Well, I did it.
I broke up with my life coach. We were supposed to have this pro-bono relationship for a year. She would allegedly help me sort myself out. I would allegedly learn a lot from this process and be able to gather my own fish in the future. She assigned me books like Taming Your Gremlins and The Power of Now. As it turns out, I'm even more stubborn than I thought. Not only did I not read the books, I went to the store, picked them up and PUT THEM BACK! Take that!
They make this huge distinction: coaching is not counseling. We hold our clients "creative, resourceful, and whole." [Insert my skeptical face]. I knew she wanted to fix me:
"Let's take a look at this life wheel."
"Ok."
"For example, on a scale of 0-10, how do you feel about money?"
"Um...5, I guess."
"Wow. What I'm getting from you is that you're not satisfied with money..."
"Um, I guess not."
"Is there anything else you'd like to say about it? [silence]...Let's move on. Career?"
"Ten."
"Wow. This is a pretty bumpy riding wheel."
"Yeah. [The part where I pour out my soul to this woman who doesn't know me at all and somehow is still trying to fix me. I cannot find my way out of this conversation. When I hang up (because this is all happening via phone) and for days afterward, feel like poo, until I sever ties with said coach and feel like a new woman.]"
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Monday, December 13, 2004
To 'Sota, With Love
Scene 1:
A couple on a romantic walk. But it's too cold to breathe, so they each have a hand up to stop the flow of freezing tundra air to their lungs.
They look deeply pained.
Scene 2:
Makeup ritual, omit blush. Permanently ruddy cheeks. Windburn.
Scene 3:
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. [The neighbors' new dog,] Jack Frost, nipping at your butt.
A couple on a romantic walk. But it's too cold to breathe, so they each have a hand up to stop the flow of freezing tundra air to their lungs.
They look deeply pained.
Scene 2:
Makeup ritual, omit blush. Permanently ruddy cheeks. Windburn.
Scene 3:
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. [The neighbors' new dog,] Jack Frost, nipping at your butt.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
BUSTED
So I'm listening to really awesomely positive music, which I don't do that often (I HATE WALKING ON SUNSHINE. I HATE IT). Anyway, I'm jamming out. Seriously head bobbing and finger snapping (maybe even singing along) and this kid walks by my office, obviously he heard me from further away and wanted find the origin of the absurdly upbeat noise. Well.
Not to seem awkward at being caught, I yelled a far too enthusiastic "HI!"
I frightened him from across the room.
Why do I leave my door open?!!?!?!!
There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee -- that says, fool me once -- shame on -- shame on you. You fool me, you can't get fooled again.
-GWB 9/17/02
Not to seem awkward at being caught, I yelled a far too enthusiastic "HI!"
I frightened him from across the room.
Why do I leave my door open?!!?!?!!
There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee -- that says, fool me once -- shame on -- shame on you. You fool me, you can't get fooled again.
-GWB 9/17/02
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Monday, December 06, 2004
cotton shrinks
I have this problem.
It's a common enough issue, but on a day paired with too-short pants, I reach maximum density. [Seriously, my pants (trousers, if you're reading this abroad) are completely too short. Which, incidentally, wouldn't be a problem if you're talking about (abroad) pants. Get it?]
I sweat. There's no use lying about it. It happens when I'm hot, but more forcefully when I'm cold. I'm currently cold becoming increasingly warm. Conundrum.
It's a common enough issue, but on a day paired with too-short pants, I reach maximum density. [Seriously, my pants (trousers, if you're reading this abroad) are completely too short. Which, incidentally, wouldn't be a problem if you're talking about (abroad) pants. Get it?]
I sweat. There's no use lying about it. It happens when I'm hot, but more forcefully when I'm cold. I'm currently cold becoming increasingly warm. Conundrum.
Friday, December 03, 2004
It occurs to me
I "overuse" certain pieces of punctuation. Namely, the comma,,,the elipsis, (and the parenthesis). Partially because I don't know any better,,,,,, but partially! because I like them. ....A lot....
That guy
So...yeah. It's my mistake. I leave my door open (literally).
When polite conversation produces the phrase, "How are you?" and YOU, SIR don't know me aside from our regularly awkward exchanges, it's appropriate to say, "Fine, thanks." Even, "I've been a little under the weather" would be perfectly acceptable. Then it is my choice whether to inquire after your ailment or simply let the moment pass with a "that's too bad" or "well, I hope you'll feel better in time for the Holidays."
Mr. Scarfaroundhisneckbecauseit'scoldtohiminthisoverheatedbuilding describes the "crud" in his throat and the fact that the doctor can't do anything about it. And I didn't ask.
When polite conversation produces the phrase, "How are you?" and YOU, SIR don't know me aside from our regularly awkward exchanges, it's appropriate to say, "Fine, thanks." Even, "I've been a little under the weather" would be perfectly acceptable. Then it is my choice whether to inquire after your ailment or simply let the moment pass with a "that's too bad" or "well, I hope you'll feel better in time for the Holidays."
Mr. Scarfaroundhisneckbecauseit'scoldtohiminthisoverheatedbuilding describes the "crud" in his throat and the fact that the doctor can't do anything about it. And I didn't ask.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Glorious
Oh, snow. Oh, sweet marvelous snow. Oh, magnificatatum nostrum tuam snow.
Oh, Latin. Oh....
Oh, Latin. Oh....
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
No...Why....
[To be read as if shaking a hand at the sky.]
If you were me, your internal body clock would be telling you you're done with work. I mean, you'd have to be. Because it feels like 5:40 pm.
And you just ate 100 grams of digestive cookies. The kind that aid the digestive process, as it were.
And you think you might die.
Bleeehhhhh.
The worst part is, you weren't that hungry to begin with. And you brought them home as a gift. You selfish, evil woman.
If you were me, your internal body clock would be telling you you're done with work. I mean, you'd have to be. Because it feels like 5:40 pm.
And you just ate 100 grams of digestive cookies. The kind that aid the digestive process, as it were.
And you think you might die.
Bleeehhhhh.
The worst part is, you weren't that hungry to begin with. And you brought them home as a gift. You selfish, evil woman.
Oh, you.
Stop. Stop right there.
I love Bloggy McBlogerson. I am not ashamed to say that I giggled aloud with glee at his posting about...well...about me. And his room. And the fact that all of our friends are getting married (which they TOTALLY are). In fact, we've (Bloggy and I) been searching for appropriate gifts of the non-engaged kind. I can almost see signs of chronic mild stress developing. Pacing and crying at Hollywood cinema.
If you talk to him, let him know that we're ALL a little nervous about it...not the crying; the marrying. Could you also tell him to stop worrying, please?
I love Bloggy McBlogerson. I am not ashamed to say that I giggled aloud with glee at his posting about...well...about me. And his room. And the fact that all of our friends are getting married (which they TOTALLY are). In fact, we've (Bloggy and I) been searching for appropriate gifts of the non-engaged kind. I can almost see signs of chronic mild stress developing. Pacing and crying at Hollywood cinema.
If you talk to him, let him know that we're ALL a little nervous about it...not the crying; the marrying. Could you also tell him to stop worrying, please?
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Direct quotes
From conferences this evening in which I attempted to drum up some support for the volunteer effort:
First: humor. While speaking directly to me, one woman said, "You know I was looking at you and I thought 'Somebody should help her!'" Should that somebody be you? Would you like for it to be you? It could be you, selfish person, but as soon as you said it you walked away.
Quote two: "It just smacks of...compassionate conservativism; makes me want to throw up."
Now,
Dammit. I can never seem to think of the right response in these situations, which is to say, when somebody is erroneously insulting everything I hold dear using words that are UNTRUE, you DUMBFACE!
Let it be known that last week, those capitalized words would be replaced with slightly equivalent expletives.
LET THAT BE A LESSON TO YOU!
First: humor. While speaking directly to me, one woman said, "You know I was looking at you and I thought 'Somebody should help her!'" Should that somebody be you? Would you like for it to be you? It could be you, selfish person, but as soon as you said it you walked away.
Quote two: "It just smacks of...compassionate conservativism; makes me want to throw up."
Now,
Dammit. I can never seem to think of the right response in these situations, which is to say, when somebody is erroneously insulting everything I hold dear using words that are UNTRUE, you DUMBFACE!
Let it be known that last week, those capitalized words would be replaced with slightly equivalent expletives.
LET THAT BE A LESSON TO YOU!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Legally High
During my trip to LA last week I discovered that I do like drugs, as long as they're flavored with mocha and blended to perfection with whipped cream on top (whip cream is how it's spelled in my head). Caffeine, mom. I was doing it every day and I liked it. I didn't even have to snort it or needle myself. The only painful part of the process was forking over my hard-earned $4 every time for "the stuff."
I assure you that I do not like coffee. This was a purely vacational romance. An affair followed by a little ear-ringing and some very sincere cravings for a sight of The Bean.
I assure you that I do not like coffee. This was a purely vacational romance. An affair followed by a little ear-ringing and some very sincere cravings for a sight of The Bean.
Home again, Leaving again
Oh, joyous day.
Joyous everything.
The vacation was wonderful, except for the mild* PMS I experienced. Matt took his fancy cam and documented all events including so very many of my facial expressions. Ashley and Keeler were terribly gracious hosts (also mightily photogenic). THANK YOU for having us, dudes. In the immortal words of an actual college students near an actual college in California inspiring an actual mouthful of bile: Oh, my gosh. Thank you SO much [for holding the door open for me. I totally just got away with the most falsified sincerity since the Pi Phis asked the Chess Club to the Homecoming Exchange!].
Ill.
Now that I'm home, I'm ready to go on my next trip.
Luckily, I scheduled these two vacations with incredible foresight. They intersect precisely with my menstrual pre- and during weeks.
Thank you to the makers of the following products for making these days possible:
Tampons, Chocolate, MPR, Boyfriends, Ridiculously Expensive Contact Solution, and Converse All-Stars.
*See: not mild.
Joyous everything.
The vacation was wonderful, except for the mild* PMS I experienced. Matt took his fancy cam and documented all events including so very many of my facial expressions. Ashley and Keeler were terribly gracious hosts (also mightily photogenic). THANK YOU for having us, dudes. In the immortal words of an actual college students near an actual college in California inspiring an actual mouthful of bile: Oh, my gosh. Thank you SO much [for holding the door open for me. I totally just got away with the most falsified sincerity since the Pi Phis asked the Chess Club to the Homecoming Exchange!].
Ill.
Now that I'm home, I'm ready to go on my next trip.
Luckily, I scheduled these two vacations with incredible foresight. They intersect precisely with my menstrual pre- and during weeks.
Thank you to the makers of the following products for making these days possible:
Tampons, Chocolate, MPR, Boyfriends, Ridiculously Expensive Contact Solution, and Converse All-Stars.
*See: not mild.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
The Unforgivable Offense
My eyeballs are bloodshot. And I'm not on drugs. I just spent the last fifteen minutes-no exaggeration-with my fingers poking around for missing contacts.
I had just awoken from a nap and figured that the sleep made them suction cup to my eye (just trust that it's happened before. And it F'ING HURTS). As I looked in the mirror I saw a little ring around my iris and began to grab for the elusive soft lens. During the following minutes of wailing and gnashing, Matt offered patient advice and Ashley phoned in support from her movie-viewing room.
The temper tantrum I threw could shame small children.
As I picked up the contact contraption to further bemoan the cursed lenses, I noticed something catch the light.
My contacts, actually.
Because I had already taken them out.
While I was peeing.
I had just awoken from a nap and figured that the sleep made them suction cup to my eye (just trust that it's happened before. And it F'ING HURTS). As I looked in the mirror I saw a little ring around my iris and began to grab for the elusive soft lens. During the following minutes of wailing and gnashing, Matt offered patient advice and Ashley phoned in support from her movie-viewing room.
The temper tantrum I threw could shame small children.
As I picked up the contact contraption to further bemoan the cursed lenses, I noticed something catch the light.
My contacts, actually.
Because I had already taken them out.
While I was peeing.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Nice Day for a White with Red Accents Wedding
So my friends got married this weekend.
For those of us just recently graduated, currently committed, and praying to remain so without immediately conjoining ourselves unto death, that's a big deal.
I didn't even stand in the neighborhood of the bouquet. Matt pretended not to know that garters exist. We grimaced to some painfully country music (you can take a girl out of Stearns County...) and feasted on the free booze.
And then there were mutual toasts from both bride and groom. At one point, Tim said, [edited for time and content] "my wife [...]". To which Kristen responded, "[blah blah blah] my husband [blah blah blah]". Shut UP.
Shut UP. They sound so married and that's because they ARE.
For those of us just recently graduated, currently committed, and praying to remain so without immediately conjoining ourselves unto death, that's a big deal.
I didn't even stand in the neighborhood of the bouquet. Matt pretended not to know that garters exist. We grimaced to some painfully country music (you can take a girl out of Stearns County...) and feasted on the free booze.
And then there were mutual toasts from both bride and groom. At one point, Tim said, [edited for time and content] "my wife [...]". To which Kristen responded, "[blah blah blah] my husband [blah blah blah]". Shut UP.
Shut UP. They sound so married and that's because they ARE.
Friday, November 05, 2004
The Great Equalizer
School pictures.
Holy crap.
Holy, ungodly crap.
What was said:
"Would you like to fix your collar, Ma'am?"
"No, it's fine. I don't care."
What should have been said:
"Would you like to fix your collar, hair, and/or makeup, you hideous beast?"
"Yes. I'm going to hold up a picture of my cousin, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and you can take a picture of that."
Holy crap.
Holy, ungodly crap.
What was said:
"Would you like to fix your collar, Ma'am?"
"No, it's fine. I don't care."
What should have been said:
"Would you like to fix your collar, hair, and/or makeup, you hideous beast?"
"Yes. I'm going to hold up a picture of my cousin, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and you can take a picture of that."
Mad Skills
Every week now I get a dose of embarrassment built right into Thursday. I am in the practice of attending a hip-hop dance class with some girls from school. It lets them know I’m an adult who is dependable and trustworthy. And WHITE.
They all make fun of the way white girls dance. It's how they insult each other and themselves. "I'm/You dancing like a white girl." I hate to perpetuate this stereotype, but I have yet to see them disproved. They say we’re stiff and that we touch our arms too much (which is SO true. Damn. That is so true).
The instructor, an amazing and beautiful dancer moves her body in ways that my joints will not allow. She drills us with pop pah wooh breathy sounds as subsitutes for real words. I translate them to mean "this is obviously too hard for you. If you concede now, I won't tell the others that you're a big loser. Just pretend like you're going for water and leave. Leave. Shhh, baby, just get out of the class. You're holding us up."
I go home to my parents who really want to see some of my "moves". I put "moves" in quotation marks because even the word is humiliating. I make excuses because I know that without the proper music, it would be impossible.
They all make fun of the way white girls dance. It's how they insult each other and themselves. "I'm/You dancing like a white girl." I hate to perpetuate this stereotype, but I have yet to see them disproved. They say we’re stiff and that we touch our arms too much (which is SO true. Damn. That is so true).
The instructor, an amazing and beautiful dancer moves her body in ways that my joints will not allow. She drills us with pop pah wooh breathy sounds as subsitutes for real words. I translate them to mean "this is obviously too hard for you. If you concede now, I won't tell the others that you're a big loser. Just pretend like you're going for water and leave. Leave. Shhh, baby, just get out of the class. You're holding us up."
I go home to my parents who really want to see some of my "moves". I put "moves" in quotation marks because even the word is humiliating. I make excuses because I know that without the proper music, it would be impossible.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Cracked in the bulb
Now I'm not saying it's haunted, but an open office door before I even arrived here and a little taptaptaperoo from an unspecified location signify something to me.
If it were haunted, wouldn't the tapping stop when I stand up to check it out? YES.
Doesn't the tapping stop when I stand up to check it out? YES.
I think we all know what that means: the Asian Beetles have taken over. Now they're sending their beetle friends from beyond the grave to nestle in the crevices of car doors and home windows. Apparently they didn't get the memo that Halloween is over. AND IT SUCKED.
If it were haunted, wouldn't the tapping stop when I stand up to check it out? YES.
Doesn't the tapping stop when I stand up to check it out? YES.
I think we all know what that means: the Asian Beetles have taken over. Now they're sending their beetle friends from beyond the grave to nestle in the crevices of car doors and home windows. Apparently they didn't get the memo that Halloween is over. AND IT SUCKED.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
I call this one: FREEDOMMMM!
So I get to the polls this morning, perfectly pleased at myself for arriving at such a reasonably non-busy hour, (Where were you, voters?) when after I was passed along from pre-registration to day-of (God Bless Same-day Registration) I discovered that I was in error.
At the WRONG PRECINCT.
I thought perhaps the sweet old man was wrong, until he showed me the map that got me to a pair of sweet old women who busily dolled out forms to my fellow procrastinators.
I should mention that the line at Precinct 211 was a biteen more lengthy. Also, that my heart swelled when I saw so many citizens realizing their civic duty (even if they didn't recognize the names of the 15 district court judges running unopposed). Which brings me to my final piece of election day import: I wrote in my dad's name for a position as the santiation and water commissioner. There was a shit joke somewhere in my brain, but I let it go.
Get it?
Let it go?
HA.
So, hooray, Americans. Let us celebrate this feast of elections. Who will carve the incumbent?
At the WRONG PRECINCT.
I thought perhaps the sweet old man was wrong, until he showed me the map that got me to a pair of sweet old women who busily dolled out forms to my fellow procrastinators.
I should mention that the line at Precinct 211 was a biteen more lengthy. Also, that my heart swelled when I saw so many citizens realizing their civic duty (even if they didn't recognize the names of the 15 district court judges running unopposed). Which brings me to my final piece of election day import: I wrote in my dad's name for a position as the santiation and water commissioner. There was a shit joke somewhere in my brain, but I let it go.
Get it?
Let it go?
HA.
So, hooray, Americans. Let us celebrate this feast of elections. Who will carve the incumbent?
Monday, November 01, 2004
I hate you, Halloween!
Thanks for ruining my weekend and making me cry.
Thanks for sending in your clowns to chase me at the trail of terror.
Thanks for dismembering my monkey.
Thanks for getting me into a fight with Matt.
Thanks for getting me into another fight with Matt.
It's all your fault!!!
[stomp, stomp, stomp, slam]
I'm never coming out of this room.
I would tell the story, but it's too painful. It involved a Pippi Longstocking costume.
Thanks for sending in your clowns to chase me at the trail of terror.
Thanks for dismembering my monkey.
Thanks for getting me into a fight with Matt.
Thanks for getting me into another fight with Matt.
It's all your fault!!!
[stomp, stomp, stomp, slam]
I'm never coming out of this room.
I would tell the story, but it's too painful. It involved a Pippi Longstocking costume.
Friday, October 29, 2004
siiing lagaaato, siiing smooothly flowing from nohhhte to nohhhhte
If I had a nickel for every bad note I heard in a day...
Better yet, if I had a tape recorder for every bad note I heard in a day...
I have taken to calling answering machines as proof. I leave sneaky, small-voiced messages: "Listen to this. These are the...(gasping for breath) orchestra kids...(squeak, sqwak, screeeeeech) practicing for...class."
I try to be quiet, though. I don't want the little ones to know how entirely unformed their skills are, lest they get discouraged and give up as I once did.
Then there are the voice instructors who love to hear themselves "jazz jazz ja(like a new player trying to pick out a song on the guitar)zz jazz jazz." They are all the time singing to themselves things like, "e-yo-e-yo-e-yo" or "oy-yoy-oy-yoy-oy-yoy."
I'm so tempted to pump the volume on my NPR and rap whatever Ira Flato says during Science Fridays. I'm equally interested in being a human beatbox for Gary Eichten. What up, GAREEEE?!
Better yet, if I had a tape recorder for every bad note I heard in a day...
I have taken to calling answering machines as proof. I leave sneaky, small-voiced messages: "Listen to this. These are the...(gasping for breath) orchestra kids...(squeak, sqwak, screeeeeech) practicing for...class."
I try to be quiet, though. I don't want the little ones to know how entirely unformed their skills are, lest they get discouraged and give up as I once did.
Then there are the voice instructors who love to hear themselves "jazz jazz ja(like a new player trying to pick out a song on the guitar)zz jazz jazz." They are all the time singing to themselves things like, "e-yo-e-yo-e-yo" or "oy-yoy-oy-yoy-oy-yoy."
I'm so tempted to pump the volume on my NPR and rap whatever Ira Flato says during Science Fridays. I'm equally interested in being a human beatbox for Gary Eichten. What up, GAREEEE?!
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Humanitus Confuciosus
What?! My world, she's a-shaking. Brontosaurus is no longer valid as a scientific term for the long-necked herbivore I have known since my early education.
Don't go changin' / to try and rename me. Billy Joel meets archaeological discovery.
Let it be known that this particular song sends a back-handed compliment marauding as love. Incidentally, my parents cherish this song. Now I will translate it with my babelfish free services.
Just The Way You AreThe Stranger Released: 1977
Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore.... why would you imagine that unless somebody said it?
marginally romantic part omitted for time/space/the point I'm trying to make
Don't go trying some new fashion
Don't change the color of your hair don't tell me what to do! ASS!
You always have my unspoken passion
Although I might not seem to care so you admit to ignoring me?!
I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard subtext: you're not worth my thinking
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are. f you. you can have yourself just the way you are.
Don't go changin' / to try and rename me. Billy Joel meets archaeological discovery.
Let it be known that this particular song sends a back-handed compliment marauding as love. Incidentally, my parents cherish this song. Now I will translate it with my babelfish free services.
Just The Way You AreThe Stranger Released: 1977
Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore.... why would you imagine that unless somebody said it?
marginally romantic part omitted for time/space/the point I'm trying to make
Don't go trying some new fashion
Don't change the color of your hair don't tell me what to do! ASS!
You always have my unspoken passion
Although I might not seem to care so you admit to ignoring me?!
I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard subtext: you're not worth my thinking
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are. f you. you can have yourself just the way you are.
Monday, October 25, 2004
A House Divided
I've already decided whose vote I will have to cancel out.
Our dining room table is a microcosm. We are not a nation, but a house divided.
Now, I love political rhetoric as much as the next gal*, but can we talk about this?
Excerpt from the supper hour:
"Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't"
"You're voting for BUSH!?!?!"
"Hey, give him four more years. All he needs is more time to get it done."
"Shut up, shut up right now. You are not going to vote for..."
"Coercing a vote does not count as honoring a person's right to..."
"It's the American way. You can't vote for Bush."
*John Kerry is so funny. These are paraphrases (one may be verbatim) of his tricky word palindromes.
America is not a nation of blue and red states, but the state of red white AND blue!
I'm tired of politicians who talk about family values and don't value families!
I won't just kill the terrorists, I'll terrorize the killers!
Our dining room table is a microcosm. We are not a nation, but a house divided.
Now, I love political rhetoric as much as the next gal*, but can we talk about this?
Excerpt from the supper hour:
"Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't"
"You're voting for BUSH!?!?!"
"Hey, give him four more years. All he needs is more time to get it done."
"Shut up, shut up right now. You are not going to vote for..."
"Coercing a vote does not count as honoring a person's right to..."
"It's the American way. You can't vote for Bush."
*John Kerry is so funny. These are paraphrases (one may be verbatim) of his tricky word palindromes.
America is not a nation of blue and red states, but the state of red white AND blue!
I'm tired of politicians who talk about family values and don't value families!
I won't just kill the terrorists, I'll terrorize the killers!
Girl Makes Pasta without Help from Mother
It's making headlines. I created Macaroni and Cheese from a box. I didn't even call Mom at work to ask whether I should re-cover the pot post-cheese. (Possibly to the detriment of the final meal. It's hard to say. I don't blame myself.)
My culinary skills are very similar to my spatial awareness and abilities of estimation...which is to say, non-existent.
In other news, my friends had a baby. (It's not making headlines, but it is of note.) Thanks to a C-section delivery, Baby is a charming little person who came out looking very well-formed and not at all conical. Baby was impossibly swaddled at our first meeting, thus I did not inspect for all 20 digits. Assume they are present.
It was a long weekend without bloggish capabilities. The current dial-up situation can be remedied for a mere $40 per month. Which brings me back to food, an immeasurable expense: I volunteer to stop eating all vegetables in the interest of a cable modem.
I will take one for the team.
My culinary skills are very similar to my spatial awareness and abilities of estimation...which is to say, non-existent.
In other news, my friends had a baby. (It's not making headlines, but it is of note.) Thanks to a C-section delivery, Baby is a charming little person who came out looking very well-formed and not at all conical. Baby was impossibly swaddled at our first meeting, thus I did not inspect for all 20 digits. Assume they are present.
It was a long weekend without bloggish capabilities. The current dial-up situation can be remedied for a mere $40 per month. Which brings me back to food, an immeasurable expense: I volunteer to stop eating all vegetables in the interest of a cable modem.
I will take one for the team.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Really Fake World
Last evening, I was enjoying a pleasant evening at a public house downtown when I was rudely interrupted by the incomprehensible drunken slurs of a celebrity guest.
This manboy proudly identified himself as a "Road Rules Extreme" cast member. The crowd: underwhelmed. I suddenly felt sad for the young man because he was under the assumption that he had been granted some sort of measurable fame.
I should clarify that I didn't feel that bad. I mean, he gets to go anywhere and do anything as long as he allows an invasion of his privacy. Are people so desperate for attention? Why is America so desperate to watch? Is it just because we want to see ourselves on tv that we continue to tolerate--demand--more of this rubbish, believing that eventually we will end up on the screen?
[the sound of my head exploding]
As the one-man camera crew caught us rejoicing over something completely unrelated, I realized that I will be edited into a character who cheers for the imbecile. Oh, the shame.
This manboy proudly identified himself as a "Road Rules Extreme" cast member. The crowd: underwhelmed. I suddenly felt sad for the young man because he was under the assumption that he had been granted some sort of measurable fame.
I should clarify that I didn't feel that bad. I mean, he gets to go anywhere and do anything as long as he allows an invasion of his privacy. Are people so desperate for attention? Why is America so desperate to watch? Is it just because we want to see ourselves on tv that we continue to tolerate--demand--more of this rubbish, believing that eventually we will end up on the screen?
As the one-man camera crew caught us rejoicing over something completely unrelated, I realized that I will be edited into a character who cheers for the imbecile. Oh, the shame.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
The Happy Few...
who stand outside my office door talking about girls they like or boys they don't, and have no idea that i am hearing every word.
I am.
And if I seem angry, it's because I'm formulating a new political platform.
Citizens for the Standardization of Tampon Dispensers. These machines should all take a quarter. Or a dime. Or a nickel. Someone decide and unify. But for the love of everything holy, don't make me wait while my uterus is sloughing.
I am.
And if I seem angry, it's because I'm formulating a new political platform.
Citizens for the Standardization of Tampon Dispensers. These machines should all take a quarter. Or a dime. Or a nickel. Someone decide and unify. But for the love of everything holy, don't make me wait while my uterus is sloughing.
hard:growth:size:matters
Inappropriate. Email clogging my junk folder. For no particular reason, I am receiving unsolicited messages about a body part I do not possess. In addition, it shows an irritating purposeful misuse of the colon.
Hard is to growth as size is to....uncomfortable woman suspicious of emails from people she doesn't know?
Now, I see an opportunity to use the internet for marketing purposes. However, perhaps these entrepreneurs could use a blog to express their faith in the product.
Let there be blogs.
Hard is to growth as size is to....uncomfortable woman suspicious of emails from people she doesn't know?
Now, I see an opportunity to use the internet for marketing purposes. However, perhaps these entrepreneurs could use a blog to express their faith in the product.
Let there be blogs.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
TYPICAL
This is so accurate. I so do this.
I started a blog freaking two weeks ago* and then I lost it**. Lost the username, password, login ID. All of it.
I even titled it "page not found," thinking I was clever.
I plan to keep very good track of my new blog. Here blog, blog.
*sense of time and estimation are all relative in my brain
**http://www.threemonthpicnic.blogspot.com
I started a blog freaking two weeks ago* and then I lost it**. Lost the username, password, login ID. All of it.
I even titled it "page not found," thinking I was clever.
I plan to keep very good track of my new blog. Here blog, blog.
*sense of time and estimation are all relative in my brain
**http://www.threemonthpicnic.blogspot.com
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