day. They shared and played some of their favorite music and he interviewed her like how they do real rock stars with "How did you get where you are today?" and "Who were your influences?" and I was beaming with pride as I streamed the show live from the station's website. Especially when she mentioned her "aunt who was probably listening right now". Woo hoo! That's me!

Beside myself with pride and excitement, I couldn't resist texting her every few minutes during the show:

~ omg ur on the radio! Thats so awesome!

~ your voice is soft, are you talking close to the mike?

~ dont forget to mention your CD

~ sit up straight, talk from your diaphragm

...and so on.

When the host told the listeners to call in if they had any questions for either one of them, I told MrMudPuppy he HAD to call and ask the Freak something. Freak is her stage name. Don't ask - I can't remember why.

MrMudPuppy told me I should call. After much pushing and shoving and a bunch of You, No-You!s followed by some hesitation - I've never called in to a radio station before - I picked up the phone. And the conversation went a little something like this:

"Hello, KSSU FM, you're on the air."

"Really I'm on the air?" (Pretty stupid, huh? My only excuse is that I was expecting a screener or something first, but I sallied forth.)

"Uh, well, this is Manjo MudPuppy. I'm a longtime listener, first time caller." (Manjo is my alter email ego and MudPuppy is my married name. The plan was to speak in character while still letting Freak know who was calling, but when I blurted out "Huh Wha? Duhhhhh... Am I on the air?" in my normal voice, that pretty much blew my cover.)

"How ya doing?" (The DJ said this, probably wondering why in the hell he didn't have the screener answer first, although he was laughing. Sort of.)

"Fine, thanks. Thank you for taking my call. I just had one question for the Freak of whom I'm a big fan. Who is your favorite Power Ranger and why? And I'll take my answer off the air."

I should note the Freak is a Power Ranger fan and yes, I'm still kicking myself for not coming up with a more blog-worthy question, but shit man, I was nervous. And running out of time trying to think of something witty, so get off my back. They had two callers the whole show anyway, I was just trying to add a little interactiveness. You try and come up with a brilliant idea with the clock ticking, you 24 Jack Bauer wannabe!

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Nanny Goats Shout Out

Nanny Goats has gone global, man and in no small part thanks to Aileni Noyle, a Welshman and Megadeth fan living in Ireland. From his blog, Loose Ends, you'll see a link called Nexus.... for the Index, Links and Other Stuff. This link takes you to his Nexus Page where you'll find the link to Nanny Goats In Panties. Woo Hoo! We are on someone's Other Stuff page!

This man has lived and if you check out his Once An Islander page his picture scrapblog, or his Personal Myth page, you'll see the artist and thinker that Nanny Goats sees.

After the KISS, They Wanted to Rock and Roll All Night

I was never going to get married. Or have kids. I'm 1 for 2 so far and it looks like that whole childless strategy is going to pan out. The thought of planning a wedding makes me want to take a nap, so when it was my turn, we eloped. I don't know whether to admire or shake my head at all the women out there willing to go to hell and back to have the "perfect day". But stress themselves out they do and without them, the rest of us wouldn't have such events to attend. And criticize afterwards.


So we're at this outdoor wedding the other day with MrMudPuppy playing the role of best man. It's an uncharacteristically gorgeous and cool 74 degree day in the foothills above Sacramento. I can't imagine the Farmer's Almanac predicting anything below 95 degrees at this time of year. A perfect day for a wedding.


Behind The Headquarter House, wooden stairs and hills lead up to a plateau of green grass with a gazebo. Coincidentally, the last time MudPup and I were here, back when the place was a restaurant, we celebrated our own engagement. You don't see the railroad tracks behind the row of nearby trees, but just as the reverend announced the Mister and Missus, a freight train roared by, violently vibrating away any sentiment our hearts held moments before. But this was a Rock and Roll wedding, 80's metal making most of the play list, so this was merely viewed as perfect timing.

At the beginning of the reception, we formed a two-line gauntlet and each member of the wedding party was introduced. They came through us, slapped our hands, acting like the rock stars they were. I was scrambling my brain trying to think of something crazy fan-like thing to do when the MudPup was introduced. I had too many underthings on blocking any quick panty removal to toss his way, so I did the next best thing...

Van Halen's And The Cradle Will Rock... erupts from the speakers while the DJ introduces MrMudPuppy to the cheering crowd. When he enters the gauntlet, I jump into it and run toward him frantically waving my arms and screaming like a properly obsessed fan. I plant a big wet one on his lips like a teenage girl who has rushed the stage and is about to be hauled away by security. We spin around - I see cameras everywhere capturing this Rock and Roll moment - and he struts down the rest of the gauntlet. And for some reason I'm giddy with excitement, having slobbered all over my husband in public.

For the lead-in to the garter toss, the groom disappeared head first under the bride's dress, lingered a little too long as if he'd gotten lost in there, and then jumped up producing a rubber chicken. He dove back in and began pulling out a string of flags that ultimately ended with the garter tied at the end.

As the bride and groom made their grand exit to the limo, we blew bubbles.

A playful wedding for a playful couple. It was perfect.

Kind of blows the wind out of this cynic's trash talking sails.

So, what's the coolest or most unusual thing you've seen at a wedding?

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Nanny Goats Shout Outs

A big THANK YOU to The Learning Curve for linking to my Timeshare post. And for complimenting the story. And for mentioning Nanny Goats In Panties near a picture of some hot looking Laker Girls! Methinks he likes the ladies in uniform. The Learning Curve is also a member of the Sacramento Top 25.


And another shout out to After The Dust Settles who has generously added Nanny Goats to her blog roll. You have GOT to check out her pigs. A fabulous gift idea, if you ask me.

I'll Take "Weeks" for Ten Thousand, Bob

Today's blog is brought to you by the word: timeshare.

For those of you who don't know what a timeshare is, here's a brief primer, which some people pronounce "primmer" - why is that? First an advertisement appears before you as if by relentless and incessant ALLCAPS magic for a FREE TV, or a FREE DINNER CRUISE, or something else that turns out to be CRAPPY, but it's free. All you have to do is sit through a 1 hour presentation. You think, hey, I can do that. So you sit through a 2 or 3 hour presentation and then get pressured to buy a ten thousand dollar timeshare and you ultimately give in because they make it sound so cheap at 99 dollars a month for 37 years and even though the timeshare you buy is in Dusty Shithole, Kansas, you can simply exchange it for a week somewhere way more fabulous. And you have to buy the more expensive VIP red time slot so you have "more exchange power". Then you go on the crappy dinner cruise, which is really a couple of watery screwdrivers and some cold cuts and stale bread, and come back home seasick and ten thousand dollars in debt.

On top of that debt, you pay a "maintenance fee" of eight hundred some-odd dollars a year, which