There Once Was a Man With A Bucket

We here at Nanny Goats In Panties take pride in delivering prompt and frequent posts. We believe in quantity, not quality. And we understand that that is what our fans have come to expect. Which is why we sincerely apologize for not posting for the last 2 days. Nanny Goats has been busy tearing up mail into tiny pieces and eating it resulting in a tummy ache.

However, if you feel you've been neglected, you may apply for a pro-rated refund of your subscription cost, no questions asked.

So the other day as I was minding my own business in L.A. ('cause if you don't mind your own business, they shoot you), throngs of people began pouring off of busses and onto the sidewalk near the intersection of Sepulveda and Santa Monica Blvd. (And by the way, you can click on any of these pictures to see a larger version)

Who are the Janitors For Justice you may be asking right about now. Well let me tell you. These are dirt-hating people who are obsessive about cleaning. They must clean. All the time. It's all they think about. It's in their blood. Why else would they call themselves Janitors For Justice?

Some of us may think they are wierd, but they simply can't help the way they are. And just because they are different than us is no reason to discriminate against them. I mean, I personally can't stand cleaning (see previous post regarding bi-yearly dishwashing). But these guys? They love love LOVE it! And they want to shout it out to the world.

At first I thought, What are the Janitors For Justice doing outside? I didn't think they ever went outdoors. They are always indoors. Cleaning stuff.

Then I saw that they were simply organizing into a mass sanitation frenzy. They walked across the streets, picking up garbage, sweeping in each others' wakes, creating public awareness of their quirkyness. I couldn't understand everything they shouted, but it sounded like, "We are janitors! Down With Grime! Tote That Garbage! Lift That Pail!"

This woman began mopping up the gutters and the street...

These guys were so clever. I thought they were drums, but then they turned them over to reveal soapy buckets of water to scrub the sidewalks! Isn't that great?



Another fantastic thing about this group is that they are equal opportunity employers. For example, they don't discriminate against short people. In fact, Arturo here, has been a janitor for 18 years, and has risen to JFJ President, which is why he leads the group in this clean-up parade below.



I think this event was a combination Janitor Clean The Street/Biker Show...



Bikes of all shapes and sizes were there. This one's for the ladies...

Wocka, Wocka, Wocka!
L.A.'s Finest. Or is it Bravest? Or is it BestDressed? Oh, I can't remember now.




Anyway, if you're looking for a new purple T-Shirt and ruffled-skirt-over-sweat-pants number like the runway-ready outfit above, one that is snazzy enough to stop traffic, find out where the Janitors for Justice shop, because clearly they all frequent the same boutique.

So, as you can see, Nanny Goats isn't just about fine recipes, but we offer the latest tips in fashion too!

And speaking of fashion, mad props goes to Violette at BigShoes for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to the Just Your Size section of her blog roll. Not to mention mentioning Nanny Goats in her blog recently. Check out her recent post entitled "Money - The Root of All Evil". It'll make you laugh and fire you up, all in one sitting.

Say Mac & Cheese!

In defiance of National Salad Month, I am going to give you the secret to making photograph-worthy Macaroni and Cheese. I mean, because of you all, Nanny Goats In Panties has risen to #4 on the Sacramento Top 25, so the least we can do here is share one of our all-time favorites. And just in time for summer, too!

First make some macaroni and cheese and throw the leftovers in the fridge.

Two or three days later, remove leftovers from fridge and put in a microwave safe bowl.

Set timer to something that is clearly way too long, push the START button and walk away.


Remove this from the microwave:

I don't know if everyone can see this. Mortimer? (Mortimer's our cameraman). Mortimer, if you could just zoom in here, so we can all see just how much texture there is here...

Mmmmmm. And the great part about this is, it comes right out of the bowl with no trouble at all. Talk about your hassle-free recipe!

You can probably put your bowl right back in the cupboard after that smooth removal!

So, now that you've got your hockey-puck of a disaster delicious meal prepared, you need to find a circular container, preferably stainless steel. I like to add some orange rind for a little zing:

And you've got yourself a tasty delight! Now, didn't I tell you it was photograph-worthy?

Oh, that reminds me, did you know that May is also Fungal Infection Awareness Month ?

A Nanny Goats Shout Out...


So, Tootsie Farklepants & I were talking the other day over tea and crumpets. The usual stuff: vampires and the impact of blood-sucking on global warming. We can't seem to agree on that issue so it continues to gnaw at us. She seems to think that if any scary monster was responsible for tearing a hole in the ozone layer, it would be the gas-guzzling lycanthropes - something about all the carbon-dioxide-emitting moon-howling. I say, if she'd ever actually met and been bitten by Dracula, she might see vampires in a whole new light. In spite of our differences, I find her blog, Vintage Thirty, hysterical and she has generously added Nanny Goats In Panties to her blog roll. Thank you, Ms. Farklepants! There is a picture of Mac N Cheese on her blog as well, but hers looks way different than mine. Edible, even.

101 Degrees of Perspiration

Sacramento's heat is like a stealth bomber. Its viewfinder captures the tiny, naive people in the city below. It maps their coordinates and hears their thoughts. Thoughts like, "Oh, it's only May. Since gas prices are killing me, and I wanna be a good doobie, I'll ride my bike to work." Or: "Hey, since parking is such a pain in the wahtoosie where Sheila lives, I'll walk over there. It's only a mile. And it's only May. Lord knows, my fat ass needs the exercise." Or: "Hey it's Friday. Let's hit that weekly Concert series thing at Cesar Chavez Park."

Meanwhile, the stealth bomber locks its sights on these tiny urban dwellers with silly little notions of various outdoor activity. The entire city is in the cross hairs and click! - the heat bombs fall. Then BOOM! - the oppressive missiles crash and explode on all the unsuspecting victims, killing just about every one. Bodies are draped over bus benches, dried tongues hanging out of their dehydrated mouths. The whole city is devastated.

Luckily, though, I'm safe and locked up in my bomb shelter with the air conditioner set to 65 energy-wasting degrees.

If I had to write an open letter to Sacramento, it would look a little something like this:

Dear Sacramento,

Look, pal. It's bad enough you swelter us during the summer, and I understand you've gotten all caught up in the instant gratification craze that we all suffer from, but can't you wait a little bit longer before you pelt us with your triple digits? I mean, seriously.

Also, would it kill you to cool down sooner in the evenings? Certain event organizers (I won't name names, because I don't actually know them, but maybe they know who they are) insist on holding events outside. At 5pm!!! The hottest part of the day.

Speaking as a former long-sleeve-wearing, wool-uniform-even-in-the-summer-donning, marching member of the Sacramento Youth Band, I beseech you to cool off! I'm stuck here. Many of us are stuck here. We are all but naked before you, peeling off our wet perspiration-soaked rags, secreting salty, watery fluid from the glands in our skin - not to mention, sweating to death. We beg you, stay away from the One-oh-somethings!

And if you can't avoid the hot hot summer, could you at least wait until the goll-durned summer before we are doomed to feast in all your blistering glory? Have mercy, already!

Your loving, albeit panting citizen,
Nanny Goats In Panties

If You Disapprove of Shameless Plugging, Stop Now, I'm Warning You

Dude! You guys rock! I make a simple request and you delivered like the Speedy Gonzalez Pizza Hombres. My initial goal of making it to the top 25 websites on Sacramento Top 25 was met in less than 24 hours. And then it just kept climbing. And if you make it to the top 15, you get a banner next to your link and BLAMMO, MerlotMom tells me it's at 14 when she clicks the logo. Even as I type this, I'm at #9! Keep those fingers clickin', 'cause Nanny Goats is a ranking whore. (You know, taken out of context, that last sentence doesn't sound very pretty.)

And that's not all! Today, I was awarded the Post of The Day Award on The Rising Blogger. They reviewed my post about Mother's Day (which is also currently posted on midlifebloggers.com, by the way). So please read this review on The Rising Blogger and add a comment after mine where I give a tearful, yet heartfelt acceptance speech. (And am once again cut off by the exit music. These awards shows are not about the awardees anymore, I tell you!)

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an After Party, and an After After Party to attend and my publicist wants me to take a meeting tomorrow, so I gotta prepare for that, and my agent has been calling me nonstop since the announcement and, well, you know how it is.

No Campaign Promises Here, I Can Promise You That

So for some reason you click on a link which links to something else which links to something else and pretty soon you've got 14 browsers open and you are way out there in cyberspace losing your mind, exacerbating your ADD, completely forgetting to eat, and now you can't remember what the hell you were searching Google for in the first place.

And so it was on one of these occasions I tripped over the Sacramento Top 25 website. And I decided that Nanny Goats in Panties MUST BE ON THIS LIST. It became my life's goal to be one of the Top 25. I could be a contender. I could BE somebody.

As of press time, wee little Nanny Goats is ranked number 63 out of the 77 sites listed at the Sacramento Top 25. If you could see your way to clicking that logo on each visit here, or as often as you can remember, I want to see just how far I can climb. Will Nanny Goats make the Top 25? The rankings are reset every two weeks, so tune in tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and ...now a word from our sponsor...


Do you have hemmorhoids? Are you bored and listless? Do you find yourself camped in front of your computer every day wishing you could just go and kill 93 seconds of your life? Well look no further than the Nanny Goats' Silly Ass Questions Daily Trivia Quiz and Fun Park. It's loads of laughs and maddening at the same time. I mean, some of those user-contributed questions are absolutely assinine, but you keep coming back for more, and you know why? [cue Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Spring] Because it's a community of like-minded people getting irate at the stupid-ass questions together.

But don't just take our word for it. Listen to what some of our customers are saying about Nanny Goats Daily Trivia Quiz.

"I thank this quiz is jest about the stupidest but quickest dang waste of tahm thar is on the 'net." - Bubba (Dumpy Hills, Arkansas)

"Before I started taking the quiz, my tumors were getting bigger and bigger. And now, I'm in total remission." - Seymore Butts (Urine Valley, FL)

"The Nanny Goats Daily Quiz saved my marriage!" - M.R.S. (Salt Lake City, UT)

"It's not the itching and redness, it's the swelling and burning." - C. Myrash (Potatoville,ID)

You'll come for the fun, but stay for the pain.

Ask your doctor if Nanny Goats Silly-Ass Questions is right for you.

Some of Nanny Goats' best readers have signed up for this torture. That's the Daily Trivia Quiz. Come check it out. You'll probably be sorry you did.

...And now back to our regularly scheduled programming. The Top 25. Remember kiddies, vote early and vote often. Just clicking the logo on the left activates a vote for Nanny Goats.

Start Spreading The News

On June 3rd of last year, I met a friend (let's call him Myron just to piss him off) in New York City. Myron and I are best buds and we used to have coffee together all the time while working together in L.A., but then he had to go and move to Florida.

Jerk.

(Just kidding, Myro. He hates it when I call him Myro.)

Anyway, it just so happened that we'd both be in Manhattan on June 3rd. We had the whole day, so we crammed as much fun as possible into it: Bagels and coffee and the Staten Island Ferry...



...and coffee and lunch at the Seinfeld Coffee Shop...



and coffee and Central Park and more coffee, and lord knows what else. It was a hot and humid day, so we tried to limit the outside activity. But by the evening, it had cooled off and started to rain, so I darted into some cheap-ass department store near St. Mark's Square and snagged some jean jacket on sale. I think it's been hanging in my closet ever since, cursing me and the day I was born. Hey man, that thing is lucky I bought it. I mean, how many times did it have to be marked down before it finally caught a clue? "Nobody wants you, OK?" That jacket just needs to get over itself.

Anyway, Myron had a couple of longtime friends who had a musical theatre show at The Public near NYU. He'd already seen it the night before, but really wanted to see it again. We lucked out on some last minute tickets and thoroughly enjoyed the show.

The theatre was small with a square stage and the audience sat around it in a U-shape. Maybe 100 seats in the audience? The "orchestra" consisted of four people, each person seated on each side of the stage. They rose out from the floor at the beginning and sat at half height the whole show.

Afterwards, I met Myron's friends, Stew and Heidi, who cowrote the music and performed in the show. I told them and any other cast member I met how fabulous they were. I remember one of the actors, Daniel Breaker, telling me how they'd been workshopping this show for 4 years, and how they'd performed the show in Berkeley before coming to New York. He was still sweating, and looked exhausted and energized simultaneously. Ah, youth. I wanted to pat him on the head and tell him how wonderful he was and how I'm sure he'd go places, but why get his hopes up? I mean, what are the chances? It's show business, right?

At the time, we caught what we thought was the last show of the run. Then it got a great review in the New Yorker the next day and was promptly extended.

Then in February of this year, they opened the show on Broadway, at the Belasco Theatre.

Then, in March, I heard Stew and Heidi in an interview on NPR.

Then, yesterday, the cast appeared on The View to sing a medley of their songs.

Then, this morning, the show received 7 Tony award nominations.

My guess is, by the end of the summer they will have double-handedly acheived world peace in the middle east and cured cancer, all for a song.



Is it just me, or when Stew belts out the line "Welcome to Amsterdam" for the third or fourth time, do you find yourself swaying too?

If you ever have the opportunity, the show is called Passing Strange.

Oh yeah, and that little Danny Breaker kid? He was nominated for a Tony, too. I guess he's going to go places after all.

Whose Day Is It, Really?

I was a freshman in high school when I passed out in class, my head bonking against a desk in the next aisle over. Rather than letting me lay on the floor to let the blood return to my head, my teacher insisted I go to the nurse's office. And rather than pushing me in a wheelchair, the teacher instructed two girls in my class to walk me over there. It was more of a dragging than an escorting across the campus to the nurse. Later, my mother quoted the nurse, saying the sight of my blood-deprived pale head between two black girls looked like an Oreo cookie.

When the nurse called my mother to tell her what happened, she laughed. Why? Well, first of all, because my losing consciousness wasn't unusual under the circumstances. And second of all, the circumstances surrounding the event involved falling out of my chair during a film strip of "What to Expect During Your First Gynecological Exam" during that 9 weeks of P.E. where we learn everything about sex that is legally allowed to be taught by the school district.


My mother was a Stay At Home Mom before there was such a thing. I think they called them housewives back then. She belonged to the PTA. She crocheted my clothes (crocheted!) and I have the embarrassing class pictures to prove it.

She was there when I came home from school while Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman blared from the TV. She was there at my volleyball games, track meets, marching parades, and graduation. She was always...just...there. And always on time. Did I take that "there"-ness for granted? Absolutely.

Dinner was always at 6pm sharp. I think she timed it on purpose to prevent turning off Star Trek before it was over. As a result, I'm extremely obsessed about exact time and get pissed anxious if someone else is late. I guess my Mom inadvertantly trained me to have high expectations of people with time. I've been spending the rest of my life learning not to get so angry at people who don't have the frickin' courtesy to SHOW UP ON TIME, as if MY TIME isn't as IMPORTANT! GAHHHAAHHH!!! But anyway...

During my childhood, my mother was never a lecturer. She let me (and sometimes, to my frustration, forced me) to make my own decisions, which made me a very independent person, and is undoubtedly aggravating for others around me. She was not one to sit me down and tell me what to do, or manipulate me into doing what she wanted me to do. She led by example and by not forcing my path, I wound up emulating her in more ways than not.

I remember my childhood as full of humor and laughs, but also void of conflict and confrontation. Therefore, I grew up a virtual class clown, but ran away the instant a bully stepped into the light. Well, except for this one time.

There was this girl named Kathy Baretta (isn't it funny how you remember everyone's full names from junior high, but you can't remember that guy Bob Something who works over in Accounting?) who was picking on me. She kept asking me "What are you looking at?", even when I wasn't looking at her.

I went home begging for my Mom to save me. She told me that the next time Kathy asked me that daily question in P.E. class (why do most traumatic things always happen in P.E. class? Boy that Stephen King guy really nailed it with the Carrie story) that I should say, "A joke."

Now, that's something you'd say in the movies to create drama, or it's one of those things you fantasize saying after the fact, but if you really did something that stupid, it would lead to trouble and you deserved what you had coming. However, my Mom didn't dole out the advice very often, so I considered it.

The next day, Kathy waited until I was looking in her general direction when she popped the question: "What are you looking at?" I licked my lips, debating whether or not to say it. "Well?" she demanded.

And then I blurted it out: "A joke."

There were a few gasps in the crowd. Everyone watched her stalk toward me. "What did you say?"

Now, I can't remember if I repeated it, or backed down with a meek: "nothing". But she proceeded to kick my ass and later that day, I told my mother that her "plan" didn't work.

Other than that one incident, I have no complaints about how she raised me. She was generous, ethical, ever-present, and loving. And look at me, I came out perfect!


Fifteen years ago, on the day before Mother's Day, I delivered my mother's eulogy. She was killed by a drunk driver. She was 50. I was 27. Too young for either one of us to go through that sort of thing, if you ask me.

I envy women who still have their mothers to talk to, to ask historical questions, to find out when to expect menopause, to ask, ask and ask some more. There are some things only my mother would understand, accomplishments only my mother would applaud enough. She would have been my biggest fan. She would have read my blog every day and told me it was fabulous. Every time I think of her, a feeling of being robbed usually comes along for the ride.

I still dream about her and sometimes in the dream it's as though she's never left. Other times, I'm relieved to see she's still alive and I think, Wow! That's great she's alive, now we can go do stuff!

If she came back to life today, I'd take her to lunch at Buddha's Belly in Santa Monica, and brag about how well it's doing, being an investor and all. I'd take her to the beach and show her where I became Queen of The Jungle in a doubles volleyball tournament ten years ago. I'd drive past the Empty Stage on Pico and go on and on about how I'd killed during my stint in improvisational theatre.

Because on Mother's Day it would have been all about me.

No really, it's "Frog"

This might be all I have today, but rather than spending 1 minute reading my blathering, how about spending 1 minute watching this video and then maybe you can tell me what the MPAA would do with it.

Two Christians Walk Into A Bar...

I was sorting through my toenail collection a moment ago, and it occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I had a good blaspheming.

They say you should never discuss sex, religion, or politics in a group setting because it usually doesn't go well, but I'm going to see if I can mention something about religion without going to hell before I push the PUBLISH button.

Last night I went to see a couple of friends of mine perform their stand-up routine at a megachurch.



Amy (the Barnes of Barnes & Miner) is the other half of a writer's club that I belong to in L.A. Depending on how much Comedy Central you watch, you may have seen her before.

Have you guys ever been to a megachurch? Holy Cow! It's ridiculous. Imagine what a church would look like if it were in the Fortune 500. This place was a compound. A corporate-feeling building adorned the center of it. No steeple. No crosses. No statues. No stained glass. No pews. Just a big space inside with hardwood floors. And a colorful stage that looked like it was ready for an Amway rally. Or Abba.



Just outside the church in the next building where they had daycare for this event, was a Starbucks. A Starbucks! At a church! It was all so....suburban. It's easy to see why these places are called McChurches.

Before the show started, we were instructed to meet our neighbors, so we asked one of the regulars at our table how large the congregation was. His answer: ten to twelve thousand. Did I mention that this was a church? Not some central headquarters of some corporation (which is exactly what it looked like), but a church. I mean I'd read about these places before, but I'd never stepped foot in one of them.

But anyway, Barnes & Miner do a lot of megachurch gigs. Being Christian, married and comedians, they've carved themselves quite the niche. Can you even name the last stand-up married duo? Besides Stiller and whats-her-face?

So if you go to a McChurch, they may very well be headed your way, and I highly recommend them. And I'm not just saying that. Or maybe I am, what do I know? They don't restrict themselves to church gigs, but they keep it clean, if not necessarily tame. One minute, Amy & Jerry joke about online dating and the next, Amy plays the piano and sings a cringe-worthy but hysterical song about leprosy. So check 'em out.

And while we're on the topic of religious humor, I found a little web series entitled Mr. Deity. An irreverent look at the Big Cheese and his assistant Larry as they struggle over the Creation. I've enjoyed every goddamn entertaining episode to date.

You can get it at iTunes, or mrdeity.com or YouTube. Each episode is less than 5 minutes. Here's episode 1 (4 min.):

How To Drive Irrelevant Traffic To Your Website

Nanny Goats fans may not be surprised to see some of the search keywords used to get to my site. After having bitched posted about telemarketers, Starbucks, healthy digestion, masturbation, and middle-age, I give you a few phrases people have entered in search engines and then for some unbeknownst reason, ventured over to my site.

spank the monkey wiki

suck em up panties

celebrity panties sighting

baubo siren

all you can eat panty

panty all you can eat

all you can eat panties

poo poo panties

flashing panties on stairs

panty tent pole

801-623-4621

load up on panties

nannies in panties

do guys were panties

here are my personal favorites for the month:

how to keep kids from nursing off nanny goats

bring the car into the garage with panties and a tshirt

and last but not least:

what's the matter with you

Indeed.

I am raising my hand up high, teacher, because I have a few questions:

1. What the hell are you actually looking for with "panty", "tent", and "pole"?

2. Do you seriously think from the search results of "suck em up panties", that a website called "Nanny Goats In Panties" would be some online store to meet your pervy needs?

3. poo poo panties? Really? ... Ick.

Of course, now Nanny Goats will appear twice when someone is looking long and hard for "panties dollar", another search phrase I neglected to mention. Until now.

If I were King of the search engines and some wierdo asked me to crawl the web for him and bring him back a little sumthin' sumthin', I'd say, "Yeah, I got yer 'nannies in panties' right here, pal."