Tuesday, December 27, 2005

12 Minutes of Downloadable Insanity

Firstly, if you like robot/love related webcomics,
go here: http://dieselsweeties.com/

A caveat tho: Prepare to burn up a whole bunch of life-hours.
There are hundreds of strips, and WAY cool shirts too.
Oh yeah, the 12 minutes!
The guy who makes diesel sweeties is rstevens.
He has a livejournal.
On November 4,
he put a link to this 12 minute brain fuddling song?,
called Intro-Introspection.
If you want it, find it here.
It's 12 minutes of song intros, mashed up together.
It might make you insane.
I'm on the 2nd listen and I can't decide if I want to hear it again or throw up.
It's unnatural.
It's kissing Pitt, Affleck, Ford, Damon, Clooney, Kravitz, Mortensen, McGregor,
Ledger, Banderas, Bloom, and Wilson, and then walking away.
I could go on, but that would just delay you a little more from
indulging your morbid curiosity, like I did.
If it gets too intense, just plug your ears and after 12 minutes,
it will go away.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Confounded Fastener, a.k.a.

Isn't the finest art scrawled on a found index card in a frustrated moment of clothing failure?

18 Million Minutes

The other day in math class, my cadre of padawans and I had a problem in which we had to figure out how many minutes old we were.

They, being 8 or 9 years old, fell somewhere between 4 and 4.7 million minutes and change.

I, however, have racked up 18,396,000 or so.

6,132,000 have been spent asleep (give or take).

I've spent 12,264,000 or more listening to music.

In the past decade and a half, I've probably spent 2 million or so online.

I've probably spent at least 873,000 in a directly foul or negative mood, sometimes related to whatever happened online. A year is 525,600 minutes.

In another 18 million minutes, give or take, this mounting pile of papery slices of time is going to go up in one big bonfire.

Chris Martin tells me "everything's not lost" though.


"Can't stop the spirits when they need you / This life is more than just a read-through"
-- Flea, Kiedis and Co.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

The problem with making food gifts...

is that while you're laboring over Crunchy Sweet Mixed Nuts, you tend to want to taste test them. A LOT.
Non-Food Ingredients for Christmas baking:
  • Rockin' CD (and player, as you can see)
  • One? glass egg nog (only 420 calories each!)
  • Hardcore self-discipline
  • A large-print sign taped in a highly visible place that reads: IF YOU EAT ALL THE GIFTS, YOU'LL HAVE TO SHOP AGAIN.
  • If you're feeling classy, a chilled glass of pinot grigio.
  • If it's further from payday, maybe a shot or 3 of the pumpkin schnapps left over from Halloween last year.

Hope all y'all's gifting is going merrily!

Monday, December 12, 2005


I have invented a new marketing tool for cellphones. Observe:

Living with a roommate/s?

Do you have sexual relations?

Do they?

Then you need SPS:
the Sexual Positioning System!
Use this state of art device to alert your housing compadre
to your or his/her sexual needs for the space
Never listen to your roommate's partner's dirty "skank calls" again!
Order SPS now and be assured of a disturbance-free
New Year's eve ass-gittin'!
SPS: Position yourself to score!

Sunday, December 11, 2005

A Kind of Bloodlust

To begin with, I deftly rent the body in half, slicing through its soft skin,

the ruby contents spilling onto the floor.

I chose one tool, then another, with which to do my dismembering.

I thought it best to cut each of its parts loose with a sharp knife.

Its lifeblood flowed into a bowl I had placed below the body for the purpose

of catching the nutrient-rich fluids that, until recently, had sustained it.

Each of the sections was then devoured.

Not yet satisfied, I squeezed the innards mercilessly,

greedily drinking the dripping blood one spoonful at a time.

Finished, I cast the empty husk into the garbage bin

and went to wash my hands of the sticky evidence.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

The LWNID Hath Found A Champion

A few posts back, I mentioned The Lady Who's Not Into Dogs.

She has repeated her dramatics to the extent that now, she is my nemesis.

If I were just a shade more evil, I could secretly snap her picture and post it here on the Internet for all to see, for she traverses the very ground outside my domicile right now as I type. Thankfully, a sliver of my honor remains, and I have suffered her to power walk another day, my friends.

But that doesn't mean I have ceased to loathe her.

For she hath, in the parlance of modern-day kitchen warriors, "kicked it up a notch."

Now she walks not alone, but with a young man, some son or perhaps grandson of her lineage (I cannot logic why else a man of that age should accompany her on Sunday strolls at 8 am, although I shudder at my imagination's gibberings).

As they walk, the man carries a staff of some kind of shiny metal with purple plastic rings at intervals. Though its appearance is silly, it is about 3 feet long and and at least an inch in diameter and could be used to bruise someone about the head and shoulders, or conceivably, knock a small dog senseless. For all I know, it could be the Weapon of Doom of the Order of the Shiny Stick-Wielders Guild, since indeed, these folk are strangers to me in all else but hatred.

So a few Sundays back, I and Pip the Mostly Harmless Puggin Pup are walking along minding our own business. The LWNID and Her Champion approach. Because the Champion has apparently taken a cologne shower before walking, Pip starts sniffing the air a bit as I reel him in on the leash. I always do this so that there is NO chance he will get near her as they pass. As I'm walking past, he RAISES THE STICK ABOVE HIS HEAD, while looking down at my small, cute, member of the toy group as if he were a slavering dire wolf.

Hot rivulets of Anger Dam burst forth in some rather explosive leaks just then.

I turned around and looked at them both, incredulity in my eyes. They looked at me as if such behavior was rational and expected, in light of the fact that I was parading Cerberus himself about this park.

I continued walking, trying to keep my police record clean.

The second time I passed, he raised the stick a little lower.

I continued circling, wispy rationality barely chaining in my impulse to initiate fisticuffs with the both of them, darkness whispering to the yellow and chocolate labs who approached to rip free of their leashes and go on a rare human-mauling spree.

Finally, I decided that the LWNID is clearly crazy at some level, and the Champion is probably forcibly nagged to accompany his dotty mom on her morning exercise.

So when I saw them again today, stick in hand, I and Pip went another way.

Peace and harmony through avoidance of your nemeses, I suppose.

It's a bit early in the day for blood on the hands, anyhow.

Thursday, November 24, 2005


If you are reading this, then I am thankful for you, for you are assisting in this carnival of self-aggrandizing that we call a blog.

Have a relatively safe, drunken-argument free holiday, all of you.

And try not to hate your family on the drive home. I'll do the same.

But no promises.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

The Perfect Shower Gift?

This is a Birth Control Pill Case, with alarm.

The red script on the packaging says, "When Timing is Everything."
Now, what I'm wondering is, just who was the target demographic for this item?

Because what this item says to me is:
"Don't forget again, you previously errant uterus."
Of course, this particular dollar store stocks only the finest deeply offensive products.
"You put yourself in stupid places / Yes I think you know it’s true / Situations where it’s easy to look down on you" -- A. Alexakis

Thursday, November 10, 2005

This made me giggle and snort both

This is my kind of joke. It's got a third grade sensibility. And it has nothing to do with any fermented grape juice I may or may not have ingested.


The garbage man came early today. I heard his truck from inside the house so I threw on my robe and ran outside to catch him. He was pulling away from the neighbors curb when he saw me running waiving my arms.

"Hey! Wait!" I said catching up to him. "Am I too late for the garbage?"

He looked me up and down and said, "No, jump in."

Monday, November 07, 2005

B and D

Booze and drugs!!! That's what I hit the Super Wal-Mart today for!!

Alright, fine, it was Primatene and pinot grigio.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Slackin' Today

I'm sick.

Of work, and all its accompanying flamjamzytram, so I took today off.

On the constitutional with Le Puggin this morning, I passed a woman walking with her shiny silver weights. As the puggin and I got within, oh, fifty paces or so, she began to froth at the mouth in this manner:


Now understand that this darling canine creature stands about 12 inches high at the very pinnacle of his velvet triangle ears. While he does rail against and steer the end of the retractable leash with all his might like some snuffling, furry kite, all his might ain't that much. He was nowhere near her, and I was already reeling him in.

I said nothing, but every time I passed her on the circle track after that, I contemplated "accidentally" dropping the leash, loosing a slavering, gregarious toy hound upon her.

(On the upside, now when Le Puggin annoys me, I can threaten to send him to the house of the Lady Who's Not Into Dogs.)

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

The Number One Way to NOT Be Badass

Is to get this in response to your teeny-tiny-little-speck-of-hope-ass email:

"I found someone. I'm in a relationship now for about 3 months. It's going pretty well. What have you been up to?"

What's the moral of this sad, sad thing, kids?

Avoid hope like the plague.

Don't listen to Jesse Jackson.

Kill hope like it was a rat-sized fire ant that burned a flag on your front lawn on the Fourth of July.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

One Way to be Badass

Is to somehow be present for a whole string of songs that are amazing, one of which was "Where Is My Mind?" by the folks above.

(Which brings up the fact that another way to be badass is to start a song's vocals with "woooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!")

This morning, I had a better idea for what this post would be about, but it slipped from my consciousness with the day's labors.

Another way to be badass is to own, and wear, a pair of smart black boots.

{One way to not be badass is to send an email to a man you haven't spoken to in some time, and feel bold and daring up until the instant you pull that "send" button trigger and it flies off into cyberspace, into that swamp of love, and you just hope your little crawdad trap of 25 words or less will pull in something nourishing.}


It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. e. e. cummings

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Fun with Homophones

The other day on my way home, my friend and I were driving behind this guy.

Hay-toting trucks are a fairly common sight in our neck of the prairie, and everytime we see one, we shout, "HEY! HAY!"

Getting closer, though, we realized: "Hey! That hay is just about to fall off that there truck!"

Although we spent a couple seconds giggling at how "funnier n' crap" it would be to see someone crashing into hay and said hay exploding all over the road like some kinda dead grass blizzard, we soon thought, "Hey, that could be us behind that hay..." and "Hey, someone else would rear end us. Hey, that's not funny."

So we pulled up next to the truck and my friend waved at the cowboy driver, who, from beneath his hat of straw, smiled, and said, "Hey."

"HEY! You don't understand! HAY! Check yer HAY!" we hollered.

But it wasn't any use. He kept tooling that duallie on down the road, and a couple blocks later he turned off.

I guess we'll never know, in that particular instance, whether cows supped or an insurance company cussed.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Thor's Day

For some reason, Thor's Day has become a drinking day.

A mini celebration of/by your fucking self day.

And I don't know why.

And if you've got a reason, post it here.

But right now, my only reason is ritual.

So cheers. :)

Sunday, October 23, 2005

' ' ' ' ' pillar of the Earth

' ' ' ' ' pillar of the earth
unbeknowst to me
I was farming you and dozens of your squishy brethren
amongst the lurid proliferation of morning glories
and moonflowers
that I thought would be pretty
in front of the house.

Though for weeks I saw, indirectly,
you, in senseless, bloated gluttony,
making the obscenely verdant, lustily growing heart-shaped leaves holy,
I did not ken to the fact that middle-finger sized brownish larvae
were living in harmony (sin?) with pencil-thick creepers of fluorescent green,
One of whom yesterday clung squirmily to my shirt as I passed
Nearly causing a freakout and/or vomiting.

O ' ' ' ' ' pillar
when the blustering wind knocked the trellis free from the wall
the roots of vines held on
You must have slammed in soft, wormy brainlessness to the ground

And perhaps, in momentary, dull wonder that you did not get impaled that time
Found squashing mortality the next moment beneath my sandal
And I, lifting the trellis again to the wall
Began a dance of horrified chagrin
As the miniature wave of green, gooey innards
kissed my foot's bare arch.

O ' ' ' ' ' pillar of the earth
You shall have your revenge
For the next 12 days when I think on you
A gagging will manifest in my throat
A sickness in my gut.

Perhaps we should blame the wind, ' ' ' ' ' pillar
Or the sun that grew the seeds
For this unwanted exchange of death and horror
That came between us
Between you and your morphing from disgusting into beautiful.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Video killed the...

Yesterday I had to videotape myself for a school assignment.

Rather than the intended purpose of causing me to reflect upon my professional skills, it rather drove me into a blizzard of self-deprecation regarding my physical appearance, demeanor, and romantic prospects.


1) I exude no sex appeal whatever, in the absence of cantilevered* physical attributes.

2) I'm not that hot a dresser, most days.

3) I should really not push my hair behind my ears like that.

4) The thought, "Oh. Wow. Who would want to mate with that?"

So, legions of manhood who are neither elbowing nor jousting one another in a frenzied rush for my attentions, I forgive you.

Now I understand.

* - "cantilevered" used courtesy of Margaret Atwood, The Edible Woman

Saturday, October 08, 2005

I am so there

Cowboys Dance Hall -- Arlington, Texas
Dwight Yoakam

Saturday, October 8, 2005

Turns out they don't ask if you're a country music poseur, they just take your $12.oo and don't worry about how many Judas Priest concerts you've been to.

I'll let y'all know if I get arrested for Attempting to Touch the Boots of Dwight Yoakam or anything (although I'm in the cheap seats so that's not likely).

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Crazy Cowboy

My drive to work through the ghettos and the grottoes of this fair city washes up oh, so many lovely specimens of our species to my consciousness.

This a.m. I'm hurtling between the speed and school zones when a light stops me. While sitting there waiting, I spot a black-clad cowboy, wearing flip flops and a black Stetson with a fancy silver-concho band about the crown. He's sucking on a stub of a cigarette as if it contained the breath of life and bopping along the sidewalk, jamming out to something on his headphones.

Coming up beside him on the left is a gang-emblazoned "no parking" sign. He keeps bopping, but as he approaches the sign, he eyes it suspiciously.

Apparently that sign must've whispered somethin' impertinent to that lone ranger, 'cause he wheeled on it and slammed it an audible right hook on its back side, leaving me to finish the drive to work stunned at the insanity lurking everywhere.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Rampant irrationality, anyone?

This weekend there's a rock show going down at a festival that's being held in Corpus Christi.

And just because it's an eight hour drive, or a $275.00 plane ticket and a hurricane passed through there a few days ago, none of my friends want to go.

It's clear that no one loves rock 'n' roll like I do.

Perhaps, despite my absence at their bacchanalia, I will appease the gods of rock with the fervor of my pouting.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Boss Hatred

Lately I've been taken with the notion of writing songs. I don't know why. I love songs. I write poems. But I really never considered combining the two until recently.

So the other day I was sitting in yet another boring work training trying to pen some boss-hatin' song lyrics while appearing to be diligently taking notes, when I realized that Fred Durst had already expressed my feelings far more eloquently than I could.

While I was penning weakass stuff, Limp Bizkit had already captured my emotional state in the classic "Break Stuff":

Its just one of those days
When you don't wanna wake up
Everything is fucked, Everybody sux
You don't really know why
But you wanna justify Rippin' someone's head off
No human contact
And if you interact Your life is on contract
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker
It's just one of those days!!

Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit Lettin' shit slip
Or you'll be leavin with a fat lip
Its all about the he says she says bullshit
I think you better quit talkin that shit (Punk, so come and get it)

Its just one of those days
Feelin' like a freight train
First one to complain
Leaves with a blood stain
Damn right I'm a maniac
You better watch your back
Cuz I'm fuckin' up your program
And if your stuck up You just lucked up
Next in line to get fucked up
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker
Its just one of those days!!

I know, I know.

Teachers aren't supposed to feel this way. But you just have to know my situation. This guy once told us on the morning announcements to bring food for a lunch that was being held that day at noon. He once told us that there are "two kinds of bitches" at a faculty meeting. Whenever he talks or tells one of his 4 anecdotes, I have to bite the inside of my lip or dig fingernails into my leg to keep myself from standing up and screaming, "WE KNOW!!! or I GOT THE E-MAIL!!! or YOU ALREADY TOLD US THAT STORY!!!"

Grrrr. Fuckin' grrrr, I say.

So instead of writing the song I just sped home at an unsafe speed, spewing foul, unladylike rap-metal out my Toyota's windows.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

This is either a Word to the Wise...

or just a Note To Self:

Don't shoot tequila while doing this.
Just don't, alright?

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Everybody has one, here's mine.

Four years ago at this time, I was riding shotgun in a speeding truck with a chica of mine. She's from Texas too, but was living in DC then. I was jobless and there for a visit. When I'd bought the return ticket, I had a choice of a 10 am or 5 pm flight out on September 11. I didn't feel like I'd want to get up that early, so I picked the evening flight.

That morning, another chica of ours had called us up, telling us to turn on the news. The phone call woke us up and we were sure it was a joke. The first thing I saw when I woke up that morning was the smoking Pentagon. The next thing I did after picking my jaw up off the floor was start packing. She did too.

There was no discussion or planning. We knew what we had to do: get back to Texas.

We didn't know what was going to happen, we didn't know if there were ground troops, we didn't know if there would be roadblocks, but we did know that we were going to make it back to where that Lone Star was flying or die in the attempt.

By the next day we were kissing the soil of the Republic.

Don't hate me because my fortune cookie came true.

Sunday, September 04, 2005

I just finished Lord Vishnu's Love Handles

so maybe that's why I had a weirdass dream in which I was doing like a one woman improvisational show. In my dream, I was creating an impromptu sketch, and I was Eve (of the "Adam and" variety) and I was playing the part like Eve was a dippy broad and the apple was some kind of unmissable shoe sale type deal that had to be seen and done (eaten). And I kept having Adam dudes come up and try to have their way while I was doing the sketch. And the end of the sketch, I took the apple and took a huge bite, and it went "CRUNCH!" and the audience (who seemed to be mostly older women) gasped audibly. And then both the dream and the show ended simultaneously.

So it was kind of brilliant, if I had a script. Perhaps I should write one.

Oh yeah, LVLH comes in because in it, there's a guy with Adam and Eve entertwined in a tattoo on his arm. And it's a nifty book from which a movie is being made.

And, not being a current events commentator, I have nothing of value to say about New Orleans, except that I am proud to live in a town and a state where everyone I know has done something to help. Keep those folks in your prayers -- the victims and the heroes. Their garden met the flood, and we have to be that dove on the high place.


Be the dove

Eve picture

Lord Vishnu's Love Handles

Monday, August 29, 2005

A Whisper Above The Dirty Apes (but only just)

Nothing in my power can stop the high school boys in my neighborhood from hooting at me out the windows of their cars.

I am fat and slightly old. They are young and stupid.

So they hoot. It is what they have done since time immemorial.

I imagine that Ice Age adolescents, hitching foolish rides on wayward mammoths, leered and grunted insultingly at the dumpy women of their tribes as these same women stooped and grasped for berries.

Well, it wasn't berries I was stooping for the other day as I stood on the corner while walking the pup. See, Pip had done his secondary business a bit too near to someone's yard, so at the very moment I heard the hooting, I was using a stick to flick poop into the gutter in the interest of being a marginally good neighbor (i.e. at least it's not on your grass).

So it's good that I am a whisper above the dirty apes. Because it did occur to me that some hurled dogshit smacking against the windshield, or with any luck flying into the open passenger window, would immediately redirect any defamation being flung my way. To complete the devolution, I could have jumped up and down afterward, screeching "oo!! oo!! aa! aa!" the way the cartoon monkeys do.

However, y'all can rest easy knowing that I merely entertained notions of such primitive vengeance, and that none of them bubbled onto the prime material plane.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the wide chasm between thought and action preserves my fool hide daily.


That art is Aubrey Beardsley's, by the way.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Old Habits

So I had to take Le Puggin in for his yearly heartworm test (which he passed, and is worm free, thank Christ). He's a year and five months old, and I just never have gotten around to getting him snipped. I've told myself all this time that it's because of time constraints and just not having the extra cash free to do it, but in reality, I'm in denial (as usual). It's not about the time or the money. It's about guilt. I've gotten used to him as is, and the thought of sending him away and getting him back a little lighter than before just kinda feels wrong to me.

I'm not sure why this is a sudden issue. I've had cats, and neutered them. But I guess with dogs (and male dogs in particular) it would be more obvious and guilt inducing.

"You really wanna get this done as soon as possible," the vet advised me as he poked and prodded. "They develop habits from carrying these things around."

This just spawned a host of defensive thoughts inside my head: "This is my baby you're talking about. And anyway, I bet YOU'VE developed a few habits carrying YOURS around. And how would you feel about getting them lopped for the good of the race?"

So here I am, in this quandary. It's actually not that unusual for purebred dogs to not be altered. And I could whore, I mean, stud him out for $250.00 each time. Not that I think I could do that either, but still. It might pay for dog food some day in the event we hit the skids.
Any bollocks-lopping guidance the collective blog community could provide would be considered and appreciated.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Trashcan Turf

Today as I was driving along in Funkytown (aka ghetto Dallas, aka the Stone Cold 'Hood) (ok none of that made sense to me either, but I am delirious with fatigue, cut me a break here, it was the first effin' day of skizzy today) I saw a trash receptacle similar to the one pictured at left.

A plasti-receptacle which is dumped by a large truck, spilling its discarded and/or decaying contents upon a mountain of like refuse, which is then carted away to dump parts unknown.

At the bottom of this receptacle or any one like it there ferments a stinky soup of pulpy tomatoes, poopy diapers, used cat litter, rotting vegetable peels, rusting cans, clipped toenails, toilet paper people have wiped their asses/noses on and possibly even worn out marital aids.

Still, some hardcore gangsta wanted in on the smelly, sticky ground floor of this virgin turf, yo.

Hence, I saw this:

Yep. This trashcan is MINE. Don't even try any weakass shit talkin' 'bout stealin' this Oscar the Grouch mo-fucker.... we will SMOKE you wit' a quickness.



"I no punk bitch!" -- The only funny line in that Rush Hour movie

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Summer of Hair That's Accidentally Green

The following post is recommended for mature viewers.
Graphic images of naked hair, Rubenesque women, and household products follow.
Consider yourself warned.

As some of you may recall from previous posts, I've already turned my hair green once this summer, wrangling a box of Ash Blonde. Well, I've done it again. In a completely new way, even. Hence, in celebration of this odd trend of verdant tresses, I've dubbed this the Summer of Hair that's Accidentally Green, or SHAG.

It all began with a pleasant evening of night swimming at my friend Jean-Luc Picard's* apartment pool. Wanting to live in a trendy (read: gay) part of town, he pays far too much rent, enabling near, dear friends like me to make use of his, um, amenities. So I enjoy the pool, relax in the hot tub bubbles, steam in the sauna, oblivious to the danger a cheveux swirling around me in insidious, deceptive waves of uber-chlorination. In fact, except for being briefly skeeved in the spa shower when I noticed some dried "conditioner" splattered five feet up on the wall, I never realized the peril I was in.

Long about midnight thirty, I'm dressed, showered, and walking out when I catch a glimpse of a mysterious patina curling about the ends of the familiar frizz that is my hair.

Of course, I am shocked but undaunted. Diehard bleach blondes such as myself know that generally, a 2-liter club soda rinse will wash the green clean. So I trooped to the store, my relaxation morphing into annoyed ass-dragging, got home, and hit the shower with the dog staring at me and doubtless wondering why I was pouring beverages onto my head. Trouble was, it didn't work this time.

Apparently my hair had soaked up a club-soda resistant strain of green, and I still looked like a chunky mermaid who'd lost her tail somewhere. Well, shit. I wasn't about to go any fucking where now to buy chlorine-out shampoo, I didn't wanna go to bed and let it dry that way, thinking maybe I'd keep look like somethin' the sea'd rejected for a month or so, and a 1 am impromptu self-bob was right out.

After mulling these options, there was just nowhere else to turn. I appealed to a higher power: the interweb. "Mix vinegar and aspirin," some message board goddess recommended. Suspicious, I cross-referenced the remedy somewhere else. Yes, that was the sure cure. Supposedly.

Nekkid and pissy, I sought, found and mixed the components of the green-away tincture and dumped it on my involuntary highlights. Rinsed. No dice. Should you care to try it though, I advise you to secure your eyelids shut very tightly with tape, or wear goggles. Vinegar and aspirin in the eyes stings. A lot.

Dripping and irritable, I went back to the computer. This was it. If the next thing I did didn't work, I'd just have to join a band or somethin'. So I scrolled down the Fucked Hair Help Message Board some more, looking for some way outta this chlorine corner I'd backed myself into. There had to be something short of Drano that I both had in my possession and could be used to de-greenify.... and finally, the answer came: tomato paste.

I'd wager that few activities are more surreal and nasty than smearing pulverized tomatoes onto your head in the wee hours without so much as the benefit of a high blood-alcohol level. It mixes the normally mundane pursuits of eating and showering in an unholy way, transforming them into something unclean. And after you're done marinating your head in squishy spaghetti-smelling goo, watching a seemingly endless river of red-stained water flow off your body and down the drain is enough to make you feel like your last name's Macbeth.

However, there is one good thing about the tomato paste method: it worked.

I never thought I'd say this, but after this summer, I hope I never have another SHAG again.

* Fictional nombre, factual hombre
** For those of you who've been patiently waiting, yes,
I am completely nude in 3 out of 4 of those pics.
Don't you feel special that I was thinking about you in my times of trial? :)

Monday, July 25, 2005

I didn't quit blogging, honest...

Just been busy makin' A's at grad school. :)
New posts to come soon, I promise! With (possibly nude) pictures!

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


A Pirate Raider
You scored 6 Honor, 3 Justice, 7 Adventure, and 8 Individuality!
More than just the usual swabbie, you demand not only the life at sea, free from landlubbers and their rules, but also you require adventure and excitement. You're happiest when the guns are blazing, the risk high, the outcome uncertain, but the chance for reward substantial. Your kind are welcomed as allies and feared as enemies.

Put on your wooden leg and hook. You'll do just fine!

Link: The Cowboy-Ninja-Pirate-Knight Test written by fluffy71 on Ok Cupid

Thursday, July 07, 2005


If my street is any indication, it's Carnivale for gnats. In a ten-minute walk down the street behind my house, I must've run into 17 clouds of the flyin', fornicatin' little fuckers. And who can say how many I inhaled. Ick.

Why? Find out the Straight Dope.

Monday, July 04, 2005

On Liberty

This, mi compadres, is John Stuart Mill,
whom, I would argue,
would have been a staunch supporter of blogging,
had it only existed in his time.
Check out his take on freedom of opinion:
"First, if any opinion is compelled to silence, that opinion may, for ought
we can certainly know, be true. To deny this is to assume our own infallibility.
Second, though the silenced opinion may be an error, it may,
and very often does, contain a portion of the truth...
it is only by the collision of adverse opinions that the
remainder of the truth
has any chance of being supplied."
He goes on of course, but suffice it to say,
be proud of yourself for upholding the central pillars of the pursuit of truth:
free speech, open criticism and public debate.
Happy Independence, Freedom,
and Thank God and Thomas Jefferson
for Free Speech Day

Portions of this post were blatantly ripped from The Ethics of Teaching, 4th ed. by Kenneth Strike and Jonas F. Soltis.

This message jointly funded by the Anti-Plagiarist's League, the High-Falutin' Citation Society, and the Contaminate Others With Your Grad-School Curriculum Consortium.

Seven Petty Wishes

Wait, not that Petty.

Forget that unattainable red herring, world peace, and that impossible mackerel, harmony amongst the peoples.

Gimme seven petty wishes instead.

1. That I'd never spill red salsa or spaghetti sauce on a white shirt again.

2. That I'd never break off the cork in the wine.

3. That I'd never see someone I either a) already know, or b) would like to get to know ;)
whilst dressed in a slobtastic fashion, i.e. during a "fertilizer 'n' Roundup run" to Home Depot in the middle of yardwork.

4. That I'd never have to go potty in the middle of a movie again.

5. That all my garments would be forever wrinkle-free, sans ironing.

6. That I'd never get home with a corn dog and no mustard in the frickin' bag.

7. That my lawn would stay magically hydrated, in accord with local rainfall, and in compliance with city water-saving ordinances.

What're y'all's petty wishes?

Tell 1, tell 7 or tell 70. I promise to read them all.

(Do you suppose Tom Petty could grant them? Richard Petty? I oughta write somepetty a letter and see.)


"You've got to bleed a little while you sing / Lest the words don't mean a thing." -- The Cult

Saturday, July 02, 2005

Six Question Book Quiz

You're The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!

by C.S. Lewis

You were just looking for some decent clothes when everything changed
quite dramatically. For the better or for the worse, it is still hard to tell. Now it
seems like winter will never end and you feel cursed. Soon there will be an epic
struggle between two forces in your life and you are very concerned about a betrayal
that could turn the balance. If this makes it sound like you're re-enacting Christian
theological events, that may or may not be coincidence. When in doubt, put your trust
in zoo animals.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

(stolen from Julie Patchouli, btw)

Monday, June 27, 2005

Being as it's about Flag Time....

please do yourself a favor and read
The Anti-Flag Burning Amendment
My Pantaloons Have Been Disgraced
over at Wigwam Jones' place:
It says everything I wanna say about flag burning,
at least 29 times better.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Yahoo Mess... iah

This just in from some random chat guy on Yahoo:

"just like an angel you are, i see the eyes of GOD all over you, his blessings all around you and is favour just in every step you take. i see the Holy one of israel in your front leading you, and the KING of KINGs right behind you guiding you. He wil be there when you want him and right there when you need Him cos he made you for a purpose and this purpose you will live to acomplish and attain, Just because he lives."
Well, dude, one can only hope.
p.s. That art is a painting by a Danish artist called Asbjorn Lonvig. Which is certainly a cool name. Scope www.lonvig.dk to see more.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Denouement (84 - 100)

Well, Manion's got a point. I suppose this is dragging on a bit. Here's the day's new mont.

84. Out of curiosity, I did a websearch for Arisnow. On Yahoo Messenger and a few other places, I use the screen name Arisnow8. Well, it turns out that Arisnow (without the 8) is some submissive slave chick into bdsm. I reckon I'm unique, just like everyone else. And apparently may get a whippin' from my master if I get too uppity. Even scarier? She fuckin' quoted Meat Loaf on her webpage.

85. My Texas accent isn't too bad, but it gets worse in proportion to who I'm around, how much country music I've listened to recently, and whether or not I'm riled up.

86. The 2 jobs I kick myself for not having are * TV and/or movie writer and * rock star.

87. I don't claim to make any sense, as it's not a requirement.

88. I will cry faster at kindness than disparagement.

89. Once, when I was 15, I flew out of the back of a van which rolled off the side of a cloverleaf turn on the highway. The doors had been chained shut and the van had a trailer attached. I gently somersaulted to a stop in the grass on the side of the road. There wasn't a scratch on me.

* - Dramatic reenactment. But pretty durn close to reality.

90. I love creme soda. But I won't marry it, as it's unconstitutional in my state.

91. Yesterday, I watered my bedroom carpet by leaving the window open as I was watering the back yard with my sprinkler.

92. Keeping things neat and tidy is something at which I have to work.

93. I can personally recommend diet root beer as a Jack Daniels mixer.

94. I once won a free Jay and Silent Bob t-shirt at Kevin Smith's Secret Stash.

95. Speaking of that, I met Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes, Smith's wife and lots of other folk from his films back in 2003. I have pictures, and an album, but they haven't yet met each other.

96. I've also met Whitesnake and Joe Satriani.

97. I feel an "in harmony with the earth"-style satisfaction each time I chuck an empty glass bottle, steel can, or plastic container into my recycle bin. One could say I enjoy recycling.

98. As a teenager, my boyfriend and I would drive around in a '77 Thunderbird, picking up aluminum cans to trade in for cash. It doesn't seem economically sound, but his dad paid for gas.

99. That Thunderbird was fun to drive. It still occupies a soft spot in my cold, dead heart.

100. I am now officially bored of my self-absorbed drivel.

Thank you for your time, attention, and accolades.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

It's All About Me, 62-83

:: Approaching the mike, I pause for applause. As the waves of accolades roll in, I smile and raise my hands... ::

"Please, please... I know you are all ready for the next installment of this popular feature, so without further ado, I give you... THING 62!!!"

:: And the crowd goes wild. ::

62. I have a vivid imagination, such that I can't watch many scary movies or read horrible news stories, because I will be recreating horrifying scenes later when I am home alone in the dark.

For example, this movie scared me. For days. Aliens behind corners. And it was pretty lame.

63. I am spatially challenged. My former roommates used to laugh at me because from their room they would periodically hear, !!WUMP!! "Fuck!" in the middle of the night. That was the sound of me running into the wall or the bathroom door. But I also whack my little toe or arm on the doorknob when I'm not half asleep. And I always leave a love dent on every car I own.

64. I listen to new CDs or songs over and over. And over and over.

65. The last CD I bought was Nine Inch Nails' "With Teeth."

66. I just paid $1,921.00 for 2 classes. I have to take 10 more. Did I forget I was poor?

67. I recently performed highly successful homegrown French Manicure fu on my own nails, thereby saving $22 or so.

68. Again with the spatial retardation: My direction sense is about as good as a compass that's been passed through a wood chipper, baked into a pie, and transmuted to another galaxy. If I went there once, I never went there. And even if I went there 10 times, if it's been more than 3 weeks, I never went there. I just don't know how to get there. This is among the things I hate about myself most, because it is a continual, lifelong annoyance.

69. So get GPS, you suggest. But I'm slightly paranoid, so GPS creeps me out.

70. I have read at least 15 books this year, probably more.

71. I have this uncanny ability to predict trends before they happen, but have never been able to harness this for material gain. One year, all I wanted was some silver nail polish. I searched everywhere, to no avail. Now it's everywhere.

72. Right this second, I am jamming out to "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult.

73. I am crazy in love with stripes. If something has stripes, it attracts my attention.

74. I have a striped shower curtain, and probably at least 10 shirts with stripes.

75. My other craze is bags, shoes, or wallets, etc. with contrasting stitching. Which is just sort of a variant of stripes.

76. I also love squares. Square cut gems on rings, square watch faces, square plates, squares stitched on my comforter, squares on my checks. You could say I'm a square girl.

77. If someone invented a square purse with stripes and contrasting stitching, I would probably get the vapors and then knock people down in my frenzy to purchase it.

78. I refuse to wear cheap perfume. The stuff from France is preferable, thank you. My favorite? L'Occitane's Green Tea.

79. I look best in low cut, v-neck shirts.

80. I wear black pants or shorts and black shoes 95% of the time. No make that 99% on the shoes.

81. I think that 75% of the clothes available for purchase in stores looks like someone threw up and they made it into a garment. Where does puke yellow fabric with avocado green and red lilies come from to make into shirts? It must be stopped, I tell you. People are buying this!

82. I seldom if ever wear blue jeans. They are hot, and I think they look fine on other people, just not on me.

83. Whataburger ketchup is my most beloved ketchup of all time. I will eat it straight if no one is looking.


Have I told you (all of you) lately that I love you?

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

We Interrupt This Disparate Band of Posts

About me because I am drunk. Yes, right now I am. Do you think I'm NOT?

Well, I am. I guess that counts as thing # 61. Would you feel cheated if I used that as a post?

I repetitively repeat bullshit when I drink. Did you know? Well now you do.

"Just one more vodka cranberry," I was thinking.

I did not cotton to the near room-spinningness I would be courting when I had that 4th vodka cranberry beverage. Would it help to know that my people hail from the Emerald Isle? Would that excuse Tuesday Drunkenness?

Have a happy sleep time (or day time?), my much loved readers. More coherent blogposts to come.


"Spin around and fall down / do it again." -- Everclear

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Chose Soixante de Moi

60. As of today, I got accepted to grad school here:

Books, papers and beer bongs ahead!
(Ok, maybe not so much this time around.)

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Things 36 - 58 About Me

36. I don't smoke, but I will keep a pack of cigarettes around the house on occasion, to just spark one up when the urge strikes (once every few months).

37. I sometimes like a puff of a cigar too... just enjoy the smell and taste of the smoke. Maybe I'm part hobbit.

38. I do the above thing partly because I love the smell of a cigarette being lit.

39. Both my parents and two of my grandparents smoked, so maybe that's why.

40. My other grandmother dipped snuff. Yep, powdery brown stuff between the cheek and gum, necessitating intermittent spitting into the sink, a cup carried around, or the nearest corner spittoon.

41. In fact, I often say that if I hadn't been dating a hardcore against smoking person in my formative years, I would be a smoker today. On the upside of that, I won't get emphysema like my mom has. On the downside, I probably would be thinner.

42. I enjoy creme brulee, but not flan.

43. I HATE getting in trouble.

44. I understand that if I do not complete the above requirements and fail to appear on the above set court date that a warrant for my arrest may be issued and that I will be liable for the balance of the fine/fees and the violation will be reported as a conviction on my driving record.

45. I am cooking spaghetti as I type this.

46. I learned a spaghetti-cooking tip from the Sopranos, which is: add about a tablespoon of butter and a spoonful of sauce to the drained, cooked noodles and stir, before adding the rest of the sauce to the drained, cooked noodles. It just gives this yummy background creaminess to the whole affair.

47. I'm starting to think that Modest Mouse may be badass for other reasons besides that "Float On" song (in particular for a song called "Heart Cooks Brain").

48. I am a great editor and can be grammatically anal, but I make full use of my poetic license to invent words and such. Flanflapulous, for example. Been saying that sarcastically to myself when I see something that isn't quite fabulous. But nobody knows that but you. See that? I just began a sentence with a conjunction. Let's get off this screeching-on-the-red-hot-tracks train of inconsistency, shall we?

49. I am somewhat deathly pale.

50. However, this year, I have a farmer's tan.

50a. Google Images brought this up under farmer's tan. Farmer Tan perhaps?
51. I possess an ability to just pretend something didn't happen or someone doesn't exist. Auto-denial, it might be named. I dunno.

52. My alignment in life and in most rpgs is chaotic good.

53. On average, I say "I love you" to my pup five or more times a day. Also, I sing to him.

54. I want Ozzy Osbourne's "See You On The Other Side" to be played at my funeral.

55. Cremation's the option I'm 80% sure I want for my mortal coil. When I mention that to my mom though, she bitches at me about it.

56. My first rock concert was Journey, at age 12.

57. I've seen so many dozens of shows since that time that sometimes I can't recall if I saw a particular band or not. Iron Maiden, for example. Just not sure.

58. I am wearing panties with little moons and stars on them today, a promise of the celestial wonders within, I assume.

59. I was just about to wrap this when I remembered that I promised a bizarre meeting of my Deadwood/Meat Loaf obsessions. The other day I purchased a film (on VHS, for $5.55) called Meat Loaf: To Hell and Back. How does this connect with Deadwood, you may ask? The title role of Meat was played by W. Earl Brown, aka Dan Dority on Deadwood. I also managed to purchase 3 other Meat Loaf related items. No, I don't know what's wrong with me.

Aren't all blogs just "X Number of Things About Me?" where X is a variable = to the number of posts?

You people know that I love you, don't you? :)


"The sparkle in your eyes / keeps me alive." -- The Cult

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