July 29, 2005
sherriann is a squiggle

it's not as dirty as it sounds.

basically, sherriann (who still has no crazy blog name) went to this conference on monday where one of the programs was called "how to handle people who drive you crazy." according to this lady, there are four basic types of people. no one is exactly the profile, but you go by what's most dominant. so they use the s.e.l.f test. (bear with this dry intro. it's buildup.)
self

s: social. chatty. often a procrastinator. sometimes pushy and overbearing. fast paced. prolly reads chick lit.

e: end. they want you to get the the meat of it and are not interested in details of the story. big picture people. also fast paced. organized. gets things done. reads and cooks dinner simultaneously so as not to waste time.

l: love. wants every one to get along. other people go to this person with their problems. he/she is often the type to have a candy stash in the office. slower paced. very concerned about others. prolly listens to jack johnson.

f: facts. this person is slow paced because they need all the facts and can not move forward until they have them. the phrase that comes to mind is "bump on a log." which incidentally, my fourth grade teacher used to describe the most popular girl in my class, who eventually became less popular and plucked out all of her eyebrows.


these types are also catagorized by shapes. f = square. e = triangle. l = circle. s = squiggle. yes, that is the scientific term. see scientific diagram below.



so after careful deliberation, i have come to terms with the fact that i am somewhere between an s and an e. which is a squiggly ("hello") triangle. which pretty much makes me this:



awesome.



July 28, 2005
i don't want my mtv

the downside of having free cable is that now i can watch (and have seen) things no one should see. true hollywood stories for george michael and saved by the bell? check. eighteen bazillion hours of law and order reruns? check. foster's home for imaginary friends? check. actually, i kinda liked that one.

but then good grief.

are there propaganda awards? because nick cannon should get one. i am all for using personal stories to make a buck art, but this. well. i'm speechless.

but thank goodness i can still type! because holy crap this video sucks. you must be warned. in "can i live," tatyana ali (oh ashley banks, how far you have fallen) stars as RapperNick's mother, who (way back when) is in a clinic about to get an abortion. and straight outta compton a christmas carol (can you tell i just learned the strikeout feature?) there is TheGhostOfNickFuture sitting by her side and begging her to "make the right decision" because he doesn't "like this clinic." then they go into the hospital type room (which is portrayed as fairly frightening) where we learn that FetusNick is a magical baby who can move around sufficiently for his mother to feel him "in her womb" at only two months. he also appears fully developed in the ultrasound, which is clearly because he is a superstar rapper fetus, and not at all because this video is completely ignorant of how pregnancy works. but wait, it gets better. TheGhostOfNickFuture lays his hands on her and she suddenly realizes she must run crying from the scary evil clinic into the parking lot, which is conveniently filled with little children in slogan t-shirts, singing "can i live?" the video ends with RapperNick and his momma hugging, which was the only part of the video that didn't make me want to pop a cap in his ass. (oooooo los angeles has made me so ghetto.)

this story is touching in its basic elements: mom was gonnna but didn't and now is pleased with her decision and proud of her son. happily ever after and amen. unfortunately, instead of taking advantage of the positive and portraying the wonderful life they've shared, it went the hitler youth way and basically presents itself as a sensationalist anti-abortion campaign. i realize this is a controversial subject, but then shouldn't we not be making factually incorrect music videos about it to broadcast to already brainwashed kids on mtv 973 times a day? so.
dear rappers: (excluding snoop dogg, who is pretty awesome* and busta rhymes, who is well, something else. i heart snoop and busta.)

bring back the bentleys and the booty shakers. not a huge fan of those either, but it's better than magic fetuses and hordes of chanty cult children. also, gold teeth? not as cool as you think. save the money and donate it to charity. i suggest the Get My Ass Out Of Debt Foundation, c/o kendra, hollywood, ca.

thank you.

also, mtv? i've put you on every morning this week while i was getting ready for work, and have seen basically the same videos everytime. while i greatly enjoyed the gwen stefani video for "cool" (because she has great clothes, even though sometimes she should wear more of them**, and also because she looks excellent as a brunette), i feel that you should refrain from playing coldplay and that bettingfield girl quite so much. coldplay is getting tired and that girl is even less talented than her brother. what? you don't know who i'm talking about? exactly.


*what kind of gangsta can wear powder blue velour jogging suits and pigtails and still be cool? the pimp suits? the colored furs? actually, i'm really not so into fur. but i'll pretend it's faux for the sake of my snoop rocks argument. but the girls gone wild? and the making up of his own words? not to mention the complete overkill on his kids' sports teams? who would have thought you could be a bad ass pimpin' pot-smoking rapper/softcore pornorgrapher/entrepeneur and still be a swellerific dad? snoop is awesome. i rest my case.

**yes, she's hot, but she's also pretty okay talent-wise. it would be nice to have a (ahem) role model who could exist based on her abilities, not on her ability to look cute half nekkid. even though she does it quite well. what i mean is (i'll only be serious for a minute here, people) that if people were more concerned with the quality of the music than the quality of the meat (gwen = grade a) it would be a great step towards all the girls of the world deleting their "ideal" virtual models. which reminds me... "the fat, part two" should be arriving on your doorstep any day now.

and you thought i forgot.

ha.



July 27, 2005
havah nagila

four totally convoluted steps to using a jewish song title in your blog post:
step one: plan: write about how busy i am this week with excellent filmfest activities

step two: which made me think of the phrase "busy as a bee"

step three: which made me think of how my hebrew name is devorah nagila*. i know this makes no sense to you goyim (fun with yiddish) but trust me, it follows. see below.

step four: which led me to another nagila, specifically "havah nagila," which made me want to eat latkes and matzoball soup, but whatever. no, really. it's fine. this store brand vegetable soup with alpha-bits will do. sniff.


so.

i am busy. there is all the usual workie type stuff, which incidentally is all kind of happening at once, and thus creating much of The Stress. it's not even anything i can multitask. it's hands on. it makes me want to keep a flask of vodka in my desk. next to the oatmeal and apple rings. but i wouldn't do that. (or would i? mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha...)

then there is the hypefest stuff, which is really pretty entertaining, but a little stressful because there is just so much to do. which i guess would be fine if people would stop emailing me to ask questions that are answered in the very email they are responding to. i'm beginning to think i better rent a short bus for this event. and pick up a couple extra helmets.

also, i'm supposed to be asking our landlord if we can terminate our lease early. but my balls have not yet descended. for some reason i'm afraid to ask, possibly because i think he may be angered at my suggestion and then chain me up in the storage area near our laundry room where no one would ever find me. (phrase looping in my head right now? it puts the lotion on it's skin or it gets the hose again.) or maybe my landlord is completely harmless in his little hybrid car and pink polo shirts and i'm crazy. either way, terrifying.

unrelated, i watched this craptastic movie on lifetime the other night? (we have cable this week. for free. don't tell.) it "starred" michelle trachtenberg, who once showed up at Boy's work and the world stopped spinning because she (according to my sources) has a fabulous ass. thanks, sources. so i sat through the whole damn movie with it's faux plotline and cross-eyed love interest, etc etc... waiting for a shot of her walking away from the camera. and yet no booty. i should have rented harriet the spy.



*devorah nagila means laughing (or joyous) bumblebee. this was my mother's idea of a good name for me. is she completely meshuggah? why yes, yes she is.



July 26, 2005
why i don't do fantasy

transcript of the text messaging that occured this morning:
Boy: imagine if i showed up at your work as the ups guy
me: i would totally love it. i would blush so hard.
Boy: what if i was on a horse
Boy: or a dragon
me: i would explode


it's true. i might. but alas, dragons and horses are way expensive. maybe general mills can buy us a dragon instead? if not, let me illustrate what this afternoon might look like if we were as rich as britney and kevin federline. because i guarantee it's better than "chaotic." being bobby brown, though... well, they do crack.

here you go. this is what i did at lunch.
click for big.




and yes, the dragon has no tail. he lost it in 'nam.


oh... the filmfest i'm doing is this weekend, so if anyone is local...
it's all about the hype.



July 25, 2005
this (really long) post is not moocow appropriate

my mojo has gone missing. my va-va-va-voom as vamoosed. the shake that goes with these delicious fries? gone. the problem, dear eFriends, is the Peep. moocow, you may not want to read this, as i know how you feel about peeps.

okay, children, gather round. it's time for some learnin'. yay!
lesson one: the Peep.
noun.
pronounciation: peep.
definition: girls have peeps. boys don't. so that's that.
term origin: AlliCat.
used in a sentence? Boy gives me a twinge in my Peep.

suddenly i'm thinking, is this appropriate to be posting up on the worldwideweb? eh. you pervs have all googled worse. (i once googled octopus porn and found it. google is hardcore.)

anyhow, the Peep is broken. it has no will to live. this is a recurring problem, so i'm thinking of sending it to bratcamp to teach it a lesson or two, but that pansy glacier mountain wolf would crumble at the wrath of the Peep. eventually i'd like to get some health insurance so that i could find a doctor with some big shiny medical instruments (hmm. instruments. the Peep has always liked musicians) that might scare it back into working order.

until then, i suffer. and Boy suffers. i was going to say, "so send porn," but then i thought better of it. i've seen what's out there. eeeeeew. besides, Boy likes a little booty and that cephalopod (i am so sexy in my smartie pants) has the flattest ass i've ever seen. i think. and those suction cups? geez. totally fake.

and now for something completely different... has anyone seen criss angel "mind freak"? what is up with that guy? he's very pose-y. but he can levitate! i wonder if he levitates while he puts on his eyeliner. and his leather pants. whatever. he's more interesting than david blane. i want to know how he does that stuff. not the eyeliner. i know that. as i poke out my eye with MAC's "engraved" power point eye pencil. you love it, sherriann.





***postscript***

i wrote to cheerios. see below:
dear cheerios:
i eat cheerios every single morning, and have for most of my life. they are one of my favorite foods. i am allergic to milk, so i eat them with rice milk or apple juice and they taste great. i eat them so much, i buy about three boxes a week. i really really love cheerios and even have a cheerios t-shirt. actually, i have two. cheerios rock. just thought you should know.
if i turn in all my proofs-of-purchase, will you buy me a house? it can totally be yellow. :)
sincerely, your biggest fan, kendra


to which they responded: (edited for capital letters)
thank you for contacting general mills. it was kind of you to share your thoughts and you have brightened our day. many of our products and promotions have attracted loyal fans. we are happy to see that you are among that group.
we appreciate your thoughtful comments and thank you for your continued loyalty.
sincerely,
cheerios guy, general mills customer services

don't they know who i am? i can't believe i got a form letter! i am a cheerio eating machine! but on the plus side... they didn't say no about the house!


in other news, i am a burger-eating disco monkey.



July 22, 2005
beep beep beep

that's an alarmy-type sound.

because *golden state* is currently experiencing technical difficulties. specifically the computer will not acknowledge my documents. or my password. or our bastard child. poor fatherless robot baby. and now my eyes are beginning to bleed from staring at the hateful screen.

click for big.



steve jobs gets no more shoutouts from me. apples blow. send help.



July 21, 2005
you like dogs?

and the answer to that, today, is a resounding FUCK NO. that is all.


but no it's not. pickles is driving me insane. soon i will clobber him with his food bowl, which is okay because he doesn't eat out of it anyway. i'm not sure if his naked parts are better yet, but he only has two days left of pills. so the question there is, do i suffer through another week or so of trying to get him to take the pills, or finish these ones and then risk the dog developing full on leprosy? 'cause lord knows we don't have enough problems with him being neurotic already.

and i don't even know if the pills are working. but the damn dog won't eat, and what he will eat is horrible for him and makes his poop smell funny. not funny like poop, either. and speaking of poop, here is where it would be really handy to have a digital camera. (hint. hint. august 1 is friendship day, eFriends. you better save your pennies.) every lawn on my street has tiny little piles of dog doo. like three on each patch of grass. that's a lot of doo.
pertinant statistical info regarding pickles' morning walk:

2: number of times stuck face in tiny pile of poop
1: number of times stuck face in large fly-encrusted one
3: number of times attempted to eat/makeout with dead bird
4: number of times peed on own foot
1: number of times ran into street to avoid the big scary hubcap leaning against a tree
0: number of times actually did the pooping himself

thanks, buddie. i'm glad we're clear on what the walk is for.

obviously we live in a very dog friendly neighborhood. there are four dogs in our building (it's a small building). two of them live upstairs. they are pomeranians, like the one pictured below.

now, pomeranians are yippy dogs to begin with, but i believe that forcing them to wear tiny pink sweaters undermines their inherent crediblity as tough dogs. no i am not for real, but try to follow along anyway. the miniature sweaters are castrating, so being the serious students of freud that they are, they make more noise to compensate for their maligned cojones. unless they're girls, then they make the noise to prove they are the red heather. anyway, these two upstairs are pretty typical in that ear piercing respect. but they tend to go with their people just about everywhere.

except, apparently, last night. when they were left to yip away until three o'clock in the morning.

so.

as i was saying... you like dogs? good. come get three.



July 20, 2005
the fat, part I

i used to be a little bit heavy. i weighed, oh, 200 pounds. no lie. granted, i am 5'10", but that's still squishy. about two years ago i lost 50 pounds and felt great. since then, i have gained back about ten and feel horrible. so, may i present my virtual model. this is allegedly what i look like, in a magical bikini that hoists my boobs high as an elephant's eye without leaving a bloody wound in the back of my neck. string bikinis are no friend of natural breasts. upon discovering this virtual model website, which for some reason won't really work on safari (steve jobs! help us!) i built about 736 versions of myself. one of which is what i used to look like, and one is what i'd like to. the "like to" is only fifteen pounds lighter. fifteen never seemed like such a huge number.

anyway, this is coming up because recently, i have completely and totally lost my mind. any comment regarding weight makes me want to cry, even if it's not directed at me. which it usually isn't. because there is really nothing wrong with how i look now. in my brain, i know this. but here's the problem:
brain: self, you look pretty good. love those freckles on your lip. couldn't be cuter.

rest of me: you are a sea monster. a mythical ugly-beast. a horrible spotted moocow. (no offense to moocows everywhere, especially the moocow. really.) you are so fat that you make fat feel bad.

brain: no way! the average size for an american woman is 14. so you're doing so well! you are way under. self = smokin! *touches finger to wrinkly brain skin and makes sizzle sound*

rest of me: first of all that was lame. and second-- absolutely not, brain. i realize you are "smart" and have control issues, but seriously. i should weigh 120 pounds and not jiggle except for my enormous boobies. which should make up 10% of my total body weight.

brain: you look like a woman! you have curves! you have better things to do than go to the gym and run around in a circle. besides, food is good.

rest of me: *fingers in ears* lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala i don't hear you...

and lately the rest of me has been in control of the mouth and the tear ducts, leading to wet cheeks and abusive comments about self that make Boy worry. sorry, Boy. i have gone bonkers. brain knows what she's talking about, but i just won't listen.

as i said, some of this feels like it's due to living in hollywood. and it can't help that the only way i have to vent these feelings is by masquerading my issues around as a funny post. i have guilt over that. i hope you don't feel used. i left a couple hundreds on the nightstand.



July 19, 2005
always the bridesmaid...

here's where i tell you all about my trip back to the Bean last month. it was totally fun (i think) and i have so many memories (thanks for that, kodak) to look back upon. because i'm not really remembering them on my own. and thanks for that, absolut screwdrivers. you rock.

it all began in maybe late april, when my bestest friend and secret superhero twin decided to up and wed. it wasn't a huge surprise, seeing as those two kids have been together since the cow went out (get it... cuz the cows come home... ha.) what was a surprise was the whole "we're getting married in june" thing. not that june was unexpected either. june is THE month for weddings. i hear. i would totally not know. but really, it was the fact that june was then only about five or six weeks away. meaning i instantly bought a plane ticket home (with layovers in atlanta and (AND!) fort worth. because i am so poor.) and a nice gift (instruction manuals for makin' whoopee) and then got myself a date to the wedding. in the form of an ex. that's really not as exciting as it sounds. the three of us (me, Ex and Bride) went to college together. where we all got real learned.

anyhow, i took a couple days off work to read about six books on a plane. oh, and you know, to see this. bow tie = totally worth it. the ceremony was recognizable as a wedding despite its serious lack of shotguns, and incredibly short, which was nice. i wore a swell dress, which is really unimportant but the picture is cute.

*warning* emotions off the port bow!

the wedding was so lovely i almost cried. nice try, Groom, but i said almost. it was a very different experience to see two people get married who were both clearly very excited to be there. and then clearly very excited to be somewhere else. there was some drinking (more on that later) and some discussion of the Bride's bachelorette party. which i missed. because i live Here. but it was so good to see the event, and even better just to see the Bride. overall this wedding gets five out of five stars. hooray for beeb! congratulations!

and now back to our regular programming.

the rest of weekend was kind of a bender. pretty much immediately after getting off the plane (just after my hair swelled to gargantuan proportions-- missed you, humidity! don't forget to write!)i was called out to paddy kelly's, the bar i discovered with julievalentine, all one word, after a dry wedding a few summers back. imagine that. a dry wedding. that was, without a doubt, a one star wedding. but paddy kelly's changed all that. it was a desert oasis: imagine a bar. with drinks that can kill-- like shots called "lying naked on the bathroom floor." that's truth in advertising right there. run by guy with an excellent irish accent. 'twas heaven on earth. *sigh*

so we (meaning me and my friends... because i used to have them outside my head and the worldwideweb) started going there whole lots. and it was one of the places i missed. yeah... i missed that place. certainly not just the sweet sweet nectar of triple distilled vodka. mmmmmm.

anyway, once at paddy kelly's, i began exacting a complex (and not yet complete--send vodka! the liver must pay!) revenge upon my liver for its many filtration transgressions. i was there with Lola and her man PhillyCheeseSteak, and BigBrother--otherwise known as my old boss. all of whom are pictured here. later came leslie* and julievalentine, all one word, but i don't really remember that. after a nine hour plane ride day, one small soft taco for dinner, and oh, about 7 or 10 screwdrivers, i kind of got drunk.

sorry, eFriends. i have no pictures of me dancing on my barstool. although my shimmyshake does deserve to be seen. i also do not have pictures of me throwing up many many times out the side of BigBrother's truck, or of him rubbing my sweaty back as i continued to do so, or of him carrying me into Lola's home where i passed out on the couch. and woke up several hours later to the carpet pulled out from under me (way to protect your property, Lola) and a huge bucket beside my sweaty spinny head.

nor do i have pictures of the day following this excursion, where i continued the vomiting trend (everyone needs a hobby) and laid about dramatically in my bed-- until i got out of it to drink some more.

on a completely different note, when i had this film developed i found some old pictures on there. here is the first one. at first i didn't even notice bug (aka he who shall not be spoken of because it makes me feel like a bad doggie mama) on Boy's legs. then this one, which made me sad. i will honor the memory of bug, who did not make the grade as a member of our family, by posting his painfully adorable pictures here. here's to hoping bug found a better foster family, who could handle his difficult behavior, because when he was not making me want to squash him, he was freaking cute.

and tomorrow, the fat.


*and her creepy boyfriend. who i used to think was okay, until well, lots of things i won't say here. but case in point: he got her FACE tattooed on his arm. without her knowledge. and yet she stays...



July 18, 2005
i am so athletic

here at my work there is a summer program, which on the one hand, exposes me to hugenormously cute children like the girl with the big teeth. but on the other...

*cue scary theme music*

it brings back the horrible memories of physical education. i fear colored mesh jerseys. I remember the sour hole in my stomach each time the teacher would bring out a handful of those limp sweaty shirts and tell us to put one on. the kids on the field today were playing kickball or some non-sport like that and the minute i saw their red and blue over-shirt thingies, i about screamed.

in the middle school year book there is a picture of me with the captions "the cat ate my gym shoes."

i almost didn't graduate high school because they finally realized i had cut gym every single day of my senior year to eat bagels and smoke cigarettes outside the band room. (but now i quit. not bagels. NEVER bagels.)

so i was going to write about the wedding (finally!) today, but here's the thing. there is actual work to be done. so tomorrow, maybe? and then, after that, i'll write about the fat. you're so excited.



July 15, 2005
where in the world is carmen sandiego?

where i work there is (apparently) a designated pooping bathroom. it is a single stall with no awkward foyer area for people to wait in. clearly ideal for pooping. but even if you were blind and couldn't see the layout, you could tell it's for pooping because it always smells like poop. and some kind of melon. this leads me to air freshener etiquette.
please keep the frou-frou scents out of the bathroom. berry bliss and summer rain and country linen are swell in the bedroom or living room, but bathrooms demand lysol, or some equally as chemical scented variant. otherwise we end up with a room that smells like poop and fruit salad. thank you.

and to answer the title question, she's in the gallery.

actually, where is kristy? hey, wait. she lives in san diego... AHA. mystery solved. kristy is a cartoon spy, who is clearly not writing because she is busy doing cartoon spy things. like messing with the mountain dew machines.

i am too tired today to write a real post. i need to do that thing they call sleep. the exterminator (aka "my hero") comes today, so pickles is hanging out at work with me.

so in light of my failure to rock today, may i direct you to moocow, and please, take comfort in the hope that i will get some of that there"rest" (i know, i know, i had to look it up too) and be back up and running maybe tomorrow?

thanks. seacrest out.



July 14, 2005
i will never watch ANTZ again

so i am driving home last night from work, all "la-di-da, gonna go make out with Boy and eat chicken marsala for dinner," when my phone rings.
boy: are you almost here?
me: um, yeah. a few minutes i think. why? you sound weird.
boy: i don't know if i should tell you.
me: tell me now. (danger! danger! happiness depleting!)
boy: well... the ants are back. but i don't want to tell you where.
me: please tell me they're not in the bedroom.
boy: ok... but they are in the bed.

so my general mood before. slightly disheveled, but totally cute and happy. my mood after? click here for generally indicative of mood, but not in any way gross.* click here for a far more accurate idea.

so i hate ants. they are having a party in my apartment and inviting all the neighbors. and the exterminator can't come spray till tomorrow, which doesn't help today and really didn't help last night. when Boy and i did 247 loads of hot water laundry and dismantled our entire bed to see if the ants were making babies in our box spring. pay attention, future infestations. nobody makes babies in that bed but us. except we don't either, dad. really.

and now i have to find somewhere to keep pickles all day long. because they can't spray with him there. but it has to be relatively close by because i still have to give him the effing pills. which leads me to a whole new set of problems. sometime in the last week, my dog has become a pop star. he has a tour rider. and unlike ozzy's it's not just a couple million cases of orangina.

tour rider for pickles, as written by pickles, star of pickles-- fully loaded:
1. i must have brita water. not that my mom would give me plain tap water anyway. we live Here, remember? i also refuse to drink from the doggie fountain at the park or beach. other dogs have cooties.
2. i will not go to the dog beach and/or park. if you bring me there, i will run back to the car in a panic. there are papparazzi just waiting to see me do something ridiculous. like play, or sniff some other dog, which incidentally i also will not do. nor may they sniff me. that's how rumors get started.
3. i would rather run into the freaking street than get wet from that sprinkler at the top of our hill. so tell them i said to fix it.
4. i must have my pills, which i will pretend not to want but secretly crave. that's why i'm always on them. antibiotics? steroids? sure. they'll make me bionic!
5. i demand your full and complete attention. i suffer from bdd (body dysmorphic disorder) which leads me to believe i am ten pounds and that i can comfortably sit in your lap.
6. i will not eat unless the mommy holds the food under my face. in her bare hands. and chases me around with the little kibbles and a bowl for the sloppy mess and talks to me in an encouraging tone. i suggest something like this:
"good pickles. you're so good. you like that? you wanna lick it up? mmmmm pickles, eat it. eat it like a good boy."


my hands smell like chopped beef.



*to you people. eggs are totally gross to me. and completely inedible.



military intelligence.

for those of you who were wondering whether it's true that the military is full of small brains and shrunken equipment, i give you "haji-o-matic," who rudely commented on an entry below using his real military email address. apparently he can't read, seeing as the poor kid in my story never mentioned hookers. i did. but i believe he prolly knows his stuff on the amount of fishnet to quality of hooker ratio.

here is where i had originally posted his email address, so that he could get what's coming to him. like spam. but every once in a while i have a moral or two (they keep growing back), and i figured it might be construed as mean or whatever. so i took it down. and also because i realize he comments on kristy with religion, so he can't be all bad... but those comments? not a good first impression. you can say what you want once you know me. dear.


more later. including more ants.



July 13, 2005
confession

i have no time to post right now because my computer has been frozen for the last hour. meaning i've been at my desk, buried in paper, slaving away, drawing elephants.
but till i do have time to make a real post, let me just say that i am very lucky to be with the wonder that is Boy. no, for real. this isn't sarcasm. i swear. he makes me blush and want to do all kinds of awfully wrong things. like make chicken pot pie and lemon bars (he loves lemon bars! send lemon bars!) and other assorted g rated activites. because, dad, i am totally g rated.

so even though i tell you i'm busy "working," i'm prolly just making pie and babies.

remember: the pie goes in the oven. terrible.



July 12, 2005
questions

today's post will be devoted to asking the three very serious questions that have plagued me almost all morning long.

1. what the hell is wrong with the people in my neighborhood?

answer: well, for starters, they can't park. and i mean at all. within reasonable distance of the surrounding cars AND the curb? not gonna happen. it wouldn't leave any room for the little boy on the squeaky tricycle to ride up and down the street ringing his bells. and the loud chatting and cigar smoke outside my open window at night? really good for helping me sleep. no, no don't worry. my lungs can sleep when they're dead. also, if at all possible, could we hold off on burning couches on the lawn until the day before pickup? just so that i don't have to worry about my itchy dog scratching himself on charred sofa carcasses? oh, and apparently, i am some sort of mutant who may kill neighbors if they smile at me as i walk by. as i do every morning and night. even if i smile first. because clearly this is a trap.


2. why is the little girl with the big teeth so cute?

answer: because i am hormonal this week and want the babies (this week. deep breaths, Boy). and also because she has hordes of freckles on her big round cheeks and looks kind of like margaret or a precious moments doll. but without the weird wholesome and mildly jesusy aftertaste. (there is a precious moments theme park. intervention!)


3. why doesn't anyone comment on this blog?

answer: multiple choice.
A) they are trapped under furniture and desperately trying to comment (or get rescued, whichever), but are sadly unable.
B) they think someone else will. that's what they thought about stopping hitler*, people, and look how that turned out. comment now to stop nazis!
C) they hate me and my wildly inappropriate humor.
D) nobody reads this crap.



*please don't comment to tell me this was inappropriate, because i totally know. option C, remember? and i'm jewish, which may in fact make it even worse. inappropriate is my bread and butter. but please do comment for other reasons, like making friends and sharing patterns and recipes. mmm... patterns and recipes. thank you.



July 11, 2005
while the cat's away

the Boy will play. at his local neighborhood thai gay bar. yay! (rhyming couplets? awesome.)

down the street from our apartment is a tiny little bar that has very cheap drinks. mmmm, 4 dollar lychee martini. we like it there. usually we go together, but seeing as i was headed off for an evening full of liquor and sedimentary animals, the bar seemed a valid option for Boy. sometimes they show kung-fu hustle on their tiny tvs. sometimes cher or j-lo in concert. differences? kung-fu hustle is better- than j-lo. cher trumps all.

anyway, apparently friday night is quite a bit more exciting than any night we've been there. picture Boy, complete with hat tan and scruffy facial hair, entering the bar in search of beer (just plain beer)... only to find a cavalcade of small asian men dancing around one very clean cut (waxed and glistening, even) fratboy type, wearing something like this. and that's all. and apparently it was sheer. Boy was also delighted to note that each time the fratboy undulated his taut and nubile hips and thighs, the light reflected off what could only be described as some sort of ring. that's right. my boyfriend saw some fratboy's penis ring. and stayed.

he let these guys buy him beer. all. night. long. someone squeezed his bicep and asked if he works out. he told them, "no. i just work." and then someone grabbed his butt (my butt! did i give you permission?) and offered him a job in the industry. and actually said, "we can work it out. you know, for money or for favors." skeevy casting couch dialogue? check. someone wants Boy's favors! i am simultaneously amused and concerned.

so when my big brother called on friday night, we had the following conversation:
brother: so what are you up to?

me: i'm drunk in vegas.

brother: wow. that's so great. i know you were looking forward to doing something fun with Boy. where are you guys staying?

me: oh... um, i'm with PromDate (who he knows as crazy radio show guy) and some stranger. Boy's at the gay bar.

brother: *silence*

me: hello?

brother: i think i missed something.


indeed.



July 10, 2005
vodka, camels, and general debauchery

the houseguests are gone. it's just me, Boy, pickles and the rash again. i have decided the vet is of little to no use. this is the second time we've brought pickles in with some sort of skin problem and the second time they have given us pills without a real diagnosis. so we'll try the pills (which made him throw up), but i've also started looking into holistic doggie health and also doggie dermatologists. because poor pickles. his naked parts are itchy. and it's spreading. he now has weird itchy balding parts on his knees and chest. soon he will be one big naked part. this has got to stop!

anyway, on friday night the houseguests took us to dinner. it was nice, but maybe that's because it was two for one cocktails and the martinis were free flowing. at dinner i learned the following:
1. StrangerRami was the fifth person in our dinner party. he was a stranger to me and Boy, but we assumed the houseguests knew him. but no. they met him in a bar the night before. they're better friend-makers than i am.
2. Boy is a good match for me, according to houseguests, because he didn't try to make a good impression. they liked his couch-sitting, beer-drinking ways.
3. PromDate drinks low carb peach and vanilla flavored martinis. heh.


after we left the restaurant, we went back to the house. and then suddenly we were going to vegas. me, PromDate, HouseGuest, and StrangerRami. Boy stayed home with pickles (what a good boyfriend! someone had to take him to the vet.), but we'll get to his eventful evening later. HouseGuest had never been to vegas, so it was very important to show her a good time. unfortunately, we didn't arrive till like two thirty, so while there was still lots going on, she didn't quite get the full effect. and by the time we arrived we smelled like ashtrays, thanks to PromDate's chainsmoking and grandma driving. it added atleast forty minutes to our drive. that's two to three cigarettes. camels. (these are not the only camels in my story. horray!)gross.

so we went to a few casinos, but let me tell you. apparently, the place to be is the barbary coast. dollar drinks. one dollar! at the coast PromDate won 85 dollars, StrangerRami lost 40, and HouseGuest and i got drunk. hooray for vodka! we met
these guys, who are from illinois, and were also drunk. in vegas. at four a.m. how odd! anyway, we started talking because they asked, and i quote, "do you always dress like that, or do you work somewhere?"

and i was drunk, so the next thing that happens is these poor kids from the middle, who claimed to be 21 (i have no proof either way) all of a sudden get big blunt trucker mouth me shouting across the bar

"do you think i'm a hooker?"

i think i hurt their feelings. but then i took a picture of them for your viewing pleasure, and we talked for a while. eric is not pictured, which is unfortunate because he was totally adorable. the one in the grey shirt wanted to call Boy and claim to be nekkid with me. i gave him the phone but as expected (see note in picture), he totally chickened out. here is what i learned at the barbary coast:
1. eric likes moms. i don't think this is as general a statement as he made it seem to be. from the parts i remember, anyway. it may just be one mom. i told him to talk to PromDate about this.
2. dollar drinks are small, but five dollars at the barbary coast is so much better than five dollars at aladdin.
3. it's fun to take pictures of girls dressed slutty to bring home to your Boy.
4. guys at the bar named "shitty" that look drunk enough to puke, well, they probably will.


after the barbary coast we went to dennys, where we had a big long discussion about this friend of PromDate's (who looks just like StrangerRami) and his obsession with girls named daisy. then our waitress finally came over. her name was daisy. even if i hadn't been whoring it up with the vodka all night this would have been funny.



then we toured vegas.






finally it was just too damn hot, so we went back to the car and changed in the aladdin parking garage, where some guys from texas got to see my naked ass. you're welcome! the drive home took FOREVER because PromDate drives like a nana, and i smelled so bad when we got back i showered twice with peppermint soap. i gave eric-who-likes-moms this blog site, even though he wanted my number, so i'm hopeful that he'll visit and comment. i have a Boy whom i love, but damn if i don't want people to read the junk i post here!

speaking of Boy, there's a whole 'nother story to what he did whilst i was in vegas... but i'll tell you tomorrow. 'nite!



July 08, 2005
casual friday

today is casual friday, which means i have not so much to say. i want to tell you about Domino, the Angel and Dog, but it totally requires pictures. of which i currently have none. and also i want to post pictures from my visit home, but i have to scan them in. maybe sunday.

so today's news is basically just that i overslept and was late to work. i was so freaking tired when i got in bed last night that i was absolutely positive i would sleep through the night. but alas, it was not meant to be. the houseguests went out with a friend, and despite their efforts to be quiet, i did that whole "pretend not to be woken up so the other person doesn't fel bad" thing. oh well. tomorrow's the weekend, right? i get to sleep late, right? NO!

tomorrow we venture outside the saftey zone. i hope pickles can't read.

and last night the houseguests made chicken drumsticks and so we sauteed some veggies and made rice and stuffing with portobellas and it was yummy. i hope no one noticed i kind of avoided the chicken (the pieces i had were good, but eeew, bones!). i was a vegematarian in the nineties, and though i now eat meat, i still have a problem with certain things. mostly chicken. and in the grocery store, i have to avert my eyes from the tripe. who eats tripe?

once at passover dinner my mom made cornish hens even though she knows about the whole bones situation. she thinks i should get over it, but she said that when my hamster died, too. ** moment of silence ** anyway, it just so happened that on that day my sister said some not so nice things which i do not remember for reasons which i also do not remember. but i used it to my advantage and forced her to debone the hen for my consumption. you've got to earn forgiveness. forgiveness doesn't grow on trees.
not pictured: one (1) heartless mother (just kidding! love you! send money!) and one (that i know of) dead hamster.


see you tomorrow!



July 07, 2005
little things

i'm sure you'll be happy to know that everyone made it through the night. Boy did not bring up the size of PromDate's junk as he had threatened, and PromDate was actually rather entertaining. i got some good laughing in when i casually and repeatedly brought up the time he slept with CreepyDave's mom.
(sidebar: CreepyDave is creepy because i once caught him peeping-tom style outside my bedroom window. this was a long time ago, when i looked really good naked and should have been okay with people looking. he also drew creepy pictures similar to this guy's. anyway, now he has a creepy mullet and a creepy girlfriend and a strange child named "critter". i am very serious, people.)
but it was nice to talk to someone who could fill me in on gossip. like how PromDate's twin brother, whom we shall call Raphael because of his strong resemblance to a certain teenage mutant ninja turtle (this is not an insult. i loved me some ninja turtles.), has gotten himself all kinds of married. HA! i remember when he was "asexual" and believed that aliens were actually humans from the future. did i mention he used to smoke lots of pot? or that incidentally, these characteristics got him lots of chicks? very clever, grasshopper.

so this morning as i'm creeping about trying not to wake up PromDate and his friend (more on her later), i look down at his ginormous suitcase and think to myself how it is literally big enough that he could have brought his mother inside it. which i wouldn't mind too much. she's a funny lady. but anyway, you know that loop where people usually put their address info in a little laminate slot so that the airport can ship the luggage back to them after it's done with its world tour? well, instead of a little card with the address or name or something normal, there is a picture of said mother. morning, marlene! it freaked me out a little.

back when he called, he told me he was bringing a friend and so i got a little worried because he's had some questionable friends (i mean, critter? who does that?) that i would have definate reservations about allowing into my home. and he told me who it was, but geez, we haven't spoken in "some time," so how the hell am i supposed to remember who's who? well, eFriends (and the two people i actually know who i force to read this), you can exhale. she's not only non-threatening, but she seems to be a real-life GoodHouseguest. she does dishes! and offers to help with dinner! take notes, Boy.

and good news! i got a raise! i also got more stuff to do, but who cares! now i need to redo The Budget. and maybe soon (please please please) i will get my actual title-- and then my benefits? it's a good thing that online contacts site doesn't check to see if the prescription you gave them is still valid until after they've shipped the goods. but i fear using the same prescription these past four years may have left me on the road to having glasses like this. pickles will look dashing in his suit.

and since i haven't yet had time to upload pictures of me at the prom, or me on my recent trip home to the Bean, i will leave you with this.

got dot?



July 06, 2005
prom date redux (also comments and clues!)

PromDate is his name because he was exactly that. twice. i took him to my junior prom because i thought it would be fun. it was. he sewed some black and orange fabric in to his tuxedo pants so that they would match my dress. i took him to my senior prom because my first choice said no (he was my boyfriend. and he said no. red flag! red flag!). and then my second choice got sent to boot camp. PromDate seemed like a good fall back, seeing as how we had so much of the goodtimes the first go 'round. as expected, all pictures indicate me having a swell time. if i can find one i might post it. i was bald that year (thank you pink bics. pink bics are so punk rock.) and i wore a kool-aid blue wig to complement my dress.

so now PromDate will be arriving at some point this evening. he called me sunday night (that's 72 hours in advance, for those of you keeping track) to tell me he would be arriving Here to search for an apartment late tuesday night. i had heard the rumor of his relocation, but i figured Here is a really big place. safe, no?

no.

so he was supposed to stay with someone else (he told me who but i wasn't really listening) but that fell through and now he's hoping he can stay with me. for the week. week! i told him i'd have to call him back.

after much deliberation with Boy and pickles, we agreed* that he and his friend (aaaaargh) could stay for a few nights. contingencies: don't be annoying and don't kick the dog off the couch. he's disabled, for pete's sake. can't a dog get some space to air out his itchy naked parts? (clues to their cause below)

all of this seems pretty clear and minimally painful. except that PromDate and i haven't spoken in some time (some time = years). we were very good friends when i was in high school, then we "dated" for a month, and then marginal friends when i was in college. after we stopped seeing one another he engaged in some questionable behavior (remember the denise show? like that. seriously. he had a radio show.) and so we didn't really hang out too much for a good long while. then we started bumping in to one another and it was less awkward, but still not really friends. and now he's my roomie. woo hoo!

also, i may or may not have been very open about the fact that he has starter size equipment. and now i may or may not have posted it on the worldwideweb.

new topic... duran duran: neither duran nor duran. discuss. and in the meantime, yay for me! crazy aunt purl commented on this here blog and invited me to snb! sherriann (who is sad that she has no weirdo blog name as of yet) noticed the comments first and on the phone said to me:
"do you want to know who commented? you're gonna be excited. don't pee your pants."
hilarious. ha ha ha. but she was right, i was excited. unfortunately, snb is on thursdays, which are all tied up for me this month. i will not meet purl till after hypefest, which those of you within reasonable driving distance better freakin attend. i don't do this stuff for my health, people!

and finally: clues. i was thinking about poor pickles and realized that his "issue" appeared after my trip home to the Bean. and what did pickles do while i was in the Bean? he went to big bear. (sidebar for non-Here people: big bear is not a big bear. it is a woody mountain place.) and what does pickles do when he wants to pee on bushes? he gets inside them. so it could be that all the unpleasantness on his nether regions is due to some horrible and possibly poisonous bush. and as you all know, many an unpleasant nether region has begun in a horrible bush. that's right, i said you know. i definately wouldn't.

i made an appointment to see the vet on saturday.


*agreed meaning came to the conclusion that mom would never forgive me (jewish guilt, people) for turning away the son of her BFF.



July 05, 2005
a wee bit of the clarification

first let me address the fact that i did indeed inspect my dog's naked parts, but only with his explicit permission, as demonstrated by his display of said naked parts. he likes belly rubs. what's a girl to do? and i am not (repeat:not)a bad doggie mom. i don't want to take him to the vet because he does not like it. he does not like it with a cat, he does not like it in a hat. i know, i've tried.

things to know when taking pickles out of his safety zone*:

1. avoid letting him know he will be exiting the zone while he is still in contact with hard wood floors, as he will collapse into a doggie heap and drag his many nails across the floors in protest.

2. avoid letting him know he will be exiting the zone while he is near the white (and by "white" i mean white-under-all-the-dog-hair) rug, as he will drop to his doggie knees in an effort to become invisible and promptly pollack the hell out of the rug with sunshine yellow pee.

3. beware: any unnecessary exposure of the naked parts (unnecessary meaning non-bellyrub related) will result in projectile urine. up, down, around. for speedy cleanup, i suggest a hand held sink sprayer thingie. for minimized pain, a tightly closed mouth.

4. treats will not help. any offering will not only key him in to The Plan, but also make him fear treats in the future. example: pickles used to love doggie treats from trader joes (pickles is so trendy) but now will not eat one unless you throw it to him from far far away and then disappear. in fact, because the disappearance is required, i'm not sure if he eats them at all. there could be a stash of sneaker, squirrel and couch shaped treats hidden somewhere in my home. doesn't he know leaving food out gives you ants?

5. he will scream. there is nothing you can do about it.



*things outside safety zone include, but are not limited to: vet's office, groomer, bathtub, beach.

so you can see why i am totally excited to bring him to the vet. cause vet visits require sedatives (for the dog, although it might help me too) and muzzles and effort. effort!

unrelated, i have to go work at the film festival tonight and i am already so durn tired. coming soon: how this guy i dated briefly (known here as PromDate because his other name is less forgiving) is somehow coming to stay with me and Boy. in our house. tomorrow. i need a nap.



July 04, 2005
holiday guests

scene: late last evening, Boy returns from santa barbara. we watch a movie, eat some dinner, make out, go to sleep. cut to this morning, when i get up to walk the dog. Boy is still in bed, pickles is wagging excessively behind me, and so i decide to pop into the kitchen for a pre-walk snack, maybe a banana. i never got to the bananas as i was suddenly distracted by my house guests. my many, many house guests.

ants. gazillions of them.

happy fourth of july!!!!


p.s. also, much of the stress because pickles has a splotchy rash on his naked parts. it started out just pinkish and bumpy so i thought maybe it was prickly heat (stop giggling. i said prickly.) but now with the itchiness and the spreading... i really don't want to take him to the vet. this is a problem.



July 02, 2005
a three hour tour

so i thought maybe it would be helpful for me to tell less and show more. minds out of the gutter, people. oh wait. that means me too. this could take a while. maybe we should come back to that later. here is a picture tour with maybe some captiony-type things so that you can formulate a more detailed judgment about my life. sometimes it's okay to judge. as in: life in massachusetts (the Bean) = fun, friends galore, booze. life in los angeles (Here) = fun, less friends, much less booze. see my problem?

oh and don't think i didn't try to "align" my pictures left and right so that they wouldn't take up so much durn space. but i have safari and explorer (shout out: steve jobs! go apple!)) and it looked different on safari. different meaning bad. so i changed it to look the same on both. what's that you say? my OCD is showing? i know. it just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

ok. this at some martini bar that i can't remember the name of... gee isn't that odd. in this picture you will find AlliCat, Lola Fragiola, my ginormous boobs, and MiniMeg. note incredibly large martini glasses. this is not the reason behind Lola's lack of neck function. really. she's just so darn cute.

this is me at MiniMeg's wedding. i am so drunk that light is escaping my armpit. now how will i ever maintain my secret identity?

this here is me and leslie at dodge street. leslie is in a band. she's the hot band chick. in fact, when they were thinking of band names, i suggested "the hot chick and those other guys." they picked something else. but here, well, i'm pretty sure we're drunk. thanks, jack... no really, it's okay, i don't have to call him mr. daniels anymore.

this is me and the AlliCat at store24. we are there to buy gatorade because we are drunk. it's okay, you can stop pretending to be surprised. asking the cashier to take our picture seemed a good idea at the time (2:30 am). ahh, memories. this is actually right before i moved Here.

this here is the Reverend. i love him. (love you, reverend ray!) ray likes school and beer. ray brings me strange things (like crazy middle eastern booze and flashcards that say "raincoat") because ray has been to many strange places. let's play a game... has ray been to turkey? answer: like, twenty times. has ray been to rural china? answer: um, of course. who hasn't? but has ray been to visit me? answer: i am so good at the Guilting. thank you, internet.

and these two fine specimens are the boys i came Here with. in the expanding cardboard hat (it's magic) you'll find The Ken. he is cool. maybe we will go see a movie at hollywood forever*. in the bicycle helmet (on the left), you will find the object of my affections (known here as Boy), who may or may not remain that way since he is going to kill me when he sees this picture on the worldwideweb. sorry. Boy and The Ken used to be roomies in rhode island. then i met Boy and became their weekend roomie. the picture in question was taken at our pre-move yard sale. there are more pictures actually, with other merchandise, i.e. electric carving knife, tricycle, vhs copy of scooby doo. you should be my friend just to see the pictures.


and this is pickles.

i have to eat and sew now.


*hollywood forever is a cemetary that shows movies. tonight: pee wee's big adventure!!! i love this idea!



July 01, 2005
um, yes i did.

so kristy has this thing called 'breezy elegance.' it should mean when you are actually elegant, ala Jackie O. but instead, it means when you are the complete opposite, ala me, today, when i actually literally peed my pants.

at Work.

that's right.

part of my job is to cover the receptionist (hi sherriann!) while she takes her lunch, meaning i have to sit up front and answer the phones. and not leave the desk. not even to go to the bathroom. thus the peeing. this is so not a good first impression for me to be making on my new eFriends.



talk hard

things to know:

1. i have no idea how to start this.

2. i eat cheerios every morning and have for nearly my entire life. i secretly believe that one day i will redeem my proofs-of-purchase and general mills will buy me a house. a big yellow house. :)

3. i like the red sox and the dodgers, because i am from boston but live here. this is technically allowed in My Family Rules because they are from two different leagues. if, however, they were to play in the series (i know) i am obligated to be pro-sox. it's the rules. also, i don't much like sports, but baseball is okay because there's hotdogs and beer.

4. desperately seeking my *golden state* but i am not sure exactly what i mean by this as yet. sorry, ninth grade english. no Clear Thesis here.

5. i hate The Math. currently, my job is in an accounting office. doing lots and lots of The Math. also i am working on a film festival, but that is fun and requires little of the Math.

6. i don't gots no "friends" as of yet. i know some people from Work, but crazy aunt purl is more my style. hear that purl? i'm coming for ya!!! we will knit and sew and drink (you wine, me vodka) and i will covet your kitties and vastly superior knitting know-how (don't worry pickles*, my shameless coveting doesn't mean i love you any less).

7. i wonder if maybe this is like a certain movie (insert clever post title) wherein an unreasonably sexy (you have no right, christian slater!!! no right!) and incredibly skinny boy has a pirate radio show (oooh pirates) and thinks no one is listening, but then they blow up their kitchens to prove they are? well, no need to blow up your kitchens. but there is need for pirates. individuals with out eye patch need not apply.



* pickles = my dog.



golden state