August 31, 2005
bite me

today's agenda consists of two things. two "gentlemen," actually. so join me in outing them, loudly and publicly, because they are evil and stupid (in the case of one) and needlessly critical (in the case of the other.) and that hurts my feelings.

especially the stupid part. i can't bear to watch.

meet myles berman. he has a child molester moustache. here are his helpful tips for not getting arrested for dui. and here is his list of places to avoid while driving drunk. his ad on the radio made me want to peel his skin off and reattach it with homemade glue.

since i can't put his ad on my blog, the following is some text from his website. with my completely non-judgmental comments in ALL CAPS. because i mean these non-judgmental comments MOST EMPHATICALLY.
Being arrested for "Driving Under the Influence" doesn't have to be a devastating experience. (BUT THE SUBSEQUENT INCARCERATED ANAL RAPES DO!) Even though a suspension or revocation of your driver's license and being convicted of a DUI can lead to loss of employment, increase or cancellation of auto insurance, jail and loss of reputation, (NOT TO MENTION THE DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY AND OH, PESKY DEATHS OF INNOCENT PEOPLE) many DUI cases in California can be successfully defended by an experienced attorney!

We are experienced and aggressive criminal defense attorneys. We concentrate on representing people accused of drunk driving. We have over 70 years combined experience successfully representing doctors, lawyers, professional athletes, business people and others accused of drunk driving. (BECAUSE RICH PEOPLE ARE STUPID TOO!) We have been very successful in obtaining acquittals, dismissals and reductions of dwi / dui charges and having DMV suspensions and/or revocations set aside. There IS an alternative to pleading guilty. (BUT NOT FOR THE PEOPLE YOU HIT, DUMBASS. THEY JUST GET TO DIE.)

Some of our recent successes include our client who was arrested for driving while under the influence and blew .28. Another client was arrested for his 3rd DUI and blew a .16. (I BET YOUR MOMMMY IS SO PROUD.) Another client was arrested for drunk drivng after an accident and blew a .16. Another client was arrested for DUI after an accident with injuries and measured a .11 blood. Another client was arrested for his 2nd DUI and blew a .10. Still another client was arrested for her 2nd DUI and blew a .12. Five of these six clients had their license suspension/revocation set aside by the Department of Motor Vehicles.

While the success of each case depends upon the individual facts and circumstances, there may be some common issues that can lead to a successful result, i.e., illegal detention, "Miranda rights" violations, absorptive rate, implied consent violations and/or reasonable doubt. (SO GO RIGHT AHEAD AND KILL SOME PEOPLE. WE'LL GET YOU OFF ON A TECHNICALITY!)

thanks. i feel better. but just in case you don't, feel free to call him and tell him so. 1-888-4-topgun.

topgun. what the #$%&#? i wonder how tom cruise feels about that? what am i thinking? he can just cure the dead people with some scientology and vitamins.

and now the second person. he-who-shall-not-be-named, because though i do know his name, his comments in regards to my blog were not made out of spite or anger or even hate.

he just thinks i'm crazy.

which of course i am.

but he meant that maybe Miyagi would be freaked out by my (quote) "stalkery" enthusiasm.

which of course he could be.

but clearly i am just getting a little heavy-handed with the hyperbole (alliteration! woot!). anyone who knows me knows that i am in love with exaggeration. we have little melodramatic bastard babies. i'm pretty sure Miyagi has caught on though, so that if he were to read yesterday's post (which he will, because i'll make him), he would just laugh at my crazy, eat some more cookies and commence with the sharp pokie needles.

p.s. 1-888-4-topgun.

August 30, 2005
my new best friend

i think Boy and i have been spending too much time at the tattoo place lately. case in point: they have my blog marked in their browser. they have seen it. on more than one occasion. they know things about me.

oh well, it's not like they've seen me mostly naked.

oh, um... i mean...

crap. keep reading.

further evidence: i have started in with the all encompassing concern for Miyagi's well being. does he get enough rest? should he drink more water? does he have a 401k?

sampling of actual* phrases that have escaped
my big uncontrollable mouth:

don't forget your money on the counter.

are you hungry? i can go get you dinner.

do you want me to help with that?

do you want me to call and remind you?

you should be our roommate! then i could make you lasagna all the time! it would be so fun!

just yesterday i baked cookies for him, because gosh darn it, he's just so nice! and i was overcome with pride as he gobbled them up like an adorable, bald-headed, ex-gang banging, cookie-eating monster.

but not anything like the cookie monster. because clearly the cookie monster is still in his gang. oscar's not the only hoodlum on sesame street.

anyway, as he was enjoying them, i found myself worrying that this was his dinner. and good grief! a nice boy like that can't just have cookies for dinner.

plus i'm seriously considering inviting him to thanksgiving. in fact, i'm pretty sure i already did. hi jay! hope you make it!

the reason we have been spending so much time there is because Boy's sleeve is in flux (flux!) and *takes deep breath, then explodes from trying desperately to conceal her excitement* work has begun on masking TheUglyThing. work that (unfortunately for me, but quite fortunately for frat boys everywhere) means i cannot wear a bra. because the totally nifty thingie that is being tattooed into my side? *swats away hands trying to lift up shirt and peek at TheUglyThingBecomingLessUgly because they will not be seeing it till it is done* anyway, the thingie? it's HUGE. it's like i'm getting a sleeve too. but on my hip. and ribs. and under my left boobie. and pretty much in my armpit.

how, you ask, does Miyagi get all up in there? well, the answer to that is easy. i lay there in the middle of the shop with half my pants pulled down pube-showing low**, holding my breasts in with either a flimsy bikini top, or my own bare hands. for several hours at a time.

it's fun.

and not only do i pay him for this, but also make him food stuffs and voice my concern for his financial future and eternal soul loudly, in public, and on this here worldwideweb!

today's math lesson:
money + tattoos + free food + adoring fans + boobies = day in the life of my new best friend, Miyagi

money + tattoos + free food + adoring fans + boobies = day in the life of my new favorite reality tv star, tommy lee
Miyagi = rockstar.
we should totally have our own show.

*and by actual, i really do mean actual.

**remember the debilitating bikini wax? yeah. don't worry. we'll get there.

August 29, 2005
the envelope please

join me in welcoming our stunning hosts for this afternoon's awards ceremony. you may remember her from such inspirational films as peeing your pants for beginners, and posing drunkenly with artificial dromedaries (parts one and two), but you will certainly recognize him from his seminal work on the albums sgt mooper's lonely hearts club band, moovolver, and moo!

*hosts enter stage right*

i receieved many suggestions for the cowie chair, and each had its own charm. honorable mentions for all submissions, but some favorites included "spot," courtesy of laurie, "murphy," from my superhero twin beebidoux, and "ferdinand," from jen.

but the winner(s). yes, there are more than one.

our second runner up lovingly presented the ultra swanky sobriquet (yay big words) "barf." short for barfolemew, of course. and the brilliant mind in question? that would have to be chantel. she used the fact that i like to talk about puke to her advantage. tricksie hobbitses. for her efforts she gets mad cow! because my prizes stuck to the theme!

and our first runner up, who will perform the duties of the winner in the case of debilitating bikini wax (more on that to come) or spontaneous combustion, is anonymous coworker! for the incredibly fun to say "frumpkin!"

for his cranial hemmorhage creative offering, anonymous coworker gets "moo" swag (like mo'... like more? um, like a homie cow? with bling? sorry. it was funny in my head.) anyway, it's a prize pack consisting of

meat-centric objects!

what prize pack would be complete without a poopycow!

and pirates of course!

as for the new miss naming america? well, she warned me that she was good at this, so it shouldn't come as too big a surprise. valancy jane come on down! for your incredibly appropriate appellation "the reverend lee," you are hereby awarded ten more cows!

did i mention they need names?

now i realize that seems like a lot of winners, but clearly you're not seeing the big picture. because if you were, you would know that this:

is me and his cowiness, the reverend barfolemew frumpkin lee. of the church of la luz de jesus. which is where i procured these most excellent prizes that i will send to the lucky winners as soon as they email me an address. so do that.

and there will be more contests, for those of you who would like me to send you some tchotchkes. and who doesn't like tchotchkes?

**let us give many thanks for Boy, who graciously and patiently shot me lolling around suggestively on the Reverend Lee with his digital video camera so that i could isolate frames to share with you. interestingly, just after the camera was turned off (or not) i had a "wardrobe malfunction." or three. and so he got paid for his time.

August 26, 2005
nap time, mofo.

for those of you who do not know this, i work at a school.

a girls school.

with uniforms.


next monday school begins, so today we had a welcome back faculty day. and then school got dismissed early. like half an hour ago. so i'm going to take a happie nappie, and you are going to come back monday to see the winner of the cowie contest.

same crazy knitting girl time, same crazy knitting girl channel.


(any mention of bedbugs from the peanut gallery will result in the offending peanut becoming butter.)

August 25, 2005
the shelf life of a friend

today is the 25th birthday of Kady's Pet. i have known her for nearly twenty years. that statement scares the bejesus out of me. (bejesus only because we have already established that there is no crap. the faeries have come and gone, people. nothing to see here.) so apparently the shelf life is like 17 years and counting. come nuclear war, it's gonna be cockroaches, cher, pammy's breast implants and me, the friend that will not die.

in honor of her special day, i will share with you some memories and general knowledge of the illustrious Kady's Pet.

we met at a summer camp- a jewish summer camp- named "camp simchah." now seeing as how i'm all lapsed in my jewness, i'm not sure i'm still allowed to use The Hebrew, which means we must call this camp by its english name. camp happy. clever, i'nit? one day, by the giant rock that tore through many of my jordache and esprit jeans, i told this little girl her eyes looked like blue marbles. see? i was weird even then. and then we were friends.

in high school we did a production of pippin, wherein i played pippin's crazyassed momma. who here is surprised? (i see no hands have been raised. well geez. thanks.) before play practice every single day, we would rush out to her ultracool sebring convertible and smoke 826354 cigarettes while driving laps around the school, so that we wouldn't get caught on school property and wouldn't collapse into nicotine fits halfway through "morning glow." that song was our favorite because we could sing it really freaking loud. actually, we were known to sing so loudly and with such frightening enthusiasm that the altos standing in front of us were blown completely off the stage. we also wore leotards. in front of people. and i'm pretty sure mine was some shade of pink.


we cofounded a secret society known as the usalytes. we had code names. mine was white trash. dear Kady's Pet was "spic." which really was not a racial slur but an acronym, standing for something like "short, can't remember the p word, itchy chick." fo' real.

she does not like to have her stomach touched.

she's really good to laugh with, especially when it's about boys.

one time i called out of work to play barbies in her basement. we were 17.

when i broke up with my exboyfriend (which was Hard, with a capital H) she took me to jose macintyre's in boston and we got some drink on. she also made me feel like it was going to be okay. which eventually it was. which brings me to...

we danced in her living room to dashboard confessional and she totally put up with my emo-ness (this was before the massive emosplosion of pop culture) as i expounded on the virtues that are Boy.

she keeps calling me even though i rarely pick up. this is not a reflection on her. i just hate phones. but every once in a while, she catches me in a mood and we talk till all the grocery shopping is done and she has helped me decide what type of air freshner to buy from 2526.06 miles away (estimated distance, of course.)

and now i give you this 25th birthday-related comic from the always nerdily entertaining cat and girl.

and for those of you who have not yet named the cow (or have more suggestions) please continue to yesterday's post and name away. just because i have the good sense to buy the cowie chair doesn't mean i can name it. because really, i can't. and the chair deserves a name!

so help.

August 24, 2005
a cow by any other name

as you may recall from my manic and nonsensical ramblings yesterday, i was very excited about a purchase to be made on my lunch break. which i made--and delivered to my home--all within one hour and without Boy's explicit knowledge.

so when he im-ed me yesterday afternoon to ask if i'd be coming home directly from work, and not stopping to buy anything silly or remotely ugly or very expensive, i was forced to respond thusly: (i said thusly... heh.)

have you been in the bedroom yet this afternoon?

for had he been in the bedroom already, he would have known the answer to his question. as he would have come face to um, face, with my new chair. in all its magnificent cow-ie glory.

cue mormon tabernacle choir's dulcet "hallelujah"

now stare deeply in to its resplendent cowie* hide...

so this is where i will be reading the yummie books you people buy me for my berfday, and also where i will be being all nana-like with my Bag O' Yarn. but don't you be thinking the cow chair is in its full and complete state of cowieosity at this very moment, because it most certainly is not.

once we move to the new place, the one without the bugs and mouse poops, i will be sewing beautiful new velvety throw pillows for my couch (which is this color) and cow chair in a color something like this. and because we are good tenants (potential landlords, be advised), we will of course require a throw rug to put beneath the royal cowiness. which Boy and i have decided should look like this.

any ideas where i can get a good deal on astroturf? oooooh! maybe i'll make a mini astro-pillow, too.

and i believe it's now official. i am martha on drugs.

anyhow, in honor of the expansion of our family, i hereby present the

the rules are as follows:
1. be creative. b! e! creative! *swooshes pompoms*

2. nothing really obscene. because i don't use those kinds of words. yeah you heard me right bitches.

3. suggestions must be made as comments or they will not be considered. this means you, Squiggle. 'cause i'm a-flushing out the lurkers. (and i'm doing it with a southern accent. y'all.)

4. the winner will be chosen by the end of the week. upon being chosen, said winner should email me an address to which i can send a prize. because prizes rock! i send good prizes!

now, valancy jane claims to be a world-class namer, so there may be some stiff competition. hehe. stiff. good luck!

*no actual cows were harmed in the making of this chair. or post.

August 23, 2005
binging and purging

don't get your panties all in a bunch kids.

this post will not be about throwing up, although i realized last night that seems to come up alot in my stories. instead, we will be discussing my current ebay binge, the subsequent purging of my closet, and its ramifications on my wallet.

and in plain english: i spent alot of money this month, now i have to sell some crap, and i'm poor. po', in fact. someone send me that extra "or."

done and done.

now, the booty! no no. not like j.lo style booty. i definately can't compete on that one, which is a shame because Boy likes some ass. can i buy an ass on ebay? silly question! of course i can. anyway, the booty of which i speak is pirate booty. yay pirates*! but ack! not the trader joe's kind! because, hello? cheese? *looks around suspiciously* you people are trying to kill me.

booty = treasure = i bought some new stuff at aardvark's, which is a swellerific vintage type clothing store Here. i bought two new cardigans with pearly buttons (paying careful attention to the itchy factor, as most cardigans are too wooly and make me want to peel my skin off before lunch.) i bought new sunglasses with rhinestones (ooooh! ahhhh!) which i'm sure i will break by october, and a semi-glittery silver shirt that's fitted and of which Boy said, "that shirt will look good with no bra." i cannot vouch for whether this statement is true or not, but let's just assume that nakedness ensued.

i also bought a weird patterned shirt that is ugly as an uma thurman bad day on the hanger, but looks like and uma good day on me! and a soft floppy raiders t-shirt, because LA has made me ghetto. and this dress! look here! it's so orange!
and also these shoes! aunty sassy! you love them!

(note to self: continue posting crapilicious pictures until someone gives in a buys you that goddam camera. Boy. Kady's Pet. Beeb. i'm looking at you, on this one.)

not to mention the gazillion things i've purchased on ebay in the last month. and the item which i will show you pictures of tomorrow... because i'm buying it today...
hint: it's awfully cow-ie. mwa ha ha ha.

before i go buy whatever it is i'm buying today, i just want to get a few things off my beautifully proportioned chest. (plain english: i have nice boobies.)

please, neighbors, do not let your dog poop right in the middle of the sidewalk and then not pick it up. gross.

and isn't dooce's dog just the cutest thing? he and pickles should be penpals. i bet he doesn't poop right where i'd be walking. of course he poops in utah...

sorry for this junk post, but i have to use my lunch break to go buy more stuff. so this is being done um, on my coffee break? beause i'm totally working? really hard and stuff? (p.s. Squiggle- i have your seven dollars!)

*for more information on pirates and their connection to flying spaghetti, visit his noodly appendage.

August 22, 2005
food issues

i am allergic to eggs.

i am allergic to milk and all milk products. ice cream? nope. pizza? nuh-uh. the wonderful world of cheddar? closed to me. *sniff*

thus, food issues.

Boy is a pretty good sport about all this, only occasionally lamenting my lack of breakfast eating ability. i have always and forever been unable to eat eggs. and until very recently it was assumed that i had an unusually strong lactose intolerance. but no, that would be far too simple for an overachieving (self-hating) body like mine. i have to be allergic. and not just the itchy, scratch-my-own-hivey-face-off kind either. the whole kit-and-throat-closing-up-kaboodle.

example: the last time i had eggs was christmas eve 1997. i was at my then boyfriend's house for dinner. interesting aside, his mom is why i stand rigidly in the center of the stair on an escalator. because she caught flesh eating bacteria and nearly had to have her arm chopped off. anyway. she made some creamy pasta thingy that apparently had eggs in it, which i could kind of feel when i took the first bite. that whole burning sensation/struggle for oxygen thing should have been sufficient warning... but i didn't want to be rude... so i kept on eating. until i passed out in my own vomit and they called 911. have i mentioned that i make really excellent first impressions?

and doctors working the emergency room on christmas eve? not happy to be there. and getting coal in their stockings for being mean to the girl with the air tube in her throat from throwing up so damn much.

and of course i have eaten dairy products, once upon a lovely time, but now my allergy is just too strong and frankly it's not worth the risk. because this is not your basic "dairy makes the faeries come more often" kind of problem.

this is "me, writhing and clutching my chest in excruciating pain because ripping my own boobies off sounds like a good way to make it so i could actually breathe again." go ahead, send cheese. i'll show you.

these issues do, however, mean that i have become quite the adventurous cook. there are many options available for substitution, so it's just a matter of finding out which one is best suited for tricking Boy into thinking he's eating real food, instead of creepy vegan food.

here's where i give you the run down on things i have learned about the four major replacement hippie foods.
soy milk is good for drinking on occasion, but i don't like the aftertaste. it is definately not good on (insert heavenly beam of light) cheerios, so i pretty much hate it.

rice milk is good on cheerios. it is also cheap at trader joes*. love you, joe! i use rice milk in many many recipes, like mashed potatos and chicken pot pie. because i am not actually a vegan. i like the meat. (shut up, Boy. you're so gross.)

egg replacer is pretty excellent stuff, but it's kind of hit or miss. sometimes it works really well and makes yummie oatmeal raisiny things, other times you end up with lethal bricks of poison disguised as cookies. but either way, useful!

patchouli is not a food. but the hippies seem to like it anyway. maybe it's hallucinogenic? no? well then. not interested.

the whole point of this is that last night i experimented with flan. i tried making it with rice milk, which requires shaking because it seperates. so flan? turned out to be a soupy pile of semi-jellolike sugar water. and caramel topping. it looked like vomit. Boy had a mugfull (or two! he'll eat anything!) and then we poured it in the sink. lesson learned.

in other news, i am going to try to work the video camera again tonight because you totally need to see the new dress/shirt/shoes i bought this weekend. and the thing i might buy tomorrow.

which leads me to... ebay, of course. i am crazy addicted! and now i have cleaned out my closet, so be sure to check out my auctions! i'll let you know when i list things! blogger discount!

*dear joe: thanks for the cuties. you have made my life a better place to be. love, kendra.

August 19, 2005

the wonderful and highly entertaining Squiggle is on vacation till next friday, which makes my job far less interesting, but i'm sure with all this crimson room stuff floating around i will pull through.

before she left, however, she did ask that i start blogging about things i might like for my birthday, which is approaching. hey, it's the least i can do. someone wants to by me stuff? well, gee... let me think about that one.


i would like laser hair removal and health insurance (damn you, peep! damn you to hell!). also, many books and cds, which you may view at your convenience on amazon, by searching for my wishlist (which is in no particular order.). i would also like a digital camera, which i'm sure comes as a huge surprise. i also like vintage clothes and the like, so if you know me outside the worldwideweb and for some reason are privy to my fantabulous measurements (or the addresses of local vintage shops that sell gift cards), feel free to indulge my inner clothes-horse. i look nice in green.

other than that, not much is happening. i still have a headache, although the melon baller has been returned to its drawer. though i'm still palming this nice toothbrush shiv that moocow smuggled out from his last stint in prison.

oh, and i totally outbid that little witch who thought she could win a shirt so clearly made for me. you love it.

August 18, 2005
just tiding you over

i really don't have the goods today. sorry.

i woke up with the kind of headache that makes using a melon baller to scoop out your own eyeballs sound pretty okay.

and i am much too busy buying things on ebay.

but... till tomorrow, in answer to your question, crazy lady that i work with, no i did not get the "light green memo." the fact that i am wearing light green probably has less to do with the fact that "it must be in the air" and more to do with the fact that i was late for work and needed pants that would cover my unshaven casper legs.

and how excited am i that i have actual comments? 'cause the other day i got, like fifteen (of which only 3 or 4 were spam), which means though i am a friendless weirdo in real life, on the worldwideweb i am pop-u-lar. but without having to be mean to people, sleep with the football team or make myself throw up after lunch.

yay me.

August 17, 2005
about last night

i would like to clarify that what i said yesterday (you know... about the faerie-related bodily functions) is not something that is Boy-centric. it's not like it's just around him. i have always been this way. in fact, i distinctly remember leaping gazelle-like from the womb and screaming ferociously till everyone left the room and i could finally go in peace. because nine months worth of placenta-routed nutrition? it goes right through ya.

and i know it shouldn't matter if i do it while he's around, but here's the thing. it does. to me.

i was once upon a time involved in a relationship wherein there were no boundaries on these things. and let me tell you. it got to me. i now prefer a little mystery. i don't need to know every little thing about a person. especially things that involve fluids. which led me to the decision that Boy does not need to know about the faeries, or the seventeen assorted deodorants i keep on hand because using any individual type too often negates its effectiveness, or the gnomes that pluck my eyebrows while he's sleeping.

he will continue to think until the end of time that i awaken freshly powdered and smoothed and glossed. because i want him to.

seriously, he knows that i don't. he's seen me all nose-crusted boogery and sweaty-backed vomity. actually, one time i got "a little bit" drunk at this restaurant he took me to (accidentally, of course) and i threw up in the parking lot. and then he kissed me. no tongue, but still. that's love people.

so he knows that these icky-type things occur. well, he didn't know about that one thing till he read yesterday's blog. (dammnit, internet. how could you just tell him my secrets like that? i thought we were friends. next thing i know you'll be sending him links to herbal enhancement and naked pictures. slut.) he just doesn't need to see it with his own eyes. we'll consider his knowledge of my basic human functions an act of faith. like when he let me put eye drops in his eyes last night.

and by let, i clearly mean "shouted and struggled like a trapped animal as i sat on his chest and pried his eyelids open with tiny crowbars."

entirely unrelated, you'll notice the comment spammers are back. does anyone have any suggestions on how to chase them away? and even more unrelated...

tommy lee started college last night. and i loved every minute of it. but you realize that "cornhuskers" sounds a little dirty right? especially when he says it?

August 16, 2005
the fat, part deux

that's right. faeries come in the dark of night, point their wands and magically turn it into bright new stars and wild flowers. yeah huh. as far as Boy knows, this statement is completely true. i would like to keep it that way. and that is why i get fat in relationships.

oh you want clarification? because that's a really general and strange statement? right.

certain foods (mostly healthy ones, like meat and vegetables) make me have to, you know... yes you do. think about it genius. but i can't. so i get stomach aches. because i cannot go when anyone is around, and because i have lost my ability to *ahem* "fart" after many many years of holding them in so dirty rotten boys wouldn't know that there are no faeries. and honey, you can clap all you want. it won't help.

when Boy and i first started dating (almost two years and ten pounds ago), we lived 75 miles apart. which meant i could eat what ever i wanted and not worry about who might hear the farts that escape while i'm sleeping. oh shut up. everyone does it. but now that we live together (and i work in a small office) i am only free during my commute and the morning dog walk. because hey, you really can blame it on the dog. so now i am hyperaware of this problem because a) christ on a cracker it hurts, and b) bloats my belly until my pants' button leaves scars, and c) i go to bed before he does, so who knows how many farts he's hearing that i can't protect him from?

which means i have to eat more bread-like goodies in a well-intentioned but poorly thought out effort to stave off the gut-wrenching pain of normal digestion. which makes me fat.

you want to see how i got there on that one, huh? ok.

1 + 1 = FAT. simple math, folks.

thus the Diet, reinstated to make sure all the wonderful and amazing clothes i have spent hugenormous amounts of money on will still fit. and that i will still be sexy. which means less fat and no farting. operation bring-back-the-faeries commences with the following pie chart. mmmm pie.

click for a bigger piece!

the things i do for love.

and pie.

***postscript: because you folks are relentless, i have reinstated anonymous comments. but don't think i won't be deleting anything that might even vaguely resemble spam. moocow, you have been warned.

August 15, 2005
working for the weekend

as for that, well, "everybody" is not, loverboy. if they're gonna be anything like the one i just had, anyways. and don't think that reference is random, people. there is a point. somewhere in here... this time, anyway.

let's start at the very beginning (all together: a very good place to start...) friday evening i leave work right on time, anticipating a night full of cinematic snuggling with Boy. because netflix rules. but, lo! what is this? my gas light is on? it appears as though our intrepid heroine (that's me, fool) must stop and *ahem* fill'er up.

so i go up to franklin, where there are four gas stations en route to my home. where my heart and my couch and my movie is. and of course, i drive right by the first two because i know the arco station will have better prices, like $2.58 instead of $2.79. that's twenty one cents, for the mathematically challenged among us. *i used a calculator.* i am bargain shopper. it's in my genes (and my jeans! which i got on ebay for cheap!)

i pull up next to the pump and pop open my gas tank cap thingie (actual name) and get out of the car. and head towards the self-payment kiosk--who doesn't love a good kiosk?--when all of a sudden i realize that i have locked my keys in the car.

in the ignition.

with the car on.

and then it runs out of gas.

luckily for me, this very station is splitting the building with a little automotive shop. so i go in and pleasantly smile and politely ask the gentleman if he can help me. to which he responds:
"sure, i can open it. but i'm gonna charge you. 50 bucks."
i about fainted. and then i about punched him in his stupid face.

it's not like this is a lot of work. i have manual locks. he could have done it in like 7 seconds. i told him i would call AAA, who would do it for free. and he said, "okay." then locked up and left. and wouldn't you know it? i realize i've locked my cell phone and my AAA card in the car. where they are lounging around and enjoying fresh strawberry daquiris with my keys. those bastards.

after pleading with the woman in the "convenience area" (note: beef jerky and lemon smelling car trees does not a convenience area make) to use the phone to call Boy, some stranger girl walks up to me and offers me her phone. and the use of her AAA card. clearly she is from mars.

or san diego, whatever. not LA.

she was so nice! she called AAA and then waited with me for 45 minutes till the guy got there and opened my door in six seconds (faster than i thought!) and for free. so hooray for jessica from san diego, for helping me in my time of need and allowing me to use her phone so that Boy could inform me of the following:
the ants are back and crawling into the couch. also, pickles' tail is going bald.
this is where i got all huge and green with anger till my clothes ripped off. which left me totally hot. but did not help because the ants are not impressed by shapely legs and big boobies. they don't have eyes. this is because they are demon spawn. duh.

after much vacuuming and spraying down of the furniture and swatting at imaginary creepie crawlies on my skin, friday was finally over. whew. but wait! now it's saturday, with the vet appointment in mar vista.

which would be great--i mean, beaches! sunshine! staring at weirdos on the boardwalk!--if mr. mcpickles wasn't losing 1763487592783469 hairs every half second. in my backseat. plus, even with the sedatives, he's still none too pleased about this field trip. which he makes apparent to the vet by nearly chomping my face off. i understand that this is purely out of fear, but you have to wonder. what does he think we're going to do to him with a cotton swab?

end result: pickles is back on the 'roids. to "reduce his inflammation." and he's lost 6 pounds since his last visit. one month ago. and his knees are crackly. (actual term used by vet.) sheesh. good thing he's cute. (yes he is! bald is beautiful!)

anyways, more stuff happened, mostly consisting of knitting and the making out etc., and then it was sunday night. at 5:30, to be exact. this information is important. Boy and i order food for delivery. some pasta thingie for him and a small pizza with mushrooms, peppers, artichoke hearts and no cheese for me. basically we're talking veggies on bread. the pizza guy tells us 30-45 minutes. just over an hour later, the delivery guy shows up, hands off the order and vanishes into thin air. which is unfortunate, considering my pizza has no artichoke hearts.

it has anchovies instead.

big hairy anchovies.

which would be lovely, had my pizza been delivered by loverboy. (ah, the point!) and by loverboy i mean:
or even

but certainly not

which is just about what i got.

i called them back, they offered another pizza... long story short, another hour goes by (at which time i am beginning to gnaw at the table... which is metal) and pizza two finally arrives. and the guy, who apparently does not know how to work a doorbell, tries to deliver through our window. not to mention the fact that it is covered with mushrooms, artichokes and pepperoni. oh the pain.

pizza three arrived at 8:45. 100% correct, 100% cold.

and now it's only monday. hooray!

August 12, 2005
a farewell to arms

*warning* the crazy is abundant below.

last night Boy and i trekked back to pasadena to get some work done on his sleeve. the plan was to go and check out Miyagi's ideas, compiled from the 6876565 pages of images we downloaded and printed from the worldwideweb, and then possibly get started. of course his ideas were pretty excellent, and he was friendly and not at all put off by my loudness and whole lotta crazy (example: i explained "where the wild things are" to him. the whole book. *pause* because i know the characters' names. and i was using them. to explain a children's book. in detail. to an ex-gang member tattoo artist.)

and then they decided to get started. my presence wasn't really required for the shaving and the outlining (which was done freehand with a sharpie. no template! so cool!). so i left and bought yarn. i have projects, see? i spent an hour and a half in the yarn store debating the merits of size 8 or 9 circular knitting needles. and then buying both. and a size k crochet hook, because mine has gone missing. and yarn.

one hundred dollars worth of yarn.

more on that to come.

when i returned, they were well into the actual tattooing, and holycrap it looked good. Miyagi = good choice. i think he should definately be the one to cover my tattoo, hereafter reffered to as TheUglyThing. the color was very nifty, what with the fading and highlights and the humminah humminah humminah... sorry. anyways, because i am weird and get very excited about crazy things like metallic sharpies (overrated), postits (ooooh colors!) and grapples (grape flavored apples! amazing!), and also because Boy had a needle in his arm and couldn't really escape, i gave a little presentation of The Wonder of Yarn. like so:
me: do you want to see the yarn i bought?

Boy: um, not really.

me: but you realize i'm going to show you anyways, right?

Boy: figured.

Miyagi: isn't it just yarn? (don't get too upset, eFriends. remember, he was in a gang. what with the shooting and all, they're probably much too busy to be knitting their own gang outfits (but don't they totally need matching red ponchos? for the bloods, i mean. because duh! i know the crips get yellow. i mean, blue. blue! please don't kill me.)

me: absolutely not. here. let me show you. this is where i whipped out the projector and gave a handy dandy powerpoint show on the many intricacies of yarn.

entire population of tattoo studio: *silence*

me: and i got this eyelash yarn in "peacock" to make a baby sweater for jessie's baby, and this boa yarn in "mallard" (mallard!) to make a little shrug for me...

Boy: what's a shrug?

me: it's a tiny little sweater. like this. *shows picture of typical blond whore paris hilton type in tabloid*

Miyagi: but that won't keep you warm.

me: (in my head) boys are stupid.

me: (outloud) it's to cover my tattoos. and make me look pretty. and give me something to do with my hands so i don't fidget so much. because all the pills just aren't working. *chews hair*
just kidding. i didn't chew my hair. and i'm not on pills. well, maybe. but only the no-baby kind. not that i need them, dad. really.
me: but wait! there's more! i got this metallic black yarn to make another shrug (i have five workdays that will require tattoo coverage, people) and this babysoft yarn to make a lelah, and this chunky natural yarn to make my fleuri bag with the bamboo handles...

entire population of tattoo studio: *silence*
so then i just sat down and commenced the craftiness. which made the people in the tattoo shop look at me funny. (imagine that. tattooed weirdos looking at me funny? ha. oh... wait.) because it is quite possible that i am the first person ever to sit down in a tattoo shop with a hundred dollar bag of yarn and knit. while dressed like gidget. because, oh yeah. i was. there i am, in my white capris and my polka dot halter and white headband... with a lap full of yarn, mouthing the words to "killing in the name of."

but wait. it gets better.

because then i started to cry.

not actually in the tattoo shop, but pretty much immediately after we left. real live tears. i all of a sudden realized that Boy will now-- forever and ever-- be different from the Boy i fell in love with. not that i won't still love him (because i'm almost positive i will), and not that his arm won't look super cool. it just struck me, that i love those arms so freakin much...

this moment driving cross country, where Boy was in one car and i was in the other and he was driving ahead of me on this long straight stretch of highway with green, green, all-american grass and blue, blue, all-american sky and his arm was dangling sweetly out the driver's side. he was letting the wind go over and under and all around and it was so hot and bright that the hairs on his arm turned to sunlight.

i could start with the interpretations and psychologizing, pointing out how this memory is simple synecdoche (million dollar word) or how traditionally the male's arms symbolize strength and safety to the female, so now the patient (a.k.a the lunatic[unrelated to nelly and the st. lunatics], a.k.a. me) feels like her safety lines are changing. but that would be completely nerdy.

and also pointless, because i am obviously just 100% crazy.

and now incredibly busy, because all this yarn? not gonna knit itself.

quick note

anonymous is no longer welcome here. i have changed my settings so that only blogspot members can comment. i apologize to those of you who are not members, but suggest that you get a username and password if you'd like to come back. it's free...

i just can't handle all the spam. although there is a billboard near my house for huevos spamcheros.

i am not making this up.

August 11, 2005
my first meme

before we get down to business with this "meme" thingie, i'd like address a few things.

number one. it has come to my attention that i am a blog stalker. i know more about these people who i have never met than i do about people who i see daily. i have been living Here for just about a year and i don't really have any friends. i mean, Squiggle (see what happens when you wish for a blog name, sherriann? you end up with Squiggle.) and my most excellent boss are swell, but that doesn't help me one bit outside of the office. my boss has something called "kids" and Squiggle doesn't "go out" that much it seems, so i still have no one with which to consume large amounts of vodka and sequins and yarn. 'cause boozy crafts make the best gifts. i'm thinking of having labels made. something like
made for you with love, a pint of vodka and saftey goggles.
because damn, those needles are sharp.

no? oh well. anyway, as i was catching up on my reading this morning, i realized that all my stalkees live in minneapolis or san francisco. excluding beeb, of course, who lives in westbum, connecticut, and dr. mackn, who has recently relocated to beaverton, home of the stripclub/steakhouse. avert your eyes! it's so beautiful it hurts!

given this evidence, and using the very scientific method of jumping to random conclusions that it has taken me 24 years to perfect, i conclude the following: i only like people who are far far away from me. *sigh* looks like i better start surfing blogspot for some locals to do actual stuff with. like eat chinese food. i'm hungry. otherwise i'll end up all pasty and stuck to my chair in the basement, addicted to internet porn and trolling the worldwideweb for more "friends."

wait a minute. that could never happen. there are no basements in california. saved.

so then number two. if you read the comments on the post below, you will notice that i have comment spam. i don't know how they found me, but i feel a little cooler knowing that kristy has blog spam, and now i do too. moocow as yet has no blog spam, and clearly he should have received spam before i did. does this mean moocow is the spammer? probably not, but it doesn't hurt to randomly point fingers, right? :) now i must decide whether or not to block anonymous users. because i'm not sure it will help. they'll just start typing in ridiculous names, like "kendra" and "seymour butts" and "allotta fagina." hehehe. fagina.

and speaking of names, may i present the name meme. as seen on the listlist.
1. porn star name: (name of first pet / street you live on
penny normandie

2. movie star name: (name of your favorite snack food / grandfather's first name)
apple george (what the...)

3. fashion designer name: (first word you see on your left / favorite restaurant
cash fire & ice

4. exotic alias: (favorite spice / last foreign vacation spot)
pepper nowhere

5. socailite name: (silliest childhood nickname / town where you first partied
puff gloucester

6. icon name: (something sweet within sight / any liquid in your kitchen)
cookie cabernet

7. detective name: (favorite baby animal / where you went to high school)
monkey waring

8. barfly name: (last snack food you ate / your favorite alcoholic drink)
graham cracker martini

9. soap opera name: (middle name / street where you first lived)
suzanne estes

10. starwars name: (first 2 letters of your first name and the first 3 letters from your last name makes your first name / first 2 letters of your mother's maiden name and the first 3 letters of the city you were born in)
kemil adbev

11. rock star name: (favorite candy / last name of a favorite musician)
nerds phair (i'm a nerd fair. *giggle* coming to a fairplex near you)

class dismissed.

August 10, 2005
blogging on ice (and the thing i did this weekend)

my office is negative 135492835061893605189463 degrees. i am officially an eskimo. i have begun construction of my igloo, but with this kind of funding, do not expect it to be finished until early oh, just about never. but i'm thinking of starting some ice capades. because everyone loves capades. and wouldn't you know it... looks like i'll be needing a costume. you're laughing now, but just wait till i get that digital camera and you see that i meant it. also, i think this level of long term exposure could have something to do with TheColdThatWillNotDie. send tissues. my sleeve is getting kinda soggy.

and now the other thing. cuz my body is my temple.

so those of you that are lucky enough to know me in "real life" know that i have a fugly tattoo on my side. i got it when i was sixteen people. don't judge. either way, its presence on my body is inherently wrong, and thus it must be destroyed. so Boy and i have been traipsing around los angeles county searching for an artist to trust with this project. because the cover up i want? well, it's big.

we went to the places on melrose because, "like omigod, they are totally the best." but turns out they really weren't. we didn't see any portfolios that were all that peechie. and some of the "artists"? asshats. thinking they're all superior because they tattoo in hollywood and can charge $200 an hour. whooopiedeedoo. (i love the wedding singer). hollywood smells like pee. still proud?

and while drinking on the job might be appropriate for some, like cops and taxi drivers and babysitters, well, those of you weilding mechanized needles? i'm gonna suggest otherwise.

anyway, we drove to a jabillion places and ended up at this place in pasadena. and hi. pasadena? hot. forget africa hot. the new measure is "valley hot." anyway. this place we found is a little seedy in appearance, but fully air conditioned and chock full of friendly(!), talented, available (!!) and reasonably priced (*gasp!!!!!!*)tattoo artists. within a completely doable distance. and without all the posing and hipness. breath of fresh air.

actually, you probably shouldn't breathe too deep. it's still LA.

so we went in and the guy (who shall be known here as Miyagi... and not because i like love pat morita, though i do--- and should he be reading this by some brilliant act of god, let me just say love you miyagi-san! if you need a greencard, look me up!--- but because that's his actual name. he's got the morita seal of approval.) well, he took all Boy's drawings and is working them into some sort of nifty piece for Boy's arm. so. to summarize, i went in there to discuss the craptastic tattoo on my side and came out with this:

click for big

they're even. i'm just standing funny. and now close up...


August 09, 2005
if i had $350

i'd be half way to paying back my parents for the month's rent they gave me the second time my bank account was stolen here in sunny c.a. or knee deep in apple rings, whatever. that there is the beauty of hollywood, my friends. twice stolen in less than six months. and all i got was this lousy t shirt. so. *warning* those of you with weak stomachs might not want to continue. because this next part is a little rough.

you see, for people that live Here, $350 is such a non-issue that they will spend it on many important things, like one tenth of a pair of shoes (good thing you lost that toe in the pool filter, huh?), a haircut or a swimsuit that under no circumstances may be worn in the water because it is quite possible made of papier mache. or you know, a regular monthly bill.


and in case you missed it, that's yoga. for. dogs. sherriann (who is still a raging squiggle, just in case you were concerned) heard all about it on the radio this morning. and relayed this pressing news break to me. all i can say, is thank goodness she did. because otherwise, i never would have thought this:

click for big.

*sings*...'ello my name is simon, i like to do drawings...

August 08, 2005
i am so good at the subtlety

there is something i need. it is shiny and mechanical and hard to the touch. no no no, you sickos. i already have one of those. i need a digital camera. because i would have so many cool things to show you, but i can't be writing about things all half-assedly. so you have to wait. and seeing as y'all missed the boat on buying me one for friendship day, it could be a while. hint hint.

i want to show you:
- proof that i am actually an 83 year old woman trapped in a hot reasonable 24 year old body. or, more accurately, that i am a power crocheter. i am less good at the knitting. despite my valiant and admirable efforts. admire my efforts, bitches!

- food. because sometimes i make things that are pretty. last night i made something that looked like poop.

- where i live, including but not necessarily limited to: my actual apartment, my street, my neighboorhood (including the lawn-pooping couch-burning crack house neighbors) and my general driving radius, which should give you access to some pretty entertaining people, like the lady who cleans her peep at the bus stop on the corner. imagine the fun we could have here, people.

- the places i went this weekend and what i got there (i will actually write about that tomorrow i think, once Boy videos what i got so i can use single frames as digital pictures. because i would go through that technological nightmare in order to provide visual aids to you. because i care that much.
until then, you will have to close your eyes and picture our new roomate. that's right. the ants brought a friend. initially we thought it was a picklehair tumbleweed, but then we realized (as it scurried beneath our fridge) it's a mouse. and only 53 more days left till the lease is up! thank goodness! i thought it was like a month or so. so it's not that bad, right?


please help me.

August 05, 2005
twenty one things

1. this morning i saw a man peel a squashed animal from the middle of the street at the corner of hollywood and vine. he put it in his backpack. i only found this mildly odd. i find that somewhat more disturbing.

2. when i was a little kid my favorite color was purple and i convinced my father to paint my room 8346759 different shades of it while my mom was at the laundromat.

3. i now hate purple.

4. i cannot ride a bike. ok maybe i can "ride" it, but certainly not without bloodshed. and ambulances. and the striking of the fear into hearts of men.

5. i used to want to be a ballerina, a florist, a broadway star (bernadette peters, to be exact), a judge, a country singer, a pr agent, a doctor, and wedding planner. that was before i realized i am Incredibly Lazy.

6. i still want to be a wedding/event planner. i'm really good at that kind of thing. but still, with the Lazy.

7. i love pickles. i require constant pickle stimulation. *pulls mind out of gutter*
open letter to the people at subway:

when i say extra pickles, i mean extra. your idea of extra pickles is the Bare Minimum. consider this your final warning. if my pickle requirements are not met i will be forced to retaliate.

general kendra, of the pickle-nese liberation army

8. i do not like bread and butter pickles. sour and half-sour are acceptable. dill is the bestestestestestest. times infinity.

9. i used to work in a deli AND i am jewish, so you cannot fool me with your inferior pickles. don't even try it. i'm watching you.

10. wheats and ryes and pumpernickel....

11. i imitate jungle monkeys with frightening accuracy.

12. sometimes when i look at people i see what they must have been like as a child. that's often my favorite thing about a person. but some of you were ugly. some of you still are. *ooooooooooooooh*

13. i used to smoke unfiltered cigarettes. in high school. i quit when i met Boy.

14. i had a four foot stuffed penguin in a top hat that i slept on most of the year that i was seven. because he was more comfortable than my bed.

15. everyone has a story about walking in on their parents, but i have many. i was there for the conception of my sister (as well as her subsequent birth. and may i say yuck.) so i learned my lesson about actually walking in, but um, my parents? they're still "in love". and i'm still trying not to hear things. could this be a factor in why i moved Here? well, let's just say down the hall wasn't far enough. voices carry, you know.

16. i pee alot. alot. like right before we go into the movie theater, and right after we leave. and sometimes in the middle. lord of the rings? not bladder friendly.

17. i am addicted to granny smith apple rings from trader joes. i buy several bags a week. a minimum of three, because i cannot survive with out two in my house, (one plus a spare in case i am forced to share *shudder*) and one in my desk at work... that's almost 10% of my grocery budget for the week. i fear i will soon be living under an l.a. times with my crazy dog and my ziploc baggies of dried fruit.

18. i do not like wine. i have liked wine on two occasions, one of which began with a bottle of champagne, plateaued (sp?) with a bottle or so of fume blanc, and ended when i passed out in someone's backyard with a lobsterpot full of mashed potatos in my lap (long story). the other wine incident involved two and a half bottles of pinot, some hooker shoes and a strip tease. note to self: throwing up is not a grand finale. well, atleast i tried. i realize i'm supposed to like wine, but i just don't. i also seem to be allergic to beer. it's the hops maybe? either way, these two facts have left me no choice but to be a vodka whore. whiskey and bourbon and rum whore too? i admit it. i get around.

19. i am scared of bugs. all bugs. lady bugs. butterflies. moths. ants. beetles. they just have too many legs. and some of them fly! and they're small! which means it's only a matter of time before one flies right up my nose and gets lodged in my brain and i die. so think twice before you admire that little ladybug. she's a kamikaze killer. that bitch.

20. i paint my toenails religiously, but never my fingers. NEVER.

21. i am the world champion "encore" player. *dances around with fists pumping in the air* i am the greatest! i float like a butterfly, sting like a bee! eeeeew bugs. but hey, remember when will smith had relevance? yeah, me neither. but atleast he used to be kinda funny.

today's blog was sponsored by the letter J and the number 19.

sit booboo, sit.

August 04, 2005
the thing called love

it's the only plausible explanation for why Boy would endure this for a second time. i mean, either that or he's gay, but either way it's love right? seriously-- me, a scantily clad and greased up mansicle... what's the difference? no really, what is the difference? oh yeah. that.

so last friday night after the hypefest opener, we were sitting quietly on the couch, side by side, shelling greenbeans and smoking our corncob pipes and discussing another long day out on the farm, as we often do when...
me: wanna go to that bar?

Boy: where the party was? there's a cover and it's a long walk. Boy is so responsible. there will be no drinkin' and drivin' on his watch. or as i like to call it, bowling.

me: no, dearest love of mine. (this is where i stroke his arm or sway my hips/sweetass and do the baby talking to hypnotize him into doing what i want.) not that bar. *pause* the one with The Dancers. you know. The. Dancers. (and this is where i demonstrate The Dancing by gyrating and shimmyshaking and waving my hand wildly around in the nether regions. to simulate a certain something. like a brain damaged hula girl.)

Boy: i guess.
then he jumped out of his seat and into our magic phonebooth where he did a little spin till his clothes turned into a superhero outfit (HeteroMan to the rescue!) and was suddenly ready to go. so we went.

and oh it was just the romantic night you would think it could be. what with the dim lighting and the alcohol and the drag queens. and the banana hammocks. and the bar top dancing. let me introduce you to our cast of characters.
dean, your everyday typical shirtless bartender, who had previously teased Boy about his solo appearance at said bar, and who was very indulgent of my innapropriately drunken line of questioning, which may or may nothave included questions such as: "do the girls like to be called drag queens or trannies? isn't Boy cute? where did you get that tattoo? do you let customers put the money down your pants? are you gay? are you married? am i being annoying? why is this beer called fuck-it*?"

the DragQueens, for this is in fact what they prefer to be called, wearing flowers on their boobies and feathers on their heads. also singing songs by the likes of tina and mariah, complete with light shows and dramatic drapings of self over tables, and wind effects. real wind! fabulous.

the other customers, who did in fact put money down some peoples' pants, and found me to be dubiously female.

carl, the english owner of said thai gay bar, who chatted with us about england and owning property in los angeles. and who rents apartments for like $700. for a one bedroom. Here. which means either the apartments are hellmouths or he's looney, but it's something to keep in mind. cuz the ants are back.

and finally, jorge, one of The Dancers, who we met when he came wiggling by in his red scarf. he enjoys techno beats, chatting with customers, long walks on the beach, letting men pay him to put it on them and women. that's right. jorge is oh so straight. and financially opportunistic. go jorge.

now in case you were wondering, which i know i was, jorge was not The Dancer present for Boy's initial adventure. i know this now. because Boy told me the other Dancer was better. which he then amended to "more grindy." but he said better first. heh.

Boy is awesome**.

*this would be because it is a thai beer, named for the place pronounced "pu-khet" but phoenetically spelled "phuket." and gosh darn, if that doesn't spell some naughty words. well i'll be.

**last night i was practicing my knitting with this grover colored yarn i bought and he asked what i was making. i told him i was just trying to get a good rhythm. and he said (yes he did), "you need a good rhythm to go with those blues." and then he laughed. at his own joke. and told me i should blog it. which i did, as you know, but clearly because it is actually pretty funny and not because i am blinded by my insane affections for a man who watches other men in various stages of undress parade around a dimly lit theme venue. did i mention Boy is awesome?

August 02, 2005
hypefest 2005: the year of the stink

so as you loyal eFriends know (all two of you), this weekend was hypefest, the film festival i had been busting my luscious butt for. i was the festival coordinator (it says so in the program. see me bask in the glory! bask, me! bask!) which means that i organized rentals and repeatedly contacted all the filmmakers/judges/sponsors/
industry guests/press etc to keep them updated and informed about what was needed and where they should be, as well as organizing volunteers for the festival and creating many necessary items, like badges and ballots and tickets. that's eight screenings at 200 tickets and six screenings at 200 ballots per screening, for those of you keeping track. not to mention the fabulous gift wrapped boxes to keep them in, because you can in fact judge a book by its cover. and a giftwrapped ticket box just screams professional.

so friday, after my "real" job, i speed home to change into something more fun (read: more boobies!), then speed on over to the lava lounge. where Boy and i are the first to arrive and so Boy stands patiently outside, listening to me ramble. like so:
so our sign in table should be right outside here with posters and my boxes and the lanyards, but we need to go in to set up the turkey and vegetable wraps. and didn't someone bring chex mix? chex mix is really weird. i always forget that i don't like it and eat some anyway. who do you think will come? are my volunteers here? i'm supposed to have some tonight. gee, shouldn't someone be here to let us in to set up? 'cause i'm pretty sure we can't do much with this door locked. we have posters and coasters and snackage to set up. are my volunteers here yet? do they want t shirts? *pause* what is that smell?

let me tell you. good thing blogs don't relay odor, and you are very happy that i did not have a digital camera. because oh the stink. we look left. we look right. we look down. and we realize that someone has spilled pea soup from one end of the lava lounge all the way to the other. except by pea soup, i mean chunky vomit. and it has been rather warm lately, so the smell was no little problem.

so we gave a boy (not Boy) a bucket and he washed it away. set up went smoothly, and then the people started to arrive. we had initially intended to have volunteers doing badge check in so i could float and mingle, etc. but the 1 out of 3 volunteers that came, well, she wasn't user friendly. having her be the first face of hypefest seemed like a good idea. a good idea like letting janice dickinson bowl with special people. so she was sent inside to clear plates, and i did badges. but only once enough incense had been shoved into the cracks of the wall to make the parking lot stink like a hippie. i have a sensitive snout. i said snout.

on saturday morning, i woke up with a horrendous cold. and i'm still sick. *sniff sniff* but i carried on, and we arrived at cinespace to find another door locked. we waited a few minutes, during which a full and fully sun baked trash truck stopped at the red light in front of us. for several torturous minutes. jokes were cracked about how bad smells were becoming a running theme. that's foreshadowing, people. it's a literary device. see dad, i use my edumacation. i use it real good.

then we were let in for set up. where we walked head first into about 7 bags of trash from the night before. sitting right up in the doorway. ahh, stale beer and garbage. it's the welcoming new scent from calvin klein. you know it's bad when the cold doesn't kill it.

volunteers came and went, the films were great, everything went as planned. until the sysco guys came to deliver for the night. and spilled scallop juice. all. over. the. carpet. right in front of our badge check in area. carpet! like fish doesn't already linger! anyway, we're thinking of changing the logo next year to read: hypefest presents short films, music videos, commercials, promos, and is the smelliest place on earth. bring your sars mask, and enjoy!

my three favorite films, in no particular order, and not that it really matters because no one i know saw them anyway:
1. "spam-ku" a man writes spam haiku and wins a lifetime of spam. or as spam? heh. spam. spam spam spam spam spam.
2. "sailor's girl" a woman provides paying customers with visions of their conceptions and deaths, but she can also see her own.
3. "six feet in seven minutes" a young man learns his parents have been keeping a very important secret. or two.

i would describe them more, but it doesn't do them justice. don't feel bad that you couldn't come. lot's of people couldn't make it. like all those people that i stayed at work so late making badges for? i'd say about 60% never showed. but i'm sure they were doing very important things. like sleeping it off or whatever.

i feel a little bad that everyone (hypefest people and filmmakers alike) put in so much effort, and while many people did come, many did not. more people show up to see clay aiken in a walmart. and that, my friends, is america.

damn proud to be canadian. that's right. i said i'm canadian. what are they gonna do about it?

August 01, 2005
This BloG Is Totally By KeNDra

I aM FeeLinG a LitTLe SicK toDay, But If YoU ThiNk thAT the Dog piCKleS is WrittiNg ThiS yOU are sO sO Rong. mOmmY i WiLl Be beTTEr toMorow and wrIte aLL AboUt hYpeFeSt and How sOOper mY fAvurit doG is.

WOOF. i MeeN, um, bYE.

golden state