Saturday, December 06, 2008

Spare the Rod

This afternoon I found this great old radio recording of a Ray Bradbury story called The Veldt. Its about a couple that gets really freaked out when they realize the magical modern nursery they've had customized for their children is taking control of them. It's an odd story, but strangely realistic.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

What I Do When I'm Depressed

This afternoon, after I had a truly wacky dream about a pastrami sandwich and my boyfriend dressed up in a blond wig, I spent the day lounging on the couch vegetating on bad television. This excludes the truly bad television I've referred to here before, including Hard Copy, Access Hollywood, Guiding Light, Judge Hatchett, and anything on E! save True Hollywood Story and The Soup!. I refuse to disclose whether or not I choose, in my bad TV selection, to include the following educational programs: The Peoples Court, Dr. Phil, or Scrubs.

In the midst of this highly productive afternoon I had an insane attack of nostalgia, in which I recalled the entire summer of 1991. I spent the summer babysitting for a 2-year old for $1.50 an hour while her mom, who was a friend of my mothers, worked at a local physician's office. The father of this child had an extensive collection of pornography and other movies which I became obsessed with, pornography excluded. Two in particular were Hardbodies (the proverbial allegory of my life, really), and Nothing in Common. They also had a massive collection of vintage records, and at the time had I known the gold that resided underneath that dust-encrusted turntable, I would have considered eloping with the argosy of vinyl and trading in my virginity for a low paying job at some crappy record company in Seattle. I didn't though, and chose instead to familiarize myself with Michael Jackson's Thriller. I see why this album is regarded with such high esteem to this day. It is addictive.

If you were born before the year of 1980, then in all likelihood, you've already seen this. If you haven't, I'd advise you to watch this thing in it's entirety, and I don't care if you are watching it at work because there will be a pop quiz later and anyone scoring a 69 percent or less will be banned from my posse.

Sorry I couldn't embed. But, get over it. It's my blog.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

MNS: Dear Abby

"Do NOT allow an amateur to doodle with the streudel in your noodle."

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

THE Way to Die

If I could choose how to die, it wouldn't be in my sleep, or while having sex, or while falling out of an airplane. It would be like this.

Monday, August 18, 2008

"I Think We're Dead"

Top Four Causes of My Jawline Acne

4. That bitch at the gym that always steals the copies of US Weekly AND People Magazine AND that one copy of National Geographic with the really cool looking tiger on the front that I really want to read during my workout. She cleverly avoids the Economist and Architectural Digest. Also known as "the Pilferer."

3. That guy who drives the 1992 green Honda Accord that pulls out in front of me every morning at the stoplight at the corner of 46th and Willamette. I usually have the green light, we make eye contact, he knows I'm going 50 miles an hour, but still pulls out in front, makes me slow to 38, and keeps it at that speed despite the 40 mph speed limit. Otherwise heard within the confines of my car as, "YOU FUCKING DAFFY BASTARD!!! NOT AGAIN!!!"

2. My next door neighbors, who not only allow their cat to wander free on our property and take a weekly dump on my front door stoop, but persist in installing some sort of hardwood flooring conveniently when I'm at home convalescing from a hangover. And obviously manipulation of hardwoods requires the use of a sledgehammer, an industrial saw of some sort, and usually a nail gun that employs super-loud hydraulic pneumatics or whatever. "We just want to get out of it what we put into it." I think I saw her working at Rhythm and Blooms the other day...

1. The airpot at work. Because, well, it doesn't always have coffee in it. And when that happens, I silently mouth a big, huge, "GGGGGGGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDdDDDD DDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Friday, July 04, 2008

Love and Hygiene

When my serial dumping spree began about three years ago, my first victim was this adorable dork by the name of Addam. (Yes, that's spelled correctly.) Look him up here. He was a serious dweeb. Ordinarily, I get hot and bothered big time for dweebs. But he was dweeby in the prudy sense: he was a teetotaler having never ingested a single drug of any kind, went to church every Sunday with his mom, drove a four-door sedan and owned a plain, empty, three-bedroom rambler in west Eugene. This dude was ripe for the picking by a nice, Christian, clean and sober butterface with good birthing hips.

My troubles with Addam didn't begin as early as they usually do. I suppose it was, oh...two or three weeks into the relationship when, one starry night in January, I got hammered and drove over to his house just itchin' to get some. I did, but it wasn't with out a certain mechanical failure on his part. He refused to talk about it. I offered to get him a referral to a urologist, but no dice. A sex therapist? No takers. He was a denial case. Who was madly in love with his mother. And speaking of his mother, exactly a month after we'd begun dating, on the same night he drove me to Salem to meet all the immediate family and about ten members of the extended family, all of whom expected me to remember their names, he told me that he loved me.

That weekend I went to work and bugged out. I went from totally digging the shit out of him (in spite of his sexual misfortune) to completely hating the guy. No explanation. So I decided to give it another test: the road trip.

We decided to go to Ashland for Valentine's Day. It was on this trip that Addam asked me what I really wanted in my life partner. My response had the usual lack of brevity, as I began to explain the relationship between my aunt and uncle. This is a couple who've been married for over 20 years, but she still wraps her legs around him when they're in the family swimming pool together. They have a relationship of beautifully [disgustingly] amplified affection. They're the kind of couple that everyone wants to be in, but no one wants to be in. Still, after so many years of marriage, children, jobs, houses...they shower together every day. Shower. TOGETHER. EVERY. DAY. Tell me that ain't love. This, I told Addam. This is what I want. The daily shower.

Addam indulged me on that fateful trip to Ashland. We were at the Winchester Inn, the most romantic place in Ashland, with a beautiful jacuzzi and luxurious shower with two shower heads, when Addam decided to join me. And as he set foot in the shower, I realized...

...what do I do in the shower that requires another person? Nothing! I brush my teeth. I wash my privates. I fart. And sometimes I pee. (Face it folks, you pee in the shower too. Give it up.) Why do I want another person to have to witness these things? These SSBs of mine? Why must I subject an innocent party, whom I assume I love, to the horrors of me in the bath?

At that moment I realized that what I thought I wanted was exactly what I didn't want. I asked Addam to get out of the shower. And two weeks later I dumped him.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Doings and Undoings of the Last Six Months

In the last six months I have had sex approximately 8 times. 8 forgettable times. But I imagine they were fun at the moment.

In the last six months I've lost 12 pounds, regained 4, then lost 2 again. It goes to show that when dieting, alcohol intake need not be eliminated, or even really controlled.

In the last six months more men have come and gone from my life than I can actually count. They've all had some redeeming qualities. I just don't remember what they were.

In the last six months I've found true friendship in a guy who's been under my nose for the last 5 years but I had been totally ignoring. Because while I'd like to think I have everything (and everybody) I could ever need in the world, I was totally oblivious to the fact that the only thing I needed but didn't have was him. He's helped me grow in that I he's helped me learn trust in men, something I lost along time ago.

In the last six months, I've had 3 crushes: Jeff, the service engineer; Steve, the Catalina hottie; and what's-his-face, the electrical contractor. Currently the only residual crush is the electrical guy but my infatuation has become somewhat subdued since my fantasies with him involve electrocution upon orgasm. I indulged the crush with Steve, only to discover he was a recovering alkie with a penchant for get-rich-quick schemes. But for once it felt great that my crush had a crush on me. And he was hot.

In the last six months, I've had 3 hangovers. One after a blind date gone horribly wrong, one after a date gone horribly right, and one after a night of girliness so egregious I can't even properly articulate it. But I flashed the two most adorable, grateful frat boys on the island of Catalina.

Monday, May 19, 2008


They approach with tears and longing,
Regret is forever a part of this for us.
We speak only when not taciturn.

Trying to graft sense to it...
Logic eludes me like the understanding the universe
I cannot change; I cannot explain.
You'd know.

Hushed mutterings of joy of life and tragic death and 'at peace' and 'no pain'
He-did-not-suffer they say and I say shut-up:
I feel bittersweet regret, they did not know like I do
Some are medicated; and perhaps I am too.

Yellow glints from the ground - a tribute, however useless.
The magnolia shining as the grass grows with you as it's sustenance
Peace is that nature in which you live.
I hate thinking you might be happy there.

We continue on, staving off the insidious anger day by day.
There is no hurt such as this dullness, numbness...
Deafness to this life.
But madness rests in the next room.

No one can help me understand this.
Nothing anyone says is right.
They all knowingly say that this is inevitable.
Not you to me, never

And I hate that I only cry for so long
For you and me...we know it's the way of things.
I despise life passing as if you were never here,
Pretending you never gifted my life to me.

So many empty spaces now
Adaptation is a forced habit
I struggle to catch my breath of regret
And I am helpless against this.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Trade Secrets

Everyone knows I don't take good pictures. I have a nice camera, but my photos suck. Until I took this one, which I don't know is really all that great, but I would definitely say it's okay. I took it at McMenamin's Edgefield in Troutdale a year ago with a clever little tool called a Lensbaby. This is a very special little widget, and is has the added perk of making a crappy photographer look like an artist.

At the time I was dating this photographer who didn't know about the Lensbaby before we met. I told him about it. He scoffed at first, and pulled out his $400 macro lens as if it was a penile extension. But when he saw I could take photos like this with a cheap little $75 (or so) tool, he got jealous. The thing is, this dude was talented. Like, when we split up it was devastating simply because he was such a great photographer and that I wanted to be able to say to my friends, "hey, you see that picture of the sunrise on the side of that 73x bus? Yeah? Well, my boyfriend took that picture, and made money with it. So. Suck. On. That."

[All photos were taken using a Canon EF 25 II extension tube.]

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

It's These Superficial Things

It's these superficial things that help me get out of relationships. Like, the icing on the cake. You realize that a guy is all wrong, and you find some stupid excuse to dump him instead of giving him the chance to be bronzed in your memory as a "sweet, caring guy who'll really make some special girl smile someday." Like, one time I dumped a guy because he had no neck (he was a pretentious bastard with serious white-collar-criminal potential). And then there was the dude a few years back that I broke it off with because he wore a tie to go hiking (he was really, really creepy). One guy backed into a parking spot (what a wacko!) and another one dried paper towels and turned off his water heater at night (prison record). Oh, and we can't forget about they guy who used the word 'like' 26 times in one sentence (a very big brain with too little time), the guy who plugged up my toilet (alkie), and the dude who squealed during his orgasms (you know who you are, you bleach-blond wanker).

It's these things that make me a somewhat-semi-sorta hypocrite. My confession to being a serial dumper is noteworthy, but it hasn't been in vain. These guys were all wrong for me. They weren't all dicks. That being said, each one was just another notch.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Andy Rooney

10. He likes having Mike Wallace around, simply because Mike is older than Andy. Kind of why I like having Megan around. (Eh, girls?)

9. He exemplifies why being hidebound is not necessarily un-sexy.

8. He doesn't complain about how much money he makes at CBS.

7. He seems to have an orational, informative commentary on things that are entirely useless, kind of like the commentary I have running through my head all day long.

6. He's old. And old dudes are good. I'm down with them.

5. He is the Original Blogger. Verbally, of course.

4. He doesn't even bother mentioning, and correct me if I'm wrong, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, or LiLo. (Too much TMZ for me.)

3. He looks like he's got Parkinson's. Parkinson's disease runs in my family, and will most certainly kill me unless Michael J. Fox does his job. I like anyone with Parkinson's.

2. He can end his "blogs" without some corny funny punchline that brings the whole thing together and get away with it. Most other bloggers I know can't be successful like that.

1. The guy makes a good living by speaking for 3 minutes a week. I mean, hello?!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Death by Cuteness

Humorous Pictures
Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

Friday, February 01, 2008

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Good For a Giggle

The runtime on this is only 2:28, so it can be safely viewed while you're on your coffee break. Or, you know, your bathroom break.

I don't understand why anyone would choose to not drink coffee.

Where've I Been???

Am I the only one that hasn't seen this?? Have you?? Because if you had, then you would have told me about it if you were really my friend. What in the hell is wrong with you???