Month: September 2006

Update: Okay. I’m kinda proud of myself because I clicked around and figured out it was a browser problem and I FIXED IT! YAY!

All that to say: Freak out over. Thank you for playing.

Someone please HELP!!

I was uploading an image from my scanner to the blog. I “tested” it out by publishing it privately, so I can see what it looks like on the blog without it being public yet. So I clicked on the image and accidentally clicked something that said “block images from worship naked,” and now, NOW — I can’t make this image appear AND all my other images on the blog are gone from the page. They’re still THERE, I just don’t know how to make them visible again. I managed to block everything and I don’t know how to UNblock it!

Oh, and if you’re barely seeing this because it’s all BLACK and there’s no beautiful Rubens girl banner anymore, UM, I THINK I DID THAT!!

Can anyone PLEASE help a poor, pathetic, techno-challenged woman???

OH, THE SHAME!! LOOK AWAY!

BUT NOT BEFORE YOU HEEELLPPP MEEEEE!!!

Um, a meme I found somewhere.

Complete the Thought:

Never again in my life: will I chase after a mama moose and her baby like I did one time in Montana. I am NOT Timothy Treadwell! I swear ….

When I was five: Hedy Hanson was my very best friend.

High School was: very icky.

I will never forget: when my dad said this to me.

I once met: Mark Morris, darling of the modern dance world. He choreographed a show I did in Seattle. He drank beer while working, had a pudgy belly and frequent tantrums and called me “baby.” I kinda thought he was insufferable, frankly. Sorry, modern dance world.

There’s this girl I know who: won’t eat ANY food that is white and creamy. She freaked out when she started breastfeeding.

By noon I’m usually: hungry.

Last night I: made Parmesan cheese biscuits. I thought they turned out “eh.”

Next time I go to church: it won’t be at the church of the worst person I’ve
ever known.

What worries me most: too many things right now.

When I turn my head right, I see: my teeny-weeny patio.

When I turn my head left, I see: my fireplace. See it??

You know I’m lying when: lie? Why, I never lie.

If I was a character written by Shakespeare, I’d be: Hmm … maybe Beatrice. Should I be Rosalind? Oh, I don’t know!

By this time, next year: I’ll be a year older.

A better name for me would be: Whitey McPaleface.

I have a hard time understanding: anything with numbers, God, the interminable career of Pat Sajak.

If I ever go back to school I’ll: be elected Homecoming Queen in a landslide, I’m sure.

You know I like you if: I tease you. Or do the Stingo voice. Lord.

Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferarro are: dead, dead, dead, alive. Um, right?

Take my advice, NEVER: do the Stingo voice.

My ideal breakfast is: crunchy bacon and scrambled eggs with cheese, pancakes, fruit. My usual breakfast is “nothing.”

A song I love, but do not have is: “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green.

If you visit my hometown, I suggest: breakfast at Brockton Villa, overlooking La Jolla Cove. Scrumptious food, scrumptious view.

Why won’t anyone: buy me this???

If you spend the night at my house, DO: be prepared to sleep on the “balloon bed.” If it’s good enough for Piper, it’s good enough for you, Crackie.

I’d stop my wedding for: a cash refund to run off and elope instead.

The world could do without: Rosie O’Donnell and overrated Krispy Kreme donuts. She IS an overrated Krispy Kreme donut.

I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: nothing! I cannot embrace this notion under any circumstances. Horror.

My favorite blonde is: that little niece of mine.

Paperclips are more useful than: that liquid paper stuff that works ONCE — and then the applicator gets all dried up and stuck inside.

San Diego means: Saint James. Also, “We are a corrupt Spanish-speaking city with no money and no cops and no border enforcement. Bienvenido a las terroristas! (Welcome, terrorists!)”

And by the way: you can embrace laziness and complete the thought on your own blog or in the comments, if you like.

Until 9/12. In honor of the 5th anniversary of 9/11: All who were lost and all who sacrificed.

Please go here for a moving, detailed, ongoing 9/11 Remembrance. Scroll down the page to the beginning; it’s SO worth it.

God help us all.

Check out the progress of Tonia and her family after Week 1 of “30 Days of Nothing.”

Inspiring.

Somehow, I’ve found myself utterly charmed by this new blog I’ve discovered. The author is a displaced Californian who, a dozen years years ago, abandoned her fast-paced life and plopped herself down on a “280-acre, 140-year-old farm in the middle of nowhere.”

Sounds kinda nice to me, somehow.

Check her out. And her daily farm photos. Whenever I visit there, I swear my heart rate slows down. So peaceful; so charming.

It’s a thing we sometimes do. We are on the bed. We are fully clothed. We are stressed or tired or happy or anything ….. and we just start wrassling. I am 5-foot-4 (and a half!). He is 6-foot-3 and a half. Still, we roll and wrassle and we chat, you see. And this will make no sense, mostly, because it’s so entirely random. So why not post it?? Whatevs, peeps …..

Oh, noo. Jeez! You’re freakishly fast. Ooof.

(someone is now sitting on top of someone else)

Remember when you used to love me?

Um, no.

Haha.

Remember when we used to have fun …. long before we ever met each other?

Hahaha.

(wrassling in earnest — some weak-minded cheater occasionally resorts to biting or tickling)

What are you DOING with those freaky monkey feet??

Get offa me with your suffocating hugeness!!

Don’t touch me with those gross Feetos! Seriously! Get away NOW!

(We retire to our corners. Discussion Theme: People are impossible bastards.)

Hey, look, I love you more than all the other impossible bastards in the world.

Oh, nice. So I’m an impossible bastard in this scenario?

But I love you.

Woo. Thanks.

(grab-tussle-block)

I could totally take you. Remember all those times I flipped you?

I remember you grabbed my arm and pulled.

In my mind I flipped you.

Impressive.

Don’t you understand that sometimes I just need to beat you up?

You are history’s worst monster.

I thought it was “history’s worst nightmare.”

NO! We’ve had this discussion. That doesn’t make any sense!

Okay. Sheesh. Calm down, Linus. You are history’s worst nightmare.

(head butts employed)

Later:

Singing a random tune: “My guitar wants to kill your mamaaa ….”

“What is Monkey Tar?”

“Monkey Tar? What’s that??”

“You said ‘Monkey Tar’.”

“No, I said ‘my guitar’.”

“Oh, hmm. I like Monkey Tar better.”

(meadering discussion about “Monkey Tar” and whether one of us is going deaf or stupid)

(Quiz:) Okay. Which of my thumbs has the long scar?

Um, the right one?

No!

Um, the left?

Ha.

Okay. Which of my knees has the scar from when I fell on the stupid carpet and ripped it open when I was 7?

The right.

No, try again.

(someone scurries to hide knees)

THE RIGHT.

NO, try again.

The left?

No. Try again.

It’s the right, you jerk. I knew it.

Are you hungry? I’m hungry.

Me too.

Let’s go.

Yeah, we’re done here.

First, New Girl at Work, gimme a break. Your name is Alexandra. Good name. Fine name. Whatever. Your nickname could be “Alex” or “Lexie,” even “Allie,” I guess. There ARE reasonable choices you could be called. You don’t have to resort to some gimmicky name that degrades you and me and everyone who hears it or dares to even breathe it.

That being said, New Girl at Work, I will NOT be calling you “Aquarius.”

I am now an apron-wearing, coffee-sloshing, milk-stained barista, but I still have my standards. My dignity. My sense of right and wrong. And this is just WRONG. Wrongwrongwrong. WRA-ONNNG.

Just …. oh, seriously. Slap yourself so I don’t have to. How ’bout I call you “Ack” for short? “Ack” is good. Ack. Just … ACK.

Or, really, I’m not going to bother to call you much of anything for this very reason:

Customer to ACK: What are you brewing right now?

ACK: Um …. (looking at labels, then looking at me) …. I don’t ….. uh … how do you say this one?

ME: Um, CO-LUM-BEE-YA.

ACK (pointing): What about this one?

ME: That’s ZIM-BOB-WAY, hon.

Customer to ME: I’ll just take the French Roast.

Two weeks tops, Ack. Buh-bye. SIGH-A-NAR-A.

stacy
warren
valerie
toby
robbie
carlyn
dale
gary
ken
punch girl
dog boy
reyn
james
janet
michelle
tim
dougie
diablo
spook
mrs. p

(See your name here? We might need to talk.)

I know this list isn’t even complete, but it’s been kind of cathartic.

Please … feel free to join in: Name the bullies you’ve known in your life.