Best keyword search phrase for October, "jewelry strangulation" & "babies." My first short-story collection will totally be called that. Or, my next NaNoWriMo book.
That reminds me. I have decided not to do NaNoWriMo this year. It seems too overwhelming for me right now. I must spend the next 10 days really concentrating on the mosaic and nothing else. Then a much deserved break where I will do nothing at all but stare at the television, and possibly drool on myself. That's pretty much my plan through the end of the year.
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Last night, after deeply cutting my finger and bleeding all over the mosaic, I wondered if instead of crying on the dollars people send me when I lie to them, that I could just bleed on the dollars instead (for no reason at all!). CSP thought there might be some takers on such an offer, and that it would even be fair for me to ask for $2, and only send one bloody dollar back. I asked if he'd want one, a little Halloween gift, but he did not respond. Does that mean he wants one and he's just being coy?
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A while ago, I mentioned one of the best things that happened this year was Frijole's visit in August. While still true, there was an equally awesome best thing (a tie!) when Ivy Vyne swung through in late May. Remember how we almost died? And her visit eventually sparked the knitted fish taco. How I could have neglected to mention her before, was a gross mistake on my part. I apologize, and hopes she will forgive me, so that we can attempt to do a better job at not dying the next time we go tubing. In November, I expect to have a three-way tie of awesome friend adventures, when I get to see a very dear friend of mine. It'll be a fantasy come true. That is how magical it is.
There have been times this year, where I've been so dejected, sad, feeling like no one likes me as much as I like them (self-pitying insecurity is so lame), but how can any of that be true? How can I feel that way when I have such wonderful people in my life? Especially ones who will take vacations just to see me! What exactly is my problem? Stupid brain can really fuck up seeing reality correctly.
Maybe it is because the kittens still love The Boy way more than me. Maybe that is my problem.
31 October 2010
30 October 2010
Stoned Panda (New Band Name?)
Before heading out to the garage and spending the afternoon inhaling glass dust, and getting more bloody fingerprints on the mosaic, I thought I'd sit down and watch the season finale of Project Runway, and check in here. Seems like more and more days stretch between each update, and I blame so many things (damn you EM for getting me addicted to Angry Birds!). There are many distractions right now: iPhone apps, friends needing help, finalizing vacation plans, waiting for the McRib on election day, hormonal craziness, crying jags in the car, weepy moments by the creek, coming close to peeing myself in happiness, etc. The swings are so up and down that I can't say where I am emotionally at any given moment.
Thursday was so awful. I was so angry and upset, and none of it was about me, but I had internalized someone else's pain and sadness. It eventually trickled over to my own problems, and made me look at every thing negatively. Yet, so many good things happened that day. Made vacation plans with one friend, made peace with another friend, and finally talked to someone dear to me for the first time in almost two months. At tutoring I ran in to two of my girls from last year, and oh god, the pleasure the girls gave me by squealing like small animals under attack, and so fiercely hugging my sides, that I thought they were going to pull me down to the floor and start nibbling on me in their exuberance. I don't think any kids have ever been so happy to see me. And, I have never enjoyed children as much as I have in that moment. They love me!
Then they were late to class and came running to find me to write them an excuse for being late. I highly doubt a note from me changed anything, but I happily obliged. Such power!
That afternoon I got a much needed hug from a friend. That didn't exactly turn my mood around, but I really did appreciate it. Though, the gusting wind was a distraction, and there was like a 10-year-old girl just hanging out in front of my office building kind of staring at us. That was totally weird. Sometimes there are stray cats loafing out side the building, but rarely any stray kids. Especially stray kids hanging out in seemingly gale-force winds.
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Wikus and I went to Hobby Lobby today. There were a lot of obese people buying crafty stuff. By the cash register were some seriously stoned stuffed animals. Look at the eyes on this panda!
Nothing like giving children the idea that dilated eyes are way cool.
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When I got home, I found this on my door.
Damn, I missed the religious crazies. I am totally going to go worship with them at the Country Inn & Suites. Nothing like church in a hotel. Especially if I manage to pick up some hot, young thing, looking for a bit of spirit and faith--there's plenty of rooms to show him (or her!) what religion is really all about. Heh heh.
Thursday was so awful. I was so angry and upset, and none of it was about me, but I had internalized someone else's pain and sadness. It eventually trickled over to my own problems, and made me look at every thing negatively. Yet, so many good things happened that day. Made vacation plans with one friend, made peace with another friend, and finally talked to someone dear to me for the first time in almost two months. At tutoring I ran in to two of my girls from last year, and oh god, the pleasure the girls gave me by squealing like small animals under attack, and so fiercely hugging my sides, that I thought they were going to pull me down to the floor and start nibbling on me in their exuberance. I don't think any kids have ever been so happy to see me. And, I have never enjoyed children as much as I have in that moment. They love me!
Then they were late to class and came running to find me to write them an excuse for being late. I highly doubt a note from me changed anything, but I happily obliged. Such power!
That afternoon I got a much needed hug from a friend. That didn't exactly turn my mood around, but I really did appreciate it. Though, the gusting wind was a distraction, and there was like a 10-year-old girl just hanging out in front of my office building kind of staring at us. That was totally weird. Sometimes there are stray cats loafing out side the building, but rarely any stray kids. Especially stray kids hanging out in seemingly gale-force winds.
_______________________________________________________________
Wikus and I went to Hobby Lobby today. There were a lot of obese people buying crafty stuff. By the cash register were some seriously stoned stuffed animals. Look at the eyes on this panda!
Nothing like giving children the idea that dilated eyes are way cool.
_______________________________________________________________
When I got home, I found this on my door.
Damn, I missed the religious crazies. I am totally going to go worship with them at the Country Inn & Suites. Nothing like church in a hotel. Especially if I manage to pick up some hot, young thing, looking for a bit of spirit and faith--there's plenty of rooms to show him (or her!) what religion is really all about. Heh heh.
28 October 2010
Goslings
Autumn is here. The leaves are falling and look like baby ducks floating in the creek. The wind is brisk and the light is casting yellow-gold angles. I'm wearing a wool skirt and tights to honor the change. I'm in all brown with hints of mulberry and turquoise.
Normally I'd be quite happy with this moment--this pause before winter. Yet, I found myself by the creek this morning to quietly grieve on a friend's behalf. It's not my burden; yet, I have internalized and feel just awful for what she is going through. I want to cry and breathing is difficult. I want to help her, change things that have already been put in to motion. Make the world stop, so we can all catch our breath and feel the loveliness of fall on our skins.
I am left hollow, wind-blown and ragged. Winter is around the corner. I already feel it. All I can do is keep my friend warm with support, comfort and love.
Normally I'd be quite happy with this moment--this pause before winter. Yet, I found myself by the creek this morning to quietly grieve on a friend's behalf. It's not my burden; yet, I have internalized and feel just awful for what she is going through. I want to cry and breathing is difficult. I want to help her, change things that have already been put in to motion. Make the world stop, so we can all catch our breath and feel the loveliness of fall on our skins.
I am left hollow, wind-blown and ragged. Winter is around the corner. I already feel it. All I can do is keep my friend warm with support, comfort and love.
Posted from Blogium for iPhone
26 October 2010
Give Me a Dollar, I'll Cry on It
Apparently, I took my Ambien too early last night. Luckily, I did not learn a harsh lesson, but a lesson was still learned. Things I did on Ambien with zero memory of it happening:
- Posted my blog to Facebook with the comment, "Wherein I am pretty sure that I did talk about sex and make other inappropriate thoughts and references. If that isn't true. Send me a dollar. I'll cry on it and send it back to you." I did not talk about sex (inappropriate or otherwise). So it seems all of you should be sending me a dollar, which I promise to cry on and send back to you. Why would I say that? I have no idea! However, it is a catchy phrase.
- Every night, before I go to bed, I lay out what I want to wear the next day. I managed to put an ensemble together, but it was a total surprise to me when I went to get dressed this morning. Thankfully, it all matched, and I only had to find socks to wear with it. The only strange thing was I picked a strapless bra to wear under my tank top and sweater. I wore it anyway. It's best to follow what my subconscious tells me to do.
- When The Boy got home from rehearsal, he claims I wanted to watch How I Met Your Mother. He complied, just to have me pass out on his side of the bed. The kind of passed out where he couldn't move me. I woke up on my side of the bed, so I managed to get there at some point. Go me!
- Realizing at work that I had been waking around with not only my fly unzipped, but also not buttoned. I had only managed the belt.
- In the car, after attending a wedding on Saturday (congrats you crazy kids), I noticed that my slightly tinted lip gloss was all over my mouth heading toward my chin. I looked like I had spent the wedding involved in some serious heavy petting with a bearded person.
- Something else that I can't even bear to mention, because it was less about being embarrassed and more about my own insecurities.
25 October 2010
Bloody Finger Type Night
Texting in traffic is sometimes easy, and sometimes rough--especially when the red lights keep turning green at inconvenient times. I was madly trying to text Frijole to let her know I was running late, and might miss our 6pm call. Seeing that Frijole is the best friend a lady could wish for, she immediately texted back how I need to take care of myself and get dinner in to me. She knows me so well! If we had talked, I would not have eaten. Therefore we moved the call to Wednesday night. I ate some tortellinis and ran out to the garage to mosaic.
I swear my fingers are getting lacerated way more on this project than any other before it. Almost all the glass has some of my flesh and blood on it. Maybe part of my art showcase will be to have Ex-Cop come down and spray luminol on it, and show the people how much I have suffered for my art.
Part of running late was my desperate need for petrol (otherwise, I would be very sad on my way to work tomorrow morning). As I stood out there fueling up, the wind whipped my hair all about my head, and blew up my shirt in a mostly non-sexy way. Which got me to thinking. I believe that the Shell gas station by my house is the fucking windiest gas station in town. There are normal breezes at other gas stations; mundane wind. The kind you barely notice, and can easily be found in various places, such as the local swim hole, behind the garage, near the open door to a hot Chinese kitchen, just not at my local gas station. I do enjoy a nice breeze, especially when it is 90 degrees outside. Breeze makes me feel light and fluffy, happy. This strong jerky wind hanging out around the Shell gas station is just evil. It works so hard to find a seam to crack open, and thus causing chapped internal organ. Help my gallbladder seems to be chapped, and needs to stay home from school. Does anyone have a good organ balm? I was planning on surprising Ms. Left Ovary with a kiss--which is going to be completely gross to the organ on the other side of my kiss.
When I finally got to the house, I noticed a clump of bronze leaves in the front yard. No matter that it was in the 90s today, it appears that autumn has arrived in Austin.
There's some exciting news I am bursting to share, but nothing has actually been settled yet. It is still in concoction stage. All I know is that crossing my fingers seems to have worked, and now I just have to work out the details. If this all comes to fruition, I will absolutely piss myself with joy. It's going to be one of the best things that has happened this year (Frijole and me at the Stephen F. Austin hotel has been the highlight of 2010 so far). Many happy clapping at my desk today. Sneaky little claps under my desk, and then some out-in-the-open claps with a maniacal giggle. I am flush with love and happiness.
Ok, feel free to go puke in your hand now. Especially since my love just brimmed over and shot out of me and hit you in the eye. Sorry about that. I can't always control myself.
I swear my fingers are getting lacerated way more on this project than any other before it. Almost all the glass has some of my flesh and blood on it. Maybe part of my art showcase will be to have Ex-Cop come down and spray luminol on it, and show the people how much I have suffered for my art.
Part of running late was my desperate need for petrol (otherwise, I would be very sad on my way to work tomorrow morning). As I stood out there fueling up, the wind whipped my hair all about my head, and blew up my shirt in a mostly non-sexy way. Which got me to thinking. I believe that the Shell gas station by my house is the fucking windiest gas station in town. There are normal breezes at other gas stations; mundane wind. The kind you barely notice, and can easily be found in various places, such as the local swim hole, behind the garage, near the open door to a hot Chinese kitchen, just not at my local gas station. I do enjoy a nice breeze, especially when it is 90 degrees outside. Breeze makes me feel light and fluffy, happy. This strong jerky wind hanging out around the Shell gas station is just evil. It works so hard to find a seam to crack open, and thus causing chapped internal organ. Help my gallbladder seems to be chapped, and needs to stay home from school. Does anyone have a good organ balm? I was planning on surprising Ms. Left Ovary with a kiss--which is going to be completely gross to the organ on the other side of my kiss.
When I finally got to the house, I noticed a clump of bronze leaves in the front yard. No matter that it was in the 90s today, it appears that autumn has arrived in Austin.
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| Thanks to Schmutzie.com, I discovered PictureShow |
Ok, feel free to go puke in your hand now. Especially since my love just brimmed over and shot out of me and hit you in the eye. Sorry about that. I can't always control myself.
24 October 2010
Who's Got Elevator Butt?
For the first few months of the kittens' lives, we felt that they were almost too fragile to cuddle. That if we petted them too hard, their skulls would cracks and ribs would break. Everything about them was dainty and delicate. Then one day, we discovered that they were ready for grabby hands and elevator butt. Horchata, in particular, loves elevator butt. He wants you to practically beat on his ass, and he'll raise his haunches high in thank you. They still won't crawl in my lap, and prefer The Boy over me, but at least I can manhandle them now.
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Yesterday was almost fully taken up by a friend's wedding. It was a blend of Amerian and Indian customs, with plenty of beautiful saris and jodhpuri suits (at least I think that is what the men call their garments). It was all very lovely, and it was an honor to be a part of it. We even got to enjoy sexy dancing with veils and gyrating bodies. Yum. American weddings are so boring with the entertainment at the reception. You have to sit through a lot of toasts and the guests' crappy dancing. Not so at an Indian reception. They entertain you with actual talented groups of people dancing for you. I bet there were some boners in the room.
The only downside to all this was how I didn't get to mosaic, and that the catered dinner was Indian food. I know, what did I expect really? I just can't stand the stuff. I have tried it. I remember going to an Indian restaurant in Harvard Square with my besty college friend for her 21st birthday. I think I was only able to eat the paratha bread (and as I picked the peas out of it, I cried on the inside). The smell of curry hits my brain in such a way that I feel like my eyes are being stabbed out and the lining of my sinuses doused with gasoline and lit on fire. If I vomited on a plate of Indian food, I wouldn't be able to discern the difference between my puke and the food. As a general rule, I like to my food to be a little less already-digested looking.
So, I ate a cupcake for dinner. It was tasty.
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Thus today I spent mosaicing. Actually I squandered some time in front of the television. Then I took the trash and recycling out to the bins. I accompanied ET on a walk around the backyard (he has put a hole in our chain-link fence, and is fully aware of how to find it every time he'd like to leave the backyard for a visit to the front yard). Then I got to business. I spent an hour or more actually redoing part of the mosaic I wasn't happy with, so my progress was diminished a bit by this. However, I feel way better about how it looks now.
_______________________________________________________________
Yesterday was almost fully taken up by a friend's wedding. It was a blend of Amerian and Indian customs, with plenty of beautiful saris and jodhpuri suits (at least I think that is what the men call their garments). It was all very lovely, and it was an honor to be a part of it. We even got to enjoy sexy dancing with veils and gyrating bodies. Yum. American weddings are so boring with the entertainment at the reception. You have to sit through a lot of toasts and the guests' crappy dancing. Not so at an Indian reception. They entertain you with actual talented groups of people dancing for you. I bet there were some boners in the room.
The only downside to all this was how I didn't get to mosaic, and that the catered dinner was Indian food. I know, what did I expect really? I just can't stand the stuff. I have tried it. I remember going to an Indian restaurant in Harvard Square with my besty college friend for her 21st birthday. I think I was only able to eat the paratha bread (and as I picked the peas out of it, I cried on the inside). The smell of curry hits my brain in such a way that I feel like my eyes are being stabbed out and the lining of my sinuses doused with gasoline and lit on fire. If I vomited on a plate of Indian food, I wouldn't be able to discern the difference between my puke and the food. As a general rule, I like to my food to be a little less already-digested looking.
So, I ate a cupcake for dinner. It was tasty.
_______________________________________________________________
Thus today I spent mosaicing. Actually I squandered some time in front of the television. Then I took the trash and recycling out to the bins. I accompanied ET on a walk around the backyard (he has put a hole in our chain-link fence, and is fully aware of how to find it every time he'd like to leave the backyard for a visit to the front yard). Then I got to business. I spent an hour or more actually redoing part of the mosaic I wasn't happy with, so my progress was diminished a bit by this. However, I feel way better about how it looks now.
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| Light table courtesy of MC (aka: awesomest girl in town) |
22 October 2010
Am I Really the Only One?
Okay, I am apparently the only one in the whole fucking world who thinks anal sex when the words "soul raiders" is said. I have no idea why I thought of that--and still do think of it. It definitely has something to do with the word "raider." It sounds so intrusive. You know, like anal sex. When you have anal sex, you may very well feel your soul is being raided. There's a lot that goes on during anal sex. I don't think I'm totally crazy for thinking this. However, it looks like some people disagree. Regardless, I can't stop myself. When ever CSP talks about his Soul Cats, I'm going to immediately think Soul Raiders, then right on the heels of that, ANAL SEX. So what?
21 October 2010
Middle School Soul Raiders
In training today, I suffered through a bit of a sneezing spell. Some computer tech was in the room repairing something, and he said that my sneezes were "precious." I disagree. They are totally tough and convey what a badass I am.
Tutoring finally started today. I have three students: two girls and a boy, and they seem really awesome. Nice, smart and quite calm. The teacher assigned the students to a group, so no more knots of besties speaking secret girl talk and giggling. I'm very much looking forward to hanging out with these kids every Thursday afternoon. We are calling ourselves The Lynxes (I realize "lynx" is the plural, but so is "lynxes" and it is just more fun to say that way). They first said "cheetahs" until I turned them on to the awesomeness that is the lynx. The iPhone makes for great educational moments. Their teacher had no idea what a lynx was (and couldn't figure out how to spell it), and I found that to be very disappointing, and sad. I find that knowing your different types of cats is a vitally important to being a well-rounded human.
CSP's group was almost the Soul Raiders, but ended up the Soul Cats, which I don't find as fun. It pales terribly in the shadow of Soul Raiders. Which sounds really really dirty to me. I immediately thought of anal sex. Then started imagining logo suggestions for the Soul Raiders. It involved a very thick dildo with spikes. This all happened in about a half-second, and we went our separate ways without me once saying what I was thinking. Baby, who's going to be my soul raider tonight? Oh, oh, oh. It's you! See, it even makes for a good song. Anyway, one of his kids suggested Soul Raiders, but consensus wasn't reached until Soul Cats was put out there. I bet that kid is totally going to be an ass-pirate in a few years (please say he isn't already--there are so many 12-year-olds having sex these days, and it terrifies me; even I waited until I was 15 for crap's sake!).
Soul, soul, soul raider! Hiyaaaaa!
I need to take a break from mosaicing tonight. I really shouldn't, but I have fucked flayed my fingers on glass, and it just hurts way too much. Even typing right now is less than ideal. I'm not using the ring-saw on this project, and there are so many little itty bitty pieces, which really just means more potential to have glass embedded in various bits of my hand. I must accomplish a lot this weekend for the slacking off I did on Tuesday (Red Dwarf), tonight (crybaby) and tomorrow (outdoor scary movie and chili fun times!). Saturday I have a wedding to go to in the afternoon, so really it is going to be a date with myself in the garage Saturday night. I'm sure I'll just have a soul-raiding good time. With glass.
It's dinner time. I've had three cookies and a banana today. Now moving on to a fruit shake and Amy's margherita pizza for dinner. Thus, I balance out all that badness with tons of fruity goodness. So there.
This morning's sunrise out by where I was in training:
Tutoring finally started today. I have three students: two girls and a boy, and they seem really awesome. Nice, smart and quite calm. The teacher assigned the students to a group, so no more knots of besties speaking secret girl talk and giggling. I'm very much looking forward to hanging out with these kids every Thursday afternoon. We are calling ourselves The Lynxes (I realize "lynx" is the plural, but so is "lynxes" and it is just more fun to say that way). They first said "cheetahs" until I turned them on to the awesomeness that is the lynx. The iPhone makes for great educational moments. Their teacher had no idea what a lynx was (and couldn't figure out how to spell it), and I found that to be very disappointing, and sad. I find that knowing your different types of cats is a vitally important to being a well-rounded human.
CSP's group was almost the Soul Raiders, but ended up the Soul Cats, which I don't find as fun. It pales terribly in the shadow of Soul Raiders. Which sounds really really dirty to me. I immediately thought of anal sex. Then started imagining logo suggestions for the Soul Raiders. It involved a very thick dildo with spikes. This all happened in about a half-second, and we went our separate ways without me once saying what I was thinking. Baby, who's going to be my soul raider tonight? Oh, oh, oh. It's you! See, it even makes for a good song. Anyway, one of his kids suggested Soul Raiders, but consensus wasn't reached until Soul Cats was put out there. I bet that kid is totally going to be an ass-pirate in a few years (please say he isn't already--there are so many 12-year-olds having sex these days, and it terrifies me; even I waited until I was 15 for crap's sake!).
Soul, soul, soul raider! Hiyaaaaa!
I need to take a break from mosaicing tonight. I really shouldn't, but I have fucked flayed my fingers on glass, and it just hurts way too much. Even typing right now is less than ideal. I'm not using the ring-saw on this project, and there are so many little itty bitty pieces, which really just means more potential to have glass embedded in various bits of my hand. I must accomplish a lot this weekend for the slacking off I did on Tuesday (Red Dwarf), tonight (crybaby) and tomorrow (outdoor scary movie and chili fun times!). Saturday I have a wedding to go to in the afternoon, so really it is going to be a date with myself in the garage Saturday night. I'm sure I'll just have a soul-raiding good time. With glass.
It's dinner time. I've had three cookies and a banana today. Now moving on to a fruit shake and Amy's margherita pizza for dinner. Thus, I balance out all that badness with tons of fruity goodness. So there.
This morning's sunrise out by where I was in training:
18 October 2010
Going to Get You, Little Fishy
Here is my fish taco.
It is in my lap at work. He looks great with my pink dress. I felt Senor Senior Del Mar would be more safe at work, out of the kittens little clutches. Wikus said that when he says my fish taco, he starts singing, "I'm going to get you, little fishy," from Red Dwarf. Cat sings it. Obviously.
This is how far I have gotten on my spider lily:
That's five days of work. Not consecutive days. I am doing all this by hand. No ringsaw. It is exhausting work. Tonight I think I gave myself a sandblasting facial while grinding the glass for the pollen bits. I have three weeks left to finish this. I'm trying to feel optimistic, but my sinuses are conspiring against me. Jackasses.
_______________________________________________________________
The Vaselines were awesome. Granted, my expectations were a bit low going in to it. One album two decades ago. Never really toured. Just how could they be that good? After suffering through three hours of waiting for the damn opening bands to quit the crap, we were treated to something really nice. Their voices sounded great, and their new songs (yes, a new album was released in September) were fun and catchy. I highly recommend the show if they come through your town.
While waiting in near agony (Emo's has these hard, wooden bleachers that I'm pretty sure were specifically designed to make people NOT want to sit down, or at least drink themselves in to a stupor so they won't notice how much their asses hurt), I noticed that the majority of the women in the crowd were dressed in the most fucked-up, ugly-ass outfits. From the looks of it, they all went to various thrift stores with the instructions to buy three things. Then they all got together and played an elaborate game of pass the items around--two to the left with one to the right, then one to the left and two to the right, one twice to the right and two three times to the left. Time is called and everyone has to don what she is holding. A kind of musical chairs for crappy floral materials. Embarrassing and non-flattering. They all seemed so happy, though.
Way back in the way back when, when I was probably 13 or so, I decided that I would look really awesome in a sweater dress. It was red and black striped, wide stripes. I work it with black pantyhose (I was sheltered and did not have access to tights) and some heinous Payless black flats.
I felt awesome. I just knew I looked awesome.
Looking back, I was really fucking wrong.
It is in my lap at work. He looks great with my pink dress. I felt Senor Senior Del Mar would be more safe at work, out of the kittens little clutches. Wikus said that when he says my fish taco, he starts singing, "I'm going to get you, little fishy," from Red Dwarf. Cat sings it. Obviously.
This is how far I have gotten on my spider lily:
That's five days of work. Not consecutive days. I am doing all this by hand. No ringsaw. It is exhausting work. Tonight I think I gave myself a sandblasting facial while grinding the glass for the pollen bits. I have three weeks left to finish this. I'm trying to feel optimistic, but my sinuses are conspiring against me. Jackasses.
_______________________________________________________________
The Vaselines were awesome. Granted, my expectations were a bit low going in to it. One album two decades ago. Never really toured. Just how could they be that good? After suffering through three hours of waiting for the damn opening bands to quit the crap, we were treated to something really nice. Their voices sounded great, and their new songs (yes, a new album was released in September) were fun and catchy. I highly recommend the show if they come through your town.
While waiting in near agony (Emo's has these hard, wooden bleachers that I'm pretty sure were specifically designed to make people NOT want to sit down, or at least drink themselves in to a stupor so they won't notice how much their asses hurt), I noticed that the majority of the women in the crowd were dressed in the most fucked-up, ugly-ass outfits. From the looks of it, they all went to various thrift stores with the instructions to buy three things. Then they all got together and played an elaborate game of pass the items around--two to the left with one to the right, then one to the left and two to the right, one twice to the right and two three times to the left. Time is called and everyone has to don what she is holding. A kind of musical chairs for crappy floral materials. Embarrassing and non-flattering. They all seemed so happy, though.
Way back in the way back when, when I was probably 13 or so, I decided that I would look really awesome in a sweater dress. It was red and black striped, wide stripes. I work it with black pantyhose (I was sheltered and did not have access to tights) and some heinous Payless black flats.
I felt awesome. I just knew I looked awesome.
Looking back, I was really fucking wrong.
16 October 2010
Hand-Knitted Fish Taco
Mosquitoes love me. There will be zero mosquitoes around, NONE, and suddenly they will appear all over my body. People will stand around and stare at me as I slap myself and grumble. The weather has been a lot cooler, especially at nights, and one would think the mosquitoes are wintering in Florida by now. However, spending the afternoon in the garage mosaicing has learned me a valuable lesson. The garage is filled with invisible mosquitoes, and I should cover myself in a bug net, and pretend to mosaic. They fucking bite my fingers for crap's sake. My forehead has a few red, itchy bumps. My shins are ablaze. Even my stomach wasn't left alone. Fucking mosquitoes.
Last night I got a prezzie in the mail from Ivy Vyne. It was a hand-knitted fish taco. It is so fucking awesome. Tortilla. Lettuce. Cheese. Salsa. Fish. I can feel the world's jealousy prickling my skin. I would never ever eat a fish taco, and to have this knitted representation of the most foul combination of ingredients ever, is the most magical, thoughtful gift I have ever received (okay Boy, the Fluevog shoes obviously count as well). I'll post a picture of it tomorrow. I hope the next thing she knits me as a grumpy Carebear.
Last night I went to happy hour with CSP and a couple of his friends. It was a very lovely afternoon, and his friends were very entertaining, and didn't seem to notice that I was stabbing myself in the leg when they were talking about football. They even hugged me when I left. And I didn't mind! We had this very cute boyish girl waiting on our table, and I swear, I SWEAR, that she was my waitress this morning at breakfast. We kept giving each other the eye, and I just couldn't bring myself to ask if she worked at Freddie's (south Austin) and Kerbey Lane (one far north Austin). It seems so inconceivable.
Tonight we're off to see The Vaseline's. I have no clue what they are going to sound like here in 2010, but I'm looking forward to it. Off to shower the glass dust off my body.
Last night I got a prezzie in the mail from Ivy Vyne. It was a hand-knitted fish taco. It is so fucking awesome. Tortilla. Lettuce. Cheese. Salsa. Fish. I can feel the world's jealousy prickling my skin. I would never ever eat a fish taco, and to have this knitted representation of the most foul combination of ingredients ever, is the most magical, thoughtful gift I have ever received (okay Boy, the Fluevog shoes obviously count as well). I'll post a picture of it tomorrow. I hope the next thing she knits me as a grumpy Carebear.
Last night I went to happy hour with CSP and a couple of his friends. It was a very lovely afternoon, and his friends were very entertaining, and didn't seem to notice that I was stabbing myself in the leg when they were talking about football. They even hugged me when I left. And I didn't mind! We had this very cute boyish girl waiting on our table, and I swear, I SWEAR, that she was my waitress this morning at breakfast. We kept giving each other the eye, and I just couldn't bring myself to ask if she worked at Freddie's (south Austin) and Kerbey Lane (one far north Austin). It seems so inconceivable.
Tonight we're off to see The Vaseline's. I have no clue what they are going to sound like here in 2010, but I'm looking forward to it. Off to shower the glass dust off my body.
13 October 2010
My Affair
Wow, that Mentos commercial that I just watched was absolutely vile. Making out with your boyfriend while he is shaking your dad's hand, and then your brothers watch with interest over dad's shoulder while they eat some food. If taking Mentos makes that happen, why would anyone have one? Is fresh breath really worth that trouble? Pop that shit in the car when you are at least a mile down the road. Jesus.
_______________________________________________________________
After work I had the best intentions to go straight in to the garage to mosaic. I had to eat first. I really had to eat before heading out there. Trail mix, a banana and a handful of cherry tomatoes were not going to get me through the night. Of course while I'm eating dinner (tortellinis), I had to sit on the couch and watch television. That would have just been preposterous to sit at the table and eat. Thus, I got sucked in to two episodes of Teen Mom. Since I got home after 6pm tonight, that meant it was 8pm before my attention flickered away from the tv. But, then the DVR told me how America's Next Top Model was ready for me to watch. Fuck mosaicing! It was over, no fighting it.
I did wash the dishes, though. I cheated on the couch to do those dishes. The couch is hurt, and isn't talking to me right now. I don't blame it. I really should have just stayed on it, and refused those dishes. I'm not very strong. My emotions totally take over, and I stop making logical decisions. I live in the moment, no looking back. Sorry couch, I had a need, and I had to fulfill it right then. Kisses, dishes!
_______________________________________________________________
There was a truck in front of me today that had its cab window open, and a lovely puppy was jumping in and out of the cab and the back of the truck. It totally looked unsafe, and not just for that poor dog, but for me. That dog had the largest fucking balls I have ever seen. They swung so low that he smacked them against the truck every time he jumped through the window. It was mesmerizing. If that dog decides to chase its tail, those balls are going to get twisted in an ugly knot that all the licking in the world will not untie. Thankfully they turned at 11th, and I was able to continue to 12th without the distraction of a dog's genitalia.
_______________________________________________________________
Twit is still scheduled to return tomorrow. Standby for the renewal of the Amazingly Stupid Adventures of Twit. Or, she'll be allowed to work from home, and it'll be like she never came back, which probably will make me less stressed in the end. I am so not looking forward to all the eavesdropping that is about to happen. I have gotten very used to hanging out in my little corner, and being able to have open phone conversations, and mostly-private talks when someone is visiting with me. That is all going to end once she takes up residence at her desk. I'm just going to have to start inviting people to step outside if they would like to chat. I have such mixed emotions about all of this. Sigh.
_______________________________________________________________
After work I had the best intentions to go straight in to the garage to mosaic. I had to eat first. I really had to eat before heading out there. Trail mix, a banana and a handful of cherry tomatoes were not going to get me through the night. Of course while I'm eating dinner (tortellinis), I had to sit on the couch and watch television. That would have just been preposterous to sit at the table and eat. Thus, I got sucked in to two episodes of Teen Mom. Since I got home after 6pm tonight, that meant it was 8pm before my attention flickered away from the tv. But, then the DVR told me how America's Next Top Model was ready for me to watch. Fuck mosaicing! It was over, no fighting it.
I did wash the dishes, though. I cheated on the couch to do those dishes. The couch is hurt, and isn't talking to me right now. I don't blame it. I really should have just stayed on it, and refused those dishes. I'm not very strong. My emotions totally take over, and I stop making logical decisions. I live in the moment, no looking back. Sorry couch, I had a need, and I had to fulfill it right then. Kisses, dishes!
_______________________________________________________________
There was a truck in front of me today that had its cab window open, and a lovely puppy was jumping in and out of the cab and the back of the truck. It totally looked unsafe, and not just for that poor dog, but for me. That dog had the largest fucking balls I have ever seen. They swung so low that he smacked them against the truck every time he jumped through the window. It was mesmerizing. If that dog decides to chase its tail, those balls are going to get twisted in an ugly knot that all the licking in the world will not untie. Thankfully they turned at 11th, and I was able to continue to 12th without the distraction of a dog's genitalia.
_______________________________________________________________
Twit is still scheduled to return tomorrow. Standby for the renewal of the Amazingly Stupid Adventures of Twit. Or, she'll be allowed to work from home, and it'll be like she never came back, which probably will make me less stressed in the end. I am so not looking forward to all the eavesdropping that is about to happen. I have gotten very used to hanging out in my little corner, and being able to have open phone conversations, and mostly-private talks when someone is visiting with me. That is all going to end once she takes up residence at her desk. I'm just going to have to start inviting people to step outside if they would like to chat. I have such mixed emotions about all of this. Sigh.
10 October 2010
The Chemical Wow of Starbucks
In an effort to keep me awake past 7pm, The Boy took me out for a Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate. Even though he claims it tastes like popcorn-flavored Jelly Bellies, he can't stop sipping from my cup. That is typical behavior for him. I work daily to find it endearing.
Here's a typical conversation of ours:
Grumples (heading to kitchen): I'm getting a Coke, do you want one?
The Boy (from couch): No, that's okay.
_______________________________________________________________
After a fatty lunch of an IHOP ham-and-cheese sandwich, I answered a call for help, and ran some Tylenol over to Nauticalina, who was running a fever. We both agreed to accept the other's unshowered self (seriously, she still looked beautiful; while as I was on my second day of not showering). I bought her some vegetable soup, and washed her dishes while cooking the soup (on the stove--no half-ass microwaving for a sick friend). After talking a bit, I sent her off to bed, and she better have followed my orders, dammit. Just because I hate children, doesn't mean that I don't have a mothering instinct. I also really enjoy washing dishes and being a hero--even if it is for one day only.
Since I couldn't procrastinate any longer, I finally found myself in the garage mosaicing. Mosquitoes kept biting me, and it was hot. I must complain a lot to make my art good. Mosaicing is damn hard work. Some how I had forgotten this. Now I remember. Two hours was a good start, and I vow to try and work on it every day. Cross my heart. Even if it gets in the way of watching some Red Dwarf tomorrow night.
Here's a typical conversation of ours:
Grumples (heading to kitchen): I'm getting a Coke, do you want one?
The Boy (from couch): No, that's okay.
***Three Minutes Later***
The Boy: May I have a sip of your Coke?
Grumples: (Heavy sighing, eye rolling): Fine.
From The Boy's point of view, he'll claim this scenario is totally false, because he feels I never ask him if he wants anything when I go in to the kitchen. That is only true like 25% of the time.
_______________________________________________________________
Three ways to know The Boy has been working too much and cannot handle driving a car:
- Attempts to turn left in front of a very obvious oncoming car--only stops when I yell, "CAR!"
- Looks both ways at a red lights and starts to accelerate through it--only stops when I yell, "It's a RED LIGHT not a stop sign!"
- Almost rear ends the car in front of him taking a right, and must swing slightly left to avoid the other car's bumper. At least he corrected himself before I yelled.
_______________________________________________________________
After a fatty lunch of an IHOP ham-and-cheese sandwich, I answered a call for help, and ran some Tylenol over to Nauticalina, who was running a fever. We both agreed to accept the other's unshowered self (seriously, she still looked beautiful; while as I was on my second day of not showering). I bought her some vegetable soup, and washed her dishes while cooking the soup (on the stove--no half-ass microwaving for a sick friend). After talking a bit, I sent her off to bed, and she better have followed my orders, dammit. Just because I hate children, doesn't mean that I don't have a mothering instinct. I also really enjoy washing dishes and being a hero--even if it is for one day only.
Since I couldn't procrastinate any longer, I finally found myself in the garage mosaicing. Mosquitoes kept biting me, and it was hot. I must complain a lot to make my art good. Mosaicing is damn hard work. Some how I had forgotten this. Now I remember. Two hours was a good start, and I vow to try and work on it every day. Cross my heart. Even if it gets in the way of watching some Red Dwarf tomorrow night.
09 October 2010
Second-Grade Math Comprehension
Our next-door neighbor is a hoarder. I don't know how bad it is inside Franz' house, but he spends a lot of time in his white van. He has a brown van, too, but it's so full of stuff, he cannot sit in it, so he sits in his white van, in the driver's seat, usually reading and smoking a cigarette. He's a very nice fellow who doesn't have much money. When The Boy bought this house, he used to run a long, heavy-duty extension cord from the house to Franz' house. We don't give away the electricity anymore, but they do have an arrangement where Franz borrows our lawnmower and mows both our lawns. I don't know how much of a fair trade that is, but they seem cool with it.
Franz mowed the yard yesterday. He took out some wildflowers that I had planted at one corner of the house--however, I do admit they looked more like weeds than something that should be saved. Late this morning, I took ET out front, and we spent hours outside. I attempted to rough sketch my mosaic. It ended up too large, and I tried to make my feeble brain do some math involving fractions and percentages. Oh my god, when did I end up so stupid? Horribly stupid. Do not ask me to take a 5.5" x 3.75" picture and enlarge it to 24" x 18". After some schooling from Wikus, I now have a vague handle on it, but I cannot promise I can do it again. After grumbling on FB for awhile on what a dumbfuck I am, my hero DJ MC swung by with the longest ruler in the world and a T-square. Those are going to be invaluable to me during the project. As far as the drawing, in the end, Wikus drew the whole thing for me. He did an excellent job.
The weather was absolutely phenomenal. He drew in the sun, and I lazed on a beach towel taking pictures of my surroundings and myself (so damn vain) with my Hipstamatic. ET insisted on going over to Phil's side of the yard, or directly in to the road. I felt like one of those flustered mom's you see running after children in a park. I looked away for two seconds, and poof, he was out in the middle of the road, poking out his little head and staring up at the sky. I don't even know how many times I picked him up and put him by the house, just for him to turnaround and head right back to the road. That little bastard.
It was such a lovely five hours. Then I took a nap. I really couldn't ask for a better Saturday.
Yesterday afternoon was equally as delightful. After work I read outside by the creek. It's amazing how peaceful it can be right in the middle of downtown Austin, 1.5 blocks from the interstate. I used to spend every work day out there during lunch, and gave it up for an hour of more sleep. I may have to reassess my need for that much sleep. As long as the weather is clement, I should really spend more time outside reading (or what have you).
I did try to convince CSP to play hooky from work, and have a picnic with me. He could get the fried chicken and I could get the doughnuts. While he felt it was "very tempting," he did not acquiesce; even when I explained I was the boss of him. It's offensive when people pick work over a picnic!
The Boy is in some kind of nightmare work situation (too many jobs and projects), and we haven't been able to really hang out in quite some time. I did manage to persuade him to get an iPhone 4 earlier in the week, and he just managed to get it turned on yesterday. Since I am such an awesome person, I downloaded many applications for him, and manually typed in over 100 contacts from his very old phone (it didn't have a SIM card to transfer the information electronically). I also made sure to put racy photos of myself on his phone. It's important that every time I call him, people can see what a hotty he dates. Of course I put some kitten photos on there, too. To show how he is also a family man.
Tomorrow I start cutting glass. I have one month (just like last year) to finish the mosaic. This is how it starts.
Franz mowed the yard yesterday. He took out some wildflowers that I had planted at one corner of the house--however, I do admit they looked more like weeds than something that should be saved. Late this morning, I took ET out front, and we spent hours outside. I attempted to rough sketch my mosaic. It ended up too large, and I tried to make my feeble brain do some math involving fractions and percentages. Oh my god, when did I end up so stupid? Horribly stupid. Do not ask me to take a 5.5" x 3.75" picture and enlarge it to 24" x 18". After some schooling from Wikus, I now have a vague handle on it, but I cannot promise I can do it again. After grumbling on FB for awhile on what a dumbfuck I am, my hero DJ MC swung by with the longest ruler in the world and a T-square. Those are going to be invaluable to me during the project. As far as the drawing, in the end, Wikus drew the whole thing for me. He did an excellent job.
The weather was absolutely phenomenal. He drew in the sun, and I lazed on a beach towel taking pictures of my surroundings and myself (so damn vain) with my Hipstamatic. ET insisted on going over to Phil's side of the yard, or directly in to the road. I felt like one of those flustered mom's you see running after children in a park. I looked away for two seconds, and poof, he was out in the middle of the road, poking out his little head and staring up at the sky. I don't even know how many times I picked him up and put him by the house, just for him to turnaround and head right back to the road. That little bastard.
It was such a lovely five hours. Then I took a nap. I really couldn't ask for a better Saturday.
Yesterday afternoon was equally as delightful. After work I read outside by the creek. It's amazing how peaceful it can be right in the middle of downtown Austin, 1.5 blocks from the interstate. I used to spend every work day out there during lunch, and gave it up for an hour of more sleep. I may have to reassess my need for that much sleep. As long as the weather is clement, I should really spend more time outside reading (or what have you).
I did try to convince CSP to play hooky from work, and have a picnic with me. He could get the fried chicken and I could get the doughnuts. While he felt it was "very tempting," he did not acquiesce; even when I explained I was the boss of him. It's offensive when people pick work over a picnic!
The Boy is in some kind of nightmare work situation (too many jobs and projects), and we haven't been able to really hang out in quite some time. I did manage to persuade him to get an iPhone 4 earlier in the week, and he just managed to get it turned on yesterday. Since I am such an awesome person, I downloaded many applications for him, and manually typed in over 100 contacts from his very old phone (it didn't have a SIM card to transfer the information electronically). I also made sure to put racy photos of myself on his phone. It's important that every time I call him, people can see what a hotty he dates. Of course I put some kitten photos on there, too. To show how he is also a family man.
Tomorrow I start cutting glass. I have one month (just like last year) to finish the mosaic. This is how it starts.
06 October 2010
Does This Place Even Have a Parking Lot?
Peelander-Z tomorrow! In a very teeny record store. I am very excited, but also a little wary. What if all of Austin shows up and I'm standing on the street unable to see a damn thing until one of them is hanging off the roof upside down? Then I get hit by a CapMetro bus. Some of my ladies are meeting me there, and if at all possible I'm dragging CSP with me, because that boy totally needs to do something exciting for once. That's me--injecting excitement in to people's lives whether they like it or not.
How long has Teen Mom been back on the air with no one telling me? Who are you people? You know what I need. More television shows about miserable teenagers. Specially when one of the grandmothers oms in counseling with her daughter says, "....her baby daddy..." This woman looks to be in her late 50s. Did MTV tell her to say that? Otherwise, that is some crazy fucked-up shit. Another mom is totally balding, and I feel like I'm staring at my future. Will I too look like a crack whore?
Who haven't I mentioned in a while? Twit! No, she's not back...yet. She's given two returns dates that both ended up being pushed out further, and now it looks like she may truly come back on Tuesday. It'll probably be part-time, and I won't be surprised if she works from home a lot. I'm looking forward to when she fucks something up, and then takes another extended leave just in time for me fix her mistakes. YAY!
Though, I'm whining about this now, at least there will be some entertaining Twit stories to come. In return for providing such juicy tales of stupidity, I will continue bitching about my crapass work life. You're welcome.
How long has Teen Mom been back on the air with no one telling me? Who are you people? You know what I need. More television shows about miserable teenagers. Specially when one of the grandmothers oms in counseling with her daughter says, "....her baby daddy..." This woman looks to be in her late 50s. Did MTV tell her to say that? Otherwise, that is some crazy fucked-up shit. Another mom is totally balding, and I feel like I'm staring at my future. Will I too look like a crack whore?
Who haven't I mentioned in a while? Twit! No, she's not back...yet. She's given two returns dates that both ended up being pushed out further, and now it looks like she may truly come back on Tuesday. It'll probably be part-time, and I won't be surprised if she works from home a lot. I'm looking forward to when she fucks something up, and then takes another extended leave just in time for me fix her mistakes. YAY!
Though, I'm whining about this now, at least there will be some entertaining Twit stories to come. In return for providing such juicy tales of stupidity, I will continue bitching about my crapass work life. You're welcome.
05 October 2010
No, I Haven't Read the Book
At some point this weekend, and damn if I can remember when (I was only awake for 7 hours on Saturday due to the evil fall elm that is clogging up my sinuses), The Boy and I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He had numerous people rave to him about it, and through Goodreads, I could tell many of my friends have read it (or are reading it). The title alone made me trepidatious about watching it (forget investing in the book). The title is meant to titillate--like, See, I'm a totally rad movie, there's a lady with a DRAGON TATTOO! A DRAGON TATTOO! Isn't that so fucking awesome and cool? For sure! However, despite the title screaming in my face not to watch this film, I did.
Once again I have been reminded how I should not second guess myself, and at least one time in my life go with what first popped in to my head. This movie was totally perplexing from the beginning. Why the fuck would the father think that the damn pressed flowers he received on his birthdays since his daughter's supposed death was from the killer? That was the stupidest opening gambit, and anyone who has an ounce of critical thinking skills would say, why wouldn't his first thought be that she is still alive since they NEVER FOUND HER BODY? Was this really the best a writer can come up with to introduce intrigue?
Oh, and look, a totally gothy punk-rock young lady enters the picture. She's so tough, so cool, so aloof. She is dangerous and sexy. Can you just feel all the boners sproinging to life out there? Who cares what the fuck she is doing in the plot--the point is she is there, and that is so superawesomecool. She totally has tattoos. She must be the girl with that DRAGON TATTOO. Why does this woman decide to help the reporter? Because she knows he's innocent and she has the research to prove that he is? No, that doesn't seem to be her interest (well, not until the end of the film and he's already serving his sentence), but she will totally get involved in his murder mystery. What was her motivation? Why provide any at all? Who needs it? SHE'S SO FUCKING HOT! Just turn off your brain and enjoy her looks. Stop asking questions. Killjoy.
Now, since having a maybe-murdered-40-years-ago girl, a recently convicted reporter (who's innocent, of course), and some girl who really has nothing to do with anything involved in the investigation, the ante must be upped--SEX will totally accomplish that. Both the good kind and the bad kind. Let's go ahead and make the girl bisexual (as if her sexuality has any bearing on a murder case), raped by her parole officer (or guardian in their vernacular), had an abusive father, throw in some purposeless sex scenes and show us her meager chest just for some additional stimulation. Then there was the sex with the reporter, and it looks like love but she isn't committing. Of course the murder investigation leads to the brutal slaying and raping of young girls. I would think that the dark sexual content of the murders would be enough, but that is why I don't make the movies. Why do we need every type of sex there is for a generic mystery movie? Is it just so we can all be turned on and know it is totally wrong, and hate our selves for it, but don't want it to stop, because dammit, show her boobs again.
And what the fuck does all this have to do with her damn tattoo? How did she end up being the focus of this movie? Of course at the end she walks in to the sunset with a bank account full of money and a kick in her step--free and single, presumably to go about her bisexual ways and always show her dragon tattoo in the best light.
_______________________________________________________________
Had another successful Red Dwarf night yesterday. Sunday afternoon was an UFGT picnic in the park with tutus, fairy bunny ears, hula hoops, croquet, fried chicken and doughnuts and the best friends ever. The week ahead has Peelander-Z and possibly another picnic. Fall came early, making these early days of October delightfully pleasant for romping around outdoors. Must start my mosaic this weekend, too. So much to do, and I feel like I'm just getting started. Which isn't such a bad feeling really.
SPOILER ALERT
(for those babies who cry over such things)
(for those babies who cry over such things)
Once again I have been reminded how I should not second guess myself, and at least one time in my life go with what first popped in to my head. This movie was totally perplexing from the beginning. Why the fuck would the father think that the damn pressed flowers he received on his birthdays since his daughter's supposed death was from the killer? That was the stupidest opening gambit, and anyone who has an ounce of critical thinking skills would say, why wouldn't his first thought be that she is still alive since they NEVER FOUND HER BODY? Was this really the best a writer can come up with to introduce intrigue?
Oh, and look, a totally gothy punk-rock young lady enters the picture. She's so tough, so cool, so aloof. She is dangerous and sexy. Can you just feel all the boners sproinging to life out there? Who cares what the fuck she is doing in the plot--the point is she is there, and that is so superawesomecool. She totally has tattoos. She must be the girl with that DRAGON TATTOO. Why does this woman decide to help the reporter? Because she knows he's innocent and she has the research to prove that he is? No, that doesn't seem to be her interest (well, not until the end of the film and he's already serving his sentence), but she will totally get involved in his murder mystery. What was her motivation? Why provide any at all? Who needs it? SHE'S SO FUCKING HOT! Just turn off your brain and enjoy her looks. Stop asking questions. Killjoy.
Now, since having a maybe-murdered-40-years-ago girl, a recently convicted reporter (who's innocent, of course), and some girl who really has nothing to do with anything involved in the investigation, the ante must be upped--SEX will totally accomplish that. Both the good kind and the bad kind. Let's go ahead and make the girl bisexual (as if her sexuality has any bearing on a murder case), raped by her parole officer (or guardian in their vernacular), had an abusive father, throw in some purposeless sex scenes and show us her meager chest just for some additional stimulation. Then there was the sex with the reporter, and it looks like love but she isn't committing. Of course the murder investigation leads to the brutal slaying and raping of young girls. I would think that the dark sexual content of the murders would be enough, but that is why I don't make the movies. Why do we need every type of sex there is for a generic mystery movie? Is it just so we can all be turned on and know it is totally wrong, and hate our selves for it, but don't want it to stop, because dammit, show her boobs again.
And what the fuck does all this have to do with her damn tattoo? How did she end up being the focus of this movie? Of course at the end she walks in to the sunset with a bank account full of money and a kick in her step--free and single, presumably to go about her bisexual ways and always show her dragon tattoo in the best light.
_______________________________________________________________
Had another successful Red Dwarf night yesterday. Sunday afternoon was an UFGT picnic in the park with tutus, fairy bunny ears, hula hoops, croquet, fried chicken and doughnuts and the best friends ever. The week ahead has Peelander-Z and possibly another picnic. Fall came early, making these early days of October delightfully pleasant for romping around outdoors. Must start my mosaic this weekend, too. So much to do, and I feel like I'm just getting started. Which isn't such a bad feeling really.
01 October 2010
After Thought
Upon waking this morning, I thought that Nautical wasn't enough, and thought about my dear naked baby doll whom I dubbed Twatalina, and thought that Nauticalina is better (Nautic-uh-leena).
It's time to get ready for Quelf night, which means relaxing as much as possible since my allergies are determined to keep me home tonight. Fuck you allergies, I'm outta here. Must pick up Wikus, Guamaniac and Lenny the dog. Perhaps I will be able to drive with my eyes shut...
It's time to get ready for Quelf night, which means relaxing as much as possible since my allergies are determined to keep me home tonight. Fuck you allergies, I'm outta here. Must pick up Wikus, Guamaniac and Lenny the dog. Perhaps I will be able to drive with my eyes shut...
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