I just peeled a piece of skin
off of my shin
that looks like a bird.
Ya heard?
Update: I have given the Shin Bird to my friend Pete. Pete believes that the pensive-looking bird I have peeled from my shin is Geddy Lee.
quiet and pensive
its thoughts apprehensive
the hours slipping away
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
B2: Three brooches? I am wearing THREE brooches!
My friend Arta shared this with me. I couldn't have summed up CNN any better.
Monday, July 28, 2008
W3: I think this one makes my boobs look smaller
Have you ever had a booger surprise you? This morning in the car I thought I had a runny nose because I could feel something wet threatening to fall out. So I grabbed a Kleenex and shoved it up my nose to soak up any unruly snot. However, to my delight and surprise, when I removed the Kleenex I felt a cold something come with it. I took a glance and saw that I had removed a bright green, extra snotty booger about 1.5 inches long. It sort of looked like a little clam. A green nose clam.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Also
I will try to post the rest of my Albania videos this weekend. I finally got them downloaded to my computer and that was the hardest part.
That's what she said.
That's what she said.
W...not sure and too lazy to look at my own boulder holder key
I just inspired myself to start blogging again. Perhaps more accurately put, I made a clever discovery that I would like to share.
It began when I decided to put on red lipstick after lunch. I began my day with a simple gloss because red lipstick is a task to wear, far too much for early mornings. For example, my mother often comes to me asking if she has lipstick all over her face and my answer is usually yes. Red lipstick tends to wander to her forehead and the bridge of her nose. This apple did not fall far from her makeup smearing tree, so I have learned to only wear red lipstick when I can commit a certain amount of energy to keeping it in place. That energy is spent pulling out my gilded compact mirror that is lovingly stored in a felt case about every 8 to 9 minutes to make sure I haven't inadvertently hit my mouth and relocated some MAC Viva Glam smudges anywhere on my face. Well, I don't know if you know this but the back of a new iPod is REALLY shiny. Like, mirror shiny. My new beloved iPod is carried with me everywhere I go and I am in between formal cases for it because the skins I have are too thick meaning the wheel never feels my touch (just as tragic as it sounds) and I am too poor to buy a new, thinner one. Lucky for me and my new beloved iPod, I am a Girl Scout and noticed that my travel package of Kleenex is the exact same size as my new beloved iPod. Guess what happened next? I slipped my new beloved iPod into my travel package of Kleenex. There it sits, snug as a bug yet simple to retrieve for both song changes and lipstick checks. Much easier that wrangling it out of the thick rubber skin that previously protected it from the hazards of my purse.
Isn't that amazing? An iPod fits perfectly inside a travel package of Kleenex. Aren't you glad I shared that revelation with you? Aren't you glad I am ready to write again?
It began when I decided to put on red lipstick after lunch. I began my day with a simple gloss because red lipstick is a task to wear, far too much for early mornings. For example, my mother often comes to me asking if she has lipstick all over her face and my answer is usually yes. Red lipstick tends to wander to her forehead and the bridge of her nose. This apple did not fall far from her makeup smearing tree, so I have learned to only wear red lipstick when I can commit a certain amount of energy to keeping it in place. That energy is spent pulling out my gilded compact mirror that is lovingly stored in a felt case about every 8 to 9 minutes to make sure I haven't inadvertently hit my mouth and relocated some MAC Viva Glam smudges anywhere on my face. Well, I don't know if you know this but the back of a new iPod is REALLY shiny. Like, mirror shiny. My new beloved iPod is carried with me everywhere I go and I am in between formal cases for it because the skins I have are too thick meaning the wheel never feels my touch (just as tragic as it sounds) and I am too poor to buy a new, thinner one. Lucky for me and my new beloved iPod, I am a Girl Scout and noticed that my travel package of Kleenex is the exact same size as my new beloved iPod. Guess what happened next? I slipped my new beloved iPod into my travel package of Kleenex. There it sits, snug as a bug yet simple to retrieve for both song changes and lipstick checks. Much easier that wrangling it out of the thick rubber skin that previously protected it from the hazards of my purse.
Isn't that amazing? An iPod fits perfectly inside a travel package of Kleenex. Aren't you glad I shared that revelation with you? Aren't you glad I am ready to write again?
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Back in America
I love free, fast Internet. Here are the first few videos. I will upload more as the week progresses.
Drinking at the Rome Airport from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
Going to Berat from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
At the Adriatic from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
More Adriatic Shots from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
More Adriatic from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
Drinking at the Rome Airport from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
Going to Berat from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
At the Adriatic from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
More Adriatic Shots from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
More Adriatic from Ryan Bell on Vimeo.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Take Note
I finally made it to Macy's and bought some new boulder holders. The KEY TO TITLE POSTINGS has been updated, so check it out and get a feel for my new tit slings. Ha. Get a feel. Feel mah tits!
W3: My imitation of CNN
THE APOCALYPSE IS COMING!
F-r-e-e that spells free, credit report dot com, baby.
YOUR CHILD IS PROBABLY AUTISTIC!
They monitor your credit, and send you email alerts! So you don't end up serving chowder to tourists in t-shirts!
HILLARY IS A WOMAN! OBAMA IS BLACK!
You can Steakums in the North, you can Steakums in the South, somethingsomethingsomething Steakums in your mouth.
THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE! Wait, no. It's in China. TED KENNEDY IS GONNA DIE!
F-r-e-e that spells free, credit report dot com, baby.
YOUR CHILD IS PROBABLY AUTISTIC!
They monitor your credit, and send you email alerts! So you don't end up serving chowder to tourists in t-shirts!
HILLARY IS A WOMAN! OBAMA IS BLACK!
You can Steakums in the North, you can Steakums in the South, somethingsomethingsomething Steakums in your mouth.
THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE! Wait, no. It's in China. TED KENNEDY IS GONNA DIE!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
B5 plus Shelf Bra: I really am going bra shopping this weekend
I have worked in several offices, although I have worked in my current location for the longest so it is my best frame of reference when making judgments about offices in general. In the length of my tenure, I have realized that there is a set of unwritten rules followed by the majority of office employees.
Let me share a few:
1. Ask mundane questions to fill dead air and fulfill illogical social norms on Monday mornings.
2. Never stand still long enough to hear anyone's answer to your questions.
3. Women: tell everyone about everything you have eaten in the past 24 hours and what you plan to eat in the next 24 hours. Be sure to include a calorie count or Weight Watchers point value.
4. Men: loiter around the receptionist's desk, make irrelevant small talk, and be sure to lean oh-so-casually and smirk the entire time you are struggling to make eye contact.
5. Go to the basement to take a dump in the building's public bathroom, because taking a trip down there at the same time everyday is much less conspicuous than just shitting in the less public office bathrooms.
6. Be certain that you are up to date on all current prime time reality television programming, such as Dancing with the Stars and American Idol, so that in between diet conversations you can argue with your co-workers about the validity of judgments on the programs as well as the possibility that the programs are rigged while dismissing any possibility that none of it matters. You know, in the grand scheme of things, i.e. THE STATE OF THE UNIVERSE.
7. Decide: Is Hilary a bitch or is Obama a Muslim? Remember, you must subscribe to one belief or the other.
8. Burn everything you put in the toaster.
9. See if you can beat technology: every time you send an email, walk briskly to the intended recipient's desk and tell them that you just sent them an email. If you arrive before the email, feel free to have an extra Girl Scout Thin Mint at lunch (35 calories, <1 Weight Watchers point!)
10. Disregard anything your mother taught you about being greedy. If you see cake or cookies anywhere in the office, be sure to hover around them until someone can tell you who they are for and whether or not you can have some. If you choose to indulge, be sure to chase those emails! If not, make sure you explain the restrictions of your diet to anyone within earshot.
I am glad that Corporate America is such a good paying madame. My paychecks work as quite the salve on my wounds of Tedium and abrasions of Annoyance. (I know, my prose is down right poetic.)
Let me share a few:
1. Ask mundane questions to fill dead air and fulfill illogical social norms on Monday mornings.
2. Never stand still long enough to hear anyone's answer to your questions.
3. Women: tell everyone about everything you have eaten in the past 24 hours and what you plan to eat in the next 24 hours. Be sure to include a calorie count or Weight Watchers point value.
4. Men: loiter around the receptionist's desk, make irrelevant small talk, and be sure to lean oh-so-casually and smirk the entire time you are struggling to make eye contact.
5. Go to the basement to take a dump in the building's public bathroom, because taking a trip down there at the same time everyday is much less conspicuous than just shitting in the less public office bathrooms.
6. Be certain that you are up to date on all current prime time reality television programming, such as Dancing with the Stars and American Idol, so that in between diet conversations you can argue with your co-workers about the validity of judgments on the programs as well as the possibility that the programs are rigged while dismissing any possibility that none of it matters. You know, in the grand scheme of things, i.e. THE STATE OF THE UNIVERSE.
7. Decide: Is Hilary a bitch or is Obama a Muslim? Remember, you must subscribe to one belief or the other.
8. Burn everything you put in the toaster.
9. See if you can beat technology: every time you send an email, walk briskly to the intended recipient's desk and tell them that you just sent them an email. If you arrive before the email, feel free to have an extra Girl Scout Thin Mint at lunch (35 calories, <1 Weight Watchers point!)
10. Disregard anything your mother taught you about being greedy. If you see cake or cookies anywhere in the office, be sure to hover around them until someone can tell you who they are for and whether or not you can have some. If you choose to indulge, be sure to chase those emails! If not, make sure you explain the restrictions of your diet to anyone within earshot.
I am glad that Corporate America is such a good paying madame. My paychecks work as quite the salve on my wounds of Tedium and abrasions of Annoyance. (I know, my prose is down right poetic.)
Friday, May 2, 2008
B4: I am looking at 10 days of freedom
My semester is officially over. Now it is time to indulge in some quality fiction reading (see: Updike, John) and general laziness for the next ten days. Then, my very first Maymester. Yes, I am popping my summer school cherry.
Despite my status as a full-time student, I think it is only fair to admit that I am an old woman. I came to this conclusion the other day in the stairwell of my office some time around 5:15. There I stood, in my ankle length black dress adorned with three (yes, three) broaches holding my Le Sportsac purse, stressed about being able to fulfill a variety of commitments simultaneously. The stress won and drew a few tears. I fumbled through my purse, withdrew an Easter-print tissue, and dabbed my eyes. That's right. I dabbed my eyes with a festive Kleenex. Then I went to an Etta James concert.
Also: if you don't believe in sex after 60, attend an Etta James concert.
Despite my status as a full-time student, I think it is only fair to admit that I am an old woman. I came to this conclusion the other day in the stairwell of my office some time around 5:15. There I stood, in my ankle length black dress adorned with three (yes, three) broaches holding my Le Sportsac purse, stressed about being able to fulfill a variety of commitments simultaneously. The stress won and drew a few tears. I fumbled through my purse, withdrew an Easter-print tissue, and dabbed my eyes. That's right. I dabbed my eyes with a festive Kleenex. Then I went to an Etta James concert.
Also: if you don't believe in sex after 60, attend an Etta James concert.
Monday, April 21, 2008
P1: Morning mental boners
For the first hour that I am awake I am at the mercy of myself, hoping I can coax my mood away from the dark side. My brain is especially nubile during this time, and I choose to believe that this is part of the reason I can be such a wretch early in the morning. When my thought process is interrupted, I simply don't have the coping skills to recover and as a result am furious that I have been pulled out of my mind and into the world before I am damn well ready. So, in the ideal situation everyone around me acts as though I am not there until I approach them, so as to be sure that I am officially capable of communicating with them without fear of decapitation.
Despite the potential dangers of the early morning, often times I find myself enjoying a set of thoughts and sensations that never happen once I am more fully awake. Perhaps because I am less aware of reality, still lulling about in my subconscious, and we all know that is where the fun stuff lies. Anyway, all of this leads me to my point: there is very little in this world more gratifying than hearing the conversation in a piece of music. Not lyrically, but in the way a piece is played. If conditions are in my favor, I can actually hear the the taunting of a lover, the tension following which is relieved by a series of tickles and some heated sex, powered by frustration and a genuine lust.
When I hear the sex in a series of guitar licks, I get a charge through my chest and a little heat in my middle, the thrill of a voyeur learning something deliciously intimate about a favorite subject of my desire. So, please: if you are ever near me in the morning, please don't startle me out of my filthy subconscious. It's warm in there and the cold shock of the real world is nothing I am prepared to deal with until I have mentally boinked my subject of lust at least once.
Despite the potential dangers of the early morning, often times I find myself enjoying a set of thoughts and sensations that never happen once I am more fully awake. Perhaps because I am less aware of reality, still lulling about in my subconscious, and we all know that is where the fun stuff lies. Anyway, all of this leads me to my point: there is very little in this world more gratifying than hearing the conversation in a piece of music. Not lyrically, but in the way a piece is played. If conditions are in my favor, I can actually hear the the taunting of a lover, the tension following which is relieved by a series of tickles and some heated sex, powered by frustration and a genuine lust.
When I hear the sex in a series of guitar licks, I get a charge through my chest and a little heat in my middle, the thrill of a voyeur learning something deliciously intimate about a favorite subject of my desire. So, please: if you are ever near me in the morning, please don't startle me out of my filthy subconscious. It's warm in there and the cold shock of the real world is nothing I am prepared to deal with until I have mentally boinked my subject of lust at least once.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
B3: Glad I don't work for American Airlines
I went to the gym last night for the first time in about two weeks. Following a brutal workout my brother sent me, by the time I got to the last move which involved me balancing on the half-ball thing while doing a military press, I was literally trembling from my neck to my feet. Sucked.
Well, there is nothing like a good workout to get the blood flowing, especially to one's swimsuit parts. I decided to take advantage of my new resident boyfriend and use his wiener for some late night relief. On a twin-size bed shoved against the wall. Bad idea. We were like two fat kids chasing the ice cream truck; we weren't going to give up not matter how many times we had to stop to catch our breath and wipe the sweat out of our eyes. It wasn't pretty and today my legs feel like rubber.
In related news: I forgot to put on deodorant this morning. My friend had some Speed Stick in her desk, the old skool green kind, so I smell like boys' gym class 1987. Pretty.
Well, there is nothing like a good workout to get the blood flowing, especially to one's swimsuit parts. I decided to take advantage of my new resident boyfriend and use his wiener for some late night relief. On a twin-size bed shoved against the wall. Bad idea. We were like two fat kids chasing the ice cream truck; we weren't going to give up not matter how many times we had to stop to catch our breath and wipe the sweat out of our eyes. It wasn't pretty and today my legs feel like rubber.
In related news: I forgot to put on deodorant this morning. My friend had some Speed Stick in her desk, the old skool green kind, so I smell like boys' gym class 1987. Pretty.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
B4: Mark your calendars: my underwear match my bra today
I have a mild case of the whatifs this morning. The whatifs can cause severe itching, restlessness, nausea, and general malcontent. It has only been in the past three years or so that I have suffered from the whatifs. Infections tend to be sporadic but well spaced, giving me ample time for recovery between bouts. The case I am suffering from now I believe was sparked by hormones mixed with a lack of sleep and an overdose of the Internet. Of course, those of us suffering from overactive imaginations and an inflated sense of worth are more prone to whatifs. We are susceptible to its powers of delusion and the completely overwhelming sense of grief, confusion, and total disappoinment that it can cause. Beware the whatifs my friends. They can be crippling.
On another note, I have got to go bra shopping. I don't even want to go back and count how many times I have worn this bra in the past two months. All of my comfortable grandma bras are worn out and give me grandma boobs. Last Friday I wore one to work and everytime I sat down at my desk it felt like my tits were resting on my lap. Pretty.
On another note, I have got to go bra shopping. I don't even want to go back and count how many times I have worn this bra in the past two months. All of my comfortable grandma bras are worn out and give me grandma boobs. Last Friday I wore one to work and everytime I sat down at my desk it felt like my tits were resting on my lap. Pretty.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
B3: Letter of Recommendation
I understand Ryan Bell to be an intellectually mature woman with a greatly curious nature, even though she can’t seem to put on a shirt in a proper manner. There is no doubt in my mind that Ryan is acutely aware and uncommonly astute when observing people, places, and circumstance. I value our lengthy discussions about the nature of the world around us, but I am willing to admit that I was mildly discomfited to discover she has an apparent attraction to gnomes. I find her to be well-read, worldly, and quite articulate, which combine to make her an admirable and enjoyable conversationalist, particularly when she asks strangers if they are talking about “fucking dead chicks.” Her writing skills are what I consider to be well above average. As much as I enjoy speaking with Ryan, it is through her written work that I see her shine the most. With an innate sense for powerful prose as well as her constant observations and digestion of the world, Ryan’s writing is insightful and prolific, and quite often very pervy.
Ryan’s curiosity is what leads me to believe that she will make an excellent librarian. As a librarian myself, I have been able to give Ryan an insight on the world of library and information sciences, and no matter how much I talk about the weird homeless people, the absurdly ineffectual directors, and the constant lack of respect from faculty, she still seems to be interested. Her interest in the topic seems to expand each time we get to talk about the elements of librarianship, particularly when I mention that all guys want to be able to say that they’ve nailed a librarian. The constant current of interest that seems to charge Ryan is what will serve her best as a librarian. I am certain she has the mental abilities to be a good librarian; however, it is her drive to learn and share her knowledge that will make her a great librarian. (And her intense interest in the deep dickin’.)
Above all, Ryan is a singular thinker. I have no doubt that most people who meet Ryan do not forget her. (Lord, that’s the truth.) There is a lot of life in Ryan and she has the colorful sort of character that could energize a library and everyone that walks through its doors. Her self-discipline is of the highest order, but her humor keeps things easy. Ryan Bell would be an asset to the world of library science. (Just keep the gnomes away from her.)
Ryan’s curiosity is what leads me to believe that she will make an excellent librarian. As a librarian myself, I have been able to give Ryan an insight on the world of library and information sciences, and no matter how much I talk about the weird homeless people, the absurdly ineffectual directors, and the constant lack of respect from faculty, she still seems to be interested. Her interest in the topic seems to expand each time we get to talk about the elements of librarianship, particularly when I mention that all guys want to be able to say that they’ve nailed a librarian. The constant current of interest that seems to charge Ryan is what will serve her best as a librarian. I am certain she has the mental abilities to be a good librarian; however, it is her drive to learn and share her knowledge that will make her a great librarian. (And her intense interest in the deep dickin’.)
Above all, Ryan is a singular thinker. I have no doubt that most people who meet Ryan do not forget her. (Lord, that’s the truth.) There is a lot of life in Ryan and she has the colorful sort of character that could energize a library and everyone that walks through its doors. Her self-discipline is of the highest order, but her humor keeps things easy. Ryan Bell would be an asset to the world of library science. (Just keep the gnomes away from her.)
Friday, March 7, 2008
B4: Today I go to the Big Easy...fo' sheezy
Want to see where I will be spending my 25th birthday?
Go here if you want to see more: http://www.united-albania.com/albania-in-photos/13.html
Go here if you want to see more: http://www.united-albania.com/albania-in-photos/13.html
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
B4: Yeah, I have worn this bra a lot lately.
Journalists are a special breed. Those on CNN and contributing to CNN could disappear and I wouldn't mind. However, the ones that say things like "officers used a conductive energy device, popularly known as a Taser, to subdue" a suspect are okay by me. Perhaps their intentions do not match my delight, but nonetheless I am amused by the idea of a Taser being a calming force. Like it smooths the suspects hair while verbally coercing him/her into submission. As though a crippling amount of electrical charge has nothing to do with it.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
B4: Battle Wounds
I am currently suffering from three injuries sustained this weekend and an ornery wisdom tooth.
Injury 1: Bruise on the top of my left foot, bright blue, the shape and size of an extra large egg.
Injury 2: Very tight and sore neck muscles.
Injury 3: Splinter in my left pinky finger.
Injuries 1 and 2 were sustained on the dance floor of S4, my favorite gay hot spot for ogling sweaty boys. Roxanne and I really tore it up, created an array of new dance moves, and the injuries were totally worth it.
Injury 3 was sustained whilst I tossed about a squeaky play-thing with my favorite canine. I swiped the wall with my hand and somehow managed to snag the teeny-tiny splinter now happily residing deep inside the flesh, far too deep to just push out. Trust me, I have tried (for several hours yesterday). I wish it would fester faster.
As for my ornery wisdom tooth, it can just kiss my ass. I thought I had the fucker all the way in, but apparently not. Now I can't decide if it is sore just because it is cutting through or if I am in the intial stages of another infection. If this is the case...I don't want to discuss this as a possibility because I cannot face the idea of that kind of pain all over again. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to grow my wisdom teeth because then I would know I was a grown up. I should have focused my grown-up dreams more on learning how to do my taxes and less on having the Devil sprout in my mouth.
Injury 1: Bruise on the top of my left foot, bright blue, the shape and size of an extra large egg.
Injury 2: Very tight and sore neck muscles.
Injury 3: Splinter in my left pinky finger.
Injuries 1 and 2 were sustained on the dance floor of S4, my favorite gay hot spot for ogling sweaty boys. Roxanne and I really tore it up, created an array of new dance moves, and the injuries were totally worth it.
Injury 3 was sustained whilst I tossed about a squeaky play-thing with my favorite canine. I swiped the wall with my hand and somehow managed to snag the teeny-tiny splinter now happily residing deep inside the flesh, far too deep to just push out. Trust me, I have tried (for several hours yesterday). I wish it would fester faster.
As for my ornery wisdom tooth, it can just kiss my ass. I thought I had the fucker all the way in, but apparently not. Now I can't decide if it is sore just because it is cutting through or if I am in the intial stages of another infection. If this is the case...I don't want to discuss this as a possibility because I cannot face the idea of that kind of pain all over again. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to grow my wisdom teeth because then I would know I was a grown up. I should have focused my grown-up dreams more on learning how to do my taxes and less on having the Devil sprout in my mouth.
Friday, February 29, 2008
B4: C'est Friday, Bitches
And I am looking mighty hooterlicious. What? I am a RECEPTIONIST. That's French for "girl who answers phones, sexually harasses, and has pillowy knockers."
Also, I have gotten a lot of free stuff as of late: Sprinkles cupcakes (blegh), Krispy Kreme donuts, an ENTIRE PACK OF GUM, all for putting up with vendor and head-hunters' bullshit. Plus, in what I like to consider karmic retribution for not purposely running anyone off the road in rush hour traffic, I got a free sample of Chick Fil A little breakfast nugget somethings.
Sigh. I love being a good person and getting rewarded.
Also, I have gotten a lot of free stuff as of late: Sprinkles cupcakes (blegh), Krispy Kreme donuts, an ENTIRE PACK OF GUM, all for putting up with vendor and head-hunters' bullshit. Plus, in what I like to consider karmic retribution for not purposely running anyone off the road in rush hour traffic, I got a free sample of Chick Fil A little breakfast nugget somethings.
Sigh. I love being a good person and getting rewarded.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
B2: Foggy day in Ol' Funky Town
Sometimes I wonder if maybe we should simply be thankful that a giant hasn't reached down and plucked one of our skyscrapers to use as a toothpick. I bet if giants were to eat us, we would taste like Nerds.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
B1: School started and I miss my Target afternoons
The familiar and welcome wave of anxiety has hit. Going to rock concerts helps break the monotonity, but eating foot long hot dogs against your better judgement could lead to some late night discomfort.
Dave Grohl: I wish I could strut like you.
Old guy in front of me at the concert: I wish you farted less.
Dave Grohl: I wish I could strut like you.
Old guy in front of me at the concert: I wish you farted less.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
B1: Target is your friend
FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, WHEN IS SCHOOL GOING TO START? I don't deal well with all of this free time on my hands. I have got to learn to be more proactive. Otherwise, my school loans will never ever end. And how am I going to write my first best-seller without a little thing called self-motivation? I wish there were a virtual editor for hire. Like a service that would call you every two hours until you started submitting material through email. Then the calls would be vaguely encouraging, just enough to keep you going, keep your ass in the chair and your fingers moving. It would have to be a recorded voice however, because a real person might find my inevitable outbursts of frustration and excitement a bit abrasive. I mean, some people just don't respond well to my expletives, especially when they are trying to encourage me. However, "motherfucking shit fart fuck asshole donkey loving cotton candy cunt" can be a rather cathartic mantra, so I couldn't deny myself its healing qualities. I might propose this idea to Mom. She has a knack for becoming temporarily deaf to my squealings and tuning it at just the right moment to provide a few words of encouragement. When I recieve my first fat royalties check, I will make sure she is sufficiently compensated for her patience and understanding.
On another note, making cafe au laits is almost as fun as drinking them. That is, when one has little more to do that pet the dog and make sure the couch doesn't fly away.
On another note, making cafe au laits is almost as fun as drinking them. That is, when one has little more to do that pet the dog and make sure the couch doesn't fly away.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
B4: Puppy's got her sweater on
If I could throw poop at an idea, I would throw poop at New Years' resolutions. If I could throw poop at a person, I would have thrown poop at the guy behind me in line at the post office that said he refused to use the self-serve postage machine because it didn't say "God Bless You." If I could throw poop at a picture, I would have thrown poop at the picture of Vince Vaughn fellating an ice cream cone that made me want an ice cream cone RIGHT NOW.
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