So.
I've decided to give up alcohol and hamburgers for Lent. Seeing as these are my two biggest tangible vices, I figure they're good candidates. My other vices - cursing, spewing invective at other drivers and glaring at fashion don'ts while walking around in stained capris and a baggy sweatshirt - I think I'll need even more if I can't fall comfortably into a Shiner and a patty melt at the end of the day.
And no, I don't intend to get around the whole hamburger thing by saying "It's a cheeeeeeseburger", or "It's a melt! Not a burger! NYEH!!" I will entertain the idea of cheating with chicken and turkey burgers, however, as they are lower in fat and healthier and less likely to be accompanied by fries and I have a really good recipe I want to try.
Look, I've given up my booze folks - I am NOT MADE OF STONE.
Speaking of food, I'm currently working on what I'll call Derivative Chicken. I got the fabulous recipe* for Clams a la Zilker from Twisty's site and I made it. Sort of - I made Clams a la Round Rock by making some substitutions and changes and yum. ANYWAY. Right now I'm making a chicken dish that follows the same general framework as the clams thing - tasso, fennel, garlic, onions, broth instead of wine, chicken breast, serve over pasta, eat greedily. I'm also being stared at by an orange cat - he's laying** on top of the monitor, doing the Snoopy gargoyle thing at me. Bastard cat.
My three readers already know that I'm meeting up with the fabulous Ms. Laura-Flea, that sexy, slutty piece of work, on Thursday for dinner. I, uh, have made an exception to the no booze thing for that night because a)it's barely into Lent! and b)internet stalker meetings require alcohol. Anybody who's ever read a JournalCon entry knows that. I'm looking forward to it. Heh - duh. NO, Laura - I'm really dreading it. HEE.
Anyway - I'm a little nervous, because part of me would like to swap about 30 pounds for IQ points before Thursday. But y'know, I can't.
On CSI, Grisham just let us know that jumpers will take their glasses off before they jump, therefore the dead guy on the ground was pushed, because his glasses were next to him. Of course, I can tell you that he was pushed because in the intro he won a bunch of money and then dumped the chick with him, saying "I'm a millionaire now, why would I want to waste anymore time with YOU?"
I love CSI. It's a sickness.
Back to the meeting folks in person thing - I think I'm pretty much the same in person as I am here. I speak in weird non-sequiturs, find bizarre things funny and sort of....wander..hey! Something shiny!!
The one thing you can't tell from here is that I blink a lot. It's a sensitive/dry eye thing. Jane says I'm fidgety. I dunno, I guess so. I promise not to sneeze/throw up/cough on you and I'll pick up my half of the check AND I'll wash my hands in the bathroom, OK? OK.
OH MY GOD, A NORMAN FELL JOKE. AUGH.
Dude - how old is this episode of CSI??
Ok, I just added spinach to this recipe and it is no longer Derivative Chicken. No - it is, shit, I don't know what to call it now, but I just spilled it on my keyboard. Actually, I spilled it on the kid's keyboard, heh. Keyboard Chicken, it is!! Regardless, it is delicious.
*Twisty doesn't really post recipes so much as she posts guidelines, which actually works really well with my style of cooking.
**I've seen the lying/laying thing explained over and over and OVER again, and I figure like Algebra II and subnet masking, one of these days I'll look at it and it will just click. Until then? Grammar Nazis can suck it.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
suckage
So, I'm drunk...again?? Still? Man, I wish. Is it maybe a problem? When you wish you could be hip-deep in a bottle of wine/ book/ nap all the time??
See, here's the deal. I broke up with Max. He is an absolutely fabulous guy - sweet, considerate and, despite the stereotype, totally OK with commitment.*
The problem? Well.....me. Not entirely, if we're going to be honest - there are always things about the other person that, when magnified under the lens of discomfort and pressure, seem huge and insurmountable. But the fact is Max and I talked about a lot of Future and Forever and this and that and...I tried. I tried to jump, but the fact is, I am just not ready to take that kind of leap. I'm sorry.
What sucks about this is that in the process of not being ready, I have to hurt someone as incredbly sweet as Max.
Relationships, bah!!
I'm currently dipping into the wine that I bought for $6.99 yesterday at 7-11 ($6.99!!! 7-11!!), because I've already polished off the bottle of good stuff that I bought earlier - minus about 1/4 cup for the kid's tomato sauce.
So yeah - I'm typin' one-eyed and I'm, I dunno...upset? I dunno.
I think I just might be like Jennie Smash, and declare a booty ban.
Actually...that sounds really good right now. Men beware!! Bitter divorcee on board!!!
*Despite his stereotype-fighting, this is actaually The Thing that led to the end. He's ready to go and I'm just...not.
I take no responsibility for any typos. Don't like it? Bite me.
See, here's the deal. I broke up with Max. He is an absolutely fabulous guy - sweet, considerate and, despite the stereotype, totally OK with commitment.*
The problem? Well.....me. Not entirely, if we're going to be honest - there are always things about the other person that, when magnified under the lens of discomfort and pressure, seem huge and insurmountable. But the fact is Max and I talked about a lot of Future and Forever and this and that and...I tried. I tried to jump, but the fact is, I am just not ready to take that kind of leap. I'm sorry.
What sucks about this is that in the process of not being ready, I have to hurt someone as incredbly sweet as Max.
Relationships, bah!!
I'm currently dipping into the wine that I bought for $6.99 yesterday at 7-11 ($6.99!!! 7-11!!), because I've already polished off the bottle of good stuff that I bought earlier - minus about 1/4 cup for the kid's tomato sauce.
So yeah - I'm typin' one-eyed and I'm, I dunno...upset? I dunno.
I think I just might be like Jennie Smash, and declare a booty ban.
Actually...that sounds really good right now. Men beware!! Bitter divorcee on board!!!
*Despite his stereotype-fighting, this is actaually The Thing that led to the end. He's ready to go and I'm just...not.
I take no responsibility for any typos. Don't like it? Bite me.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Dear Flea
In which I thank flea for her wonderful literary sense and general badassery and use an assload of footnotes. Also? Rambly and run-on?? Blame the red wine and David Foster Wallace.
Dear Flea -
Ok, so....I was wandering through your archives - but definitely not during work hours, oh NO! - and you mentioned Infinite Jest a couple of times. So I checked out the link and it looked interesting, and I put it on my mental wishlist. Later that night, I gave my 14YO her first driving lesson, and she did such a good job, I told her I'd take her anywhere she wanted for dinner. She chose Chuy's - a Mexican place - and since I NEVER get to eat Mexican food, I jumped on it. After cheese enchiladas and beer (Dr. Pepper for her, much to her chagrin), we went wandering around a couple of stores and then ended up at Barnes & Noble, where I asked the little book guy, "Hey - do you have Infinite Jest?"* He spouted off the author's name and told me to follow him, so I did and whoa! I BOUGHT THE DAMN BOOK.**
Anyway, later that nigt, I'm reading the book and kiddo's reading her book, (Virgin Suicides, which HOORAH, she found something to read, but YIKES, because of her problems with depression lately) and I'm thinking about my own book, "wow...this sure reads a lot like Broom of the System."*** A few minutes later, I get up to close the back door and turn off the living room light and make sure the front door is locked and all that jazz, and I flip the book over to check out the back (yes, I carry my book with me on breaks, what??) and I see that hey! this is the same guy who wrote Broom of the System. And now, I feel like I owe you a thank you note, for mentioning this book way back when, and inspiring me to check it out and reuniting me with someone who has turned out to be one of my favorite authors. I think of his writing like I think of going tubing - just relax, let it take you where it wants you to go.*****
Anyway - thanks for all the cool stuff you write.
Laura
*This actually sparked a whole conversation about books - good ones, bad ones, good writers (we both highly approve of Didion), writers we're not so sure about (Atwood's battin' about .500 with me - he hasn't read any Atwood, but has decided he must now), and books you shouldn't read right after a break-up (Play it as it Lays and anything that was your ex's favorite****)
**Crap...I had something funny here, but I will be fucked if I can remember it.
***I got this book when my mom was working at BookStop (which is now dead...sigh) and lovedlovedloved it. Loved the flow, loved the absurdity, loved it. So why in the hell did I give it away a couple of years ago?? I don't know. Am idiot.
****Fortunately, my ex hated reading fiction (14 YEARS, PEOPLE!!) so this was easy for me to avoid, as I have no interest in reading tech manuals or The Ultimate Sniper
*****My footnotes are all dicked up, aren't they? Anyway - this tubing analogy is sort of inaccurate for me, because tubing makes me anxious. Yes, The International Sport of Stoners makes me anxious and I end up with stone bruises and a rash on my upper arms from trying to control where the water takes me, convinced that I'll get left behind or something. However, when it comes to books, I have NO problem just letting the prose wash over me. Unless it's Hannibal, because dude?? that book sucked the root.
Dear Flea -
Ok, so....I was wandering through your archives - but definitely not during work hours, oh NO! - and you mentioned Infinite Jest a couple of times. So I checked out the link and it looked interesting, and I put it on my mental wishlist. Later that night, I gave my 14YO her first driving lesson, and she did such a good job, I told her I'd take her anywhere she wanted for dinner. She chose Chuy's - a Mexican place - and since I NEVER get to eat Mexican food, I jumped on it. After cheese enchiladas and beer (Dr. Pepper for her, much to her chagrin), we went wandering around a couple of stores and then ended up at Barnes & Noble, where I asked the little book guy, "Hey - do you have Infinite Jest?"* He spouted off the author's name and told me to follow him, so I did and whoa! I BOUGHT THE DAMN BOOK.**
Anyway, later that nigt, I'm reading the book and kiddo's reading her book, (Virgin Suicides, which HOORAH, she found something to read, but YIKES, because of her problems with depression lately) and I'm thinking about my own book, "wow...this sure reads a lot like Broom of the System."*** A few minutes later, I get up to close the back door and turn off the living room light and make sure the front door is locked and all that jazz, and I flip the book over to check out the back (yes, I carry my book with me on breaks, what??) and I see that hey! this is the same guy who wrote Broom of the System. And now, I feel like I owe you a thank you note, for mentioning this book way back when, and inspiring me to check it out and reuniting me with someone who has turned out to be one of my favorite authors. I think of his writing like I think of going tubing - just relax, let it take you where it wants you to go.*****
Anyway - thanks for all the cool stuff you write.
Laura
*This actually sparked a whole conversation about books - good ones, bad ones, good writers (we both highly approve of Didion), writers we're not so sure about (Atwood's battin' about .500 with me - he hasn't read any Atwood, but has decided he must now), and books you shouldn't read right after a break-up (Play it as it Lays and anything that was your ex's favorite****)
**Crap...I had something funny here, but I will be fucked if I can remember it.
***I got this book when my mom was working at BookStop (which is now dead...sigh) and lovedlovedloved it. Loved the flow, loved the absurdity, loved it. So why in the hell did I give it away a couple of years ago?? I don't know. Am idiot.
****Fortunately, my ex hated reading fiction (14 YEARS, PEOPLE!!) so this was easy for me to avoid, as I have no interest in reading tech manuals or The Ultimate Sniper
*****My footnotes are all dicked up, aren't they? Anyway - this tubing analogy is sort of inaccurate for me, because tubing makes me anxious. Yes, The International Sport of Stoners makes me anxious and I end up with stone bruises and a rash on my upper arms from trying to control where the water takes me, convinced that I'll get left behind or something. However, when it comes to books, I have NO problem just letting the prose wash over me. Unless it's Hannibal, because dude?? that book sucked the root.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Profiles in Slobbery
On the wall in my shower is a single hair. I could wipe it off. I could hit it with the spray and wash it down my (rapidly clogging because good lord we are hairy beasts) drain. But I don't. See, the hair looks like a person's profile - one of those single line jobbies, almost like a Hirschfeld. And every day, the profile changes just a little bit. The first day I noticed it, it was a cute little button-nosed imp. The next day, a more sober, older woman. Today, the nose had shifted drastically down and straightened out - a Roman nose - an emperor in my shower.
All of this is to say, dude...I really need to clean my damn bathroom.
All of this is to say, dude...I really need to clean my damn bathroom.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
*twitch*
Oh my God y'all. You guys are the sweetest. I hesitated putting that stuff about my dad out there because a)it's painful and the way I typically deal with pain is to stuffstuffstuff it down and ignore it until my eye starts to twitch and the walls start to talk, and b) I didn't want it to look like I was trolling for sympathy. Which I'm not - but Laura mentioned free alcohol in her comment, and I am always trolling for that.
Heh
Anyway. For Christmas, my mom paid for belly dancing classes for me, kiddo and herself. Saturday was the second class, and my mom didn't feel well, so didn't show. Kiddo didn't feel well, but had to come with me because of some other stuff we had going on, so she ended up napping on a couch while I took my lesson. The instructor had brought hip scarves for us to dance in - scarves that (duh) go around your hips and have coins all over them so you make that nifty "shk shk shk shk" noise while you dance. So we're dancing, kid's snoozing and later she tells me that she had dreams about pepper grinders. Hee.
She had a therapist appointment later (yep, kid's in therapy - another thing I don't want to talk about until I get to the point of eye-twitching, but thanks) and then I dropped her off with her dad at a Chinese restaurant. I always feel weird dropping her off. Usually she sees him during the week, and he picks her up at the apartment and I'm not there. When I have to actually drop her off or pick her up, I'm unsure how to end a conversation with him. Like...I just say "Ok, bye" and tell the kid I love her and get in the car, but that feels weird - incomplete somehow. Feh. I guess a 14 year habit of ending every conversation with "I love you", even when you didn't necessarily feel it, is a little hard to break.
Saturday night, I...what the hell did I do? hm. OH! I took kiddo and a friend to Target and managed to spend a gazillion dollars and not buy a single GODDAMN thing on my list. I am the owner of a really cute shirt now, and the kid has some (much-needed) new clothes, but it doesn't matter because I can't see what I look like until I leave my house anyway, because I forgot to buy light bulbs.
On Sunday, we met up with Max and saw "King Kong" and I have to ask - was the protracted giant bug scene REALLY necessary? WAS IT?? Did I need to watch Adrian Brody fight off giant crickets? And the guy, with the toothy worm things and the ACK!! On his head? AUG!!! NOT NECESSARY. Mr. Jackson, please go back to shooting homoerotic hobbit movies and leave the guys in the creature shop alone. GAH!
Oh, and a little note here. If you have some sort of injury that requires you to erect a footrest out of booster seats and get all settled and stow your crutches and this routine takes you about 10 minutes and is NOT silent?? Do you think maybe you could make it to the movie AHEAD OF TIME, rather than come in ten minutes late and start all those shenanigans? Thanks ever so much. (Asshole)
Between that guy (conveniently located right behind us) and the family of four who came in EVEN LATER - who also started talking, and not in their movie voices, the very moment their asses made contact with the seat - I'm surprised I made it through the movie without hurting anybody.
Seriously - things happen, traffic gets weird, cars don't start, watches stop, whatever. So you made it to the movie late - come in, quietly, and shut.the.fuck.up. It's not difficult - see, there's a whole theater full of people already doing it. OH, and don't send the teenager with the mohawk and the clinkety-clanking baby punk pants on to get your popcorn. Good Christ.
Where was I? Oh yes - giant bugs [shudder]. When the lights came up, I told Max, "Jesus - between the bugs and the heights, I'm never gonna fuckin' sleep again." This has not been entirely true as I can still fall asleep just about anywhere, anytime, and waking up is quite an effort, but I can't even fathom watching that movie more than once and it's all the fault of those goddamn bugs.
I have been confused about what day it is all week - yesterday I kept thinking it was Wednesday, and even though today I had an appointment to drop off my car and should, theoretically, know what day it is, I keep trying to make it Thursday. This is fine, except when I get to the point where I'm thinking Thursday is Friday and then around 4:30 I realize I've been wrong all day I want to cry, because it feels like somebody cruelly slipped in an extra day. Being nutz is no fun.
Oh - last thing - Max made tuxedo chocolate-dipped strawberries for Valentine's Day. AW. I'd put a picture here, but I haven't figured out how to do that w/o using Hello and I don't like Hello, so...visualize. Let your mind run free. There's a Strawberry Fields joke in here somewhere, but I love you guys too much to do that to you.
Laura - San Marcos, baby - sounds great. Either that or we road trip up to Oklahoma City and meet up with Jane. Jesus, talk about feeling like a giant - going drinking with the two of you teeny people.
As I was posting this, an ant came crawling out of my laptop. AUG!
Heh
Anyway. For Christmas, my mom paid for belly dancing classes for me, kiddo and herself. Saturday was the second class, and my mom didn't feel well, so didn't show. Kiddo didn't feel well, but had to come with me because of some other stuff we had going on, so she ended up napping on a couch while I took my lesson. The instructor had brought hip scarves for us to dance in - scarves that (duh) go around your hips and have coins all over them so you make that nifty "shk shk shk shk" noise while you dance. So we're dancing, kid's snoozing and later she tells me that she had dreams about pepper grinders. Hee.
She had a therapist appointment later (yep, kid's in therapy - another thing I don't want to talk about until I get to the point of eye-twitching, but thanks) and then I dropped her off with her dad at a Chinese restaurant. I always feel weird dropping her off. Usually she sees him during the week, and he picks her up at the apartment and I'm not there. When I have to actually drop her off or pick her up, I'm unsure how to end a conversation with him. Like...I just say "Ok, bye" and tell the kid I love her and get in the car, but that feels weird - incomplete somehow. Feh. I guess a 14 year habit of ending every conversation with "I love you", even when you didn't necessarily feel it, is a little hard to break.
Saturday night, I...what the hell did I do? hm. OH! I took kiddo and a friend to Target and managed to spend a gazillion dollars and not buy a single GODDAMN thing on my list. I am the owner of a really cute shirt now, and the kid has some (much-needed) new clothes, but it doesn't matter because I can't see what I look like until I leave my house anyway, because I forgot to buy light bulbs.
On Sunday, we met up with Max and saw "King Kong" and I have to ask - was the protracted giant bug scene REALLY necessary? WAS IT?? Did I need to watch Adrian Brody fight off giant crickets? And the guy, with the toothy worm things and the ACK!! On his head? AUG!!! NOT NECESSARY. Mr. Jackson, please go back to shooting homoerotic hobbit movies and leave the guys in the creature shop alone. GAH!
Oh, and a little note here. If you have some sort of injury that requires you to erect a footrest out of booster seats and get all settled and stow your crutches and this routine takes you about 10 minutes and is NOT silent?? Do you think maybe you could make it to the movie AHEAD OF TIME, rather than come in ten minutes late and start all those shenanigans? Thanks ever so much. (Asshole)
Between that guy (conveniently located right behind us) and the family of four who came in EVEN LATER - who also started talking, and not in their movie voices, the very moment their asses made contact with the seat - I'm surprised I made it through the movie without hurting anybody.
Seriously - things happen, traffic gets weird, cars don't start, watches stop, whatever. So you made it to the movie late - come in, quietly, and shut.the.fuck.up. It's not difficult - see, there's a whole theater full of people already doing it. OH, and don't send the teenager with the mohawk and the clinkety-clanking baby punk pants on to get your popcorn. Good Christ.
Where was I? Oh yes - giant bugs [shudder]. When the lights came up, I told Max, "Jesus - between the bugs and the heights, I'm never gonna fuckin' sleep again." This has not been entirely true as I can still fall asleep just about anywhere, anytime, and waking up is quite an effort, but I can't even fathom watching that movie more than once and it's all the fault of those goddamn bugs.
I have been confused about what day it is all week - yesterday I kept thinking it was Wednesday, and even though today I had an appointment to drop off my car and should, theoretically, know what day it is, I keep trying to make it Thursday. This is fine, except when I get to the point where I'm thinking Thursday is Friday and then around 4:30 I realize I've been wrong all day I want to cry, because it feels like somebody cruelly slipped in an extra day. Being nutz is no fun.
Oh - last thing - Max made tuxedo chocolate-dipped strawberries for Valentine's Day. AW. I'd put a picture here, but I haven't figured out how to do that w/o using Hello and I don't like Hello, so...visualize. Let your mind run free. There's a Strawberry Fields joke in here somewhere, but I love you guys too much to do that to you.
Laura - San Marcos, baby - sounds great. Either that or we road trip up to Oklahoma City and meet up with Jane. Jesus, talk about feeling like a giant - going drinking with the two of you teeny people.
As I was posting this, an ant came crawling out of my laptop. AUG!
Thursday, February 09, 2006
motherfucker
Fuck it.
My dad was in the hospital over the weekend. He'd been having a lot of problems with his kidneys, and I guess it got bad enough that he went in on Friday afternoon. For my dad to actually seek medical assistance, even now that he has cancer, is a fairly big deal. This is the man who poured an entire Fry Daddy of hot grease over his hand and said "hm....hon - could you get me a beer?" In the dictionary, next to the phrase "Typical Man" is a picture of my dad, smiling, splinting his own leg.
Anyway
He went in and after hours, literally, of waiting and starving the man and screwing up whether he needed and x-ray or a CT-scan, they took him into surgery and put stints in and let him go on Monday. (Yes, there was more, but that's the gist, wait wait wait, misinform, starve, wait wait, procedure, go home.)
He called me on Friday to let me know he was in the hospital and such. He sounded tired, but OK. We joked around a bit, and then we hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, my stepmother called me and told me that my dad had asked the doctor, point blank, how much time he has left and the doctor told him "a few more months."
So - there's that. And I've cried about it, and I'm starting to cry now that I see the words on the screen, and I'll cry again.
And I'd love to be a better writer, the type who could maybe find some sort of sense or nobility or peace or whatever in this. I'd love to be a poet. But I'm not. I'm just an annoying woman with a pain-in-the-ass kid and a talkative boyfriend and an obnoxious ex and two cats who shed all over her black clothing and a tenuous grasp on her job and a dad who's going to die, painfully, in a few months.
The Pollyanna in me tells me to find a bright side - at least this, and better off that. Fuck you, Pollyanna. Fuck you right in your stupid positive ass. I don't want to find a bright side. I want to cry and yell and stomp and pout and wail and gnash. I want to stand in the middle of Congress Avenue and scream at the top of my lungs, "FUCK YOU, GOD!" I want to drink until I'm numb. I want to run until my legs give out and my lungs burn and I pass out from exhaustion. I want to crawl under my bed and hide for 10 years. I want to wallow.
Bright side my ass.
Things suck right now. Period. Pass the wine.
My dad was in the hospital over the weekend. He'd been having a lot of problems with his kidneys, and I guess it got bad enough that he went in on Friday afternoon. For my dad to actually seek medical assistance, even now that he has cancer, is a fairly big deal. This is the man who poured an entire Fry Daddy of hot grease over his hand and said "hm....hon - could you get me a beer?" In the dictionary, next to the phrase "Typical Man" is a picture of my dad, smiling, splinting his own leg.
Anyway
He went in and after hours, literally, of waiting and starving the man and screwing up whether he needed and x-ray or a CT-scan, they took him into surgery and put stints in and let him go on Monday. (Yes, there was more, but that's the gist, wait wait wait, misinform, starve, wait wait, procedure, go home.)
He called me on Friday to let me know he was in the hospital and such. He sounded tired, but OK. We joked around a bit, and then we hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, my stepmother called me and told me that my dad had asked the doctor, point blank, how much time he has left and the doctor told him "a few more months."
So - there's that. And I've cried about it, and I'm starting to cry now that I see the words on the screen, and I'll cry again.
And I'd love to be a better writer, the type who could maybe find some sort of sense or nobility or peace or whatever in this. I'd love to be a poet. But I'm not. I'm just an annoying woman with a pain-in-the-ass kid and a talkative boyfriend and an obnoxious ex and two cats who shed all over her black clothing and a tenuous grasp on her job and a dad who's going to die, painfully, in a few months.
The Pollyanna in me tells me to find a bright side - at least this, and better off that. Fuck you, Pollyanna. Fuck you right in your stupid positive ass. I don't want to find a bright side. I want to cry and yell and stomp and pout and wail and gnash. I want to stand in the middle of Congress Avenue and scream at the top of my lungs, "FUCK YOU, GOD!" I want to drink until I'm numb. I want to run until my legs give out and my lungs burn and I pass out from exhaustion. I want to crawl under my bed and hide for 10 years. I want to wallow.
Bright side my ass.
Things suck right now. Period. Pass the wine.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Thanks. Not.
Dear Barton Creek Mall Coach counter lady -
Thanks for not telling me my fly was open. No, really, I mean it. The little blast of cold air on my crotch when I walked outside, as well as the little jolt of embarrassment and panic I felt when I realized I had not only fondled $350 handbags, but had also walked all the way through the mall and through Dillard's with my barn door open were really refreshing. I feel all alive and tingly now. So yeah - thanks.
Bitch.
Laura
Thanks for not telling me my fly was open. No, really, I mean it. The little blast of cold air on my crotch when I walked outside, as well as the little jolt of embarrassment and panic I felt when I realized I had not only fondled $350 handbags, but had also walked all the way through the mall and through Dillard's with my barn door open were really refreshing. I feel all alive and tingly now. So yeah - thanks.
Bitch.
Laura
Thursday, February 02, 2006
So, um..HI!! I have this weird combination of all kinds of stuff to write about and yet nothing to write about at the moment. It's painful, really. Anyway - here's a list, in no particular order:
1 - BFF had her baby!!
2 - Some creepy old man felt the need to talk to me in Tuesday Morning, and can I ever go back to that one again, since it seems he's a regular?
3 - My grandmother's dog died, unexpectedly and in a pretty messy fashion in my mom's bathroom.
4 - I finally tried that Natural Glow crap that everybody else raved about and has since moved on from. I like it.
5 - I'm going to see "40 Year-Old Virgin" tonight. See #4 in re: me and my lack of timeliness.
6 - I got this wheat berry stuff in my salad today and while it tasted good, wheat berries are chewy little fucks and my face STILL hurts from all the chewing. When you pull muscles in your FACE while EATING???? You are out of shape, my friend.
7 - After a five-month hiatus, my period made a brief, painful return. (No, I was/am not pregnant - I changed birth control methods and no longer have to worry about a period. I do stil get cramps, PMS and fried food cravings, so um - Yeah?)
That's the gist of my life at the moment. And now, through a thoroughly scientific process, I'll pick one of these topics to write about. Drumroll please (I'm waiting for Jane to pick a number ) And! She came back with 5 - the movie. hm. 'Twould seem Jane wants me to be lame, which is actually kind of OK because a)that means I can blame it on her and b)I don't have to write about the dog, 'cause doing that right now will make me cry.
So, The Union shows movies on Thursday for free, and while they don't tend to do first-run stuff, it's usually decently popular, what-you-haven't-seen-that-oh-my-God-let's-go type stuff. Neither Max nor I have seen 40YOV yet, so hey! Free! And I think you can bring in food, which is good. I have a totebag that will totally fit a couple of tallboys and a can of Pringles. Heh. I'll let y'all know how that goes.
mmmmmmm, Pringles
Want to hear about something else? Comment - let me know that I haven't lost both of my readers due to never updating. Sigh.
mwah!
1 - BFF had her baby!!
2 - Some creepy old man felt the need to talk to me in Tuesday Morning, and can I ever go back to that one again, since it seems he's a regular?
3 - My grandmother's dog died, unexpectedly and in a pretty messy fashion in my mom's bathroom.
4 - I finally tried that Natural Glow crap that everybody else raved about and has since moved on from. I like it.
5 - I'm going to see "40 Year-Old Virgin" tonight. See #4 in re: me and my lack of timeliness.
6 - I got this wheat berry stuff in my salad today and while it tasted good, wheat berries are chewy little fucks and my face STILL hurts from all the chewing. When you pull muscles in your FACE while EATING???? You are out of shape, my friend.
7 - After a five-month hiatus, my period made a brief, painful return. (No, I was/am not pregnant - I changed birth control methods and no longer have to worry about a period. I do stil get cramps, PMS and fried food cravings, so um - Yeah?)
That's the gist of my life at the moment. And now, through a thoroughly scientific process, I'll pick one of these topics to write about. Drumroll please (I'm waiting for Jane to pick a number ) And! She came back with 5 - the movie. hm. 'Twould seem Jane wants me to be lame, which is actually kind of OK because a)that means I can blame it on her and b)I don't have to write about the dog, 'cause doing that right now will make me cry.
So, The Union shows movies on Thursday for free, and while they don't tend to do first-run stuff, it's usually decently popular, what-you-haven't-seen-that-oh-my-God-let's-go type stuff. Neither Max nor I have seen 40YOV yet, so hey! Free! And I think you can bring in food, which is good. I have a totebag that will totally fit a couple of tallboys and a can of Pringles. Heh. I'll let y'all know how that goes.
mmmmmmm, Pringles
Want to hear about something else? Comment - let me know that I haven't lost both of my readers due to never updating. Sigh.
mwah!
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