Breaking my '05 rule of not discussing work ever-so-briefly:
(If anyone knows of a job opening at their company, or their friend's company, or their great-aunt Mathilda's company, or the guy who rides the MetroBus with you in the morning's company, let me know. Anything marketing/PR/media/writing/communications related; heavy concentration in exhibit coordination/trade show guru-izing/event planning and/or internal corporate communications, let me know. Background in design/art directing and publishing. Prefer to stay in private sector at all costs. I am a jill of all trades in stuff such as this. Also, I am fun, smart, good to grab lunch with, educated, and hardworking, regardless of what persona this blog seems to present. Also, I have a resume to send you. It's sharp. When I write usually, you know, for RILL LIFE, I do not write in blog-style. I prefer something more sophisticated, natch. As an added bonus, I come bearing other special added bonuses, which I can reveal should you see my sparkling promise and email me. You're baffled, internets, I can tell.)
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Monday, January 02, 2006
cool, but not cold
Blogga, I missed you, kind of. Today, I've spent seven hours in the back of a jeep with a dog who licks his own ass breathing in my face. Also, I hover-style-peed in a Norge, VA Kentucky Fried Chicken that hasn't had a soap dispenser since Clinton was hanging round DC, and then watched my husband order in the SAME DRIVE THROUGH and eat biscuits made from the workers unwashed hands. Baby, tillykke med fødselsdagen to me.
But, my vacation was spectacular, and I can state with pretty much certainty that none of you drunkenly (whiskey) filmed a zombie car crash movie with your friends new video camera-thingy as the clock struck 12, alright. I'm totally having a screeening soon. There is a chick-fight scene that is epic (I pull hair), and we are some ad-lib geniii. That, my friends, is a way to ring in a new fucking year.
Other hi-lites of the little vacation that could included the consumption of $300 or so worth of groceries; "App. to App." game which is hilarity in a party crate, woot woot; "Fishing with John" videos that remained unwatched but still looked pretty funny; and I bought a tee shirt with alion on it and several pairs of new pants that are kind of like Mom-jeans. I am one short half-skip away from the backs of all my pants being elastic already, it is that hot. The N received a hand-grip strength measuring device to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. We spent five days in serious competition as to who has the strongest grip. I can't find the actual version, it's digital and talks to you and gives your strength-score via robot voice. I, by the way, am pretty strong.
Also, we went bowling during Russian disco night. Lots of blacklights and Guess jeans.
* * *
(Personal to Catherine: Toni Morrison. I win.)
But, my vacation was spectacular, and I can state with pretty much certainty that none of you drunkenly (whiskey) filmed a zombie car crash movie with your friends new video camera-thingy as the clock struck 12, alright. I'm totally having a screeening soon. There is a chick-fight scene that is epic (I pull hair), and we are some ad-lib geniii. That, my friends, is a way to ring in a new fucking year.
Other hi-lites of the little vacation that could included the consumption of $300 or so worth of groceries; "App. to App." game which is hilarity in a party crate, woot woot; "Fishing with John" videos that remained unwatched but still looked pretty funny; and I bought a tee shirt with alion on it and several pairs of new pants that are kind of like Mom-jeans. I am one short half-skip away from the backs of all my pants being elastic already, it is that hot. The N received a hand-grip strength measuring device to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. We spent five days in serious competition as to who has the strongest grip. I can't find the actual version, it's digital and talks to you and gives your strength-score via robot voice. I, by the way, am pretty strong.
Also, we went bowling during Russian disco night. Lots of blacklights and Guess jeans.
* * *
(Personal to Catherine: Toni Morrison. I win.)
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
one mo time, w. feeling
HAPPY OUGHTSIX! Y'ALL!
Us kids are off to the far reaches of the Mid-Atlantic, sans internet, for a few days of loafing. I will have a COMPUTER, just not Internets, don't worry, there is great need to work on my novel and stuff. I am such the creative type and all, v. dedicated to my craft. And watching videos in the back seat of the car. Girl don't like to drive, yo. Girl like to take naps in the back seat! And eat tiny cylinders of Pringles from gas stations! Wear flannel pants! Conduct massive off-key singalongs! Etc!
Like I may have mentioned good effing riddance, 0-5. You can suck it.
(P.S. I am going to construct a most magnificent mural, or something.)
(P.P.S. Question just posed to me - In OUGHTSIX, do you think Passions will still be on? Because I wasn't really aware it was still showing during NBC's midday rotation. I thought it was cancelled right around the time of the little person/doll dramatic death knoll? Also, there was an orangutan on that show. I only know all this because when TR was unemployed, he would call me every day to update me on soap storylines. It took me weeks to realize he was talking about a television show, and not just ranting maniacally/acid tripping. Anyways, Passions. Still on. Who knew. Thanks for the update from my girl on the streets, DJ Kingpin.)
Us kids are off to the far reaches of the Mid-Atlantic, sans internet, for a few days of loafing. I will have a COMPUTER, just not Internets, don't worry, there is great need to work on my novel and stuff. I am such the creative type and all, v. dedicated to my craft. And watching videos in the back seat of the car. Girl don't like to drive, yo. Girl like to take naps in the back seat! And eat tiny cylinders of Pringles from gas stations! Wear flannel pants! Conduct massive off-key singalongs! Etc!
Like I may have mentioned good effing riddance, 0-5. You can suck it.
(P.S. I am going to construct a most magnificent mural, or something.)
(P.P.S. Question just posed to me - In OUGHTSIX, do you think Passions will still be on? Because I wasn't really aware it was still showing during NBC's midday rotation. I thought it was cancelled right around the time of the little person/doll dramatic death knoll? Also, there was an orangutan on that show. I only know all this because when TR was unemployed, he would call me every day to update me on soap storylines. It took me weeks to realize he was talking about a television show, and not just ranting maniacally/acid tripping. Anyways, Passions. Still on. Who knew. Thanks for the update from my girl on the streets, DJ Kingpin.)
noted II
One: January 2 is the reg. deadline for the Winter Block of Girl's Rock n Roll Camp: Portland. I think, anyways- somewhere else on the site, it said that sessions actually START on the 2nd. Anyhoos. This is exciting if you are 11, and live in Portland, and like to shred.
Two: Also, this prospect. This is exciting if you are 18, or 25, or 45, or 85, and live anywhere, and have saved a fistful of $50 dollar bills in an empty pickle jar, for a rainy day or something. Also good if you know someone to crash with in Portland come May. This is exciting enough to force my friend Ricky to push aside the embroidery machine in his basement and throw down an air mattress for a few days. Pr0tLaNd, here I come.
Three: There is fudge in the office kitchen today.
Two: Also, this prospect. This is exciting if you are 18, or 25, or 45, or 85, and live anywhere, and have saved a fistful of $50 dollar bills in an empty pickle jar, for a rainy day or something. Also good if you know someone to crash with in Portland come May. This is exciting enough to force my friend Ricky to push aside the embroidery machine in his basement and throw down an air mattress for a few days. Pr0tLaNd, here I come.
Three: There is fudge in the office kitchen today.
noted
(another rousing battle cry/ get yr groupies together for a hot night re: the Prefuse 73 show at BC on Friday. I'm going to be on vacation, but if I were in town.... well, then you'd know where to find me. One Word Extinguisher? Reaaalllllllllly good.)
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Like that breakdancing robot that caught on fire.
I'll be leaving the other three-quarter of the site to report on Christmas and how various family members ruined it.* While the celebration of the Lord's birth was certainly a fine and engorged day, it's the Eve that held my attention.
According to league historians, I appeared in the 14th Xmas Eve bowl and can report another injury free year. (Though I'm still nursing a sore groin due to poor planning. It was discovered minutes before kickoff that I had brought two left cleats and had to play with a tennis shoe on the right. It made me easier to defend, as I could only cut in one direction and bit it several times on the icy field. I was also regulated to kickoff duty in honor of two-shoed kickers everywhere) In the end, one team won and we all limped home to our wives and basted turkeys.
This was all just a prelude to the main event. I grabbed the dog, (still half cleated) and hobbled down to Gravely Point to watch the water skiing Santa. Unfortunaetly, we had the wrong Potomac beach park and had to list down a few 1000 yards to join the excited crowds at Lady Bird Johnson Park to witness this wondrous (going on its first year) tradition.
The children love Santa and his four wake boarding reindeer.
But I found the real hero of the day to be the jet skiing Grinch.
Most of the kids around me (I may have been the only adult without children unless the dog counts) loved the Grinch and his antics. He would spin around and do all those crazy trick that made Waterworld and that Jessica Alba/sunken treasure movie so boss.
But his greatest feat was his endless harassment of the Butterstick boat.
You get him Grinch! Splash that filthy panda! It's what the people want.
*This includes the 30 minutes the Duchess and I spent explaining to my grandfather how his new digital camera turns on. He thanked me by ridiculing my rather conservative haircut while drinking scotch out of a mason jar
According to league historians, I appeared in the 14th Xmas Eve bowl and can report another injury free year. (Though I'm still nursing a sore groin due to poor planning. It was discovered minutes before kickoff that I had brought two left cleats and had to play with a tennis shoe on the right. It made me easier to defend, as I could only cut in one direction and bit it several times on the icy field. I was also regulated to kickoff duty in honor of two-shoed kickers everywhere) In the end, one team won and we all limped home to our wives and basted turkeys.
This was all just a prelude to the main event. I grabbed the dog, (still half cleated) and hobbled down to Gravely Point to watch the water skiing Santa. Unfortunaetly, we had the wrong Potomac beach park and had to list down a few 1000 yards to join the excited crowds at Lady Bird Johnson Park to witness this wondrous (going on its first year) tradition.
The children love Santa and his four wake boarding reindeer.
But I found the real hero of the day to be the jet skiing Grinch.
Most of the kids around me (I may have been the only adult without children unless the dog counts) loved the Grinch and his antics. He would spin around and do all those crazy trick that made Waterworld and that Jessica Alba/sunken treasure movie so boss.
But his greatest feat was his endless harassment of the Butterstick boat.
You get him Grinch! Splash that filthy panda! It's what the people want.
*This includes the 30 minutes the Duchess and I spent explaining to my grandfather how his new digital camera turns on. He thanked me by ridiculing my rather conservative haircut while drinking scotch out of a mason jar
chaos butterfly
SOMEONE PLEASE INFORM YR GIRL WHY AMAZON IS CURRENTLY RECOMMENDING THE "RENT" SOUNDTRACK TO ME???????????
um, what have I been buying?
um, what have I been buying?
neigh neigh neigh
Man, these holiday things can be overwhelmsville. I won't even get into the stories behind my mother's forthcoming novella; "How Your Brother Ruined Christmas Eve 2005: A Novella." Let's just say he did.
Our tree is pretty much dead at this point, which is good, because we are going on va-ca for a few days starting Thursday. Which means you will miss my 87th birthday, Internet. I am year of the Horse; which according to the Internet makes me very popular. How wise you are, Internet. *
Also! I have ATHF on DVD (complete with Patton Oswalt frat-alien action), Richard Hell on CD, leftover mashed potatoes in my fridge, a book on Labrador puppies and how they ruin lives (from my mother, who is unaware I do not own a Labrador), some framed Giant Robot/KnD posters I love, including bunny wave and the "War of Monsters" which is King Kong battling a robot? And setting parking garages on fire? In downtown Tokyo? Whatever, it's awesome, and is already hung on our cottage wall. Oh, and a couple of cozy sweaters, one with a rooster on it. Me? Hooked.
* * *
Holidays In Baltimore.
* * *
In other news, I have won Terps tickets for the game tomorrow at 8:00 PM; and I had a dream last night that was INSANE. For some reason, a friend and I were in charge of some super-secret airplane reconn mission, and we crashed the plane (it was like a stealth plane, too) into an Army post, and then I spent the entire rest of the dream trying not to be killed by the government because of my mistakes. Oh my god or what.
(* People born in the Year of the Horse are popular. They are cheerful, skillful with money, and perceptive, although they sometimes talk too much. The are wise, talented, good with their hands, and sometimes have a weakness for members of the opposite sex. They are impatient and hot-blooded about everything except their daily work. They like entertainment and large crowds. They are very independent and rarely listen to advice. They are most compatible with Tigers, Dogs, and Sheep.)
Our tree is pretty much dead at this point, which is good, because we are going on va-ca for a few days starting Thursday. Which means you will miss my 87th birthday, Internet. I am year of the Horse; which according to the Internet makes me very popular. How wise you are, Internet. *
Also! I have ATHF on DVD (complete with Patton Oswalt frat-alien action), Richard Hell on CD, leftover mashed potatoes in my fridge, a book on Labrador puppies and how they ruin lives (from my mother, who is unaware I do not own a Labrador), some framed Giant Robot/KnD posters I love, including bunny wave and the "War of Monsters" which is King Kong battling a robot? And setting parking garages on fire? In downtown Tokyo? Whatever, it's awesome, and is already hung on our cottage wall. Oh, and a couple of cozy sweaters, one with a rooster on it. Me? Hooked.
* * *
Holidays In Baltimore.
* * *
In other news, I have won Terps tickets for the game tomorrow at 8:00 PM; and I had a dream last night that was INSANE. For some reason, a friend and I were in charge of some super-secret airplane reconn mission, and we crashed the plane (it was like a stealth plane, too) into an Army post, and then I spent the entire rest of the dream trying not to be killed by the government because of my mistakes. Oh my god or what.
(* People born in the Year of the Horse are popular. They are cheerful, skillful with money, and perceptive, although they sometimes talk too much. The are wise, talented, good with their hands, and sometimes have a weakness for members of the opposite sex. They are impatient and hot-blooded about everything except their daily work. They like entertainment and large crowds. They are very independent and rarely listen to advice. They are most compatible with Tigers, Dogs, and Sheep.)
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Harried Christmas
While the Christmas fever has certainly infected the Pyggy household (tree, dodgy dog-mauled decorations), the diagnosis has revealed only a low grade sickness at best. The tree lights haven’t been plugged in for several days, the high-quality Santa doll is still in the attic and many presents are wrapped only in duct tape or sit in their original Amazon packaging. The Christmas tree itself has even given up and doesn’t bother drinking any of its water.
Meh.
Two more days and it’s on the curb anyway. (Oh, in an idea stolen wholesale from Ready Made this month… put in add in the paper saying you are collecting old Christmas trees for an art project and people wanting to help can just leave them in the front yard. Then put someone else’s address in the ad. And since I only know person who has a front yard… I hope the GP has a mulcher out back.)
Some Iowa relatives were visiting earlier this month and wondered why there weren’t any front yard displays in our neighborhood. (Or giant, classy Wal-mart Santas anywhere in the whole county, for that matter.) The condo association has put the kibosh on any sort of that nonsense and most people around the hood seem to be playing along. That’s why I was surprised to see this.
Since each block has its own rules and committee president, I have to assume this guy is either on the board or slipped some gelt chocolate coins into some faux-chinchilla lined pockets.
In all reality though, in the history of holiday displays this really isn’t a big deal. Every town has that one house that’s all done up, overboard with plastic Santas and Rudolphs and Frosties. Miller Light has even paid that guy who synched his lights in Ohio with a low powered radio frequency to be in their commercials. (Rumor has it that there is one of these somewhere in Springfield, but I can’t find an address)
Which all brings me to Quebec Street in Arlington.
This house has been a Pyggy favorite for a few years and seems to get more complicated every Christmas. (I don’t remember an inflatable penguin from last time) But the love for this enormity isn’t borne from the enjoyment of seeing little kid’s faces light up at the sight of a smoke spewing Thomas the Train when their parents slowly drive by. Even though that’s real nice.
It’s more based on seeing the terror in the Governess’ eyes as her brain tries to separate the vision of moving plastic figurines from her concept of humanity. For example…
Hello girls and boys! I’m terrifying!
The G hates these horrid moving things and they haunt her throughout the month of December. And it’s not merely human or elf based effigies, as there is a set of moving deer in the neighborhood that has caused her to slowly take step backwards. (The dog is scared of them too, making me the bravest species in the house.) And the Quebec House has dozens.
There’s this little shed…
Featuring this little boy repeatidly drawing his deadly, mechanical bow...
This was the one that sent The G scuttling back to the car after a few minutes of susceptible and unguarded exploration on foot. I have to admit, though, in a lesser moment I can see this doll jumping out of the display ninja-Pinocchio style and slashing me with his bow/blade.
Hmm, maybe it is time to go.
So long crazy house! Your giant plastic figures with curiously sex doll-posed faces will have to wait another year to capture us with your black Christmas magic!
...we’re off to bask in the glow of the relatively pathetic display put on by your neighbor...
Less bright = less fright.
Meh.
Two more days and it’s on the curb anyway. (Oh, in an idea stolen wholesale from Ready Made this month… put in add in the paper saying you are collecting old Christmas trees for an art project and people wanting to help can just leave them in the front yard. Then put someone else’s address in the ad. And since I only know person who has a front yard… I hope the GP has a mulcher out back.)
Some Iowa relatives were visiting earlier this month and wondered why there weren’t any front yard displays in our neighborhood. (Or giant, classy Wal-mart Santas anywhere in the whole county, for that matter.) The condo association has put the kibosh on any sort of that nonsense and most people around the hood seem to be playing along. That’s why I was surprised to see this.
Since each block has its own rules and committee president, I have to assume this guy is either on the board or slipped some gelt chocolate coins into some faux-chinchilla lined pockets.
In all reality though, in the history of holiday displays this really isn’t a big deal. Every town has that one house that’s all done up, overboard with plastic Santas and Rudolphs and Frosties. Miller Light has even paid that guy who synched his lights in Ohio with a low powered radio frequency to be in their commercials. (Rumor has it that there is one of these somewhere in Springfield, but I can’t find an address)
Which all brings me to Quebec Street in Arlington.
This house has been a Pyggy favorite for a few years and seems to get more complicated every Christmas. (I don’t remember an inflatable penguin from last time) But the love for this enormity isn’t borne from the enjoyment of seeing little kid’s faces light up at the sight of a smoke spewing Thomas the Train when their parents slowly drive by. Even though that’s real nice.
It’s more based on seeing the terror in the Governess’ eyes as her brain tries to separate the vision of moving plastic figurines from her concept of humanity. For example…
Hello girls and boys! I’m terrifying!
The G hates these horrid moving things and they haunt her throughout the month of December. And it’s not merely human or elf based effigies, as there is a set of moving deer in the neighborhood that has caused her to slowly take step backwards. (The dog is scared of them too, making me the bravest species in the house.) And the Quebec House has dozens.
There’s this little shed…
Featuring this little boy repeatidly drawing his deadly, mechanical bow...
This was the one that sent The G scuttling back to the car after a few minutes of susceptible and unguarded exploration on foot. I have to admit, though, in a lesser moment I can see this doll jumping out of the display ninja-Pinocchio style and slashing me with his bow/blade.
Hmm, maybe it is time to go.
So long crazy house! Your giant plastic figures with curiously sex doll-posed faces will have to wait another year to capture us with your black Christmas magic!
...we’re off to bask in the glow of the relatively pathetic display put on by your neighbor...
Less bright = less fright.
"What are you gonna do, Sarah????"
If I had created an online advent calendar, Yacht Rock #2 would be behind the December 23rd door.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
The Loots on Fire
Two quickies on parking in the District.
1. If your Ford Bronco is parked on 20th and M, your car is mostly on fire and the DCFD would like a word.
2. I got a parking ticket again today, the third in a month. As usual, I was parked illegally in a space zoned for District residents only. But the ticket indicates it was issued while I was in the car, with the engine running, waiting for someone. Even if the that sneaky hobbit's ticket machine had a bad clock, the only time I wasn't in the car's toasty embrace, I was leaning on it talking to a friend-in-law. I'd give every last dime to that fake Jamaican to learn this sleight-of-hand.
1. If your Ford Bronco is parked on 20th and M, your car is mostly on fire and the DCFD would like a word.
2. I got a parking ticket again today, the third in a month. As usual, I was parked illegally in a space zoned for District residents only. But the ticket indicates it was issued while I was in the car, with the engine running, waiting for someone. Even if the that sneaky hobbit's ticket machine had a bad clock, the only time I wasn't in the car's toasty embrace, I was leaning on it talking to a friend-in-law. I'd give every last dime to that fake Jamaican to learn this sleight-of-hand.
Linksys
- Books of the Year, courtesy: Bloggers
- My birthday is upcoming. Since Grand Royal was auctioned off early last year, and I probably don't have a shot at getting a monkey named Antoine unless my friend D. really comes through, I'd settle for some gum or something.
- Hee.
- This; kind of relating back to this. What with the Cosby and all.
- Clean out of ideas for the afternoon. Everyone is on holiday. Regroup, refocus, etc. Email is up. Harpy horidays.
- My birthday is upcoming. Since Grand Royal was auctioned off early last year, and I probably don't have a shot at getting a monkey named Antoine unless my friend D. really comes through, I'd settle for some gum or something.
- Hee.
- This; kind of relating back to this. What with the Cosby and all.
- Clean out of ideas for the afternoon. Everyone is on holiday. Regroup, refocus, etc. Email is up. Harpy horidays.
festive greetings/you n yours
Before I begin, I am planning on drinking on Friday eve as is per 12.23.anyyear custom. If you are local and willing, please RSVP if you'd be so inclined as to join.
pyginablanket@gmail.com
* * *
You know that website link that's frolicking around the internet, all "fuck christmas" and "reasons why people hate Christmas" and etc? I'm too lazy to look it up, so just nod your head and smile.
Anyways, the website is apparently run by Brown Dog during the day from our Dell, while we're at workfinalizing important projects reading blogs.
Scene: House. 12.22.05. Lunchtime.
MASSACRE!
I do not keep a tidy LH-on-Prairie homestead. But this is a bit much even for pathetic slobs like us.
Additionally, BD seems to have a particular hatred for BandAids recently.
Re: the lump to your left. There are these little woodland-y type Santa Claus figures/dolls, very Germanic and given to people like me by their crotchety great-aunts who cannot fathom the fact that we are adult females that do not own a single Christmas decoration???? And lo and behold they just got a free Holiday Gift from Reader's Digest????
They are sometimes charming. They are sometimes EXTREMELY FRIGHTENING.
Oh. My God.
Without the robe and the styrofoam padding and the hat, this is Hellraiser-nightmare-worthy.
It's okay, BD. I never liked no dolls, neither; esp. scary-ass Santa dolls with fuzzy boot-things. On wooden skis. Or whatever. And I really appreciate the detail-finding camera that points that the wine console thingy hasn't been dusted since the Clinton administration.
DOGSASTER, I BEG OF YOU: For the love of Germanic Santa, even if you cannot control your unweildy hatred of all things Christ-like/-mas; stop wrecking my shit. You came along, and now this blog is nothing more than the chronicles of... well... dogs wrecking shit. You are getting desparate, and I won't back down - you ate the chair-rail molding on the walls, BD. How many bones must one girl provide until such ceaseless barrage of unholy teeth finally ends?
I admit - I squealed in true girl fright/laughed heartily at the poor, scary Santa-being, who looks like he is committing suicide via a rustic Germanic noose/rope from his sack of handmade presents for good girls and boys. We're keeping him, because now I can honestly say I own a Christmas decoration I enjoy.
pyginablanket@gmail.com
* * *
You know that website link that's frolicking around the internet, all "fuck christmas" and "reasons why people hate Christmas" and etc? I'm too lazy to look it up, so just nod your head and smile.
Anyways, the website is apparently run by Brown Dog during the day from our Dell, while we're at work
Scene: House. 12.22.05. Lunchtime.
MASSACRE!
I do not keep a tidy LH-on-Prairie homestead. But this is a bit much even for pathetic slobs like us.
Additionally, BD seems to have a particular hatred for BandAids recently.
Re: the lump to your left. There are these little woodland-y type Santa Claus figures/dolls, very Germanic and given to people like me by their crotchety great-aunts who cannot fathom the fact that we are adult females that do not own a single Christmas decoration???? And lo and behold they just got a free Holiday Gift from Reader's Digest????
They are sometimes charming. They are sometimes EXTREMELY FRIGHTENING.
Oh. My God.
Without the robe and the styrofoam padding and the hat, this is Hellraiser-nightmare-worthy.
It's okay, BD. I never liked no dolls, neither; esp. scary-ass Santa dolls with fuzzy boot-things. On wooden skis. Or whatever. And I really appreciate the detail-finding camera that points that the wine console thingy hasn't been dusted since the Clinton administration.
DOGSASTER, I BEG OF YOU: For the love of Germanic Santa, even if you cannot control your unweildy hatred of all things Christ-like/-mas; stop wrecking my shit. You came along, and now this blog is nothing more than the chronicles of... well... dogs wrecking shit. You are getting desparate, and I won't back down - you ate the chair-rail molding on the walls, BD. How many bones must one girl provide until such ceaseless barrage of unholy teeth finally ends?
I admit - I squealed in true girl fright/laughed heartily at the poor, scary Santa-being, who looks like he is committing suicide via a rustic Germanic noose/rope from his sack of handmade presents for good girls and boys. We're keeping him, because now I can honestly say I own a Christmas decoration I enjoy.
walrus on the drums/tiger on guitar
My morning just got much better: I find this weirdly awesome-awesome. (via blah, blah, black sheep)
(EDIT: Continued. If this doesn't put you in a good mood, then I am at danger: total loss status.)
(EDIT: Continued. If this doesn't put you in a good mood, then I am at danger: total loss status.)
YEAR O' THE BLOG
Today, i made cd covers.
* * *
Good things: I am going out for dinner tonight with people I love. No one is at work. I am currently super-organized. Coffee is fresh. I had a day of brainless manual labor yesterday, which was exhausting but refreshing.
December has been a good month.
* * *
I wrote 6 pages, in Word, single spaced, like a good little English major prob would, re: 2005.
The gist: a lot of it was morose and depressing; therapeutic maybe/highly unnecessary def.
Upon further review: I toast the good life I have while I've still got it.
I look forward with much, much glee to 2006.
2005, don't let the door hit yr suck-ass on the way out. Good riddance.
* * *
happy holidays.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
FWD
Capps and I have spent a large chunk of the afternoon on our new blog: ">>>>>". It was conceived as a dumping ground for email forwards we get from our parents. It was also conceived at two AM after some binge drinking.
Details, shmetails, it is extremely stupid, and it is extremely cracking my shit up.
Details, shmetails, it is extremely stupid, and it is extremely cracking my shit up.
Did you hear that DJ Qualls actually landed that Jet Blue plane hisself?
Airplanes with broken landing gear landing are the new
Cable news eats that shit up.
"And really, they were doing the whispery-voiced sensitive christian boy thing long before Sufjan"
Via JH:
Dude's thesis on "ridiculous evangelical christian magazine called RELEVANT, to which the Jars of Clay singer contributes a column?" That's right, JARS OF CLAY.
It's really an interesting thing going down there, I promise. Also, it reminded me I need to email/call/send holiday greetings via Pony Express to my freshman college roommate, Jules, a Jersey girl married to a guy who looks just like Jesus, and is living in the deep-n-dirty south - a thousand different ways of funny.
The fact that she's married to a JHC lookalike isn't so much what reminded me of Julezini. Jules can, like many people, be described by her tru loves. Or, at least what I recall as her loves circa age 19:
1. Zeppelin
2. 70's-era Travolta
3. Free-delivery calzones
4. Jars of Clay
5. The old Fox game show, "STUDS"
6. Buying new undies on her daddy's gold card
7. PINE email
Note to self: call Jules.
Anyhoos- I did not mean to go off all half-blogged on Julemories. Go read the HLY*MLY blog. I'm still waiting to see if he can work in a least a footnote on "DC Talk." Holla.
Dude's thesis on "ridiculous evangelical christian magazine called RELEVANT, to which the Jars of Clay singer contributes a column?" That's right, JARS OF CLAY.
It's really an interesting thing going down there, I promise. Also, it reminded me I need to email/call/send holiday greetings via Pony Express to my freshman college roommate, Jules, a Jersey girl married to a guy who looks just like Jesus, and is living in the deep-n-dirty south - a thousand different ways of funny.
The fact that she's married to a JHC lookalike isn't so much what reminded me of Julezini. Jules can, like many people, be described by her tru loves. Or, at least what I recall as her loves circa age 19:
1. Zeppelin
2. 70's-era Travolta
3. Free-delivery calzones
4. Jars of Clay
5. The old Fox game show, "STUDS"
6. Buying new undies on her daddy's gold card
7. PINE email
Note to self: call Jules.
Anyhoos- I did not mean to go off all half-blogged on Julemories. Go read the HLY*MLY blog. I'm still waiting to see if he can work in a least a footnote on "DC Talk." Holla.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
I made your favorite cookies! Christmas trees for the Governess and Duchess, and bloody spearheads for LJG and the Nabob!
Well, the dog is doing his damnedest to destroy Christmas, one good cheer at a time. It graduated from chewing up all the wrapping paper to chewing up the poorly man-wrapped boxes and gifts. The G returned from her shopping spree last night to find the animal sitting in a pile of shredded tissue paper, proudly wagging its tail and pushing box bits under the sofa. I came home shortly afterwards, in enough time to avoid clean-up detail but soon enough to find a submissive dog on its back.
“So, I guess you know you’re getting an orange-ish (a mix between F08080 and FF4500 for you HTML kids out there) cable-knit sweater and dress shirt for Christmas,” I said to the G after I spotted them de-packaged on the floor.
“Very nice,” she said. “But I already have that sweater. You gave it to me last Christmas.”
Damnit.
Indeed, a short trip to her closet produced a similar sweater.
This isn’t so much a problem except it’s the second time in a week I’ve had to go to the mall to return a gift that I have already given her. I’m the new Ghost of Crappy Christmases Past.
“So, I guess you know you’re getting an orange-ish (a mix between F08080 and FF4500 for you HTML kids out there) cable-knit sweater and dress shirt for Christmas,” I said to the G after I spotted them de-packaged on the floor.
“Very nice,” she said. “But I already have that sweater. You gave it to me last Christmas.”
Damnit.
Indeed, a short trip to her closet produced a similar sweater.
This isn’t so much a problem except it’s the second time in a week I’ve had to go to the mall to return a gift that I have already given her. I’m the new Ghost of Crappy Christmases Past.
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