Notorious

Gooodbyeee to Suuuuubes. Goodbye to everything that I knewwwwwooohooh.
You guys, I am sad to let this car go. (Escargot, my car go....)
Yesterday was our last day together and we were kind of in a rush, which is why I took these shitty cell phone pictures to preserve her in our collective memory. [Not shown: the villainous torque bind.]
Awwwwwrustspots and missing hubcap:

Up next: more rust in weird bubble form

Her sweet dented front bumper.

Keyed entry:

Let me never forget the months I spent opening the driver's side door with a separate key than the ignition because we had to replace that one lock after somebody broke in to steal the change from the cupholder. Sigh.

13 beautiful years, Subes. What is Aegean Blue? The color of my heart's tears.
This post sponsored by Subaru, Michelle Branch and Biggie Smalls.

Brought to you by...

My desktop is sponsored by Crayola and Post-it. My desk drawer is sponsored by cough drops and hall passes. And tiny bottles of alcohol.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Loosely tying things together....

My dad and his siblings are sponsored by my Gramma and Grampa whose 54th wedding anniversary is today. They were out to dinner when I called. Apparently their server called them "Lovebirds." I stopped listening after that, because she giggled and my brain mushed from all the sweetness.

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Banker

I don't claim to be shrewd or business-savvy or "profitable." But sometimes people frigging pay you money for the stuff you do, like take pretty pictures of their families or whatever. And sometimes even when you're brave enough to charge American dollars, people's mother effing checks bounce. Who pays...you know, eventually?

1. The babies? Nope. They're fine. Don't worry about the babies.
2. The government? Nope...well, maybe. I'm not clear on the way it all breaks down. Probably not, though.
3. ME? Hell yes. I am going to be charged for your mistake. $7. So I go from making money, to owing money. This math is bad and wrong.
   

Feeling a bit on the grumpy side of ok, due to the end of another glorious weekend. There was karaoke, bike rides, overbeering, sleeping late, meeting puppies, buying a big-girl bike bag (Not the orange one. That shit is ugly).

Esoteric Moment: Did a lovely set as "Sibling Rivalry" with a pair of friends last eve at Improv-A-Go-Go (too many hyphens?). If you don't go to this weekly $1 event, you are missing out. So much laughing for $1. I could have bought entry for 7 persons, but now I have to give that to the bank, who isn't even going to use it for recreational comedy viewing! Ass!

Consider the Following:

Thoughts packed like small fish in a tin can:

• It's layering weather. Sweaters and scarves and nomnomnom. I feast on you, Autumn Temperatures. And you, Falafel.
• Holding in my bizarre behaviors for the common good and the common spaces at work. Ready to explode when the day is done. EGGO!
• Why does laryngitis always sound fake? You're telling me that you can only make little squeaky sounds? Hehm, no. I do not accept that excuse.
• J. Crew's final sale--you can't return it, but don't eff up your order, and you won't need to.
  
• Hiding light under a bushel: 30 pack of Sharpies in my desk drawer.
• Mind-exploding conversations around the influence of gender versus personality. How much of anything can we attribute to gender or personality: likes, dislikes, tendencies? Right? Did your mind explode?
• The Mom and The Poppa are in New York for the US Open, which means two things: House party! Laundry! In that order, but without the house party one. Yesssssssssssssss.

As If The Box Set of Buffy DVDs Isn't Plenty Incriminating

Unexpectedly excited for school to start. The smell of pencils; the anger of the instructional staff; the rush hour.
I'm trying to get all my bad words out before the students start on Tuesday, so I spent my commute shouting at other drivers. Possibly aided by NPR's constant discussion of
1. the down-turned economy
2. politics: the Presidential race.
Snoozefest, you guys. I want more book reviews*
I'm about to start reading Twilight. For bookclub! And Banner of Heaven, because it makes us feel better about reading Twilight as grown ups.

*Something simple. Book review of Water for Elephants: This book is frigging great. Barely even about animals at all. Get it.

The Boat Captain

Hello. How did I almost forget to show you this?

(Edited to add: On the Whitefish Chain of Lakes -- a weekend with the Blum Family Robinson in a rather "rustic" cabin. Here, in a fancy rented boat, floating, lost.)

Walgreen's, Aisle 4C

I stumbled upon a "first feminine products" discussion last night.
The Girlwoman is hair-in-the-face mortified while the Momwoman attempts to discuss how to prevent night leakage. She hisses all of her words:
"Please! People can hear you."
"Well there are some who need a little extra protection while they sleep."
"Ohgodmom. Just shhh! I don't care. Let's go."
"She's not even listening."
But I was, of course. I always am. Especially if it's somebody else's embarrassment.
Which brings me to: water skiing, whose ass I totally kicked this weekend for about 30 seconds! Nobody with a video camera to document! It was awesome! And then there was the aftermath. A terreeble pain in my focking ash.

Nine years. No whammies.

Today was our nine year dateaversary!
What have you done with your life? Am I right?
Eventually I'm going to find a photo of Matt that makes him look like a hobo, just to be fair.
I stalled dinner as long as I could to watch one Michael Phelps swim like a butterfly for 200 m, then we celebrated all of our victories at the delicious 112 eatery.
Victories: (moral) not succumbing to gladiator sandals, (mental) big multiplication without pencils or calculators, (financial) possibly buying a photography studio, (naval) I have a naval
Later, Matt asked the oven to clean itself.
Outcomes: one fire alarm, zero clean ovens.

Straight Thuggin'

I need to see Step Up 2: The Streets. My students expect something of me, along the lines of urban cultural competency, and I am not one to disappoint. In that realm.
Somebody better stick up a chubby white arm and volunteer to view it with me.
Also, can we talk about irrational anger? Because aren't these things somehow related without needing transition? Meh?
I find myself swearing at people in traffic more than is becoming to a lady of my station. Today, por ejemplo, some assface motioned for me to walk across the street. Stops in the middle of the street to motion me across. No, no, I waved. It's your turn. He motioned me AGAIN, at which point I threw up my hands and started walking. Give me a break, Passive Aggressive Minnesota. Don't do me any favors so you can drive away calling me the b word in your brain.
That same volunteer mightshould reach over and turn up the Christian radio station for me to drown out my foul mouth.

Just this:

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