Hey Cuz.
We're sorry. But things could be worse - at least your kept yr shirt on.
Love,
Pygz
Friday, March 30, 2007
and with that, nielsen formally abandons us
what's worse:
constantly thinking that every single minor character in any given cop/crime drama on TV is played by That One Guy from "Wings", or being correct about it being That One Guy from "Wings"?
constantly thinking that every single minor character in any given cop/crime drama on TV is played by That One Guy from "Wings", or being correct about it being That One Guy from "Wings"?
chocolate city in spring
- spending this fair morning searching for bloody mary recipes. the less brunch-y, the better. Think: the type of beverage appropriate to inappropriate people; early mornings in lawn chairs; "bad language." please leave yr best at the beep, the spicier the better. i like a kick.
- related, heading to richmond tonight, where my bro has promised "my roommates will take good care of you." I am fearful, kind of.
- my favorite email exchange in a while: "you do realize that that's the night of the full moon!!"
- allergy alert level red: i am seconds away from clawing my own eyeballs out.
- related, heading to richmond tonight, where my bro has promised "my roommates will take good care of you." I am fearful, kind of.
- my favorite email exchange in a while: "you do realize that that's the night of the full moon!!"
- allergy alert level red: i am seconds away from clawing my own eyeballs out.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
once more with hip-hopera
screw you hipsters and your BtVS singalongs. I know EXACTLY what we'll be doing at our house the next time we throw a party, which now that I think about it hasn't really happened in like 3 years because we hate cleaning the bathrooms but OH HELL YES.
TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET SINGALONG. (!)
TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET SINGALONG. (!)
Also, Mariska Hargitay's hotness will skew their findings, at least in our house
Just like the TL, the Pyggy’s have recently been harassed by a robotic phone harpy who relays that while we are in no sort of trouble it would be advised to call back or our fingers may be chopped off with a cigar cutter like in Darkman. Fortunately for our digits, the message is for someone who I think is named Pham Houng and if Benny were to show up he would hopefully realize he has the wrong group of deadbeats.
In a similar – and equally violent – vein, in the past few days our household has been seriously jocked by the Nielsen Media Research group. It seems we are a perfect enough TV watching family that they deemed it necessary to twice send someone to our house to woo us.
Here’s my understanding of it: our house is at the most south-western corner of our neighborhood and solely based on that fact we are somehow eligible to represent every other building on the block. Our race, sex, bacon eating habits*, would characterize everyone else’s race, sex, bacon eating habits in a 30 household area. We would be TV Family Alpha for all you chumps. If we watched Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader: Making the Team last week, then everyone watched it. If that one guy down the street who works for the government as a librarian and is also married to another librarian decides to watch PBS Presents: High Brow Programming, well then, that’s to bad American because I was watching Hollow Man 2 on Sci-Fi last night. Veronica Mars, Friday Night Lights, Rome? All those shows can go to hell. We are not watching them and therefore no one is watching them. Ha HA!
Other bonuses? First, they’d send us hard dollars. Or “periodic thank you checks” as their pamphlet indicated. Also, if our TV or VCR were to malfunction during our participation with the Media Research they would happily foot half the bill. Half the bill! That’s literally dozens of dollars!
!
Unfortunately, there is a short list of disqualifiers that Nielsen keeps hidden from the public and at the end of the day it was determined we are not eligible to participate. They didn’t tell us exactly what went wrong but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact the Dick Wolf is my dad.
*as far as I know, I am the only person in our neighborhood that uses a smoker to make his own bacon.
In a similar – and equally violent – vein, in the past few days our household has been seriously jocked by the Nielsen Media Research group. It seems we are a perfect enough TV watching family that they deemed it necessary to twice send someone to our house to woo us.
Here’s my understanding of it: our house is at the most south-western corner of our neighborhood and solely based on that fact we are somehow eligible to represent every other building on the block. Our race, sex, bacon eating habits*, would characterize everyone else’s race, sex, bacon eating habits in a 30 household area. We would be TV Family Alpha for all you chumps. If we watched Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader: Making the Team last week, then everyone watched it. If that one guy down the street who works for the government as a librarian and is also married to another librarian decides to watch PBS Presents: High Brow Programming, well then, that’s to bad American because I was watching Hollow Man 2 on Sci-Fi last night. Veronica Mars, Friday Night Lights, Rome? All those shows can go to hell. We are not watching them and therefore no one is watching them. Ha HA!
Other bonuses? First, they’d send us hard dollars. Or “periodic thank you checks” as their pamphlet indicated. Also, if our TV or VCR were to malfunction during our participation with the Media Research they would happily foot half the bill. Half the bill! That’s literally dozens of dollars!
!
Unfortunately, there is a short list of disqualifiers that Nielsen keeps hidden from the public and at the end of the day it was determined we are not eligible to participate. They didn’t tell us exactly what went wrong but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact the Dick Wolf is my dad.
*as far as I know, I am the only person in our neighborhood that uses a smoker to make his own bacon.
trip
sure, sure, Grindhouse talk. what the N really wants to know is: where's teh buzz for The Tripper? The mere existence of this movie is one of very few conversational topics in our house lately, coming in close second only to why neither of us sleep anymore.
Insomnia is killng me.
Insomnia is killng me.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
"gilmore girls is on, so suck it"
(DoS epsiode #6 is up now. Lots of cursing so naturally, I'm a fucking fan.)
Kind of related, I'm trying not to cuss so much. Spring resolution.
Kind of related, I'm trying not to cuss so much. Spring resolution.
"also, there’s zombies getting killed by a helicopter"
Forget photoshopping my face onto Jordan's bod. I am now taking all submissions where I am photoshopped with a machine-gun leg. Get cracking, webz.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
bless the beasts & the children
Oh yeah - S. and I attended this years' Toddler Dance Recital on Saturday, starring a friend's 5 and 3 year old girls. 3 year old has now reached the mark on the "you must be this tall to pirouette" sign, so she was also participating in the animal-faerie-unicorn mindfuck, shenanigans you may recall from last year. Spouse of 2007 Award goes to me, for not forcing the N to join us.
I have nothing to report that isn't an exact repeat of Dance Report '06, except that five seconds after the loudspeaker announcement "no food or drink in the auditorium otherwise we'll get EVICTED and be forced to hold these recitals in the parking lot OMG!!!!1", S. threw an entire steaming cup of 7-11 coffee onto the floor.
Anyways. Oh my god kids, when did they get so freaking awesome? Is it just that this is a truly funny age to be around? Is my cold, black heart melting a little more with each passing year? WTF is going on here?
S. has this monster skill: an ability to simply shoot a child a look, half a second at most, and instantly transform said child into a raving lunatic. I don't really know how she does it. I think children and S. communicate on the same brain wavelengths or something. I walk into the kitchen to get a drink and everyone's calmly playing with toys, 30 seconds later I walk back in and the girls and their baby brother have hog-tied S. with Barbie clothes, she's laying on the floor shivering as they scream like banshees ("What time is it? IT's CRAZY TIME!!!!") and looks at me and whispers "Move slowly. They smell fear. It's like being in a room full of tiny pink velocoraptors."
A typical conversation from Sat. afternoon:
5 Year Old, holding pillow up to her ear: "RING RING. ANSWER YOUR PILLOW! It's ringing inside your head!"
Me: "Oh, sure, of course. How do I answer it again?"
5 Year Old: "By raising your EYEBROW!!!!!! (cue collapsing in fit of giggles until red-faced and sweaty)
It's like performance art, or that time with your college roommate during that LSD experience he had where all he wanted to do was read you his poetry while taking off all his clothes. Only, you know, if he had also been really, really short and missed naptime.
I have nothing to report that isn't an exact repeat of Dance Report '06, except that five seconds after the loudspeaker announcement "no food or drink in the auditorium otherwise we'll get EVICTED and be forced to hold these recitals in the parking lot OMG!!!!1", S. threw an entire steaming cup of 7-11 coffee onto the floor.
Anyways. Oh my god kids, when did they get so freaking awesome? Is it just that this is a truly funny age to be around? Is my cold, black heart melting a little more with each passing year? WTF is going on here?
S. has this monster skill: an ability to simply shoot a child a look, half a second at most, and instantly transform said child into a raving lunatic. I don't really know how she does it. I think children and S. communicate on the same brain wavelengths or something. I walk into the kitchen to get a drink and everyone's calmly playing with toys, 30 seconds later I walk back in and the girls and their baby brother have hog-tied S. with Barbie clothes, she's laying on the floor shivering as they scream like banshees ("What time is it? IT's CRAZY TIME!!!!") and looks at me and whispers "Move slowly. They smell fear. It's like being in a room full of tiny pink velocoraptors."
A typical conversation from Sat. afternoon:
5 Year Old, holding pillow up to her ear: "RING RING. ANSWER YOUR PILLOW! It's ringing inside your head!"
Me: "Oh, sure, of course. How do I answer it again?"
5 Year Old: "By raising your EYEBROW!!!!!! (cue collapsing in fit of giggles until red-faced and sweaty)
It's like performance art, or that time with your college roommate during that LSD experience he had where all he wanted to do was read you his poetry while taking off all his clothes. Only, you know, if he had also been really, really short and missed naptime.
Monday, March 26, 2007
I opted for the orange juice and Oreo knock-offs afterwards
Through some under the table dealings and nefarious investments we enjoyed a fat refund check from the gubbyment last year. Not so much in 2007. We managed a couple bucks from donating to charity and then the $40 that everyone got because whenever we called our grandmother to thank her for the birthday card we ended up funding the Spanish-American War.
It was thus decided that 2007 will be the Year Of The Donation because we don’t like paying any taxes and donating seems to throw up some kind of smoke screen. So while the G was goofing off on Saturday, I started giving. It took about five hours longer than it should have and it cost a little bit of sweat and some serious amounts of blood. Thoughts:
It was thus decided that 2007 will be the Year Of The Donation because we don’t like paying any taxes and donating seems to throw up some kind of smoke screen. So while the G was goofing off on Saturday, I started giving. It took about five hours longer than it should have and it cost a little bit of sweat and some serious amounts of blood. Thoughts:
- Donating clothes to Goodwill on Saturdays = chaos.
- Only nice, elderly women or incredibly weird people work in the Arlington Library system.
- Traveling to Iraq does not disqualify you from donating blood. The same goes for Jordan, Estonia, or Thailand. Also, eating a hamburger during a layover in London is the most dangerous thing I’ve done in the last ten years. And that includes handling civets in China.
- I do not know my blood type. The G thinks that this is disgraceful and on par with not knowing my SSN or skirt size. I say, whatever, I’ll just avoid getting whooped on by the cops during the next World Bank protest or standing in Freedom Plaza when Charles Ramsey is around. She has AB negative and thinks she’s God’s gift to the American Red Crescent because she’s a universal recipient. It also means that only other AB negatives can take her blood, which is about .000001% of the population. So when she donates her useless blood they usually just throw it away or do tests on it or feed it to mutated vampires, if Blade II is any sort of indicator.
- When giving blood in today’s modern library conference room donation setting, you now have an option of dealing with a distinctly non-Katherine Heigl-looking intern or a strangely Ellen Pompeo-looking robot. The robot will draw the blood automatically, take only the needed red blood cells, and then pump back the liquids that are less desirable. It’s called Alyx and I assume was designed but someone who didn’t like the idea of not being permitted to smoke for one hour after donating. I did not venture anywhere near Alyx out of a severe mistrust of any sort machine that seems to be programmed solely to harvest humane blood. However, I believe that instead of a needle it uses an arrangement of quickly rotating and jabbing bicycle gears.
- We should all agree the Christian Bale is pretty much the sexiest man alive in all creation and do away with any of People magazine’s attempts to argue otherwise.
project assway
Exiting the Walgreens, a young lady with a hair-down skaterbangs mohawk walked past me and smiled a huge giddy smile. She was wearing a super tight skirt with the tops of her stockings peaking out from underneath, her shirt read "I FUCKED YOUR BOYFRIEND" in old english lettering. She flounced like she'd taken walking lessons from Mr. Jay from Top Model. And I swear to gosh, it was the most disturbing thing I saw all day. Watching her tug down her skirt every couple steps, I felt like her mom. Then I just wanted to like, throw a burka over her like a Spidey net, and take her home and lecture her about how even though high school rebellion is a must, there is pletny of time coming up--her college years--in which to give it all away and dress like the dorm slut, and even be the dorm slut if she wants. I prayed that she is just in some Distillers style hardcore band and on her way to go play a show somewhere.
Cleaning yr closet when the windows are open and birds are chirping cutely, instead of psychotically, and neighbors are out grilling flank steaks and my dog is napping in cycles, following the sunbeam cast through the screen door around the living room carpet, all cute and snoozy and hot-eared? Difficult to the extreme, dude, but it needed to be done. Not only did it need to be done, but my MOMMY had to ride into town in her shiny black luxury sedan to help me. Because I am completely inept at this sort of thing. Keeping decade-old sundresses that my thighs and I will never donn again? Brilliant plan! Every single item I own that was once black and is now gray? I might need it, don't touch that teeeshirt. Old navy capri pants? Why, no, I couldn't tell you why I own these but NO NO NO DON'T THROW THEM OUT NOOOOOOOOO.
Also, I own aprox. 7,500 wire hangers from the dry cleaners. I horde them like an old spinster.
One time in 10th grade I had some sort of concert or awards ceremony or something and my mother realized she had raised a daughter who DID NOT OWN A DRESS, only converse and cutoffs even in February, so I had to borrow something appropriate, and Casey whats-his-name took one look at me as I walked into the auditorium and said "Wow. you are dressed just like your mom."
awesome.
Be prepared for more of that, only this time it's probably okay, or at least better than what I've been dreaming up fashion-wise on my own. After the Great Closet Purge of March 25th, I own like twenty articles of clothings total. and I kind of like it. New, monastic clothing experience. My mom just downed the last of her ginger ale, gathered up a bunch of bridesmaids dresses for prom season donation, and was all "Go shopping, I beg of you. I don't want to see you showing up at one more baby shower I throw looking homeless."
Cleaning yr closet when the windows are open and birds are chirping cutely, instead of psychotically, and neighbors are out grilling flank steaks and my dog is napping in cycles, following the sunbeam cast through the screen door around the living room carpet, all cute and snoozy and hot-eared? Difficult to the extreme, dude, but it needed to be done. Not only did it need to be done, but my MOMMY had to ride into town in her shiny black luxury sedan to help me. Because I am completely inept at this sort of thing. Keeping decade-old sundresses that my thighs and I will never donn again? Brilliant plan! Every single item I own that was once black and is now gray? I might need it, don't touch that teeeshirt. Old navy capri pants? Why, no, I couldn't tell you why I own these but NO NO NO DON'T THROW THEM OUT NOOOOOOOOO.
Also, I own aprox. 7,500 wire hangers from the dry cleaners. I horde them like an old spinster.
One time in 10th grade I had some sort of concert or awards ceremony or something and my mother realized she had raised a daughter who DID NOT OWN A DRESS, only converse and cutoffs even in February, so I had to borrow something appropriate, and Casey whats-his-name took one look at me as I walked into the auditorium and said "Wow. you are dressed just like your mom."
awesome.
Be prepared for more of that, only this time it's probably okay, or at least better than what I've been dreaming up fashion-wise on my own. After the Great Closet Purge of March 25th, I own like twenty articles of clothings total. and I kind of like it. New, monastic clothing experience. My mom just downed the last of her ginger ale, gathered up a bunch of bridesmaids dresses for prom season donation, and was all "Go shopping, I beg of you. I don't want to see you showing up at one more baby shower I throw looking homeless."
Friday, March 23, 2007
in the warriors code - there's no surrender
1. Songs I forgot how much I loved:
Goldcard - Rabbit
The Coral - Skeleton Key
2. Songs apparently I cannot buy on ITunes, even if there is still love:
Simian - La Breeze
3. I joined Facebook and am consequently terrified. oh interwob.
4. "Lil' Flip"
5. Some of my peer group have decided to run a 10k here in the next few weeks (not me). There will be posters. Oh yes, there will be posters.
Goldcard - Rabbit
The Coral - Skeleton Key
2. Songs apparently I cannot buy on ITunes, even if there is still love:
Simian - La Breeze
3. I joined Facebook and am consequently terrified. oh interwob.
4. "Lil' Flip"
5. Some of my peer group have decided to run a 10k here in the next few weeks (not me). There will be posters. Oh yes, there will be posters.
phew
omgz Columbus Ohio, you should be glad I didn't take a 2 AM road trip to BURN YOU DOWN last night.
seriously wtf.
seriously wtf.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
They get drunk off the berries
The Devil’s mockingbird has returned from wherever asshole birds spend the winter and is doing his best hollering outside our house again. He begins at least around 3am and continues past 7am, pausing only out of respect for the barking Jack Russell terrier who hates everybody and the yellow Hummer’s car alarm that goes off when the wind blows. But only at night. It also sounds as if he’s attempting to mimic the car alarm but he hasn’t managed to get all the down yet chords yet - fmaj7 is a tough when you don’t have hands.
Think I’m exaggerating? Good thing I carry my camera around with me when I walk the pooch and look in people’s windows at 6:30 in the morning. This is outside our bedroom, every night.
You could chalk all this up to springtime. And you could say I should be happy that there is at least some form of nature in our neighborhood. But we already have dogs and cats, squirrels and crows that rip into our garbage cans and steal our Flipz, skunks, foxes, and an opossum family. Loud mockingbirds are not appreciated. And if you want spring, how about the 200 robins that showed up last week and went nuts and guano-ed our cars.
Don’t believe that?
I’ve spot-shadowed at least 60 in this shot and that’s only a small part of the tree. Welcome to Alexandria, VA – Home to Weirdo Avian Phenomenon and one dillhole mockingbird.
Think I’m exaggerating? Good thing I carry my camera around with me when I walk the pooch and look in people’s windows at 6:30 in the morning. This is outside our bedroom, every night.
You could chalk all this up to springtime. And you could say I should be happy that there is at least some form of nature in our neighborhood. But we already have dogs and cats, squirrels and crows that rip into our garbage cans and steal our Flipz, skunks, foxes, and an opossum family. Loud mockingbirds are not appreciated. And if you want spring, how about the 200 robins that showed up last week and went nuts and guano-ed our cars.
Don’t believe that?
I’ve spot-shadowed at least 60 in this shot and that’s only a small part of the tree. Welcome to Alexandria, VA – Home to Weirdo Avian Phenomenon and one dillhole mockingbird.
jets to brazil
For those of you who missed Writing Club last night, a quick recap. For the next exercise, you can apparently take your pick between two exercises:
1. Radiohead fan fic, starring Catherine.
2. Or, erotica.
* * *
If it hasn't been previously mentioned, my brother is a lucky SOB. He is the kind of guy who regularly finds money on the street, always wins raffle contests, gets coffee for being the 100th customer of the week, etc. In school, if he had a big test coming up he wasn't prepared for, it was a given that the fire alarm would sound, or a tornado would magically appear from the skies. He basically has the most kickass karma of anyone I'v ever met save my spouse, and it is fucking obnoxious. Lifelong lottery winner. He's in the paper for something or another once a year: saving kittens from trees, walking down the street with a smile on his face, whatever: the camera loves him. Recently with the whole VCU-bball-thing, Superfan was interviewed by the evening news, captured on film for the local paper, and somehow, said same pic ended up on a v. famous sports website. Par for the course. My entire family has taken this opportunity to flood my inbox full of messages like "someday your 15 minutes will come- don't be jealous", "don't worry about being a local celebrity," and my favorite: "someday your real family will come for you and take you home and then you will be wealthy!"
You know what never stops being funny? Adoption jokes. From your parents. That they started making before you could walk.
* * *
My friend Eric is currently IM'ing from Rio all about how how he got held up in the bathroom at a soccer game last night by four rather wiry dudes with knives.
Completely unrelated to getting mugged by Brazilians: if you have been to the Cotswolds within the past few years, or done a similar backpacking/etc trip in the UK in recent times, please to email yrs truly.
1. Radiohead fan fic, starring Catherine.
2. Or, erotica.
* * *
If it hasn't been previously mentioned, my brother is a lucky SOB. He is the kind of guy who regularly finds money on the street, always wins raffle contests, gets coffee for being the 100th customer of the week, etc. In school, if he had a big test coming up he wasn't prepared for, it was a given that the fire alarm would sound, or a tornado would magically appear from the skies. He basically has the most kickass karma of anyone I'v ever met save my spouse, and it is fucking obnoxious. Lifelong lottery winner. He's in the paper for something or another once a year: saving kittens from trees, walking down the street with a smile on his face, whatever: the camera loves him. Recently with the whole VCU-bball-thing, Superfan was interviewed by the evening news, captured on film for the local paper, and somehow, said same pic ended up on a v. famous sports website. Par for the course. My entire family has taken this opportunity to flood my inbox full of messages like "someday your 15 minutes will come- don't be jealous", "don't worry about being a local celebrity," and my favorite: "someday your real family will come for you and take you home and then you will be wealthy!"
You know what never stops being funny? Adoption jokes. From your parents. That they started making before you could walk.
* * *
My friend Eric is currently IM'ing from Rio all about how how he got held up in the bathroom at a soccer game last night by four rather wiry dudes with knives.
Completely unrelated to getting mugged by Brazilians: if you have been to the Cotswolds within the past few years, or done a similar backpacking/etc trip in the UK in recent times, please to email yrs truly.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
strong enough for a man, made for a woman
Have you heard of The Secret? Me neither, and I am the last chump on earth to not know about this crap. It's apparently some sort of world-wide phenomenon, if by "world-wide phenomenon" one means "recently n heavily pimped by Harpo Industries." It's also the biggest Fun with a capital F to take over the Pyggy household since Luche Libre masks.
I finally read the whole thing at Costco last weekend, it's about the size and shape of one of those "100 Great Things About being a Grandma!" or "50 Sisters Talk About Friendship" mini-books you can buy at Hallmark for stocking stuffers for people you hate, and within 20 seconds both finished reading it cover-to-cover, and determined it was terrifically mistitled. I have a lot of alternate titles in mind, I'll leave them to the collective imagination of the Interhive.
Thus far, after some serious discussions on the topic, the N. has decided all he really wants is vintage AirPump Reeboks. The Secret has insisted he visualize himself in Pump Reeboks, so he goes around fake-inflating the tongues of his Adidas which is not annoying at all.
I have wished hardcore for dishes to be done, so far, with only some luck. Until the dog starts doing housework, I consider The Secret a failure. But I'm willing to keep trying.
Basically, everything in our lives has been handed over to the power of The Secret, while we've decided to watch Futurama episodes on repeat and eat Jello snack packs without spoons.
The Secret also let me know I don't have to diet, which is a relief, even though I wasn't planning on dieting anytime soon because dieting is for (food) quitters. I just need to expunge all thoughts of FEELING like I need to diet in the first place, and then all my 300 pounds of excess flab will simply fall off. It also suggested I post photos of myself at my ideal weight around the house. Related, the N has decided he wants me to have giant comicals breasts, just for the giggle factor, and has begun Project Secret Boobs: posting photos of me with my head photoshopped onto Jordan's body around the house. According to the Secret, if he believes hard enough, I will have triple E's, and this will make him laugh.
My favorite Secret: Hal Sparks girlfriend wished to find true love and the universe came back with an answer - Hal Sparks. (Also, if Hal Sparks gave her the book, that leads me to believe they were already in a relationship of some sort, so I'm totally confused on how this book helped this poor girl land... Hal Sparks.)
Also, tv show!
Thus ends my glorious non-review of The Secret. Go pick up a copy today.
* * *
IMs:
- - - -
The G: Wanna hear the two most frightening words in the English language?
k: Go.
The G: "rhinestone accents."
- - - -
k: so...i caught a larry king interview w/ heather mills while i was at the gym last night... does every shot of her dancing HAVE to zoom in on her leg. it freaks me out. and yes, i do realize that this makes me a bad person. and then she started talking about a move next week that they're going to do...and the leg might just come off.
The G: oh good lord. who cares if her leg falls off?
k: why would you do this to yourself?
The G: i am so UNCONCERNED about this
k: it's like an SNL skit waiting to happen
The G: please read the first entry, it encapsulates my feelings exactly
k: it's like her PR people realized that the divorce is almost finalized and then after that...there was no way to keep her in the spotlight
The G: i seriously know nothing about her. and kind of dont care at all. im so tired of celebrities. My new thing is instead of even thinking about tmz or perez hilton? i'm just reading about weird deaths and true crime storys online. crimelibrary.com? Way more interesting.
god. i am sick
k: ha. ew?
I finally read the whole thing at Costco last weekend, it's about the size and shape of one of those "100 Great Things About being a Grandma!" or "50 Sisters Talk About Friendship" mini-books you can buy at Hallmark for stocking stuffers for people you hate, and within 20 seconds both finished reading it cover-to-cover, and determined it was terrifically mistitled. I have a lot of alternate titles in mind, I'll leave them to the collective imagination of the Interhive.
Thus far, after some serious discussions on the topic, the N. has decided all he really wants is vintage AirPump Reeboks. The Secret has insisted he visualize himself in Pump Reeboks, so he goes around fake-inflating the tongues of his Adidas which is not annoying at all.
I have wished hardcore for dishes to be done, so far, with only some luck. Until the dog starts doing housework, I consider The Secret a failure. But I'm willing to keep trying.
Basically, everything in our lives has been handed over to the power of The Secret, while we've decided to watch Futurama episodes on repeat and eat Jello snack packs without spoons.
The Secret also let me know I don't have to diet, which is a relief, even though I wasn't planning on dieting anytime soon because dieting is for (food) quitters. I just need to expunge all thoughts of FEELING like I need to diet in the first place, and then all my 300 pounds of excess flab will simply fall off. It also suggested I post photos of myself at my ideal weight around the house. Related, the N has decided he wants me to have giant comicals breasts, just for the giggle factor, and has begun Project Secret Boobs: posting photos of me with my head photoshopped onto Jordan's body around the house. According to the Secret, if he believes hard enough, I will have triple E's, and this will make him laugh.
My favorite Secret: Hal Sparks girlfriend wished to find true love and the universe came back with an answer - Hal Sparks. (Also, if Hal Sparks gave her the book, that leads me to believe they were already in a relationship of some sort, so I'm totally confused on how this book helped this poor girl land... Hal Sparks.)
Also, tv show!
Thus ends my glorious non-review of The Secret. Go pick up a copy today.
* * *
IMs:
- - - -
The G: Wanna hear the two most frightening words in the English language?
k: Go.
The G: "rhinestone accents."
- - - -
k: so...i caught a larry king interview w/ heather mills while i was at the gym last night... does every shot of her dancing HAVE to zoom in on her leg. it freaks me out. and yes, i do realize that this makes me a bad person. and then she started talking about a move next week that they're going to do...and the leg might just come off.
The G: oh good lord. who cares if her leg falls off?
k: why would you do this to yourself?
The G: i am so UNCONCERNED about this
k: it's like an SNL skit waiting to happen
The G: please read the first entry, it encapsulates my feelings exactly
k: it's like her PR people realized that the divorce is almost finalized and then after that...there was no way to keep her in the spotlight
The G: i seriously know nothing about her. and kind of dont care at all. im so tired of celebrities. My new thing is instead of even thinking about tmz or perez hilton? i'm just reading about weird deaths and true crime storys online. crimelibrary.com? Way more interesting.
god. i am sick
k: ha. ew?
the messengers
Man, is there anything funnier than "out of office" messages on email? They can just be so... unexpected... sometimes. I'll be intertwined in v. important e-conversations about Edward 40-hands or weekend plans or gossiping about dumb bitches I hate or who owes what for that brick of cocaine we all agreed to split (kidding) and then whammo, someone leaves their computer and it's last train to PROFESSIONALISM CITY. This is exactly why, unlike many of my friends and family, my work email is strictly off-limits.
My brother has the best out of office message ever; I've just discovered: "Hello, This is Brother Last Name!"
Really? A hello and a formal introduction, followed by an exclamation point? I don't know why I'm finding this so funny, but I am cracking up. Possibly because the rest of the message also involved the word "medical."
okay, i'm done.
My brother has the best out of office message ever; I've just discovered: "Hello, This is Brother Last Name!"
Really? A hello and a formal introduction, followed by an exclamation point? I don't know why I'm finding this so funny, but I am cracking up. Possibly because the rest of the message also involved the word "medical."
okay, i'm done.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
PS - I have recently learned an amazing thing about Wonder Woman. More to come.
Granted, I did ask her to send me an IM reminder…
The G: Buy stamps.
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Do you go near the post office when you go out for lunch?
The G: Are you going to have time to buy stamps?
The G: You could get stamps when you get coffee.
The G: Did you buy stamps today?
The G: Have you bought stamps yet?
The G: What time does the post office close?
The G: What’s the one thing you have to do today?
The G: Did you get stamps, btw?
The G: Do you need a ride home?
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Could you bring the stamps home?
The G: Don’t forget: STAMPS.
I wish they had these when we sent out our wedding invitations. But the G gives them a rating of “Ooohh Bruuuuther!”
The G: Buy stamps.
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Do you go near the post office when you go out for lunch?
The G: Are you going to have time to buy stamps?
The G: You could get stamps when you get coffee.
The G: Did you buy stamps today?
The G: Have you bought stamps yet?
The G: What time does the post office close?
The G: What’s the one thing you have to do today?
The G: Did you get stamps, btw?
The G: Do you need a ride home?
The G: Don’t forget to buy stamps.
The G: Could you bring the stamps home?
The G: Don’t forget: STAMPS.
I wish they had these when we sent out our wedding invitations. But the G gives them a rating of “Ooohh Bruuuuther!”
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