You Can Stop Now

OK, time to be abrupt.

To Whom It May Concern:

If you want to know something about me, or you have any questions for/about me, or if you just have something you want to get off your chest ... then by all means, have at it.

You don't need to keep visiting my site 7-8 times throughout the day. In case you didn't know, I have a site tracker and it logs every single one of your visits to this site.

I'm OK, You're Kinda Strange

Just a bit of an update/explanation as to why I haven't been keeping my site updated.

I'm really, really, really, really busy.

May/June is the worst time of the year at work because our clients are government agencies, whose fiscal year begins on July 1. So a lot of the time we're trying to deliver systems by that date. This year we have two huge state systems to complete, and they're new versions of our product.

Essentially, it's a gigantic undertaking and most people at work really want to swan dive off the top of the building onto the burning hot asphalt below. I don't think anyone has actually done it yet, though.

Plus, the user conference we host is in a week, so people are running around going mental over preparations for that. I'm giving a presentation on content management; hopefully you've already signed up.

Anyway, between work and my social life, the website is suffering and lonely. But everything is good. I'm stressed-but-happy, and things with Marcel are wonderful (and he's coming for a week-long visit in June).

So that's that. But later I may rant about how every call I make is being documented for posterity by the Bush administration.

Thar She Blows!

I just have to ask - men find this attractive?

A model wears a creation by Colombian manufacturer St Even during a fashion show in Medellin, April 28, 2006. REUTERS/Albeiro Lopera

Hang Wire

Continuing on with Things I Really Want, there is this Inhabit Wall Slat hanging thing:

It's made of fabric and it looks really slick in my opinion. I don't have the time or inclination to paint the walls at my new place, so I need removable/temporary solutions to my decorating issue.

Here's a photo of how you can use it in a bedroom:

I'm also thinking about using magnet paint to create an interactive piece of hanging art, using my magnet collection.

The Best and Worst of Everything

So there I was, hunting around on Forbes magazine's website, looking for the list of Best Companies To Work For (since I'm writing an article on employee retention strategies). I stumbled upon the main page for lists - as it turns out, it is a treasure trove of time-wasting information.

There's the Coolest Workout Equipment (featuring my beloved Cybex Total Body Arc Trainer). The Best Places To Die (congratulations, Utah! But BOOOO, Washington D.C. Florida is ranked 21st, but we get an A+ in "Legal Protection," the ability to write a living will).

There's the Worst Cars of 2005 (Dodge Neon = worthless POS) and the Least Safe Cars of 2006 (Hyundai Elantra = deathtrap). The Top Topless Beaches of 2005 only lists two beaches in the U.S. (South Beach in Miami and Black's Beach in San Diego - although I seriously doubt South Beach qualifies as a full-on topless beach, because people still get arrested there for doffing their tops). My guess for the Top Earning Dead Celebrity (John Lennon) actually comes in at No. 3. I'm not really sure why Andy Warhol is even on that list.

Tampa's Busch Gardens comes in at No. 2 - providing a needed bitchslap to Disney - on the list of the World's Most Fun Amusement Parks. The Most Dangerous Destinations just seems like a lesson in obviousness (Afghanistan is dangerous? Who knew?).

I've never been to any of the World's Most Expensive Restaurants, or the Most Expensive U.S. Restaurants, but I have eaten most of the Best (Worst) Foods (except for foie gras, which is WRONG and AMORAL).

Dionne Warwick's Cosmic Peephole

God, that sounds dirty.

The Cosmic Peephole has the power to reveal the private, hush-hush life of anybody in the world. Type a name into the field below and gaze into anyone's very soul... if you dare!"

Let's see what some of my friends are up to:

"Before going to work, Rappy self-flagellates with a leather belt soaked in malt liquor."

"Jake picks fights with supermarket bag boys."

"People laugh at your jokes only because Roo told them you are slightly retarded."

"Teem just got a uvula piercing."

"Eric loves the sticky, goose-pimpled feeling of wet buttocks on vinyl."

"Randomben uses pubic mousse."

"Matt is wearing provocatively threadbare underwear."

"Trina once ran over a Golden Retriever puppy - and laughed about it!"

"Totem force-feeds Guinness to guinea pigs."

"Auntie Christ is heartlessly snickering at a crippled, elderly homeless person begging for spare change."

"Highwaygirl viciously pinches marsupial nipples."

Dog Eat Dog

This is just 44 different flavors of wrong:

How could someone hate their cute little dog so much that they'd subject the poor pup to the indignity of wearing such a magnificently horrible thing?

Won't someone think of the (dog) children?

For good measure, here's the objet d'art in profile:

That poor dog. It's trying so hard to look dignified. It's good to see, though, that the people at Nordstrom have a sense of humor - the product name is Fetching Multistripe Dog Sweater.

"Fetching." Heh.

H.R. Buf'n'Stuf

Serious flex: Michael Borenaga of Philippines (L) with Sahali bin abd Samad of Malaysia (R) perform during the bantam 65kg bodybuilding final at the 23rd Southeast Asian Games in Manila. Borenaga won the gold medal with a perfect score of 10 with Samad taking the silver. (AFP/Joel Nito)

Me: yum
Me: *projectile vomits*
Roo: EWWWWWW!
Roo: are they made out of sausage?
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Roo: Li'l sausage men!

Move Your Ass

So I was innocently checking RandomBen's site, when I noticed a new link at the top left corner of the page to Technorati. I clicked it and learned that my site claims the top two links to Ben's site. As it should be!

But then I got curious and looked up which blogs link to my own site. Strangely enough, Advertising Week's blog randomly links to my image of the Pillsbury Doughboy (check the September 27th entry, "Was this Advertising Week's first protest?"). I'm not sure how they found it, because a Google Image search for "Pillsbury Doughboy" doesn't bring up my site in any of the first 4-5 pages of results.

Other people have linked to some of my mp3s (like "The Rainbow Connection"), and many, many people are stealing bandwidth by displaying photos I have on my site (BAD, PEOPLE! VERY BAD!).

In other not-so-exciting news, yesterday I joined the local YMCA. I was inspired by Roo and figured, why the hell not? Maybe slapping down the cash will inspire me to actually get off my ass and do something. The place is just a year old and they have all the fancy equipment (including my beloved elliptical trainer). Now I just need to convince myself that actually stepping out of my apartment at 5:30 a.m. is a good thing.

In a secondary effort to jumpstart Operation: Move Your Ass, I just ordered a JetAudio iAudio U2 mp3 player and some inexpensive (but positively reviewed) Sony earbuds. With free shipping, $5 off promotion, and a $20 Amazon gift certificate, I got both things for around $85. I am pleased.

I'm going to be working on my Grand Canyon roadtrip entry this afternoon, I swear.

Weirdness Afoot

In other news ...

I had an interesting idea for a New Year's resolution for 2006 - get engaged. Oh, and document the entire process on this site.

I think I could make it quite entertaining and amusing, but there's a side of me that thinks that's a little too voyeur porn for me. Plus, it reeks of cravenness to make getting engaged a task on some sort of cosmic "to-do" list. It just seems a little bit manufactured.

But maybe that's the point. I'm not actively trying to find someone to share my life with on a long-term, freaky-but-monogamous basis. Perhaps that's why I haven't. Maybe making this an actual goal (along with perfecting the art of body hair removal and learning how to knit) is the only thing that will guarantee success in this particular endeavor, craven as it is.

Do they have Russian mail-order husbands?

Big Money! Big Money!

Roo: I just saw a picture of Jennifer Garner, and though, for some reason, I've decided to pretend she's not really pregnant, there is no question now
Me: please kill me
Me: *offers neck*
Roo: *bites*
Me: link me to the Jen photo!
Me: I like her, still
Roo: me too
Me: But I think she deserves better than Affleck
Roo: Jen photo
Roo: eh, I don't know...I don't hate them together, for some reason
Roo: though he's nasTAY in that picture
Me: HOLY
Roo: I KNOW!
Me: she really popped
Me: that's ... wow
Roo: I know...my same reaction
Me: EWWWW
Me: he's gross
Me: what the hell is he doing smoking around her?!?
Me: she needs to kick his ass
Me: or have Victor Garber do it
Roo: he was smoking outside away from her at least
Roo: hee! SpyDaddy!
Roo: (at first I typed SpayDaddy!)
Me: hahahaha
Me: Bob Barker is SpayDaddy
Roo: YES! HA!

And this little thing is the answer to all of my prayers. Behold, the SCOOBA!

Focusyn

So yesterday I went to the doctor on account of the white-hot lightning bolts of pain I was feeling in my kidneys. Final verdict - kidney infection, and now I'm taking chalky white horse pills twice a day for a week.

But that's not the interesting part. The really interesting part is that I am, apparently, a lizard. You'd think with an infection I'd have a fever, right? Oh no. No, no, no. MY temperature was a cool 97.2, almost 1.5 degrees below normal. The nurse took it three times because she didn't believe the readout on the electronic thermometer.

Other random stuff:

Ork! Ork! Ork!

So last night I had a pretty UGH time after work. I was lying on my couch watching TV and assessing my idiocy, when I managed to fall asleep. Around 9 p.m.

I awoke to the sound of the disembodied voice of one RandomBen. Which confused me, because - Ben? Huh? In my living room?

My sleep addled brain ran through a quick round of "Where In the World Is RandomBen?" and came up with "not here" - so then the voice confused me even further.

I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Then I hear him say "bedroom" and I'm very, VERY sure I'm dreaming. My brain chose that moment to snap back into reality, which is when I realized that DisembodiedBen was merely talking on my answering machine.

*runs*

So we're talking and it sounds like he's in a wind tunnel. Washington - a very windy place. Talking, laughing, laughing, talking, LAUGHING, talking ...

(Side note: I've noticed that I am constantly laughing when I talk to Ben. Not "ha ha" laughing, but more like ... theater of the absurd laughing. So now I consciously stifle my laughter, else I start to seem like I'm an airheaded bimbo who will laugh at anything.)

... talking – and then I start hearing voices in the background.

At least I think they're voices. I can't really make out the words, but I'm definitely hearing significant background noise. So I tune out the sound of Ben's voice (heh) and start listening more closely to the sounds in the background, and then I realize what it is:

SEAL!

Not this guy. These guys:

Ben is being serenaded by a group (clutch? pod? coven?) of sea lions that are basking in the sun about 30 feet off the pier upon which he's standing. How cool is that? (Answer: Very cool.)

So our entire conversation was interspersed with the melodious "ork! ork! ork!"s of the sea lions. The appropriate payment for services rendered (ork! ork! ork!), moving really sucks (ork! ork! ork!), the politics of threesomes (ork! ork! ork!), "there's nothing wrong with a courtesy reach-around" (ork! ork! ork!).

Very cool. Near the end, the coven of sea lions slipped off their perch and frolicked in the water, much to Ben's obvious amusement (seriously, it was like he was a 10 year-old boy again).

But now I want a sea lion of my own, dammit.

Effective Advertising 101

Suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to buy Polo men's underwear. How very strange...

"EAT ME!"

Current favorite foods – Luna bars in Lemon Zest (these are TO DIE FOR if you like sweet lemon desserts), steamed broccoli tossed with crumbled blue cheese (I've had this three nights in a row; tonight will be four), Boca Italian Sausage on a whole wheat bun with mustard, almonds, Fuji apples (and ONLY Fuji apples).

Me: if I ever want in vitro fertilzation, I'm coming to Israel for it
Me: because it's cheap, but well regulated
Me: according to Glamour magazine
Rappy: for foreigners?
Rappy: you have to remember that we have universal health care here
Rappy: I don't imagine that a foreigner would be given the same treatment, cost wise
Me: for foreigners
Rappy: oh, nifty
Me: it's about a fifth as expensive as in the US
Me: less frills, of course
Me: but if I ever start bleating for a kid and can't conceive, I'd rather pay $2,500 than $12,000
Rappy: haha
Rappy: "bleating"
Rappy: hahaha
Me: heh, I've already determined what my future child is worth to me
Rappy: so eloquent
Me: know thyself, so that thy may know god
Me: or something
Me: I heard that during the papal festivities
Rappy: you know what is impossible to do here?
Me wot?
Rappy: Explain to someone that you don't want a child.
Me: you can't do that ANYWHERE
Rappy: I fucking hate it when people respond to that by saying I don't know what I'm talking about.
Rappy: I literally have NO desire for a baby
Me: Me neither
Rappy: None.
Me: I want a 4 year old
Me: young enough to mold, but none of the sleep deprivation
Rappy: I thought you wanted a 6 year old
Me: I adjusted lower to account for education
Me: I need to get it before kindergarten
Me: so I can teach it to read and count ahead of time
Me: so it will be referred to by its teacher as THE UBERGARTNER
Rappy: hahahaha
Rappy: you want your kid to look smrtr than the other kids! You selfish bitch!
Me: look nothing
Me: I want him to BE smarter
Me: stronger
Me: faster...
Me: UBER
Rappy: *olympic rings*
Me: in fact, maybe I'll name him "Uber" and be done with it
Rappy: that's a pretty big name to live up to
Me: bad nicknames would result, though
Me: "Ooby"
Me: "Oobs"
Me: "Udder"

In the last 2 hours I have ingested approximately 64 ounces of SoBe Lean Diet Cranberry Grapefruit, and I still have more left to drink. As it turns out, if you order a large fountain drink at Quiznos, and then return on a future day with cup in hand, you can get a refill for a mere 25 cents.

I must have had a very happy look on my face when the owner of the store told me this, because we had the following exchange:

Quiznos owner: You're going to abuse this privilege, aren't you?
Me: Yes, yes I am.

Dirrrty Girls

Terri Schiavo's parents have sold the list of people who donated to her cause to a conservative direct-marketing firm. That's ... screwed up.

Rappy: Erika and I analysed your answers to the name machine.
Rappy: YOU ARE DIRTY!
Rappy: DIRTY!
Rappy: DIRRTY, even!
Me: who, me?
Rappy: YES!
Me: why's that?
Rappy: We both know who you're crushing on, and what your weird object was...
Me: well the weird object is obvious
Me: and I'm sorry, but dildos ARE weird objects
Rappy: haha
Me: and I just liked the way "gooben" sounded
Rappy: now let's discuss this crush...
Me: it sounded funnier then my first choice, "gooeric"
Me: AND MAYBE I MEANT BEN AFFLECK
Me: jeez
Rappy: GOD, THAT'S EVEN WORSE!
Me: weirdly enough, I had a dream with Ben Affleck in it last night
Me: well, he was on the phone
Me: not there in person
Rappy: you're not helping yourself here, my little friend
Me: he was inviting me to come play racquetball at his new house
Me: odd, no?
Rappy: was Jen going to be there?
Me: well it was his "new" house so I assumed he bought it with her
Me: but the invitation to play ball meant he CLEARLY wanted me
Me: yes?
Rappy: sure
Rappy: yeah
Rappy: or a threesome
Me: *shocked face*
Rappy: DUDE, YOU WROTE DILDO, what is so surprising?

Side note: I am not anti-Republican. I like Republicans. I even LOVE a Republican (or two). I have a wee little crush on John McCain, and a slightly bigger one on Colin Powell.

That said, Tom DeLay is the ANTICHRIST.

One of the next books I want to get is Honor Bound - American Prisoners of War in Southeast Asia, 1961-1973. I've always been interested in the Vietnam War, and the issue of POWs, and this book looks interesting. The authors have good pedigrees, too - Rochester was the deputy historian of the Office of the Secretary of Defense, and Kiley is a former Air Force Academy professor and noted POW historian.

Odds at Ends

I'm having salad for breakfast. Mmmm, gorgonzola cheeeeese.

Anyway, a few random things. The next book I buy will be Stephen Potter's Lifemanship, which was described by the New York Times thusly:

Brilliant.

In the wake of the whole Terri Schiavo mess, the need for information on advanced health care directives has become obvious. Don't rely on just telling your family what you want; put it in writing. The National Hospice and Palliative Care Association's website has specific forms for each state available.

A recent issue of Newsweek included two columns on Terri Schiavo that I thought were very good – Jonathan Alter's "Take a Look In the Mirror" and Anna Quindlen's "The Culture of Each Life."

From Quindlen's column:

And from Alter's:

The Meaning of Life

I ran across something the other day when I did a Google search on "the meaning of life." I think this spun off of a conversation that Roo and I were having about the whole situation with Terri Schiavo.

Somewhere in those search results I found these pages that purport to explain the meaning of life. I don't know who wrote the essays, but whomever it was is both intelligent and wickedly funny.

I wouldn't say that the concepts the person writes about are necessarily profound, although, in some ways they are. Overall I think the essays reveal a very good way of looking at the world, and our places in it. Because every one of us is just one random person floating in a sea of people, trying to stay afloat.

But there's good stuff on that site that I think would interest a lot of you. Here are some excerpts from various essays that I thought were especially resonant. Where there is italicized emphasis, it is mine.

From Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?:

From Unhappy? Depressed?:

From Feel Useless and Worthless?:

From So what?:

And finally, I really like the description of an "open system" way of living that is described on the So what? page:

Open systems:

• Base moral judgments on the actual helpfulness or harmfulness of someone’s behavior. Leave large areas of behavior morally neutral, so that you have room to find compromises with others who see things differently.

• Encourage you to listen to and understand people who are different from you.

• Define standards of moral behavior but allow that thoughts and feelings are not controllable and are exempt from “moral” judgments.

• Expect your natural inclinations to lead you into creative endeavors that will help you to find your place in the world and meet your need to act effectively.
  

AT&T Blows

So I get my AT&T Long Distance bill today. I knew it would be more than normal, due to a call I placed to the arctic tundra of Canada (i.e. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan) last month. But the call was a mere 25 minutes, so I thought the worst case scenario would be an extra 25 bucks.

*insert sad, sorrowful laughter _HERE_*

Well, no. I was really wrong about that. Those 25 minutes cost me $45.65. Not that the call wasn't worth every penny, because it was (*waves to Jason*), but JEEEEEEZUS. Almost two bucks a minute? I know AT&T hates me for using its Unlimited Calling Plan to full (and I do mean full) effect, but god - that's a pretty hefty chunk of change for a call that wasn't even 30 minutes.

So to make myself feel better tonight, I dyed my hair red. Really red. Really, really red.

It's only going to last until the weekend, when I birthday-gift myself with a haircut, highlights, and a manicure/pedicure.

Because I'm worth it.

He's Leaving Home

This is the best news I've had in aaaaaages - BD's Mongolian Barbeque is coming to my city! I hope they have frequent flyer cards, because I envision getting take-out at least twice a week. Although that could get expensive. Hmm ...

Jake: have a sec?
Me: yah
Me: need me to come there?
Jake: yes
Jake: as you well know
Jake: I HAVE NO LEGS

Jen sent me this - a new way to keep your monitor screen clean.

Jake: SHUT UP!!!
Jake: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
Me: you're always so mean to me
Me: why is that?
Jake: because im EVIL
Me: I'm always nice to you
Me: well, mostly
Jake: EVIL
Jake: I show affection through acts of violence
Jake: come here, let me punch you in the face

Jake's last day at work is April 1. No, it's not a cruel joke. I have to remember to wear waterproof eye makeup that day.

Asian Bird Flu

I've been really busy, I have. So sorry for the lack of updates. But I know how some people are entertained by my dreams, so I thought I'd share last night's fevered hallucination.

(I blame this dream on the fact that my cockatiel, Nibbles, starts chirping around 8 a.m. even if she's still covered. And since I slept in this morning, I think my subconscious incorporated the chirping into my dream.)

Actually, only one part stood out and was funny. I was living in a house that was not my own, and every time I walked through a room there would be a new bird flying around. So I start collecting the birds and putting them in cages. At one point I had three cockatiels and couldn't tell which one was Nibbles, which made me sad. I also had a finch of some sort who had a broken tail (what would Freud say about that?).

Here's the good part - the last bird that I caught was a parakeet. But it was bald on it's head save for a little patch around the top of the skull. It looked like Friar Tuck. But instead of wearing a robe, it was wearing a knit green turtleneck sweater. Yes. A bird sweater. A sweater on a bird.

And then it started speaking to me. In complete sentences, no less. It said, "My name is J'Italia, it is very nice to make your acquaintance." In my dream, I'm weird enough to answer back. Then the bird says, "I would like to move to the country and become a blacksmith."

*blink*

And then I woke up because Dawsey stuck his little black kitty face in my face and caterwauled in my ear because he wanted to be fed. I so love my cats.

Midnight Train Goin' Anywhere

You know how some people have those list-y things on their blogs that say how they're feeling, or what they're listening to? I don't have any of those.

Until now.

Mood: Congested
Wearing: Red Old Navy hoodie and men's boxer shorts
Eating: Fruity Pebbles
Reading: Fametracker
Writing: You
Latest Injury: Dropped a steak knife on my big toe and sheared off a corner of the nail; 'tis now infected
Petting: Caygeon
Listening: Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" (I've heard this song everywhere the past few days - in multiple stores, on multiple TV shows. It's definitely some sort of sign.)
Scratching: My nose
Contemplating: Life
Last Movie Watched: Wet Hot American Summer (excellent)
Exercise: Taking out the garbage
Dreaming Of: Excel spreadsheets (don't worry, I won't write about it)
Hours of Sleep: Seven
Catching Up: On e-mail
Dreading: Work
Anticipating: Ian
Worrying: Nothing. Yet.
Lost: My MAC Honeyflower lipstick and my spool of CD-Rs
Donating: Webcam
Wanting: TivoToGo
Words of Wisdom: "Street Lights. People. Ohhhh ohh OHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

Woodbutt

Last night I had the strangest dream.

I was living in a glass box. The walls were such that people could see in, but I could not see out. Yet I knew when people were watching me, because colored symbols - unique to each individual - would appear on the walls whenever someone was there.

There was one symbol that appeared regularly. In the beginning, it made me angry to see this person appear. "You can see me, but I can't see you," I said defiantly. "That's hardly fair, you know."

After a while, though, I realized that seeing the symbol appear on the wall gave me a strange sense of comfort. Because although it might have looked to all the world like I was alone in that box, I knew I was not.

"You're still there."

And then I grabbed a pickaxe and smashed my way out of the box and went on a rampage in downtown Tokyo while singing "Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride" over and over in a chipmunk voice.

- fin -

Find Me and Follow Me

"The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present." – Abraham Lincoln

That Any Soldier website is going to be the end of me. I sent out three more care packages on Monday, and after reading messages this morning have three more contact names to send things to. At this rate, I will have no DVDs left in my collection by February.

I still need to find someone who can use the spare laptop computer I have, but never use.

It occured to me this morning that a certain person has been very quiet lately, which is worrisome. It is unsettling, and it does not augur well for our future. This is someone whose bad acts – prior and otherwise – you want fully out in the open. The devil you know, and all that.

I am speaking, of course, of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. I can't help but feel that his absence from the media spotlight is but the calm before the rights-trampling storm. Oh, I'm sure he's off somewhere, in seclusion, suckling at Satan's teat as always. His secrecy just makes me nervous, is all.

(Okay, I just did a Google image search for "scalia + satan + teat" and didn't find anything, but I did find this photo of Scalia, which at the very least implies a relationship between the Justice and his Dark Master.)

I am craving pad thai from Mama Fu's Noodle House in the worst way imaginable. How's that for a non-sequiter?

I'm Just a Shot Away From You

Oh yeah! I hope everyone had a good holiday weekend. Mine was very good. My family went the charity-donation route this Christmas, so we didn't have many gifts to open up. Instead, we all bought "stocking stuffer" things and had big stockings full of fun, little stuff to amuse ourselves with. My mom cheated, though, and bought some little gifts - for me she bought a blank leather-bound journal (for my trip to Ireland) and a set of blank notecards with scenes from Ireland on the front. Alex went to the Gingerbread Shoppe at school and bought me a CD holder for my car visor, the little imp.

This morning Jen brought over a gift - an Ireland cubicle calendar and a guide to the Top 10 in Dublin (restaurants, pubs, sights, etc.). I love how supportive my family and friends are of my plan to go to Ireland this year.

This weekend I also watched The Lion in Winter, which was very good. Yesterday I gathered up a few Target gift cards I had received and treated myself to the Return of the King DVD box set, and the Simpsons Season 5 box set.

From this day until the end of the year, every site entry will be titled with the lyrics from a Franz Ferdinand song. The reason will be made apparent later...

Poets, Priests, and Politicians

Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what is left and live it properly.

What doesn't transmit light creates its own darkness.

– Marcus Aurelius

I Make Up My Own Rules

(This journal entry should be read while listening to Dogs Die In Hot Cars' "Lounger")

I colored my hair last night. I am again a redhead (photos forthcoming after Alex's birthday party on Saturday).

I signed up for a free two-week trial of Netflix yesterday, for the sole purpose of watching more movies from Jonathan Rhys Meyers' ouevre. Movies I could not find locally, like The Tesseract, Pulse/Octane, and Tangled. I have this weird feeling that they'll all be craptastic suckfests (and yet despite that, JRM will be pretty).

I'm not sure Netflix is worth the $18/month, though, so I might be cancelling on Day 13 of the trial.

This morning I woke up singing the theme song to the '60s family drama, Flipper. It goes like this:

They call him Flipper, Flipper
Faster than lightning
No one you see is smarter than he
And we know Flipper lives in a world full of wonder
Lying there under the sea
Everyone loves the king of the sea
Ever so kind and gentle is he
Tricks he will do when children are near
And how they laugh when he's near
(Dolphin sounds)

Yep, I know the whole thing by heart (and yes, I made the dolphin noises). I'd be happy to sing it for you, too.

Guess what, friends? The end is nigh – The FCC is reconsidering the use of cell phones during flights. Buckle up for the apocalypse, kids.

I bought this book a few months ago, "Google: The Missing Manual." I do a lot of online research at work, so I thought this book would help me become more efficient. For once. What I found out is that Google is FOCKING COOL, man, and does more than just search for webpages.

Did you know that is has a calculator, which allows you to use the search engine to perform conversions? Need to know how many tablespoons are in 3/4 of a cup? Just type "3/4 cup = ? tablespoons" (without the quotes) for your answer.

Google can also provide definitions of terms. Type "define:cup" to see a list of the way the word is defined on the Web. I had no idea it had anything to do with Ultimate frisbee.

Alexander Was Gay, Not Boring

Quick Weekend Recap: Ian and I went to see Alexander Saturday night. It blew, as I knew it would. I was there for only one reason:

Ian: You'll really go see this? I didn't think you'd want to.
Me: Sure!
Ian: (pause) Oh, I get it. You're just going for Colin Farrell.
Me: Mmhmm, right. Colin Farrell. Mmhmm.

Except, not really. I was just going for The Pretty. Incidentally I love that photo because at first glance it looks like a video still directly from the movie, but on closer inspection you can see that JRM has a cigarette in his hand.

The guy who played the eunuch was damn hot, too. Jared Leto was also pretty. Still, none of it was enough to compensate for Farrell's hideously bad blonde hair extentions/wig. Oh, and the movie was also boring and way too long. Save your money, chitlins!

On Friday night I was talking to Teem and we were window shopping online for boots and in doing so, I ran across the Most Beautiful Watch in the Whole World on Nordstrom.com. To wit:

Isn't it cool? I've been looking at watches for about six months, and none of them have impressed me. But the second I saw this I knew it was perfect. It's so very *me*. I would have ordered it immediately, but Nordstrom didn't have it in black. So I searched around a little bit more on the 'Net and found out that Dillards also carries AK Anne Klein watches. I went in search on Saturday morning, fully prepared to shell out the $65 for the watch, and when I got to Dillards saw that they were having Customer Appreciation Day, and everything was 25% off.

So I got the MBWitWW for $50 plus change. I'm gazing at it right now and falling ever more deeply in love.

On Sunday I chipped away at another 101 List task by watching The Magnificent Ambersons, which was surprisingly very good. I will review it later, although I'm starting to think that Jonathan Rhys Meyers must have some sort of clause in his contract that says he must have nude scenes. Because almost every movie I've seen him in has featured at least a shot of his naked butt (and sometimes more). Not that I'm complaining, it's just de rigeur at this point. So much so that when he flashed the butt in Ambersons, I laughed knowingly.

One last thing, and then I'll shut up. Phil told me about a site that offers free e-books for download. You need to have either Microsoft Reader or a Palm Pilot; the reader is available as a free download if you don't already have it on your computer.

Each book on the list is also available in HTML format, should you choose to read online. I am currently reading William Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus.

Saving Private Meyers

I don't know exactly what happened, but it is apparent that I had either done or seen something I wasn't supposed to do or see. Because I was running around frantically trying to get out of town. I needed to hide. But I didn't have a passport, so the only place I could go was Canada, which didn't seem nearly far enough away. But it was the best I could do.

For some reason, I was refusing to go to Mexico.

My mom and dad were (separately) trying to talk me into leaving immediately, saying it wasn't safe to stay, and that I'd only need to go away for a week or so until things "died down." I had just come back from a trip, because I told my mom I already had a suitcase packed, so I'd just need to grab "all the other clothes I love."

That's right – in times of peril, my subconscious wants to have its favorite items of clothing.

I was in my room, filling Ziploc bags with barbecue potato chips and Cheese Nips, to snack on during my journey to Canada. Chris Meloni was there; he's apparently my uncle. Which would be AWESOME. He kept telling me that I needed to come by his house before I actually left town, to say goodbye. I asked him where he lives - apparently I'm not bothered with such things as, you know, having a clue where my relatives live - and he gave me the names of two streets that are near my mom's house. I told him I had to go say goodbye to my dad first, but that I'd come by after that.

But now I'm running through the woods. There are houses being built in the woods, but none of them are finished (they're open, so anyone can just walk up), but the kitchens have all been completed no matter what stage the rest of the house is in. Which I notice is odd. I'm running through the houses and trying to find something, but I don't know what. I'm also aware that I'm being chased by an unseen figure.

I go into the kitchen of a house and see a little closet, so I step inside it ... and I'm transported into the closet in the kitchen of another house. Transmogrified! I teleport from kitchen to kitchen to kitchen and then I'm in another house and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (you knew that was coming, didn't you?) is sitting behind a desk, leaning back in a chair, underneath a window. He's all hot-looking in jeans and a white shirt, but he's wearing an unfortunate cowboy hat.

The window shatters and a long, black tentacle-y thing grabs JRM around the throat and pulls him out the window as he struggles. I scream and then wheel around to run outside and I smack right into this weird guy, who has been following me. I shove him in the chest (ala Elaine's "get OUT!" shove) and then run out behind the house to see the tentacle pulling JRM up a hill. I climb up after him and see that the black tentacle-y thing is really a big enormous mass of black tentacle-y things, and it's gooey and gross and stuff. Which is when I apparently decided that Jonathan Rhys Meyers wasn't worth it.

Because I ran. I ran so far away.

I ran right to a trailer in a clearing of the woods. There was a man there named George who was trying to get into a coffin. I made him stop, and I asked him about the black tentacle-y thing. Hey! I'm still trying to help JRM! Go me.

George mumbles some stuff and I noticed that there are 3-4 evil black cats (fat short-haired ones) that have come into the trailer. They are menacing me. I think they're agents of the black tentacle-y thing. George tells me that they're hungry, which makes me really nervous, and then the cats start not so much meowing as emitting high-pitched alien-like clacks. They're speaking in tongues! Skjlkjdsflkd EAT THE GIRL! oidsflkasdfa!

George opens a sliding glass door and reaches outside and grabs a big hunk of raw beef. I guess it was just sitting there outside the door. He flings it onto the floor and the cats descend upon it like the little ravenous beasts we all know cats are. I'm relieved that I'm not dinner. I thank George for ... something ... and then run out the door. George calls out to me, "You were supposed to leave town today." And I respond, "I know! GOD."

Then I haul ass through the woods and there are now a lot of other people running around out there and I'm trying to find Roberta, who is driving a VW minibus. She's supposed to take me to leave town (I never could figure out if I was flying, driving, or hitchhiking) and now I can't find her.

As I run through the woods people start joining me. I have apparently morphed into some sort of post-apocalyptic freedom fighter. Like Che Guevara, only female, and less hairy. Someone calls out that I'm to beware of the people in the white shuttle bus, because they're the enemy and "not nice." Okaaaaaaaaaaay. I hear the horn of a VW bus honking in the distance and start running towards it ...

... which is when I'm joined, still running, by a television news reporter, who shoves a microphone in my face and says, "Weren't you supposed to leave town today?" Which makes me angry and I yell, "What is WRONG with you people?!?" And then I accuse her of being an alien. A black tentacle-y alien.

She stops and says she's heard reports that JRM is still alive. They found his jeans (?!) on some island and they don't think he's dead yet. I ask her where he is and she says "I'll tell you later" which is when I grab her by the shoulders and shake her and yell "YOU WILL TELL ME RIGHT NOW! WHERE IS HE?!?!?" *RAGE RAGE RAGE*

She takes out a yellow pad of paper, and writes directions. The directions are things like "turn right at the Island of Morano" and "take a left at the small strait" and "some say he's good looking but he can also be a bit fugly" and I grab the paper away from her (I was reading over her shoulder) and I dramatically wave it in her face and tell her that I "don't have time for this bullshit" (the "he's ugly" part) and run off with my merry band of fellow runners. But not before asking the reporter where Roberta is, and I'm told that Roberta is already in south Hesperon, looking for Jonathan.

George runs up beside me and touches my arm and I get this vision of JRM tied to a tree (with black tentacle-y things!) being menaced by a trio of gooey aliens who are trying to get their goo on him. He looks worried, and I can't blame him - alien goo is hard to get out of a white shirt.

Running, running, running.

We run into a house and through the house, and into the basement and down some stairs and I sadly say to the girl running next to me, "I was supposed to leave town today, but I guess I'm not going to." The basement opens to a swamp, and there's a rowboat there, which we have to get into so we can row over to the Island of Hesperon and save Jonathan. I look down and notice that I'm wearing shoes that are inappropriate for sloshing through a swamp. I kick them off and look around and realize that, "FOCK. My Tevas are in my suitcase upstairs!"

So I start running up the stairs to go get them, because Tevas are the clear choice for swamp stomping, but the girl tells me she found something I can wear and hands me a pair of hip waders. I step into them and grab the rusty axe that is propped up in the corner of the basement, and walk out to get into the rowboat and then I wake up because my alarm went off.

So I woke up a bit bothered this morning, because I really want to know what the ending of my dream would have been. It's not every day that I find myself running off to go kick some alien ass and save Jonathan Rhys Meyers. While wearing HIP WADERS, no less. Maybe I'll just make up an ending, to appease myself. Like one of those "choose your own adventure" things.

Dear ...

Dear Dole,

Please put more fruit in your fruit cups. I'm interested in eating diced peaches, not drinking a half-cup of "light syrup."

Dear Tivo,

Thank you for sending me your newsletter, which told me how to sort my Now Playing list into folders (press the "enter" button while viewing the list, then turn Groups "On"). It's lovely having all of my Futurama and L&O:SUV episodes grouped together in one tidy place. It's also wonderful to be able to see which shows were recorded off an actor/keyword wishlist. Call me for lunch, k? *smiff*

Dear Payless Shoe Source,

You suck! How dare you change the construction of my all-time favorite black loafers that I purchase from you three times a year for $12.99 a pop?!? This is how I keep my shoes looking sharp all year long, while spending not too much money. That stretchy thing you've added to the top of the upper looks dumb! Loafers aren't supposed to be fancy; they're just supposed to loaf. Thanks for nothing, jerks.

Dear Piggy Eva,

Shut up. A lot. And do not taunt the magic tea bowl. *tweaks snout*

Dear Clover,

Yes, that was acceptable. More than, really.

Dear Westshore Pizza Employee,

I don't care how cute you are. I don't care how much you smile your perfect little "aren't I adorable?" smile at me. Stop calling me "honey" when you're handing me my change. I'm at least 12 years older than you and it's just not right (for now).

Dear Henry Cavill,

Who are you, why have I never heard of you before, and where can I find more of you?

I Am a Material Girl

What to wear, what to wear ...

I went to the mall last night after work, seeking out a fabulous frock for Roo's birthday festivities this weekend. We're going to an "atmospheric" restaurant on Friday night called Dante's Down the Hatch - pirates! fondue! pirates making fondue! - and us Sexy Bitches (that would be me, Roo and Teem) have decided to be good girly-girls and play dress-up.

Parties - every woman's excuse to buy new clothes.

The words of the prophet are written on the subway walls, and they say "Highwaygirl does not look good in wrap blouses." The overly-attentive (but nice) sales girl kept feeding me potentials while I was trying on everything and running each item through the necessary paces – raise arms (to check for midriff baring), sit down (to check for spillage), thrust chest out (to check for gappage). I realized that I don't like sweaters all that much, and that my body type can roughly be described as "Fred Flintstone" - all torso, stumpy little legs.

I didn't like anything (except a pair of grey pinstriped pants on sale for $20, down from $50 - pants should stop making me an offer I can't refuse!) and was about to console myself by buying a leather jacket that I don't need, but then the smell of chemically-treated cow skin started making me hallucinate, and I ran for the exit.

Straight into the arms of Auntie Anne's pretzels! How I love them so, those thin, buttery shanks of salted yeasty goodness.

Then to Dillards. I like Dillards because they always have these great 50% off sales, where you can buy Ralph Lauren shirts for only $74 unstead of $149. Sadly, I still can't rationalize dropping $74 on a shirt. My limit is apparently $49, which is the price I paid for a fcute Emma James blouse with french cuffs - I'm pretty sure I'd buy any shirt that had french cuffs. It's some sort of weird Pavlovian reaction at this point - that is "blush pink" with a black pattern that looks vaguely reminscent of the Chanel logo.

PINK, Rappy. I bought something that is pink.

I shall wear it and be a beacon of consumerism; a klieg light of conspicuous consumption.

Then I ran through the Gap to look at scarfs. I am accessories-poor and feel like all that is standing between me and sartorial greatness (and Christian Bale) is a kickass yarn-leash wrapped haphazardly around my neck – but everything was either too stripey or too fuzzy or just too UGH to warrant buying. So I'm still one step short of being an icon(oclast).

That's my goal for this shopping-weekend. Find the Scarf of Sartorial Splendor. That, and a watch.

On My Knees I Think Clearer

I am so haaaaaaaaaaappy, so HAAAAAAAAAAPPYYYYYYYYY todaaaaaaaaaaaaay. I was a little late for work this morning but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT.

*skips around the office, handing out daisies*

The title of this entry is a line from a song by Snow Patrol (today's official sponsor), so stop thinking what you're thinking.

But after that the floodgates opened up
And I fell in love with everyone I saw
Please take your time I'm not in any rush
And it's in everything I ever write
– "Spitting Games," Snow Patrol

The people who like to read hidden messages into my selection of song lyrics, well, you've got your work cut out for you today. Because they all mean multiple things! They could be referencing multiple individuals! Or multiple situations! They might be about people, but they might be about inanimate objects (although with some people I know, you could argue it's the same thing).

Or hey! Maybe they mean nothing of significance - I just like the way they sound.

On Sunday - was it Sunday? - I bought the new CD from Travis, Singles, which is exactly that, a collection of all the band's singles. Did I need this? No. Do I already have all these songs? Yes. But now I have most of the band's really good songs on one disk. Because I am willing to pay for convenience.

Plus, it has the new single, "Walking In the Sun". Which I'll post here at some point. But now I need to go back to listening to Snow Patrol.

This is the straw, final straw in the
Roof of my mouth as I lie to you
Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean
I didn't enjoy it at the time
– "Chocolate," Snow Patrol

There's no reason for this song to be called "Chocolate." Nowhere in the song is the word used, and I feel safe in saying the song isn't about chocolate, or a metaphor for chocolate. It's an excellent song whose title has no significance. Many of the songs on this CD are like that, and that makes me happy, because it shows me that Gary Lightbody (the singer) is non-linear. Or maybe just a git. But I feel a certain sense of sympatico with him, on account of my refusal to ever buy greeting cards that contain verses that rhyme. I hate that. HATE. You're trying to say something meaningful and special and you limit yourself to words that rhyme with each other? Say no!

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear
– "Run," Snow Patrol

I'm going to go back and add links to all these songs later. I love listening to this song over and over because of the way Gary Lightbody sings "go" and "done" and "barely look" and "you" and "do" and "where" and "here" and "hear" and "dear" and "louder" and "those eyes" and "goodbye" and "nearly" and "slower" and "have" and "for" and "easier way" and "little heads" and "have heart, my dear."

Okay, I think that covers it. I really need to go to Ireland and find myself a good Irish boy to take up with, and then make him talk to me all day and all night.

Maybe you thought of it first
Maybe I get all the praise
Is there a place I can go?
Is there a light to get me there?
– "Tiny Little Fractures," Snow Patrol

Come to think of it, this song's title isn't included in the lyrics, either. Same goes for "Run" and "Spitting Games." Hmm. Now I'm finding this a little annoying. Because I'm referring to songs by their track number rather than their name ... because I can never remember their names, because they're not referred to in the lyrics.

Wow. I turned around quickly on that.

Mr. Bluebird On My Shoulder

I think someone broke the time-space continuum. Because this weekend has seemed twice as long as it really has been. Which you'd think would be good, because weekends are never long enough, right? Nuh uh. It's really thrown me off.

It started Friday night. I had big plans for Friday night. But I felt so horribly sick right before leaving work - greeeat way to start the weekend - that I scrapped them all in favor of taking an extra long, extra hot shower and curling up on the couch with a heating pad, a boy, a cat named Caygeon, and TiVo. I think I went to bed before 10 p.m.

Saturday morning I got up early, got ready, went to the post office (mailing a Sephora return and a package for D_A - yes, finally! Be on the lookout for it, it's a medium-sized box), went to CVS (girl stuff and Welch's grape soda), and finally ended up at Old Navy. I wanted to look for dark brown cords for me (since I broke my original pair on Thursday) and that cool sweater for Clover.

I couldn't find the sweater at all, and I couldn't find the cords in my size. Bastards. I found a different style of cords in a pretty caramel color, but in wearing them for 20 minutes at home they've already become too loose. So I'll take them back today and see if they have a smaller size available (they were on clearance, so pickings were already slim). I also picked up two turtleneck sweaters from the men's section, in black and heather olive (mine don't have those silly labels, though).

Surprisingly, I think I love them. They look great on me - they're long in the torso (most women's styles look too short on me), a bit long in the sleeves (which is good, because I like to pull them down over my hands a little), and they grab nicely in the chestal region. Plus, I can wear my hair up with them because the sweater covers the scar on the back of my neck.

I think I'm going back for the heather charcoal, too.

I came home and took a nap from 3-4:30, and that really screwed me up because the rest of the night I kept thinking it was about two hours later than it really was. I thought the night would never, ever end. But that was pretty much fine, considering the company. We watched two episodes of Without a Trace, three of Futurama (with commentary on), then made popcorn and settled in to watch Army of Darkness.

We've just woken up, and now Clover is about to go running. I am about to go get pancakes. But first I will feed the cats, because I think Caygeon has designs on gouging my eyes out if I don't feed her within the next 60 seconds.

Crash Into Me

Okay, this is an anti-Bush advertisement (you need QuickTime to view it, but it's worth it), and the ending has some profanity (bleeped out), but it made me snort when I heard it. The actress, whomever she is, really sells it. And I love the squirrel running through the background midway through the shot.

I got rear-ended three times yesterday afternoon - by the same man. I was first in line at a stoplight, minding my own business, listening to Snow Patrol and rocking out, when the Oldsmobuick behind me tapped my bumper. Very lightly, though; he must have just rolled into me.

So I check out the situation in my rearview mirror, and see that the very old man has put his car in reverse and is backing up. I wasn't going to even bother getting out of my car to check the bumper, since he was probably only going about 5 mph when he hit me.

I resumed rocking out, and then ...

*BUMP*

The old man hit me AGAIN! Very lightly, but still!! So now I'm watching his every move in my rearview mirror. He backs up again - I can see his wife, who is in the passenger seat, gesticulating wildly - and then he puts the car in drive and then he gives it some gas to go forward and I'm watching watching watching and then ...

HE HITS ME AGAIN.

Which is when I decided I was going to have to get out of my car and somehow dissuade this guy from his apparent desire to be a battering ram. I put my car in park and turn off the ignition, then I get out and go to the man's window. He's dazed. His wife is screaming at him. He's fumbling with the shifter and looking around. His wife screams more and tells him to take the keys out. I'm standing on the curb, at a safe distance, hoping he doesn't jam on the gas instead and send my car hurtling out into a busy intersection.

The wife gets the keys out of the ignition, steps out of the car, then leans in to tell the man to GET OUT RIGHT NOW. He steps out and I ask him if he's okay, and he starts crying. The wife goes to check my bumper, so I joined her - there's not even a scratch on it. I tell her the bumper doesn't matter; I'm more concerned about the man. She tells me he's on medication.

Me: "So why aren't you driving?"
Woman: "Because I don't know how."
Me: *stares*

So I help get the man into the back seat of his car, get my car out of the intersection, go BACK and drive their car out of the turn lane and into a gas station, and then wish them luck - the wife was on the pay phone calling someone - and go on my way.

It was just sad. The wife screaming at the poor man, the man being so out of it on meds, both of them thinking he was in any condition to drive ... I understand wanting to maintain your independence in your old age, but not at the expense of your and others' safety.

Anyway, I consoled myself by buying a sage green suede jacket that night at the Nordstrom Half Yearly sale.

Waiting To Exhale

It's only 7:55 p.m. and I already feel nauseated. I should probably just go to bed, but I can't stop watching.

A couple of random things before I post this: I ran across the animated short "I Am a Desexed Pussy Cat" today, and it's hysterical (avoid if you don't like explicit humor). And Guster gave me Reason #589 to love them by sending me an e-mail today with the subject line, "Don't blame me, I voted for Kodos." It opened by saying:

Burn Mothrafocker, Burn!

The Shiny Shirt, it is no more.

Yes, the Shiny Shirt of Increasing Horror is dead. I always said it needed to be burned, but in the end, it merely had all of its buttons popped off. In one quick motion - grab both ends of shirt tail and pull forcefully in opposite directions - years of potential embarrassment were averted.

Of course I did preface my act by asking him how much he liked the shirt ("It's okay"), and after ripping it off him I offered to sew all the buttons back on ... and then backtracked and said I would just buy him a new shirt, since I'm too lazy to sew.

The CIA questionnaire was right - I do have a future in clandestine operations.

Thank god the Red Sox won. I wonder how hung over Clover is today? In other randomness, I think I'm coming down with a touch of the flu.

Heh, ESPN is playing Tom Petty's "The Waiting" over World Series highlights. This song always reminds of the Simpsons episode where Homer buys a gun.

Oooh, Dreamweaver

My new bed is cursed. Comfortable, but cursed.

When they unwrapped it, I could vaguely smell the protective coating that is sprayed on the mattress top. It smelled kind of glue-ish, but I figured that if I let the bed air out the rest of the day that it should be fine.

Well, I was wrong. Last night I had one of the most disturbing dreams ever - my cockatiel, Nibbles, was in two parts. She had been, uh, bisected horizontally, and the bottom half of her moved independently of the top half. Yet both halves had legs. She had also plucked out all of her feathers, except the ones on her head.

The dream me was absolutely horrified, and when I woke up I felt nauseated. I blame the hallucinogenic protective spray. Or Satan.

Kangaroos Will Rule the World

LISTENING – Jake burned a copy of his Franz Ferdinand CD for me, which I am now hearing for the first time. Yes, I'm very late to this party, but I do blame Jake. Because blaming Jake is my new tradition. Come and dance with me, Michael...

LOOKING – At the scratch on the back of my hand. Because Roo was right with her guess about the special delivery.

READING – Something shamelessly stolen from MsKick's journal: Physics Professor Goes on Rage in Class.

LAUGHING – It's Friday afternoon. That's our only excuse. By the way, yes, Jake is in fact insane:

Jake: oh yeah... did you watch america's next top bulimic?
Jake: hahaha the drama was classic
Me: HAHAHAHA
Me: yes I did
Me: I wanted Jennipherrrrrrrrrrrrr to hit Eva and/or Anne
Jake: i seriously cannot WAIT for amanda to get kicked off
Me: the annie lennox looking chick?
Me: I'm having trouble with their names
Jake: yeah
Jake: the fucking one that whines about being blind all the time
Jake: STABBIC
Jake: my hatred is immense
Me: I like the fake red-hair chick
Me: nicole?
Jake: yeah she's good
Jake: oh and i loathe the girl that is obsessed with paris hilton
Jake: The one that had braces
Me: Norelle
Me: she likes to shake her boobs
Me: *rolls eyes*
Jake: they all must die
Jake: Yes, it must happen
Jake: DO IT NOW
Jake: STTTTTABBIC!!!
Jake: ** plays REE REEE REEE stabbing music from Psycho in head **
Jake: ** blood of evil anorexic model wannabe whores swirls down the drain **
Jake: GIGGLES
Me: *shocked face*
Jake: REE
Jake: hahaha
Me: REE! REE! REE!
Jake: http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/2311/stone.html
Jake: "As everyone in the world knows, a midget should not be underestimated."
Me: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahaha
Jake: "And that famous warning, "Don't f@#k with a midget" was born."
Jake: hahahahahahahahaha
Jake: I found it by doing a search for "tap dancing midgets"
Me: you are an odd duck
Me: *quack*

Jake: christ we have like 2.5 hours left
Jake: it would be so easy to just tumble out of this window
Jake: my luck i would only break a leg
Jake: have to crawl back in and up the stairs
Jake: oh FUCK
Jake: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK
Jake: i just got that damn boy george song in my head
Jake: ILL TUMBLE FOR YAH
Jake: jesus fucking FUCK
Jake: DEATH
Jake: DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAATH EEEEEAAAA
Jake: if I didn't want to kill myself before, I certainly want to eat a bullet now

Jake: Have you ever tried to count the dot impressions on a ceiling tile before?
Jake: There are a lot of 'em
Jake: Thousands
Jake: **Sigh**
Jake: Nothing beats staring up the ceiling and counting the specs
Jake: one thousand four hundred twenty seven
Jake: one thousand four hundred twenty eight
Jake: Problem is, some of 'em are bigger than others. And to top off the nastiness, some of those bastards have grown too close for comfort
Jake: So... do you count them as ONE dot?
Jake: Or simply two dots against each other
Jake: DECISIONS DECISIONS
Me: HAHAHAHA
Me: This is like a spoken word performance
Me: on planet Bitter Omicron 5
Jake: Sometimes I like to just make funny shapes out of them
Jake: Like looking for animals in the clouds
Jake: OOOOH OOHH there goes a giraffe
Jake: Now I'm curious what sound a giraffe makes
Jake: MEEEEAAAAHHH MEEAAAH?
Jake: no no, that's too much like a donkey's heehaw
Me: The giraffe says, "KILL ME NOWWWW"

Jake: Sometimes I wish I had a pet kangaroo, so I could just nestle up in the fetal position inside it's fleshy pouch
Jake: it brings new meaning to "nap sack"
Jake: I wonder if it's fur inside?
Jake: Is it fleshy?
Jake: I could probably research it online but I'm too lazy
Me: I think I will find you a photo
Jake: Plus i'm too busy trying to find those tap dancing midget photos I told you about
Jake: THEY'RE OUT THERE
Jake: believe you me
Jake: a midget can tap dance
Jake: HAHAHAH GENIUS
Jake: victory
Jake: http://delivery.gettyimages.com/comp/hq5936-001.jpg?x=x&dasite=gettyimages&ef=2&ev=1&dareq=E01FA9654DDBAC7FF6316E0F95CABF8394D2604A015CF9DF
Jake: OOH TWO FOR ONE
Jake: http://delivery.gettyimages.com/comp/je6331-001.jpg?x=x&dasite=gettyimages&ef=2&ev=1&dareq=8BC8AB09C62FCF1D03913CBB7EE2732B94D2604A015CF9DF
Jake: midget AND a kangaroo
Me: I really, really think you've lost your grip on sanity, Jake
Jake: What sick fuck gives a little person a pair of boxing gloves and puts him in the ring with a kangaroo?
Jake: Seriously WHAT THE FUCK
Jake: I just wanna know where I can get tickets

Jake: http://delivery.gettyimages.com/comp/hb1745-001.jpg?x=x&dasite=gettyimages&ef=2&ev=1&dareq=2FAE6168F24C4B13AAB7C82AE94416EA94D2604A015CF9DF
Jake: Poor midgets
Jake: All they want is the ball
Me: hahahahaha
Jake: I'll betcha that right after the camera flashed, they attacked the tall guy by the knees
Me: dammit, I feel like I'm going to go to hell for laughing at that
Jake: Tore into him like ravenous beasts
Jake: DONT FUCK WITH A MIDGET
Me: stubble on their sticky lips
Jake: hahahah
Me: *squicked*
Me: I just grossed myself out
Jake: hahahaha
Me: http://www.kidcyber.com.au/topics/kanga.htm
Me: TEATS
Me: jesus, attached to the teat for nine months
Me: that would suck
Me: literally
Jake: hahahahahahahahaahaha
Jake: teats
Jake: a most excellent word
Jake: Did you know? A female kangaroo often has another baby in her womb 'in suspense', which means it has developed just a little bit and then stopped and waited. When a joey leaves the pouch, the mother starts its development again and it is born a few weeks after. If conditions are bad, such as times of drought when there is not much food around, the female kangaroo may wait until things improve before letting this baby develop. It is born a few weeks later and crawls into her pouch. This means that there are few kangaroos born during a drought and ensures that there is food for the existing kangaroos. The babies are born when the mothers are feeding well and producing good milk, and so that when the young start to feed on solid food, there is plenty for them too.
Jake: That's fucking genius!!!
Jake: kangaroos will rule the world
Me: They will bring forth their dominion from their fertile wombs only to gestate further in their furry pouches, until one day, when mankind is least expecting it ...
Me: and then ...
Me: CHAOS AND DESTRUCTION
Jake: I'm looking forward to it

Better Late Than Never

Rollin', rollin', rollin'
Though the streams are swollen
Keep them doggies rollin'
Rawhiiiiiiiiiiiide!

What the hell does "heeb" mean?

You know how I waxed poetic about the fabulous new bra I bought at Victoria's Secret yesterday on my lunch hour? Well, uh, I changed into it while I was at work that afternoon. But Roo told me to! So I blame her. Anyway, it was a life-altering experience - so much so that I went back to the mall after work to buy another one, in Naked (*eyebrow*), which is actually a little darker than my skin. It's "naked" if you're, say, Tyra Banks.

How is it that something as trivial and meaningless as a well-fitting bra can bring me such happiness? Are good foundation garments really that difficult to find?

Yes. Yes they are.

*burns all other bras*

I'm wearing my new Franco Sarto 3" heeled pumps with the buckle on the top and not only do I feel seriously Amazonian (mmm, tall), but I feel like I could kick the piss out of anyone who dared cross my path. Like, say, a certain person that is annoying. I feel like I could deliver a kick to his solar plexus that would pierce his heart with my pointy 3" heel and leave him gasping for life. Well, if his heart was located behind his solar plexus. WHICH WOULDN'T SURPRISE ME, because he's just that reptilian.

Move 'em on, head 'em up
Head 'em up, move 'em on
Move 'em on, head 'em up
Rawhiiiiiiiiiiiide!

Oh, another thing - I do believe that Irish eyes are smiling. I think he just needed some time. Let me throw out some clichés:

Time heals all wounds. - I don't actually believe this is true, to the extent that I don't think it is time itself that helps people recover from a painful experience. It's the things they do during that time that makes the difference. Because we all know people that are still holding on to some big bitter thing years and years and years down the road, like a remora on the great white shark of life.

Time flies when you're having fun. - I agree with this, except for the times (ha!) when it relates to work. Then time flies because you're wrapped up doing mindless busywork after having been shackled to your desk. Tempus fugit, yo. How you like me bustin' a little Latin on your azz, homes?

A stitch in time saves nine - The what? Is that some weird double entendré? I'll bet it's somehow related to "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," or whatever that saying is.

Comedy is tragedy plus time. - I couldn't agree more. *hugs Carol Burnett* What a buzzkill life would be if we were unable to look back on bad times (after we have some distance from them) and see the folly of our ways.

Time is on my side. - Yes it is.

December 14th, baby! Peter Jackson is only getting $40 more of my money, and then I'm done with him. I'm so over Orlando Bloom at this point, anyway. And yet, I feel like I am honor-bound and obligated to buy the DVD box set for the last entry in the Rings trilogy, simply because I already have the first two. All hail conspicuous consumption! The proletariat shall rise once more!

Count 'em out, ride 'em in,
Ride 'em in, count 'em out,
Count 'em out, ride 'em in
Rawhiiiiiiiiiiiide!

*bows*

*exits stage left*

Touched By an Angel

I guess I'd better update with a post-hurricane assessment. The situation is good. I lost power for three hours Sunday afternoon, and there are some small trees down in the complex, but other than that no significant damage. Well, there are shingles all over the place, which means there might be some roof leaking going on ... but since I don't have a roof, I don't really care that much.

The fact that my computer was infected with spyware (the dreaded "begin2search.com toolbar") yesterday was really the bigger pain in the ass. It took me two hours - and two downloaded programs - to fix it. It was heinous.

I've decided that I will no longer boycott Victoria's Secret bras. I tried on the Body by Victoria unlined full coverage bra at lunch, and fell in lurve. I bought it in black; if I like it as much as I think I will, I will invest in more colors.

Their lined bras are a little too industrial for me. Maybe it's because I wear a 38DD, but all of the lined styles I tried on looked like something Jana from the (Eastern) Bloc would wear.

Words to Live By

"Vengeance is a waste of time if wreaked upon those who will wreck themselves, if left to it."

Hodgepodge

The title of this entry has a hidden meaning, dammit! And I have five more Gmail invites. Does anyone want one?

Falling down the mountain, end up kissing dirt

My neck is all focked up to the extent that I will be visiting a chiropractic doctor of some sort this afternoon, since I can no longer turn my head to the left. Which is problematic when you're, you know, trying to drive and stuff. Plus, it hurts. I'm going to have him remove my right lung while I'm there, too.

I promised I'd see it again
I promised I'd see this with you now

I am newly addicted to both the Sally Hansen Maximum Growth Cuticle & Nail Moisture Treatment Pen (ooh, clickable!) and these:

You never wait so long ... here comes your man

A leprechaun surprised me last night with the gift of Alien (the collector's edition DVD). I had mentioned Monday morning that I had looked for this at several stores on Sunday and could not find it anywhere. I don't know where he did find it; he wouldn't tell me. Keeping secrets already, I see. It's a good thing he's adorable.

I'll Make It All Worthwhile

I'm very scattered today. Thus I will post random thoughts using bullet points:

• I went to see Garden State this afternoon. We were returning to "the scene of the crime." Heh. It was pretty good; like Open Water, I didn't think it quite lived up to all of the hype. But if nothing else I've decided to add Scrubs to my list of shows to test drive a few times.

• Today I was told that I "make the best facial expressions ever." He was beaming when he said it, so I'm going to take it as a compliment.

• Nibbles is finally getting used to the new cockatiel gym that my stepdad built for her. She climbed to the top of the ladder this morning, and finally decided that the chain is worth playing with. Baby steps...

• I have decided to add Bender from Futurama to my list of cartoon characters that provide solid advice on life (also on the list? Master Shake). I watched the episode "The Honking" this morning - actually, I liked it so much I watched it twice - and fell in love with this Bender quote, spoken after the Fortune Teller asks him if he wants to die:

  "No, I wanna live! There's still too many things I don't own!"

• My new celebrity crush just might be Donal Logue. I'm still thinking about it.

• I just downloaded Depeche Mode's "Never Let Me Down Again" and "Strangelove." *hugs 1988*

• I was kind of mopey and sad yesterday, but this statement made me smile: "I don't have to try to cheer you up if you don't want that. Maybe I can just come over and hold your hand."
  

The Long Arm of the Law

I am wearing the brown corduroy pants of fabulousness. They are my You Know You Want to Touch My Pants, Baby! pants. I'm not wearing them by chance, either.

So, important news out of California today - Sex Film Industry Threatened With Condom Requirement. As I am not a big consumer of the porn industry, this astounds me. You can legislate condom use?

Heh, "harm-reduction procedures." I wonder what else would constitute a harm-reduction procedure? I can think of one thing off the top of my head - the elimination of Ron "The Hedgehog" Jeremy. Because he harms my very psyche whenever I see him (clothes on or off).

Follow the Leader

I shamelessly stole this from Roo's journal:

20 Questions to a Better Personality

Wackiness: 32/100
Rationality: 70/100
Constructiveness: 66/100
Leadership: 80/100

You are an SRCL – Sober Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you an Ayn Rand ideal. Taggart? Roark? Galt? You are all of these. You were born to lead. You may not be particularly exciting, but you have a strange charisma – born of intellect and personal drive – people begin to notice when they have been around you a while. You don't like to compromise, but you recognize when you have to.

You care absolutely nothing what other people think, and this somehow attracts people to you. Treat them well, use them wisely, and ascend to your rightful rank.

Take the quiz here.

**********

Damn, I cannot WAIT until I ascend!!!

Smoking Makes You Nasty

My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?

The first time I took the quiz my life was rated "R." Then I took it again and changed my answer on the smoking question to "Tried once..." (because I did used to smoke clove cigarettes as a teenager), and that bumped me up to NC-17.

Which is okay, because I don't date teenagers. Anymore.

Aural Fixation

This morning I whipped out my Sexy Bitch voice (much like Teem's sweater) and recorded the voiceover for the company's marketing DVD. I was initially just going to do a read-through to help the guy set audio levels and stuff, but he stopped me after the first sentence and said, "I'm not calling in _name of person who usually does it_. You're better. You're hired."

I don't think I'm getting paid for it, though. Just now I had to go back and do a second line reading of "Searching for a job has never been easier."

I think this could be my new avocation. I can do this from home. I can phone it in! Literally!

Only 89 more days! Yay!

I was listening to Pat Benatar's "We Belong" on me playlist, and after Googling for the lyrics I found that the song was actually written by Dave Navarro. Which is kind of cool - I wouldn't have immediately thought he would have worked with Pat Benatar (even though she rocks it old school).

Anyway, I was listening to it and the lyrics were a little bit of a shout out to my best friend:

Nice, huh? I should get a Pat Benatar greatest hits CD and rock out the whole day long.

And then Winamp served me the Jim Croce song, "Operator (That's Not the Way It Feels)." Which I have always loved. According to my mother, when I was a wee small child I used to ask her over and over and over to play her Jim Croce 8-tracks. Yes I'm old. Hush, puppies.

Anyway, "Operator" comes on and I am crooning along with Jim in my head. I think my faaavorite Jim Croce song is "Time In a Bottle" because I can actually play that on the piano. But the chorus of "Operator" is very poignant:

Most of Croce's ballads seem melancholy to me, especially considering that he died in a plane crash when he was 30.

Bruiser Baby

I guess I should be happy that Rasputin's pickled penis is no longer the Most Emailed Photo on Yahoo!News - I was really tired of seeing that thing every time I checked my e-mail - but it's been replaced by the freakish muscle man baby!:

That's a photo from when the boy was seven months old! Eegads!

The baby is German, of course.

Oooooh, Dreamweaver

I woke up with the beginning of a migraine this morning, so I took some narcotics and emailed the office to say I'd be in late, then I went back to sleep. I woke up at 8:30 and the migraine was gone, but I had had really bad nightmares!

In the first one my company had moved to Durham, NC and it was my first day in the new office building, which was a high-rise with many other companies. Actually the building was shaped like an octogon and in the middle there was a gigantic amusement park and stores and restaurants and stuff. Anyway, I went out for lunch and got lost and couldn't find my way back to the office (hallways were different colors to tell you where you work - like, "I work in the purple block" - but I couldn't remember what color I worked in).

So I was wandering around and no one would help me find out where I needed to go, and I was walking through other offices and a lot of them were filled with athletes for some reason. Like it was an athletic department I was walking through rather than an office building. And then I was walking through this one office in the blue zone and William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy were giving a speech, and I thought about stopping and asking Shatner how to get back to my office, because I was sure he had been there before. But I didn't stop and ask because I thought Nimoy would get mad at me for interrupting.

So I kept wandering and then I was wandering through the amusement park and the stores and the restaurants and I kept getting sprayed on by the big fountain in the middle until I was soaking wet. So then I was wandering around while wet, and people still wouldn't help me find my office.

THEN, I was outside the office complex with a bunch of people and it was stormy. We were all looking into the distance and suddenly I saw a tornado start to form. And I said, "OH MY GOD A TORNADO!! THERE!! *points*" So people started running and I asked some guy "Where are we running to?" and he pointed to some shops across the street and I was like, "No WAY, man, I'm hiding in the field." So I grabbed him and ran into the field and laid down flat.

Then, suddenly, I'm in one of those nice tour buses with the plush seats, but it's not as long as regular tour buses. We're now driving through the city and trying to stay on the right side of the tornado. We skirt around it, but then we're driving through