Tuesday, September 30, 2003


Now, Andy's all about the privacy stuff so I won't say conclusively whether we did have hot, hot monkey love bordering on tantric and I'm not going to say if we didn't have hot, hot monkey love bordering on tantric, but I will tell you this for free...you might think playing Lord of the Rings in bed is sexy but I guarantee you, the moment you throatily whisper to your partner, "I see you bear the white hand of Saruman" things will come to a screeching halt. Your partner may even say to you, "What the hell are you on about?" Then you have to stop and remind him of the Orcs and you'll then realize that he hasn't seen part two yet, so you will feel obligated to show him how cool Legolas was when he slid down the stairs on a shield and he was pwew, pwew, pwew shooting arrows the whole way down and then zing the shield goes whipping out from under him and riiip impales a guy right in his throat and he's all arrgghhh! then he falls over and dies and, and, and...

And by that time, he was asleep.

This leads me to believe that he's not the geek I once thought he was. We'll have to work on that.

LOTR me asap-ly,


And when Legolas grabbed onto Aragorn's horse as he was running past and did that flip thing and landed on the seat I was all like, "Whoa - elves rock!" ()

Monday, September 29, 2003

one of these things is not like the other

Since Andy posted the picture of his brother's wedding I thought I'd go ahead and show you my wedding picture.

This was, what, two years ago? Three years ago? (Andy, help me out - how long have we been married?) Anyway, I'm not fat. Seriously, I'm not - I just look that way because I was buying cheap clothes. I'm serious. Stop sniggering!

That was us. What you can't see are our kids to the right of us (our left, your right) who were given the contents of my purse to play with during the "service". Afterwards, we went out for some pints and generally got piss-drunk out of our minds.

I'm speaking from years as a wedding planner - that was the best wedding I'd ever been to in my life.

I have a theory that the more a wedding costs the shorter the marriage will be. That's not being petty - the most expensive wedding I ever managed dissolved so quickly that I was able to reap the benefits not only once again but twice. I think it has something to do with the princess-complex. High-maintenance, "We need to register 16 eight-piece-place settings at $400 a pop or else this wedding is OFF!!!" kind of chicks really scare me. There are more of them around than you would suspect. Probably one out of every four weddings I handled was for a woman like that...so think of your three best friends. If they're not the princess, then it's you. Sorry, you lose - but thanks for playing.

Here's a little bit of home-truth that I'm going to slap down on your ass...no one else will tell you this, but you are paying multiple thousands of dollars for a party for you. (The bride, that is.) The groom? He gets very little out of it, other than to shut you up. Would you allow him to run your marital asses into debt for the sake of a party to make him feel good? No fecking way.

My dream is to do away with "Bride" magazine. Get rid of caterers and cake decorators. It's a fecking sham. All of it. You want to invite four hundred of your absolutely closest friends to eat your prime rib and to take away cutesy little personalized, "Kelly & Keith 4-Ever" candy bars? Then, I'm sorry, but you have bigger problems than I can sort out.

Now, not all married women view the wedding like it's their party, their time, whatever. But a lot of them do. You are pledging your life to another person, that's a huge thing, I understand that. So, um, what do you get when you have a baby? That's an even bigger commitment, and you can't break it nearly as easily. What do you get? Oh, some bows stuck to your head. Right. Okay, that makes total sense. You get some baby shampoo and a bouquet of plastic ribbons. Sure! That makes perfect sense.

The best weddings I've ever been to have meaning. They're not prescribed by some fucking magazine. And, guys, if you're marrying a woman who's weak enough to fall into that trap...well, do you really think that's the end of it? Women, is he ever going to look as dashing as he did in a tux and tails?

Why would you throw these expectations onto the mundane, of the every-day, for the rest of your lives? Why on earth would you want to start things that way? You have nowhere to go but down.

If you mean it, if it's real, you don't need some stupid big party with a white dress. You'll do it on a Friday afternoon when no one's looking and relish every moment. If you need the party then by all means, go right ahead. It's people like that who kept my ass in business for so long.

On a wedding anniversary...an eighth or a fourteenth or something that's not divisable by five...I'm going to renew my vows. And I'm going to do it barefoot in front of a Native American with none of my family there for that event, either.

Check your priorities-ious,


I ain't judging; I'm just sayin' ()

jiggety fucking jig!

He's home, he's home!!!

What a fine bald head my man has. Sexy in that, "dip it in oil and rub it all over me" kinda way.

That was too much information but, whoopity doo! His ass is in bed and can't edit me.

That's a sexy-fine head right there.



baby's coming back

baby's coming back so I'm on my best behavior...

I woke up singing the lyrics to a song by a band that no one who has ever of them likes. I'd play the song but I only have it on tape (!!!) and besides, I'm sure that Jellyfish isn't as good as I remember them to be. But still. STILL! Andy's coming home and I'm gonna greet him with a punch in the face. Because that's the way we do things 'round here. First the punch, then the hot, hot monkey love.

It's an ancient dance of seduction whose mysteries are still, erm, mysterious to me.

People often never ask me, "Natalie, what is the secret? How have you managed to stay with Andy - who, honestly, is a painfully bitter man - all these years?" To them, I reply (or would do, if anyone asked me) that the secret lies in the ability to have a conversation that ends, "What is it with you and midget porn, anyway?"

Of course, that statement should be made by the man in the relationship. For those of you keeping score at home, that would be Andy.

I dunno - it's cuz midget porn is funny. They're just little people but, man oh man, do they take their performances seriously. Ah, I can't explain it.

But today is no day for midget porn, oh no it is not. Today my Andy is going to come home, and when he walks through the front door I am going to jump from the highest step and he will gracefully catch me in his arms and spin me around. Or I'll fall on him and sprain his back. Either way, we're talking some serious bed-time.

(Sealed envelope prediction? He'll storm into the house, curse the dogs, wrinkle his nose up at the mess in the living room and stomp down the hall to his computer and begin the arduous task of backing up his laptop onto his dying unix box, all the while grumbling about being jet-lagged and wanting a beer. There he will sit until around seven when he'll become inspired to play something like New Model Army at eardrum-shattering volume while screaming the lyrics at the top of his voice. Then he'll tell me he's too tired for hot, hot monkey love. And I will be pissed so I'll stomp away to watch midget porn all by myself. I can almost hear him whispering in my ear right now, "Don't read me!")

Ah well, at least he'll be home and I can stop parading around the house in his underwear, spraying his cologne in my path. He doesn't know I wear his underwear while he's gone, though, so let's just keep that one between us, okay? Thanks.

Don't judge me-ly,


I share too much info here, I think. This entry even made me uncomfortable. Happy Monday, y'all! ()

Friday, September 26, 2003

life is good

Ahh...an all-new Boomtown, a burrito supreme, and my son taking his first step, all in the same night.

It just doesn't get any better than this-ious,


Not necessarily in that order ()


I found a link to the winners of the 2001 Creation Science Fair from the most electric of all the bugaloos. Some highlights include:

First place at the elementary school level: "My Uncle Is A Man Named Steve (and not a monkey)". Look, my uncle doesn't look like a monkey (she's obviously no relation to Ben Stiller) and he doesn't eat bananas. Evolution is wrong!

Second place at the elementary school level: "Pine Cones Are Complicated". Well done, junior - now get back into your harness.

Honorable mentions included this gem: "Pokemon Prove Evolutionism Is False" I choose you, Jesuschu!

First place at the middle school level: "Life Doesn't Come From Non-Life" This experiment was quite the little thrill, as the student put a bit of charcoal, some water and a multivitamin in a jar to see if life would spring forth. Oh, and she also asked God to not perform any miracles. So this experiment not only proved that "life doesn't come from non-life" but it also proves the power of prayer! Good for you, little girl.

Second place at the middle school level: "Women Were Designed For Homemaking" This little genius compares females in the workforce to "normal" workers (they make less than the "normal" people! Tell 'em to go home!) and the female center of gravity is lower than males, thus making them perfectly suited for carrying laundry baskets and groceries. I'm really envious of the lucky lady that snags this fine little gentleman!

Honorable mentions include: "Mousetrap Reduced To Pile Of Functionless Parts" (I'm thinking this is the older sibling of the Steven Hawking who decided that pine cones are complicated. "Dear, little Jimmy needs a project for the creation science fair - what would you suggest?" "How about he tears apart a mouse trap? He's pretty good at that.") Another honorable mention was "Dinosaur & Man Walked Together" (note to child...the movie "Caveman" was not an accurate representation of history) and "Rocks Can't Evolve, Where Did They Come From Mr. Darwin?" Wow! She's a bit of an aggressive one, isn't she? Quick, someone get her a seat on "Crossfire"!

The high school projects were a little more complicated...first place was "Using Prayer To Microevolve Latent Antibiotic Resistance In Bacteria" in which two groups of bacteria culture were studied. One group was "prayed over" and became more resistant to antiobiotics. Geez, all of these kids are proving that prayer works and yet the press hasn't picked up on this?

Second place went to a boy who titled his study "Maximal Packing Of Rodentia Kinds: A Feasibility Study", which is a fancy name for saying, "I'm going to cram a bunch of mice into a cage, hang it from bungee cords to simulate being on a ship, spray it down once a day and carry on for thirty days and thirty nights to see if they would survive and be able to breed, a la Noah's Ark." Where's PETA when you need them?

A couple of the honorable mentions include: "Geocentrism: Politically Incorrect" (in light of the "Women Were Designed For Homemaking" study I don't know if "politically incorrect" is a good thing or a bad thing to this group of wing-nuts) and "Thermodynamics Of Hell Fire". I bet all that flaming sulfur made this presentation particularly nasty. Aren't the fires of Hell fueled with the souls of the eternally damned? Where would one go to find such a product?

I don't have a problem with religious people, per se...heck, some of my best friends are Christians!...but knowing that there are people who teach their children that women are second-class citizens pisses me off. Teaching your children that the earth is the center of the universe pisses me off. And letting children "scientifically" draw these conclusions from these studies definitely pisses me off.

Trouble is, you don't really know when you're dealing with a hard-line Christian fundamentalist, do you? They're not unlike the Canadians, in that they look just like everyone else and it's only when you engage them in conversation that you realize they're A Little Bit Different. At least the Mormons have the decency to have that "Stepford Wives" gleam about them.

Anyway, congratulations to the winners of the 2001 "Church of the Future Abortion Doctor Killers of America" or whatever you're called. Now I'm off to contemplate the complexity of the pine cone.

Monkey around-ingly,


Humans survived whatever it was that killed the dinosaurs. Go, humans! ()

now I'll never get to be a Palmer girl

Robert Palmer died! Jaysus - okay, what's the tally now? Warren Zevon, Johnny Cash, John Ritter, Gordon Jump and now Robert Palmer? Am I missing one? I have the feeling that I've forgotten someone in this...you know, apart from all of the countless regular people who have died, of course.

All of my childhood icons are dying. Warren was sick, Gordon and Johnny were old, but John and Robert were both in their fifties. Nobody dies in their fifties! What a stupid age to die.

You know, once you pass your 35th birthday you're close to fifty than you are to twenty. I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but it's something to think about. Or not, depending on how fragile you are.

This really sucks - I had such a huge crush on Robert Palmer. I remember he hit the scene right about when Robert Plant was doing his solo work and my younger sister would razz me about having a crush on two Roberts. I don't know why it pissed me off but she would tease me that I could only have one...of course, my inclination was to stick with Robert Plant (because, well duh) but off to the side was this blossoming love for Robert Palmer that I wasn't ready to give up on just yet.

Yeah, I pounded her but good. Trying to make me choose between my two Roberts, damn her. (In the end, Robert Plant won, though. He always won, even when I would fantasize about him wrestling Rowdy Roddy Piper for my hand in marriage. Hey, I was, like, six, okay? That's what you do when you're six.)

I can't take much more of this - quick, someone get Gabe Kaplan to the doctor for a check-up. Can't go losing him, too.

Simply irresistible-ly,


update: I was reminded by Candy that the other guy I was thinking of was George Burns Bob Hope (that was my fault - got my old guys confused), and Nicole informed me that George Plimpton died, too. Okay, so they were both old, but still.

She's so fine, there's no tellin' where the money went - what's that supposed to mean, anyway? ()

Thursday, September 25, 2003

draggin' ass

Immigration...employment law...too many hours reading the half-informed opinions of lawyers...so tired. My eyes are crossing, I'm that tired.

Who writes these immigration forms, anyway? I'm on form 89-OCL-43280 or some such crap and it tells me to refer back to form G56933K to fill in this part. So I go back to form G56933K to see what it's talking about and there it tells me to reference form 89-OCL-43280. Around and around in a circle I go, looking from one to the other, hoping that at some point a little paper clip will pop up in the corner and say, "Hi! It looks like you're trying to fill in a self-referencing form and getting very 'All work and no play' on it. Would you like some help?" and have it magically fill in what I need. Hasn't happened yet, but I'm hoping it will - and even if it doesn't happen I'll probably hallucinate it happening so that'll be fine, just as long as the little paper clip signs that the forms were filled out by him. That way I won't get into any trouble for doing it wrong. Could you see me at the INS appeal hearing, claiming, "It wasn't me; it was the googly-eyed paper clip!" Hello, Mr. Four Point Restraints, courtesty of your friendly government official. Yeah, um, no.

It's fall now - I should be on the IRS site getting ready for tax season, not at the INS site trying to figure out a way to keep Andy in the damn country. It's incredible how much easier tax law is to understand (even under a Republican) compared to immigration law. Straight-forward, my ass.

Add to that, we're dealing with multiple unknown variables that could help steer me in one direction over another with regards to filing this, but we don't really have the time for the unknowns to reveal themselves to us. If I mess it up the government will be patient and understanding, right?...right?!? Sweet jeebus I hope I'm right.

I really shouldn't be doing this while tired. The only upshot is that I'm filling everything out on the computer, which prevents me from grabbing an orange crayon and scribbling up the margins. I'm very tempted to draw a big, goofy, ugly face with the tongue hanging out, eyes crossed and picking his nose and label it, "This is YOU!"

Nah, that's not fair. After all, the INS is just doing their job, right? I should be more polite, especially considering how many ".gov" visitors I get. (Hi guys! You're doing a great job - keep up the good work! How's your mom's goiter? Really, that's wonderful. Did you get the bundt cake I sent over? Yes, it was carrot, made from my own bumper crop. We had a great growing season this year. You give my love to Maureen and the kids and tell them we'll see them at the cabin next spring. Sure, I'll bring my patented stink-bait but you're not getting the recipe out of me, you old dog. Take care now.)

Gah - this is what I get for hooking up with some old foreigner, eh? Like my mom said, "There are plenty of Americans; why did you have to get someone from another country? We have a big country here - I'm sure you could have found someone to marry you without going English!"

Yes, I made my bed and now I shall lie in it. It's quite comfy, as it's stuffed with shreds of form 89-OCL-43280.



GĂ©rard Depardieu is an asshole ()

how did that get in there?

Like many people I have images and audio on my computer that I don't remember ever having put there. Sometimes people send me things on Yahoo that I tuck away and later forget exactly what context in which they were sent so they lose their significance.

Now, many of the images aren't particularly note-worthy outside of the conversation when they were sent but some of them absolutely baffle me.

For example, it's weird enough that last night I found a picture of a young, nude Betty White but weirder, still is that A.) I don't know why the hell I have it, and B.) I can't think of a single person who would have given it to me. It's not something I would have hunted for on my own, nor is it a file I think I would have readily accepted from anyone.

I realize you're probably still recovering from those George Bush pics from the other day so I don't blame you if you don't want to peek at Betty but if this sounds familiar to you please let me know....so that I can delete your twisted ass from my friends list.



Now I just need a nude Bea Arthur... ()

Thank the Shariah Court of Appeal

Amina Lawal is free.



I can't express how relieved I am by this. It gives me hope. ()

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

we interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this special broadcast

My feed is pulling down, like, fifteen times an hour. Not my fault cuz it's not really my feed so you can just suck on it ignore or unsubscribe to my feed for a while until it gets sorted out.

That is all. As you were.

Filed under "I'm just sayin' is all"-ingly,


You wanna complain about getting me fifteen times an hour, huh? How about no natalie for anyone, ever - would that make you happy, huh? ()

now ya done pissed me off

I don't know who this "Uncle Ray" might be, or what makes him think he produces a tasty potato chip, but I can tell you with quite some authority that he most certainly does not.

I have tried every single brand of dill pickle flavored potato chips available and can honestly say that the cream of the crop is Old Dutch. On the other hand, Uncle Ray's kosher dill pickle potato chips are ass. ASS! They're even worse than those margarita-flavored chips that have the demon on the bag. You know the guys I mean - they hooked up with Rachel, the chick who makes those kick-ass garlic parmesan kettle chips? Not Death Eaters, that's from Harry Potter. What the heck are they called?

Oh cool - I just googled them and found this site that reviews every tasty snack imaginable. (The company I was talking about before are "Death Rain" and there's some zombie-looking guy on the bag. Don't ask me, I'm just the guy who eats them.) I remember them so strongly because on the back of the bag there's a letter from Rachel (of Rachel's Gourmet Snacks or something) telling the Death Rain guys that she likes their spices and wanted to incorporate their flavors into her chips. Their reply was along the lines of, "Send us naked pictures of you and we'll think about it." Those are the guys I want making my chips.

What does Uncle Ray do on the back of his bag? Quote the frickin' Bible. Does God really want to be associated with a mediocre foodstuff? I should think not. In fact, I'm fairly certain that pickles aren't even sanctioned by the Bible. I think they said something in Leviticus- can't remember.

Uncle Ray also tells a couple of stories about his youth, one of which involved a huge rip-off. He was selling Kool-Aid for a penny a cup when some kid grabbed the gallon and ran off with it. Naturally, our Uncle Ray gave chase but failed to catch up with the boy. That's right, Uncle Ray couldn't catch a boy who was running with a sloshing gallon of Kool-Aid. Hell, Ray, even if you couldn't catch the kid you could have at least followed the trail of spilled drink.

Anyway, Uncle Ray gave up and returned to his Kool-Aid stand and guess what? While he was off running after the Kool-Aid Bandit, someone else had found his stand and liberated him from the rest of his supply.

It's no wonder the guy can relate to Jesus. Think about it.

Uncle Ray would probably equate me to the kid who stole his Kool-Aid 'lo so many years ago, but I would recommend you give his pickle chips a pass.



When he quotes Hebrews 13:1 on the bag the word "angels" is spelled "angles". He has a guardian angle. Lucky bastard. ()

ain't that always the way?

Leave it to a husband to try and break up his wife and her one true love. I feel like a character in a Bronte book...no one in particular, I just feel representative of the whole genre. Actually, maybe I'm more Ethan Frome except without that pesky botched attempted suicide.

At any rate, I was duped by my husband and his friend, Richard, into thinking that Steve was saying bad things about me. And, like anyone else with webspace, I decided to, you know, publicly taunt him. Like you do. But I was wrong.

The upshot of this is that the guy commented. *swoon* *thunk*

So let me retract all of the bad stuff I said about Steve. See, I thought our relationship, as it were, had passed from the "He barely knows who I am" stage into "He can't stand me" stage. Turns out I'm back to being a peripheral annoyance, yee haw! That's how momma likes it.

This is the man I'm going to practice making babies with - ya know, if Andy will let me. And if he agrees. (Gotta pretend like I'm giving Steve a choice here - you know, for when I'm facing the judge claiming that it was all consensual.)

Tall, yet approachable.  Firm, yet supple.  Vaguely musky, Victor Mature-like scent.  A man to keep on a shelf and just look at.  I highly recommend him to all of my friends.

Okay, now that that's done with, let's get back to what I've come to realize are the pictorial representations of everything I am - a finger monkey and a monkey giving you the finger. Enjoy!



There are a finite number of hot English guys in the world and Andy works with all of 'em. ()

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

She Has a GREAT Body

Her face, on the other hand...

Tell me you didn't just throw up a little in your mouth. You can't, can you. *shudder*

Using powers for evil-ingly,


I will not be held accountable if you are scarred for life ()

One Day He'll Come Along...

...the man I love. And he'll be big and strong, the man I love. And when he comes my way, I'll do my best to...

kick him in the nuts for calling me a talentless hack!

Yeah, you heard me Steve. I'm gonna kick you in the nuts. Andy and Richard both told me what you said about me, ya salsa-dancing nancy boy*, and I don't appreciate it one bit. After all the nice things I've said about you? After all the times I mercilessly taunted Andy by telling him that our marriage was just a ruse so that I could get close to you? After the way I taught my children to call you "daddy"...this is how you repay me? All of those times I rebooted my computer to get a new IP address so that I could vote you a 10 on "Am I Hot or Not?"** were all for naught? Wait..."not" and "naught" rhyme so that sounds stupid. Oh, but I bet they don't rhyme for you, do they, Steve? I bet you, like, enunciate an' stuff. Is that what they teach you at those big fancy schools in England, huh? Well, I'll tell you a little something else that I know they teach you about (hey, I read Stephen Fry, I know the scoop) - buggery and the biscuit game! Yeah, I bet you didn't think I knew about that, did ya, Steve? I loved you despite all of that.

sniff You made me want to be a Very Tall Man***, remember that? Remember the good times, Steve? When I stalked you by proxy through John and Andy? Who am I supposed to stalk now, eh? Answer me that...erm...oh, huh, I think I've got it.

Psst...Andy? What do ya reckon about getting me some more shots of Tristan, John and Neil, eh?

In all seriousness, these guys, the UK team of Andy's company, are in the process of being "let go" as I type this. The whole office is being lanced along with the US arm of the team as well. I'm not sure what they all were really up to over there (something involving damp sponges and raw poultry, I think? Something like that.) but if you know of any really great jobs for a group of smarter-than-all-get-out techie guys in the general England-ish area you'd do right to look 'em up. (Oh, and if you know anything in the general "my neighborhood" area that'd be good, too. Gotta keep the old man employed so he can afford my expensive ass.)

I have a seriously hubba-hubba picture of a topless Neil but I don't think he knows I have it so I'm wary about posting it. I might do, anyway...you know, just to lighten that whole, "Good morning, you're fired!" thing they have going on over there. Well, it'd make me happy, anyway - and isn't that what really matters? Course it does.

But Steve, seriously, I'm gonna have to "dude" ya..."talentless hack"? Dude. Nut-kick forthcoming.



How was that? Was it too aggressive? ()

* I also know another salsa-dancing Steve but he's not a nancy-boy. I excuse the other Steve's salsa-dancing because he actually dates Cubans and doesn't have VD.

** I didn't really do that and he still managed to get an 8.6. But I don't think he's hot anymore and I'll probably only let him make one, maybe two, babies with me now, tops.

***Originally posted Friday, May 30, 2003

Hoo ha! Here I go - one day only, I'm gonna be a really tall man. Maybe not for the whole day, just a few hours...tall man. I'll go the the store and when I see people looking forlornly at the "Please ask for assistance reaching the top shelf" shelf I'll say, "You want that double jumbo pack of Mott's Apple Juice up there? I'd be more than happy to help you, for I am a Very Tall Man." And up I shall climb and when I reach the top I'll throw apple juice to all the waiting people far below. "Thank you, tall man! Thank you for assisting us and bestowing upon us these gifts of apple juice!"

The side of my face will have those sheet wrinkles - you know how you get wrinkles in your skin from your sheet? You know why you get that? Because you're dehydrated. Drink some water and you won't get wrinkled. But I'll be hydrated and still have those wrinkles on the side of my face and people will whisper to each other, "That Very Tall Man is obviously hydrated, yet he has those wrinkles. I wonder...are they scars? Is that Very Tall Man scarred or something? How can a scar look like a sheet wrinkle imprint?" They'll want to ask but they won't. And when they go home they'll tell the story of me, how I helped them. See that glass of apple juice you're drinking? That's courtesy of a Very Tall Man. He had this wrinkle...and when they finish the story, they'll realize that they now have a weird phobia about wrinkles and scars and will buy every moisturizing product on the market when all they really have to do is drink more water. The fools.

Models get ribs removed to look skinny. You ever see a skeleton? The rib cage juts out - even more so if you've had a baby. My tailbone sticks out further than normal since I've had kids. Used to be, if I was sitting down in a tub I could slide down into the water but now I can't because my tailbone juts out a bit too much and kinda hurts. But my ribs don't hurt. How many ribs do they have removed? You'd have to remove quite a few to even make a difference because your ribcage sort of curves, and the bones at the bottom are quite small. You need your ribs, they protect your lungs. Then again, most models smoke and snort cocaine so it's not like they're going to be very concerned about it...I'd like to see some statistics about models who have had ribs removed versus us regular folk when we get into car accidents. Do they have a higher instance of punctured lungs than the rest of us? Can you get your tailbone removed? I'd be all over an operation like that.

I have my younger sister convinced that she was born with a vestigial tail, but that mom wrapped a rubber band around it until it fell off and we kept it in the medicine cabinet. That's why she won't keep a Doberman. Because of the tail.

I'm only a Very Tall Man for one day, but Steve is a Very Tall Man every day. He picks at imaginary lint on his sleeve because he's been to posh schools in England where they teach you how to do such things. I bet he has a tie that identifies him as having attended a posh school. Maybe when he sees other people wearing the same tie he approaches them and says, "You old sommabitch, how the hell are ya?" and shakes their hand in a strange fashion. Then they both stand there, picking imaginary lint from the sleeves of their blazers. Yes, they don't wear mere jackets, or sport coats...they're Blazer League. Steve makes me want to learn how to row one of those canoe things. You know that little retractable hook in the backseat of your car? That's for hanging up your blazer when you're driving so you don't get those ass-wrinkles. Steve uses his. I've never used mine, for I like my wrinkles to get people talking.

He is not a young Prince Charles, he is a Very Tall Man. (Steve, how could you turn your back on me after that?)

Monday, September 22, 2003

I'm A Danger To Myself And Others

This is what I do when I'm bored - I will IM your offline ass until I'm sick of myself. Andy was away in slumber, blissfully unaware that I was in one of those moods.

me: Yo - my phone seems to be shagged. Are you up?

me: Hullo hullo hullo.

me: Go Go Gadget SMOKER!

me: Word to the wise - incorporating kung-fu moves into the lighting of a cigarette? Very very cool. Trying to use those same cat-like ninja moves when drinking a bit of hot tea? Very very bad.

me: It tastes like burning!

me: There's a staaaaarman, standing in the hall/I wish he'd help me clean up but the bugger does fuck all/there's a staaaaar man going through my drawers/I've said that they won't fit him but the pervert wants to wear them anyway/Let the children kick him/let the children trip him/let the children escape him. There's a staaaarman...sing it with me now!...standing in the hall....

me: They keep saying what great swimmers moose are, oh aren't the moose grand, watch them swim! But that's a damn dirty lie. I saw one drown once. It was his own damn fault for ignoring the "thin ice" sign. Cocky bastard. Yep, but that's a moose for ya, all right.

me: Oh I wish I were a Russian ballerina/that is what I'd truly love to be/cuz then I'd get to dance for the Czarina/and from her samovar she'd serve me tea.

me: My dad used to go with a dead dappy lass. She was a dancer and had tassles like egg cups. She smelled of custard and sparkled all over. Unless you made her laugh. She had no teeth at the bottom. If you made her laugh and stared at her bottom jaw she would somehow sense it. That's when the lasers would shoot out. We don't quite know what they'd shoot out from, but really, that's a fairly academic point. You see lasers shooting out of a shiny, custard-smelling, toothless dappy fat dancer...well, you don't stick around to ask questions, I'll tell you that much for free.

me: Even though the slang is outdated I still laugh every time I hear the word "Idaho". I don't think I'll ever get tired of that.

me: I realized today that the only time I ever use the words "corpuscular" and "crepuscular" is when I'm telling someone that I always confuse the two words. Makes me wonder if I ever really confused them at all.

me: Wow. Wow. Really makes you stop and think, huh.

me: There's really so much I don't know about astrophysics. I wish I'd have finished that book by that wheelchair guy.

me: I've broken nine of the ten commandments and committed all of the seven deadly sins. Once I finish up on the commandments I'm pretty sure I get a plaque on the Wall of Foam in Chicago. Or something. Can't remember. Lost the pamphlet.

me: Aw hell, did you know that the wages of sin is death? How did I miss *that*?!?

me: There are, quite simply, not nearly enough foodstuffs that are presented "On A Stick".

me: I could sit here and do this forever. I think it's in your best interest to wake up and stop me before it's too late.

me: Come on! I want to play that game where I challenge you to name ten attractive English people but you get stuck on three.

me: I wish Oscar Wilde were alive for just long enough to join "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy" so he could put the smack-down on Carson.

me: I don't care what anyone says, "Pygmalion" was a stupid fucking name. And they totally messed up renaming it. The original title is in reference to the professor but the new title was in reference to Eliza. What a bunch of dumb-asses, eh?

me: You guys didn't used to own Turkey or anything, did you? Because just between you and me, the Turks don't much care for you lads.

me: The phrase "mounted police officers" is a total misnomer. The horses are mounted, not the cops. "Mounted police officers" just makes me snigger every time I hear it. Catherine the Great, anyone?

me: People say America's so free but then you see that English people are laying odds and betting over whether or not Blair will win a re-election and you just have to say, "THAT! That right there, my friend, is democracy."

me: Holy shit - you're probably facing the hang-over of a lifetime and this is what I do to you? Serves you right, ya bugger.

me: Ah, it just doesn't get much better than this: David Blaine threw his dirty diaper into a crowd that held Gloria Estefan and her daughter. That's almost dream-like, it's so random and surreal. Folks, you can't make this stuff up.

me: You know, the only thing he took in the box with him was a picture of his mother. I bet he eats it.

me: I wouldn't be surprised if he soaked the picture of his poor mother in saline before he went up. He's using his mother as a tool. Sick bastard.

me: Why for you not online moan a me?

me: It'd probably surprise you to learn how easy it is to offend a babboon.

me: Wait - substitute the words "a babboon" for "children" and substitute the word "offended" with "deeply traumatize".

me: Ack! I've just misspelled baboon not once but twice. Thankfully I corrected myself before hitting the dreaded "thrice".

me: I wonder how long it'll take David Blaine to start wanking it in full view of the spectators. Cuz, come on, that had to be the first thought that went through his head when he finally got locked in. 44 days?!? What was I *thinking*?? That's a long-ass time right there, and I'm saying that even as a woman. And we're sexual camels.

me: Okay, I am now wholly and utterly convinced you're not online. My only hope is that you haven't died from alcohol poisoning. That, and that you picked me up some stripey socks. You know how I love my stripey socks.

me: Cig is done....tea is gone....calls the bed, calls the sheets, calls the down (pillow)....as I go....this I know....I need to get my ass back on a normal sleeping schedule, s'truth.

me: I shall be sleeping with my cell phone - because that's not a divorcable offence! (ba-da-dum!) Is divorcable a real word? Aw, whatever. Anyway, you can call when you set off back. Say hello to the Men with Hills* for me, and let them know I've been receiving their transmissions loud and clear. Later.

*Menwith Hill (or, as I like to call it, Men With Hills or Men Without Hills because I'm remarkably un-clever) is an area in North Yorkshire that's believed to be a US spy base. Why do people believe it's a US spy base? Because it looks like a whole bunch of Epcot Centers in the middle of a field and there's no way the English would have come up with that on their own. It's my understanding that the real Epcot Center is under some sort of extraterresterial control but that's a secret from me to you - don't you dare tell anyone. This information is worth more than my life so let's keep it 'twixt us, okay?

At any rate, I do believe that there are some sinister things going on at Menwith Hill because every time we'd drive past, the radio would play a song by Oasis and my back teeth would start to vibrate. Okay, so I admit that UK radio stations always play Oasis, and, sure, Liam Gallagher's voice is usually what sets my teeth to shaking, but still. Sinister forces and the like. Think "Star Wars", but not in a "fat kid going vrhoohm, vrhoohm with an imaginary light sabre" kind of way. Just trust me on that.

Loving the sound of my own voice-ly,


Why's it always gotta be all about me, anyhow? ()

I'm Taking My Ball and Going Home

It's no fun for me right now. Yes, yes, this is a continuation of the Great Basement Debasement and Aggrandizement...wait, that's a stupid way to say it. I'm redecorating, that's it. Strippin' it down and buildin' it up 's all.

Anyway, between my walls and my ceiling I have this sloped bit - looks very cool; textured like the ceiling, only cockier, somehow. Like a bowler hat lowered over one eye. Yeah, that kind of thing. When I first painted the basement two years ago I wanted to give it a gypsy tent-vibe. Fabric on the walls, loud colors, coordinated (never matched, for matching is death) pillows and rugs. And I did, and it worked. Except for this one panel. This thing, this feature, this whatever you want to call it, was sniffing at me in indignation for being ignored. Then it mocked me for my lack of vision. Then I got sleepy. I forget what happened after that, but the end result is that I spray-painted it gold.

I've got to say, the look worked. Rather, it did, until we decided to redecorate.

I let Andy choose the colors for the basement and am feeling a little nervous because the guy doesn't even know the difference between mushroom and slate. Honestly, I sat with him for a good ten minutes pointing out the various undertones and coordinating hues with each color and he stared at me blankly before saying, "Well, they're both a bit browny-greyish, aren't they?" Yes, that's exactly what they are - browny-greyish. Sigh.

End result is that I have to now paint over the gold, and lemme tell ya, spray-painting is a lot easier than brush-painting. I'm doing the job in three-foot-lengths to save my shoulders.

The shade we chose for this is roughly the color of Angela Bassett's skin, which if I had to name I would call, "not quite as dark as I like 'em." (I'm just kidding here, but that does remind me of something...it used to be that when someone asked me how I liked my coffee I'd do the old, "I like my coffee like I like my women...in a plastic cup" but now I've decided to start saying, "I like my coffee like I like my women...strong, black and two at a time." That has nothing to do with decorating; I just really, really like saying that.)

The point is....the point is that I have no real point, just that this is some fecking tough stuff and I'm bored with it.

Is it wrong to drink Slim Fast shakes like they're cans of soda? I bought some of their Cappuccino Delight and find myself getting all, "my precious" on it and have supped three cans tonight.

Now I'm just stalling because I don't feel like working. That's not fair to you because you're probably reading this at work and getting all crazy-ass bitter over the fact that the worst thing I'm facing at the moment is repainting my basement. I'll make it up to you somehow...maybe later today, before I lay down for my nap, I'll post something funny to get you through your after-lunch looginess. Yes, I just said looginess.

Happy Monday!

Step on-ingly,


"You're twistin my melon man" is a stupid fucking lyric ()

Sunday, September 21, 2003

You know you're sick when...

...you start reading a book that you think is a harsh indictment of the current fractured, damaged infrastructure of the larger metropolitian areas of the US (with specific emphasis on the post-modern, ennui-laden, urban youth and their ensuing, almost mule-like stubbornness to accept, and even wear as a badge of pride, their placement in their socio-economic strata), but upon reaching the mid-point of the book, you suddenly realize you're reading a biography of a Russian ballerina.

That'll fuck yer head up but good.

Still congested after all these days-ingly,


What's the Czar got to do, got to do with it? ()

Friday, September 19, 2003


I was below deck nursing meself back to health when I heard a shipmate exclaim, "Well pieces o' eight, it's Talk Like A Pirate Day!"

A life of pillaging and plundering is hard work, indeed, and fair few people can appreciate it so I had to drag meself to the port side to hear the proclomation of my pirate husband and partner in crime, Mad Roger Bonney, the fiercest pirate to ever sail the seven seas.

"Ah, I see my wife, Mad Grace Kidd, has decided to join us! Gather 'round, as I spin ye's a yarn about the rich history of the noble profession of piratin'! Now, many years ago there once was a man..." Then he was cut off by cries of, "Land ho!" The map was consulted, as we didn't expect to find land in this part of the ocean, and someone noticed that this island we were 'bout to run aground of had been covered by a whopping dollop of parrot droppings.

"Behold!" spake Mad Roger Bonney, "for we've reached our final destination. A pirater's paradise! Everything here is ripe for the taking with nary a bit of resistance to be seen. To my crew, my comely wife, gaze and behold that which is known as...the Island of Kazaa."

There was much oohing and aahing, for we had all heard tell of the legends of Kazaa, where software grew on trees and where you had to sleep beneath mosquito netting to avoid being assulted by audio files. Our quest was complete and we lived in blissful harmony for many years.

Until the RIAA came and sued us all. *sniff* They even took me dear husband's peg leg. No Bananarama song is worth a man's peg leg. You take his leg, you take his dignity. (Then again, a man who would download Bananarama probably doesn't have much dignity to begin with.)

Then he died. (I don't know why - just run with it, ya scurvy mongrel!) Oh, and everyone else died. Except for me, arrr. I alone live to tell the tale of the Pirates of the Kazaabbean.

Obligatory pirate day post-ingly,


Don't look at me like that - it was a last-minute thing, I'm sorry! ()


I have finally released myself from the primordial sludge that has been my home as of late. I believe the nubs on the lower half of my body will eventually become legs but they could easily go tentacular. Time will tell.

I am not yet human but am hopeful.

I have learned that the optimal temperature for the life form I wish to become is a fairly standard 98.6 degrees on the Fahrenheit scale and, while I am still reaching temperatures above this I have, in fact, had a few occasions where I have experienced this lower temperature. It is during those times that I feel my best, so I believe my destiny is to become one of you.

I've been watching a lot of what you call "television" and your general lack of dripping mucus has not escaped me. I do not know how I can make mine stop but I now realize it's essential for my success as a human being.

My vocal chords yet remain inflamed - I do not know if this is because having a voice is a new thing in my evolution or if there are sinister, infectious forces at work. Slowly but surely I have been able to increase the volume and strength of my voice - it's a development I'm monitoring closely.

Most disconcerting is feeling that which occupies my cranium is too large for the container it's held in...how can the gooey grey matter within feel so much pressure? My rather remedial experimentation on my skull has revealed that it is, for all intents and purposes, a solid piece with very little in the way of elasticity, yet the innards feel as if they'd like nothing more than to spill out of my ears. Is this part of the self-hating human condition? I should hope not.

In the meantime I have taken what is known as a "decongestant" and am closely monitoring myself for effects. Currently all that I desire is to sleep. A lot. Thankfully, those other inhabitants of my household seem to be on the same track so I do not feel as conspicuous as I could do. Time will tell.



I couldn't just say, "I'm sick" could I? No, I've gotta get all stupid with it. ()

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Pot, Meet Kettle

Yesterday, en route to the airport...

me: You know what I think would be interesting in the next election? A Howard Dean/Bill Clinton ticket.
andy: You know what I think would be interesting? A Howard Jones/George Clinton ticket.
me: Yeah! Bwop a bwow a doobie doobie bwop...
andy: What the hell is that?
me: Bootsy Collins. He can be George Clinton's co-vice president.
andy: Co-vice president? (pause) You come up with some goofy shit sometimes.

Vote Jones/Clinton in '04-ingly,


'For the top gun hit you with the GOP gun ()

Monday, September 15, 2003


I'm eating chips and drinking cocoa in bed while reading a trashy book that I'd be embarrassed to be seen with by anyone and I'm wearing sweats.

AND my face is slathered in a toxic-green skin-firming mask.

Sometimes, alone-time can be g-o-o-o-o-o-d.

Next up? A pedicure!

Like a poor man's spa-day-ingly,


Heaving her ample bosom atop his muscular chest, Randolyn was reminded of a Greek god... ()

I Don't Like Mondays Mornings

I was woken up by a panic-stricken voice in my ear urgently telling me, "Natalie, you have to get up right now - we have to leave for the airport in two hours."

Remarkably, my brain was able to process that, before going to the airport, Andy had to get his clothes together, do a load of laundry, pack, find his international power adapters, shave his head, shower, talk to Asia, talk to England, confirm his flight and hotel, put the dogs out and have some tea.

I, on the other hand, only had to wake up in time to drive him. I didn't even need to brush my hair for that portion of the show.

So why did my happy ass have to get up? He's going to be able to sleep on a plane for the next eight hours but I have to stay awake for the next twelve...and I have to drive clear down to the airport and back. There is no reason for me to be up yet.

He could have let me sleep. He just didn't want to.

Misery loves company-ly,


They say that waking up is hard to do ()

Sunday, September 14, 2003


By A Shrimp, On Finding Himself In The Unfortunate and Unenviable Position of Becoming My Dinner

Oh, we succulent skewered salsa-drenched shrimp
Squished butts to nuts on your plate
(If only we had nuts.)
(Or butts.)
Awaiting the beast that is you to consume us all
Devour my brethren, my brothers and sisters
(if only I could tell their genders, as our sauteed sex organs now blacken the bottom of a fry pan)
You unworthy beast.
I don't see any food
Just the mangled carcasses of a once proud creature
King Prawn of the Great Barrier Reef!
(How fresh am I now?)
The blood of thousands of years of majestic and unencumbered existence flowed through these now-dry veins
Thusly, I have the knowledge of my ancestors, inherited memories
And shall die a valiant death for a noble purpose
To sustain your life
Do not weep for me, lying on your plate.
Would that I had eyes I should weep for you
And the task ahead at chewing, swallowing and digesting
One so magnificent as I
You, so undeserving.
You, so frivolous.
I await my fate and tremble as you slowly remove me from the skewer which binds me
(Again, butts to nuts)
To my dear cousin cousin cousin cousin cousin cousin cousin
(Add a skewer of eight to any entree for $6.99)
For a moment I am at peace.
Yet another role I must play - as sustenance.
I am pleased to yet again be worth something
A prawn of value to the end.
Until you dropped me on the floor
And couldn't find me under the table
Leaving me to rot until closing time, to be stepped on
And ground in the dirt.
I hope my cousins were diseased.
Thank you for eating at Bennigans - please do come again.
And choke.



They'd eat you if given the chance ()

Get Over Yerself Already!

I'm the cheesiest, I really am. Not only have I been mentioned in two audblogs but there have been three people who have had dreams about me.

You wanna hitch your wagon to this star, baby, because I am moving up in the world, uh huh.

Woman of your dreams-ly,


Yeah, I'm sick of me, too ()

You'll see that life is a ball again

This post at Craig's List gave me a lump in my throat. (Ganked from the crumbly one who lifted it from the random one)

$600 - Take a step that is new... room for rent.

Reply to: anon-16171108@craigslist.org
Date: 2003-09-12, 12:00PM

One room available in stylish Santa Monica apartment.
We recently lost our roommate, and we are looking for a man that is willing to put up with two girl roommates. You must be able to cook, be prone to wacky misunderstandings, and willing to explore your feminine side (will explain later).

Apartment is late 70's style... modern arched doorways, somewhat thins walls (missing one wall, but working on it).. comes furnished, although most of the family room furniture is slightly worn from fumbling antics of previous roommate.

Nice neighborhood, friendly people, close walk to Regal Beagle.
If you would like to check it out, please call 555-2354 or send application to

Mr Furley
32 Palm Lane, Apt 1
Santa Monoca, CA 90232

or, just come take a knock on our door... ask for Janet or Chrissy

I know it's sad but at least I'm not talking about rss again-ingly,


We've a lovable space that needs your face ()

Envy Me

At Menards, when I was crawling around trying to find which roll of carpet was ours:

andy: Whoa - when you bend over like that your boobs pop out of your shirt.
me: Yeah, I know - and this is my good bra, too.

Yep, my "good bra". As opposed to, say, my granny-panties equivalent that I usually have to wear. My "good bra" was taking a turn.

It's not supposed to be like this. All of my bras are supposed to be good bras. They should all be sexy and sheer and make me look hot. But the majority of the time the bra I select is based on how bad my back is hurting that day.

You want me now, don't you. I've gone and gotten you all excited. Yeah, I know. Me, too.

I'm feeling worn out - I've turned some corner without realizing it and can now recognize the ridiculousness of youth. I cringe when I think about myself when I was Stupid. Granted, I was probably less stupid than some of my peers since I had that whole mommy thing going on but I had my fair share of immaturity. Not immaturity so much - I can't really put my finger on the right word. You know when you're At That Age when you really think that everything you do is Just Fine and if older people don't like it, it's only because they're jealous that they're not as young as you are anymore.

I know - if I could go back in time I'd be the first in line to smack myself.

Where was I going with this? I know I had a point but I've lost it...oh yeah, I remember. Wait, it makes no sense...all I really wanted to say is that I'm going to start signing my name in comments as "pickle juice" rather than "natalie" for clarification. Too many Natalie-type people are running around using my damn name. (Actually, it's because I forget where I comment so when I see another Natalie I kind of freak because I think, "Oh great, here we go...it's early onset of senile dementia." So I'm "pickle juice" from now on.)

So how did I end up talking about bras? Meh - just one of those days, I guess.

It's the last day I have mister muscles home with me so I should really be putting his ass to work for me on all the tough stuff I can't do by myself but that would involve me actually getting up and moving around.

You know what I need? I need an interactive "to do" list. A little program that can sit on my desktop where I plug in everything I need to do, when it needs to be done, what's involved in completing the task, all of the little details. Periodically a window would pop open and say, "Hey, Natalie, how's it coming on that whole painting of the basement thing?" I'd say, "Well, pretty okay, I guess." It'd reply, "Did you finish primering?" and I'd reply, "No, but I did buy the paint." It'd get a little aggressive and lecture me a little bit..."You'd better get that done while you can still paint with the windows open. It's Minnesota fer crikes sake, it'll get cold soon." This would continue back and forth with task after task until it completely abusive and started screaming judgments at me to stop being so lazy. If I still ignored it my chair would eject me and kick me in the ass, then shoot up as high as it would go, thus assuring my short ass couldn't climb back up.

So how about it, technology? The time for this product has come.

I'm an ideas man.



I'll procrastinate later ()

Saturday, September 13, 2003


Listen up, yo. Webgrrlie has a couple of Dave Matthews tickets for the show at the Nissan Pavilion tonight and can't go - if you're in the area and are interested go and send her an email.

That is all.

Why My RSS Feed Kicks Your RSS Feed's ASS!

1. Because I now have a proper title field. This means my first line won't run into my second line and ensures maximum readability, understandability and Rockabillity.* Though I make no guarantees about my content's nonsensibility.
2. It's a full feed, not some crappy little two line teaser requiring you to click through to my page if you don't want to. Yes, I am making it as easy as possible to avoid this page like the plague, I know this. And my hit counter hates me for it.
3. Because my comments field is linked so that the little window will pop up - again, not requiring you to visit the page if you don't want to. One of the many items on my current "to do" list is to get Dame Edna, Patron Saint of Pickle Juice, back in there for your adoration, respect and/or lusting. Because, really, we all need a daily fix.**
4. This also means that my post doesn't show up as updated just because someone's left a comment. I know I mentioned it before, but I really did have an odd afternoon where I thought I suddenly gained psychic powers and was predicting everything that people with inline comments were going to post about that day. I was trying to find a way to turn that skillz into some mad cash but it didn't work out the way I planned.

The only problem I see is that in my feed my comment counter doesn't reflect the number of comments. The stately and rhythmic John (I don't know why I just called him that) is the fella who wrote the code and gave me a suggestion on how to fix that, which worked, but then it messed up the counter on my page. Alas alack - no worries on my part. You're just going to have to deal with the suspense if you read me on Bloglines. "Has a comment been left? Is there a huge conversation going on that I don't know about? The counter is offering me nothing, argh!" That's when you just click, ya see. No reason to stress yourself out about something like that...as my dear old granny used to say, "Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things." Little bit o' wisdom from the Olde Countrie for ya.

Again, doff of the cap to the fishtown blogger for lighting a fire under my ass and pulling me, kicking and screaming, onto the bandwagon.

Oh yeah, and I'm still lying about shutting up about Bloglines and rss feeds and the like. In case you hadn't noticed.

Nose grow-ingly,


RSSify and Testify ()

damn...all this big talk and I think I've gone and broken my feed...

*update - my title is still running into the first line of the post. Blame someone besides me. Anyone, I don't care.

**another update - and yes, I know that this post has probably been pulled more than once because of the updates, which negates that whole "my feed rocks because it's not updated every time someone leaves a comment" thing, but I wanted to mention that Dame Edna, Patron Saint of Pickle Juice, is now keeping watch over your comments once again. This is the last update, I swear.

Friday, September 12, 2003

Ladies and gentlemen - in a cluster of days of nothing but bad, bad, bad we have bona fide standage. Which is to say, Nico is now fully erect. I mean, of course, that he's standing up. More than before - before he was doing the start/stop thing but now he's totally up there.

And he's growing teeth. I can feel two 'bout ready to pop through. (Yeah, I know...my kids have always been late teethers.)

For this glorious occasion I thought I'd share with you an audio file (screw you, blogger, and your enhanced audio! I'll take a free .wav any damn day of the week!) of Beanie explaining her philosophy on teeth.

Zoe, why doesn't Nico have any teeth? Because he's stupid!
(Did I mention you get to hear me? Yeah, that's me. Thankfully there are none of the hotbed Minnesota words like...um...about? House? Anything that we tend to eff up. Though I do drop my "u" in "stupid" to make it sound like "steewpid" - I'll blame Andy for that one, methinks.)

It's so wrong to laugh-ly,


Toothless and stupid, indeed ()

No real entry today.

Instead I'll share with you my favorite poem in the world...actually, I think this is tied for first place with Gregory Corso's "Marriage" but I'm pretty sure I posted that on here once before.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
e. e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

e. e. -iously,


the man in black

A song for our times:

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black.

It's only seven and I'm well on my way to having one of the worst days of my life. Things just keep getting better and better.

John Ritter and Johnny Cash both died.

If you really want to torture yourself you can go watch Cash's video for Hurt.

I just don't know what to even say. We knew Johnny Cash was really sick lately and when I heard that he was released from the hospital I figured he wasn't long for this world but it still surprises you. Some could say they're surprised he lived to be as old as he was.

John Ritter...I keep typing "Jack Tripper" - I bet that really bothered him that he's most famous for a character whose name so closely resembled his real one...was younger than my parents. He was only 54. 54 is just far too young to die. I can hardly get my brain around that.

It may be early but I'm about ready for a drink down at the Regal Beagle.



Come and knock on my door ()

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Reason #157 Why I Love Bloglines

Yeah, I know I said I'd shut up about it. But, no, you shut up. Anway, ahem, reason #157 why I love Bloglines.

Because waaaay down there in my "She's a Lady" category is "Everything That Sucks". Since it's all the way down there it's often one of the first casualties of that wicked thing known as "non-blog time". Gah, I hate even saying that phrase.

But with her RSS feed through Bloglines I can catch up with her. Not to mention reading all of those nasty non-pingers who pretend like they haven't updated - Bloglines eliminates all of that hassle. So get your feed on and use it, mmmkay? You'll find some great folk that you would otherwise overlook. Believe me, for I know of which I speak.

Anyway, Amanda is amazing, she really is - since she's a Salon blogger she's oft over-looked by the rest of the bloggers but she's one of the few S bloggers that doesn't discriminate. Which is to say, she links to me. Now with Bloglines I can pull her feed (oooerrrr, that sounds a bit rude!) and I'm glad of that, as she posted one of the cutest pictures of Kurt Cobain that I've ever seen.

(Have I mentioned how much I love Kurt Cobain? Yeah, I love Kurt Cobain. And Bloglines. Bloglines, Kurt, Kurt on Bloglines...)

But she posted something else about how Jehovah's Witnesses want us dead. For real! I'd link but I'm tired - just go read (in Bloglines). Add her to your blogrolls or your Bloglines (ahem) and she won't disappoint you. She even posts some really interesting artwork, some of which I'd never seen before. Some of which give me flashbacks. But we won't talk about that.

Have I mentioned I saw it all via Bloglines?

Anyway, that's one of the reasons I love BL (as Sol, aka, "Guy in the know" would say).

Catching up-ious,


Looky here at the linky loo! ()

I'm feeling supremely conspired against at the moment - it's put me in a funny mood.

At first I thought it was the general 9/11 malaise that we're all feeling but I think it's more than that. Maybe.

I think what set it off is remembering that day - I was actually talking to my mother on the phone when Andy told me the first tower was hit. She and I were talking about what an unfortunate accident it was when the second tower was hit. Before we hung up she warned me, "Don't go downtown!" as if she thought Minneapolis was going to be a target.

I can't call her today. I can't call any of them today. This day when everyone is saying, "Hold your family close"...pah.

I did a mental inventory of who I have left in my life - I don't mean blogging friends - and am ashamed at the small number. My relationship with my best friend has been reduced to sporadic IMing and the odd email...I can't even remember the last time I spoke to him.

My major source of socialization died last week - since I'm out of the game in Illinois I lost not only some of my favorite partying companions but also my built-in babysitters. I was getting to the point before this falling out that I was visiting more and more often even when I wasn't required to cart Sam down to her dad's.

By contrast, Andy's going to England next week to do some work and generally live it up at his brother's wedding with his family. They have a large family and everyone's so cool to one another. I admit I'm painfully jealous. Contrast his life to mine and I might as well be locked in the attic while he's the star of the circus. I just feel so crushingly isolated sometimes that my stomach twists in knots.

I'm not putting up comments on here because I don't want people to think I'm constantly throwing a pity party and wanting people to leave me messages of cheer - it's not like that. I mean, I am totally feeling sorry for myself but not in the way that I want people to rally around me because, honestly, it won't help. I don't know what will - all I can do is repeat to myself, "This too shall pass." Soon, hopefully.

I am just so sick of it.

I've discovered one feature about Bloglines that I hate - with some blogs with inline comments it will pull the same entry every single time a new comment has been left. As far as Bloglines is concerned it's an updated blog.

For a while there I started to feel like I was psychic.



ps - here's my button link thing for a one-click subscription - now I swear I will shut up about Bloglines.

Out damn double-read post! ()

I was going to post a huge September 11th story but I've decided against it. I don't want to relive how I freaked out upon learning that the Pentagon was hit and not being able to find out anything about my cousin who worked there, then finding out that he'd taken a long weekend away from work - to go to New York with his family to see the World Trade Center. He made it out alive but since then he and his family have had many problems...survivor's guilt, I suppose. The more fatalist among us might think that his name was on the books to die that day - which is probably why he's now a minister.

Everybody has a story and everyone's story is essentially the same. It's like I said the other day about being abused...the degree of the abuse doesn't matter. We were all hurt. I don't want to talk or read about that.

But I will tell you this - despite my love for sleeping late in the mornings I was awake for the attacks two years ago. This morning I repeated the same thing that I did last year - woke up in a mad panic after a nightmare and raced to the television to see if we were facing deja vu all over again. It's that whole "waiting for the other shoe to drop" kind of thing. I wonder if this is how I'm going to spend the rest of the September 11ths of my life?

I can tell you that never before have I ever been so relieved to find my television screen filled with images of J. Lo and Ben. If that's the most shocking thing that CNN has to talk about right now, well that's just fine by me.

Everyone has their own flying car, entire meals come in pill form and the Earth is run by damn dirty apes!

It only took me about an hour to get completely caught up with my blog reading. I'm stunned.

An hour gave me enough time to read all of my feeds and also to check in here with people that aren't on my Bloglines. I even managed to hit the people who don't ping.

It's like sitting down to dinner at Thanksgiving and the host presents you with a single pill on a plate. Sure, the pill will provide everything that the meal would but it's just not the same.

When the reading was finished and the clicking of the mouse stopped I was met with the loudest silence I've ever heard. What now? Well, I admit that I did go a' snackin' at the real deals (I almost have to, seeing as how skin-crazy some of my links are) and that's taken the edge off, a bit. This will definitely take some getting used to, but I think it'll do wonders for my productivity since I can get my ass away from the computer.

Either that or I'll start adding more people to my blogroll. We shall see.

There have been some comments from people who don't know what I'm talking about with this so here's a brief run-down...that orange button above Dame Edna takes you to a really ugly page. That's this blog in a different form. That url gets plugged into something like Bloglines who then translates the content back to a normal page, like out of a book. You slap all of your links into Bloglines and it automatically lets you know when your rss feeds (that's the funky page) has been updated. If you have a large list of people you visit it's a great thing for managing it - because really, at the end of the day it's about the content, right?

Unless you're only coming here for the orange - in which case I can't say that I blame you. But there are words here, too, ya know.

Since I've freed up so much time I think I'm going to spend a little while trawling for more rss feeds...today I'm feeling like that snake who's eating his tail, have you seen that picture? It's probably already a symbol for something else but I'm going to consider it my new symbol. Just a big ol' snake, eating my own tail.



It's all about the content ()

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

These are the drugs that Dan bought.

Note to self - start remembering to think up titles for posts from now on.
Awww, do I have to?
Why yes. Yes you do.
Why? I don't wanna!
Well you have to, unless you want aggregators to grab the first line of your post and make it seem like the title. Your first lines aren't exactly your strongest suit, you know...takes you a while to get warmed up.
Gee, tell me how you really feel.
Oh now, come on! Other people do it all the time.
I used to a long time ago, remember?
You haven't for a while. All you need is a little discipline. You can do it, I'm sure.
Yeah, but that means I now have to think up a title along with a suitable closing and a line for my comments?
I'm afraid so.
Well that just sucks. Can I take a break from my closing and my comments line? Please? Just this once?
Sigh...okay, but just this once.
But I'm warning you - you won't feel like you've completed this entry. It'll begin to plague you.
Shows what you know!...-ingly. Damn.
See, you can't do it!
Can to!...-ly. Drat.
Ha ha! I know you better than you know yourself, which is to say me, and by extension, ourselves.
Wait...are there really two of us?
If there isn't, you're sitting here tying to yourself.
Don't I always?
Pretty much.
Can't figure out a way to end the post now, can ya?
Don't be so damn smug.
Just say it. Say I was right.
I was right. There.
No, that's not what...oh for pete's sake, nevermind.
Nevermind yourself.
Nevermind us.

update: (Another note to self - make sure to put in a real line break before titles and body. Are you still bugging me? Yes, I am.)

No Comment ()

So having been reminded by the goingest of all the fishy ones I have put my little xml button there at the top, above Dame Edna. But it's orange on an orange background, which might be troublesome for some.

Since I've decided to use Bloglines as my aggregator I've spent some time peeking around for the rss feeds on various blogs. The plus signs next to the names indicates I'm subscribed to their feed. The rest of the blogs either don't provide one or their link is broken - if I missed anyone out then let me know.

This tool is most excellent, as I can catch up on a majority of my blogreading in a matter of minutes rather than the hours and hours and hours and days I usually spend trying to keep up with everyone. And this way I don't have to sit and silently curse at the people who don't ping after they've updated. This is a good thing for me.

I just wanted to let you know that if you notice a drop off in hits from your link here it's not that I'm not reading you any longer...if anything, with the rss feeds I'm probably going to be reading you more often.

If you're not on my blogroll there it's not because I don't read you - it's more likely that I've plugged you into the aggregator and have yet to update my blogrolls. (Note to self: update blogrolls.)

'Sbout it, really.

Worst post ever-ingly,


Feed me, Seymore ()

You really don't know what it means to laugh until you've seen a naked baby boy crawling away from you, grunting every bit of the way because he's thinking he's going really, really fast. Because, you see, some hilarious stuff happens when naked boys crawl. And grunt.

Am I so utterly wrong as to laugh at that? Come on, moms of boys - you know what I'm talking about. That's some funny stuff right there.

Baby junk-ingly,


Who are you to judge me? ()

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Ah, Disney - once again, you've outdone yourself!

Flexplay is a new format of DVD that's just like a regular DVD, only cheaper ($5-$7). That's good! Only there are no extra scenes, alternate endings or director's cuts. That's bad! But you don't have to return it and face potential late fees. That's good! Except it's unplayable after 48 hours. That's bad! But then it's disposable. That's good! Though that means more landfill waste. That's bad! But if you mail it back they recycle. That's good! Which would involve spending your own money and getting your lazy, disposable DVD-ass to the post office. That's bad! But hey, no late fees - you're not even listening any more, are you? I don't blame you.

Though I have to say, I love this idea...(affecting best David Spade accent...does David Spade have an accent? You know what I mean)...I liked it even better the first time I heard about it. When it was called Netflix.

I cannot for the life of me wrap my puny human mind around this. Okay, they have technology available to get the data onto the disk at a very cheap price...then they throw more technology at it to make sure the data is unreadable after two days. How does this make sense? Just leave the fucking data alone and let us buy DVDs for $5 - it's not hard! And that business model would make Netflix obsolete. Imagine being able to buy a DVD for the price of renting one? Come on, Disney! Do that, not this stupid disappearing ink shit.

Honestly, am I missing something? Can anyone give me a reason that puts this disposable DVD thing over the top of the alternatives? Who green-lighted this endeavor? Do they honestly expect people to pay to send their dead disks back so that they can be recycled?

Let's get some numbers, people - how much landfill space is currently occupied by AOL disks? That! That's a number I'd like to know. I get one at least every week, usually packaged in some metal box. Into the bin you go. What is my inclination for sending back the disk for recycling? I'd just get it back next week.

I wonder if the post office would honor the old "return to sender" trick with AOL disks? I'm going to have to try that.

Anyway, my point is, Flexplay is pretty stupid.

Leave the data on the fucking disk for $5-ingly,


I am Blockbuster's whore ()

Look, ma, I'm a performance piece!

You just can't count on a three-year-old for anything. I asked Zoe to please, please play with Nico while I got some work done she yelled, "I don't wanna play with him - he's too stupid!" If you ask her why she thinks Nico is stupid she'll loudly and proudly reply, "He's stupid because he has no teeth!" I don't understand the teeth/intelligence correlation but she applies it to me as well. I was trying to explain to her one day that the dvd player was broken (because of her) yet she insisted the problem somehow was with me. After a long, weary-to-the-bone kind of sigh she said, "That's it. Sorry, mommy, but you have to give me your teeth. You're too stupid to have them anymore."

So Stupid Toothless Nico had to play by himself on the floor while Zoe colored. Aha, peace at last! Until I noticed that Zoe decided to play with him after all. She was teaching him how to color.

This right here is the face of evil. Whodathunk it?

Seriously.  She is evil.  Wicked.  She frightens me.

But Zoe is nothing if not appreciative of her Evil Minion In Waiting. Yes, she's petting him. She always pets him. Yes, I know that's weird.

She used to call him her pretty monkey.  Hence the petting.  And lice.

And this is the face of a boy who's too stupid and toothless to realize that I'm laughing, and laughing does not equal "bad".

I might seem cruel but babies are always the cutest just before they start to cry.  Note I said BEFORE they start to cry.

Immediately after this he rubbed his eyes once more for good measure, climbed into my lap leaving a lovely trail of green and promptly fell asleep. He's never that easy. I wonder what the hell was in those markers? I should check to make sure they're non-toxic.

Or maybe I'll suck on one myself and join him. A nap sounds good.

Outside the lines-ingly,


Show me your teeth ()