oh holy night

me: do you want to go see the tree

Aslan: do you?

me: kinda

its christmas eve

what are you supposed to do on christmas eve

Aslan: im bringing my camera

me: ok

Aslan: movies tell me that you are supposed to be redeemed

in the town square

me: oh

but we're not lost

are we?

Aslan: are you really asking that?

piece in progress

I view myself in orbit & try not to love it
the convention cuts me through
and through and turn.

public service announcement

i lost my phone battery, so last night i decided to try the alarm clock i got from ikea a year ago. the thing doesn't even run on batteries, its just a straight wind-up clock. looks like this:

if this clock looks vaguely familiar to you, either because you are considering buying it or happen to own one but haven't used it yet, DON'T. just don't. put it down and walk away. don't buy it, don't bring it home, don't wind it up. i set the thing for 6am this morning, and i woke up this morning to terrible screaming. i realized after half a second it was ME screaming like a fucking banshee, and i grabbed for the clock, fumbled it, and fell out of my bed going after it. i have never been woken up like that in my life. my entire body was tensed like i fell through a frozen pond, and now i still have a tension headache from my shoulders cramping. i've been awake for 4.5 hours now, and went to a yoga class, but the terror-induced headache is not letting up.

never doing that again. holy jesus.

24

Twenty-four oceans
Twenty-four skies
Twenty-four failures
Twenty four tries
Twenty-four finds me
In twenty-fourth place
Twenty-four drop outs
At the end of the day
Life is not what I thought it was
Twenty-four hours ago

::switchfoot::


Wendy: you're a fantastic human

immortalized as the nicest thing i've ever heard her say. to anyone. ever.

happy birthday me.

i am not sad

"He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad."

everything is illuminated :: jonathan safran foer

a message to furred turds

the only reason i can imagine that fur has managed to keep its foothold in fashion is the fact that it's expensive. fur is disgusting. i actually feel waves of nausea wash through my body when i see it. the only thing that keeps me from projectile vomiting on people in fur is thinking that those animals have already been through some shit, and the wearer looks pathetic enough as it is. i'm sure that it isn't exactly the reaction fur wearers are going for. quite frankly, when i see someone in fur, all i see is that they were too hopelessly lacking in creativity and originality to think of any other way to make themselves look "fashionable" or even presentable except to slather themselves in the trite and desperate slogan of "i'm rich, bitch!" and that they are so incredibly ignorant and uninformed that they don't even realize the primitive and frivolous barbarity they display. i would say you might as well wear a sign that says, " i have money to burn, but don't have the mental reserves to figure out a better use for it, please respect me!" but i realize fur is actually a much more efficient way of getting that message across. now, if you live in a shack on the steppes of siberia, i understand that fur is functional for you, and that the coat you're wearing, you probably caught and skinned and constructed yourself, so props. this rant is not for you. you notice how fur clothing and accessories in the prehistoric people exhibits of the museum of natural history actually look strikingly similar to the fur clothing and accessories we have now? it's not because cavemen were sototally channeling their inner chanels that they came up with a style to brave the ages. it's because there really aren't that many ways of making dead animal hair and pieces look like something you should be wearing. and in those exhibits, those people look like they're trying damn hard to keep from freezing to death. you in a fur coat with no pants on just points to an inexplicable and tragic trump of logic that fell somewhere in our human time line. fur is not fashionable. i mean, really, just take a good long look in the mirror. maybe somehow you don't see what most other people see, but if you need an explanation, you look like the abominable snowman or a wookie with a shrunken head, and with maybe about 1/10 the intellectual capacity. animal rights activists complain that fur is cruel and the only reason for it is vanity. to be blunt, the only thing fur says to me is that the wearer rather pitifully has nothing to be vain about.

eXXXon

what are we at now-- 6? 7? 15? tiger woods' pr team should stop scrambling for damage control at this point. cocktail waitresses and Z-list porn star hopefuls all over the country are coming out of the woods-work (hehe) with dirty texts and voicemails and stories about his allegedly giant penis. his goody goody woody image has more holes in it than a free condom from the cambridge pro-life society. not that he used condoms. allegedly. and now everyone is wondering how he'll ever keep his endorsements without that image. which would be tragic because endorsing products is what tiger woods does for a living-- it's his occupation in life.

word to woods' pr team-- ditch the image. get a new one. it can be done. it has been done. just look at madonna, or michael jackson, or mr. potato head. i absolutely do not subscribe to the belief that the public is very forgiving. it is, however, very forgetful. it's like an epidemic of mediamnesia, and you should ride it all the way to graceland. the goody two shoes image only goes so far anyway, it's actually shocking that tiger woods has made it work for so long. props to you, team. but now with this recent event still unfolding, why not consider the bad boy image? i have total confidence that your client is cool enough to pull it off. he made golf seem exciting, for gods sake. and a whole new world of endorsements is out there. gatorade might have dropped you (fear not, it's temporary), but what about something like monster energy drink? or magnum condoms, cars, underwear, batteries, axe body spray, text messaging (who's in your circle?), or my personal favorite, exxon mobile, if they brought back their old slogan: put a tiger in your tank. and they could change their name to eXXXon~ sexy gas for sexy people. it would be a hit.

srsly. think about it. call me.

2:10pm: typed this.

note to hapless intern currently responsible for nymag's sex diaries: the next step down from delusional dreams in method acting is not writing. or blogging. or even editing. the next step down, and sometimes the same step, is serving food. there is an order to these things. so step away from the keyboard, and go get me a fucking sandwich. and don't you dare try to spell out any notes on my check.

whoever came up with the brilliant idea of twitter-as-prose should be shot.

garden noam

dude i've had this idea for AGES. blast!



to read about this trivial matter in greater detail, article.

do not call.

Timothy: you know in those movies where someone gets kidnapped and the kidnapper forces the person to say stuff over the phone

: and it sounds really unnatural and weird to the person on the other end

: so they know something is up

: that's what talking to you is like

the fattering storm

you may have noticed a correlation between the rising rate of obesity in this country and our progressive destruction of the environment and ozone layer. as we continue to gorge ourselves and grow fatter and fatter, we incessantly debate global warming and lag in taking any measures to scale back our hand in the changing temperatures, rising sea levels, and melting ice caps around the globe. i believe that this correlation explains our attitude about the environment and our attitude about our fat (or "fattitude"). americans everywhere are putting on the pounds and wrapping themselves in fatty layers, subconsciously preparing for one of 2 catastrophic situations:

1) the polar ice caps melt, oceans rise and flood the continents. normals drown. fit-and-trims swim, exhaust their energy, then drown. fatties float.

2) a new ice age dawns. everyone freezes. fatties walk around in mumus and tshirts. build a new society.

the earth is dying. it would be impossible to demand that every one of us and our farming corporations go vegan and green overnight, we cease air travel, ban all but bikes and public transportation, and outlaw nascar. getting fat, however, we can do. it is a change we can believe in. not damage prevention, but damage preparation. so be a good american and do your part. live large, drive often, and eat like your buoyancy and heat retention depend on it.

Go U.S.A! We will prevail!

workforce

i like to get around my office by propelling myself in my chair with my feet. it is highly effective in getting me to wherever there is work to be done at the slowest pace possible, and making me look extremely unprofessional. its effectiveness is further augmented when i sing POW-POW-POWERWHEELS while i skid backwards from point to point.

best thing about christmas

all the mosquitoes die.



we're barely past halloween, beloved holiday of rotting foliage and dead things, and already starbucks is trying to force us to forget. red cups with messages of holiday cheer? really? it's not even thanksgiving yet. i'm just not ready to move on, i'm just not ready for cheer, i'm just, i'm just.... oh god, anything but cheer, oh please god no!!!!!!!!

if starbucks employees start wearing santa hats and playing christmas music, i'm going to have to cram someone through the bean grinder.

"my coffee grounds look like brains!"
"at least it doesn't taste like ass. that's gonna go to that guy."

gee golly i'm in a foul mood. bahahahahahahumbug.



"God Bless Us, Every One!"

a public service announcement

Timothy: it came to me in a chocolaty vision

me: willy wonka

Timothy: no he wasn't in it

he creeps me out

7:26 PM i think his whole candy empire is a giant rouse for child molestation

7:28 PM to hide it i mean

7:32 PM me: hm...

i dunno

i would believe the oompa loompas getting molested

but children, i don't think so

7:33 PM Timothy: the oompa loompas are just there for practice

so he can pretend

it's a big deal when he lets outsiders into his factory

as demonstrated by the movie

me: that's fucking disgusting

Timothy: that's my theory

me: not funny man

oompa loompa rape

that's terrible

a travesty

7:36 PM Timothy: unicef intervened briefly, but left when they found out they were just midgets with too much spray on tanner

if only jekyll had a blog

i'm rather moody this week. life has been unusually stressful, but i'm not sure if the way that i'm responding to the stress is normal or if i am in fact unusually stressed. last night i felt like i lost my fucking marbles. now there are only 3 possibilities i can think of:

1. environmental factors are causing me to freak out. therefore the effect is temporary and i will return to normal once things clear up.

2. i am slowly becoming clinically insane. i've been suspecting this for a few years now, so i suppose it wouldn't be a total shock.

3. my birth control is turning me into a hormone-overloaded monstrosity, like sammy sosa or those freakishly huge chicken drumsticks they sell at associated.

i'll have to do some closer self-observation for the next few days before i decide which one of those options seems most true. in the meantime, i just wanted to warn people about my current state of mind, so you should steer clear lest i beat you to death with my cane and kick your bleeding carcass into a gutter.

success in circuit lies

the story:

Glenn Beck Loses Claim Against Web Site Creator's glennbeckrapedandmurderedayounggirlin1990.com

the letter:

Dear Mr. Beck,

As you are now aware, I have prevailed in the WIPO action that you filed against me. I write now to voluntarily relinquish the disputed domain to you, even though you did not win the case. My criticism of you has been amply made — in no small part, with your assistance in this case — and I have no desire to attempt to punish you personally beyond the levying the criticism itself.

It bears observing that by bringing the WIPO complaint, you took what was merely one small critique meme, in a sea of internet memes, and turned it into a super meme. Then, in pressing forward (by not withdrawing the complaint and instead filing additional briefs), you turned the super-meme into an object lesson in First Amendment principles.

It also bears noting, in this matter and for the future, that you are entirely in control of whether or not you are the subject of this particular kind of criticism. I chose to criticize you using the well-tested method of satire because of its effectiveness. But, humor aside, your rhetorical style is no laughing matter. In this context of this WIPO case, you denigrated the letter of First Amendment law. In the context of your television show and your notoriety, you routinely and shamelessly denigrate the spirit of the First Amendment. The purpose of the expressive freedoms embodied in the First Amendment is not to simply permit the greatest possible scope of expression, but also, in so doing, to also strive for excellence on the conveyance of ideas. Rather than choosing to strive for excellence and civi contribution, you simply pander to the fears and insecurities of your audience. And in the process, you do them, and us all, a great deal of harm.

Shame on you Mr. Beck.

Now that this case is concluded, I want to demonstrate to you that I had my lawyer fight this battle only to help preserve the First Amendment. Now that it is safe, at least from you (for the time being), I have no more use for the actual scrap of digital real estate you sought. I will voluntarily transfer the domain name to you now. The username is [redacted] and the password is [redacted].

Sincerely,

Isaac Eiland-Hall

Panama City, Florida

the conclusion:

marry me.

confessions of a taylor swiftomaniac

Timothy: she only sings about how boys don't love her

: and i'm like

: i love you taylor

100% abusive

sometimes while i'm moderating, i come across comments i really really really wanna post... but can't. like this one, in response to natalie portman's article about how she went vegan after reading a fucking book.

The silliness of going vegan in 2009 in response to a book on factory farming could only be perpetrated by an actress. I find it hard to believe she attended college; her logic and faux shock are of the 'Omigod you guys!' variety.
Factory farmed animals are nutritionally and environmentally destructive. Also morally despicable. Most Americans have known this for decades, and there's recently been a bit of a renaissance, Natalie, of pasture raised animals, and a return to farming methods of the past. Google Salatin.
Soy, the go-to protein replacement for many vegans, is a heavily treated, usually genetically modified, crop that has serious environmental consequences. Nutritionally, it can also create some issues, as it is estrogenic and can interfere with thyroid function.
My "backyard is polluted" by free range chickens. The six of them function as family pets, organic insect/pest control, fertilizer and compost providers, lawn aerators, egg producers, and entertainment. Would you keep silent about them if you came on my property? Or would that be tatamount to rape?
Because factory farms exist, and apparently Natalie Portman didn't realize this until JS Foer wrote about it, she will now shy away from supporting small family farms that sell eggs, honey, and ethically raised meat, seafood and shellfish at farmers markets, in favor of agribusiness crops like soy. Monsanto's Roundup-Ready corn does not posess a superior virtue, just because it is a vegetable. The complexity of good choices doesn't always lend itself to labels.

DO NOT CLICK

saw this ad while surfing the internets.

for obvious reasons, i did not click the link.

baby

hospitals are terrible places. the sickly pastel chairs with their stiff cushions lined up beside plastic plants posing ironically in dirt-filled pots. this is the world's most horrible place to cry. sitting in one of those chairs, you look down at the bare tiled floor, glowing with a disinfectant sheen, and try to pretend you're sleeping and not catching tears in your sweater sleeve. breathing deeply and pinching between your fingers to still the waves of nausea, binding them together to quell the shaking. feeling like a complete idiot. feeling like you've gotten lost somehow. stranded on the surface of the moon.

my happy place

this morning i walked to yoga (this is a million times more exciting than you know), and tried my first led ashtanga class ever. needless to say i got my ass handed to me, but my teacher was really encouraging and lovely. afterward, i hobbled my sore self up the stairs to the locker room, and tried out the sauna. no one else was in it because early morning classes are usually pretty empty, so i got about 15 minutes of quiet alone time to still my shaking legs and relax my spine after all the twists and binds and crazy contortions my teacher wrapped me into. then i took a shower, and was pleased to find that they had very nice smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and those giant showerheads that make you feel like you're standing naked in the rain, and extra large towels. i got dressed, did my make up, and then went downstairs and had some tea outside the meditation class. watching people meditate is relaxing. it's also a lot more fun than actually meditating. after my tea, i walked out peaceful and refreshed onto the newly awakened streets of new york. a cabbie honked at me as i crossed the street, but i was too yoga'ed out to mind. so i just smiled. not now, chief. i'm in the fucken zen.

tired

i held so many people in my suitcase heart that i had to let the whole thing go, it was taken by the wind and snow.

dream

last night i dreamed of blood inside my abdomen, and my body like a tube allowed the blood to flow downward with gravity, into my legs. i scratched my calf, and a plum-red bruise blossomed along the path of my fingernails like a rorschach test, and i could see that there was so much useless blood inside me, a legion of rogue platelets that were no longer confined to my veins and capillaries to deliver oxygen and nutrients and carry away waste. i pressed my fingerstips into my thighs, gripped my knees with my palms, pinched my toes, and the bruise followed everywhere, until my legs were a watercolor of red and purple and charcoal black stains. each leg held gallons of blood, and i sat in bed, staring at them, feeling my bones quake within the pressure, my exo-sheets of skin cells and lipids strain desperately to dam it back. the blood had nowhere to go. i took hold of a small paring knife, and pressed it into the flesh above my right ankle, and followed along my shin bone up to my knee. blood flowed forth from the wound in halting waves, pouring over my sheets and into my mattress, and i felt the whole bed swell as it drank me up. the warmth was so heavy over me that i wanted to sleep, but the blood continued to flow and the wetness kept me awake. the force of the stream made it seem like the bleeding would never stop though i could feel my loss growing palpably. my feet emptied first. they flattened, and soon the flatness spread upwards as my blood drained, over my legs and my pelvis and my abdomen and rib cage and neck and arms and hands and head, until i was practically 2-dimensional except for my heart, which looked like it was shrink wrapped inside my chest. it continued to beat. i watched it beat but didn't know what it was beating for, i had no blood inside me. it beat with force, and i knew as it pulsed on and on, that if someone were to press my shrink wrapped heart like an on-off button, my paper doll body would go up in flames, and my bones would become ash, the rest of me would melt, and i would escape with the smoke.

what sisters are for

Esther: hey there are tiny little brown slivers in muy food

im trying to figure out whether or not they are slugs...

me: um..

i think the food is ok

Esther: are u sure they're not slugs?

me: im sure

Esther: i love you?

34

e.e. cummings

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
--i say though hate were why men breathe--
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat!

it's rather alarming how often this story appears in the news:

man mauled by tiger after scaling calgary zoo fences

it's good to know the tiger isn't being put down. i never understood why zoo animals ever had to be put down after attacking humans. the attacks are usually in response to taunting or someone climbing into their cage. i mean, what the fuck do you think is going to happen? human beings too often forget what pathetic puny creatures we are. we're like naked mole rats with only slightly better vision. in the especially stupid cases, like when people climb into a tiger cage or jump into the pool and swim towards a polar bear, i find myself quietly cheering for the animal. can you imagine how boring it must be to live in a zoo? these are wild animals, meant to be out in the vast untamed wilderness, running and fighting and hunting and killing and mating. instead, they're stuck in a cramped space that attempts to trick them into thinking they're actually out in the wild. they're not blind. they can see the crowds of slow moving fatties milling around just outside their reach, eating ice cream and cotton candy, holding silly balloons. scientists at zoos get so worried when their animals won't mate with each other. well maybe tony the tiger can't get it up because he feels emasculated by the all the times you dragged around a piece of bloody steak so that he would get excited and stalk it only to find in the end it's a neatly cut portion of an already dead thing. how demoralizing. so when one of those fatties who stand around and gawk at them all day so condescendingly actually starts to move within reach... can you imagine how intensely thrilling that must be? how fantastic an opportunity? it's funny that the zoo officials are making excuses for this tiger who clawed up of the idiots who climbed the fence. he was trying to defend himself. he was startled. are you kidding? the siberian tiger wasn't trying to defend himself from those two scrawny little dipshits. he was probably watching them the whole time as they clambered up and over those fences all giggly and uncoordinated-like. closer... just a little... bit... closer...... and then BAM! i'm a motherfuckin siberian tiger, bitch! even if i'm named like an opera singer!

muhahahahaha. pwned.

erections guaranteed

they're building a hotel next door to my building, and it's causing quite a good deal of inconvenience. we get stopped every morning by an obnoxious fat guy with an orange flag and have to wait until the crane stops moving, the noise is horrendous, that dust is probably giving me lung cancer, they're blocking out the great view in our conference room, and there's cement-mixed sludge puddles in the street that i end up tracking around my lobby. and you know what else?!

the construction workers are hot. like whoa.

i mean i don't think they're all hot. some of them are the stereotypical construction worker with the beer gut and crass whistling, but the young ones... with their hard hats and sweaty white shirts and tats and tool belts and rough stubble and and work gloves and rugged... ok ok ok, i'll stop. whew. so anyways, the plan is that next time i walk by, i'm gonna start whistling and yell WOOO!!! WHOAYEA, DRILL BABY DRILL!!

let's see what happens.

p.s., the title was a bumper sticker on one of the construction trucks. i may ogle construction workers, but i'm still a lady.

Gobo, Mokey, Wembley, Boober, Red

i really need to stop drinking during the week. i passed out without washing up or taking my contacts off, and this morning i was so groggy i forgot to use conditioner in the shower. i look like a fraggle.



except without the smile.

what the fuck?!

WHAT THE FUCK

boys don't cry

The winner of the 800m race at the World Championships in Berlin, Caster Semenya, is not celebrating her victory or signing endorsement contracts at the moment because she's a little tied up with people questioning her gender. The accusations seem to be coming mainly from her competitors, who all make one very reasonable and logically cogent claim: "just look at her." Not surprisingly, the media has gone crazy over this compelling story, and journalists are scouring the South African countryside to see if anyone can counter these arguments. Her mother, grandmother, father, friends, and neighbors who watched her grow up all claim that Semenya is indeed a girl. Family shamily! What do they know? Blood may be thicker than water, but it's not thicker than her accusers. They apparently also produced a birth certificate, but after that scandal involving President Obama going back in time to fabricate one in order to steal the presidency in the present from the Republicans, God, and America, I don't think we can really consider birth certificates to be solid evidence anymore. Clearly, we should take very seriously the name-calling by all the girls who lost the race to her. They spent a lot of time with her on the track (or at least a whole one minute and 55.4 seconds choking on her dust). And that axe they're grinding? Oh, that's just for later when they fell and carve up a redwood, call it a wooden shoe, and use it to prove the existence of Dutch giants.

land of nod

i've noticed that i sleep less than normal. i considered 6 hours to be a great accomplishment, and the past 2 weeks i've been getting about 4. i wake up at 5:45 on weekdays, 5 on saturdays, and 7 on sundays, and for whatever reason i can never seem to make it to bed before midnight. the weird thing is, though, that i never thought it was a weird thing until recently. it's been coming up in conversation, people saying they need at least 7 or 8 or even 9 hours of sleep in order to function during the day. i can't even imagine getting 9 hours of sleep a night. that means i would have to sleep at 8:45 on weeknights. i think i'm usually eating something around that hour. or drinking. or maybe sitting around in my underwear contemplating how the fuck my ac could be so slow about cooling my tiny apartment, but definitely not sleeping. but since i am now aware that my sleeping standards are hazardously low, i've started to notice differences on the rare occasions that i do get extra sleep. bright lights seem softer and less glaring, i don't have this strange inflated feeling in my skull, my shoulders feel loose, i'm more focused, i remember things better, i have better balance, my eyeballs feel lighter, and i don't yawn as much. that last part isn't necessarily a positive since i rely on my constant yawning to remoisten my contacts. on the other hand, i have also noticed that sleeping more causes my contacts to feel less dry. so i guess there are some benefits to sleeping more. i've just gone through life thinking that "normal" actually meant "sleep-deprived and utterly crazed," and confusing the feeling of being well rested with being high. i could never figure out where or how i could have gotten high, but my bets were on second hand inhalation of Raid or my diabolical sister drugging my skincare products. now i know its just sleep. how anticlimactic.

so the conclusion i've come to from all this is twofold:

1. sleep is a mind-altering drug. say no to drugs. therefore i say no to sleep.

2. i feel that i must debunk this myth that any certain amount of sleep is required to function in life. believe me, you are fully capable of functioning with under 9 hours or whatever ridiculous amount of time you like to spend prostrate, unresponsive, and drooling with your eyes rolled back in your head. you might feel a bit sleepy, but you can definitely function, and when you run into things, you don't even feel the bruises, which is probably the reason why i'm constantly covered in them with no recollection of how i got them. so while sleep is a mind-altering drug, lack of sleep is a pain reliever. like vicodin. and who doesn't like vicodin.

3. lack of sleep creates a grating urge to ramble idiotically in blogs. it also sometimes messes with mathematical skill.

if you can't stand the heat...

most days, my cooking "technique" involves asking my hungry stomach to list everything it wants, and then choosing some of those things on the basis of how well they would go together and how easily they can be procured. it is unspeakably difficult to resist the urge to toss everything together in one big pot. then i take all the chosen pieces, and toss everything together in one big pot. and every once in a while, i utilize all 3 sizes of my stirring spoons because it makes me feel fancy. usually things turn out well. which isn't saying much because, frankly, i could pour sriracha hot sauce on a bowl of plain noodles and be happy. it is a real possibility that the only reason i consume solid food is to provide a carrier for hot sauce. i think generally the hodgepodge method works alright, at least in terms of meeting the end goal of a pleasant, savory meal. but of course, there is something wonderful about real cooking. i love to cook. initially this came from the fact that i love to eat, which is where all good cooking should come from. but it's grown since then into a love for the act of cooking itself. the process of cooking, from chopping to flambeing, is fun and you're aware of yourself learning and perfecting. you take joy in the creation. and the end result takes on a new dimension from the intent, technique, and well-thought out creativity that infuse themselves into the taste. it's a good metaphor for relationships, forgive the cliche, or at least it is for mine. so haphazard fun? or careful creation? that is the question. the rub.

well, we shall see. the readiness is all.

i love beverly feng

Beverly: i started chasing pigeons cuz i was mad about my manicure

me: you know that sometimes you sound like a crazy person right

life and times of the wandering fat ass

last night i went out to play beer pong at 9pm, and had chicken & rice. you know those morning-afters, when you wake up and lay there recollecting everything that happened last night, and after a while your eyes go O_O, and your dehydrated brain goes, whaaaaaat? that's happening to me right now with all the food i ate last night. let's recap:

at beer pong: chicken&rice
at pizzeria: buffalo wings, carrot sticks
at rooftop party: naked burger
at st. marks: agedashi tofu, rice and codfish roe, squid in garlic butter sauce, smelt, skewers

i don't think i ever stopped eating. or drinking. you know what's sad though? just before the memories of last night's smorgasbord came flooding back, my very very very first waking thought was, "i wonder what i should eat today?"

post 2 on wednesday

i've been asked if all i do at work is blog. obviously, no. sometimes i do this:

Wendy: - _______________ - ;;

me: O____________O v

Sent at 12:49 PM on Wednesday

Wendy: V ^ __________________ - V

me: (^________~) v

Wendy: ()()
(..)
()()
() ()
me: foiled

Wendy: earless bunny

me: haha

Wendy: suicide bunny

me: gee up dah!

Wendy: HOHOHO

me: hahahahaha

it's a tough life i lead.

gibberish

i think i may have first-degree burns on my palms. the breakfast cart guy outside my yoga studio does not carry those little coffee cup holder ring thingamajigs. he apparently finds them unnecessary. he handed me extra napkins, and sent me off. it wouldn't have been too much of a problem, i just passed the cup back and forth between my hands (slow roasting), but it turned into a big mess when i got to the subway station. i tried to get my metrocard out of my wallet while the coffee cup slowly seared my hand while an onslaught of people came pouring out of the nqr trains and through the turnstiles while receipts and cards and random pieces of paper in my overstuffed wallet drifted to the floor. i felt a little bit like my super from my old apartment in brooklyn that afternoon she nailed a piece of paper onto drywall and then ran into the middle of the street, screaming why am i so fucking stupid?! but i digress. the origami collection in my wallet has been crammed in there for so long that it usually stays put, like wallet lichens. but i stuck my birth control pills in there also because i keep forgetting them all over the place, and i guess it loosened everything up a bit. bc pills have really tested my remembering skills. the ones that i don't have, probably because i left them somewhere and forgot about them. i've moved the time i take my pill to various hours in the day over the past few months. early morning, late at night, early evening, and lunchtime. which is where we're at now. the problem is that i need cues. the other times didn't work out so well because sometimes the cues, like getting to work, eating dinner, bedtime, weren't that reliable. but i'm getting better at it, and i have high hopes for lunchtime (anytime between noon and 1pm). although i do sometimes forget to eat lunch. ah, there's the rub.

i just noticed that my trash was not taken out. and come to think of it, the lights in my office were on when i came in this morning. my powers of deduction say that the cleaning lady did not come by last night. a few weeks ago there was a big commotion in the financial district because a cleaning lady was murdered and stuffed into an air vent. maybe i should ask about our cleaning lady. then again, maybe she just forgot to come by our floor or played hooky. i wouldn't want to get her in trouble. hm. i'll give it a few days.

i also just got a mass email. i've been getting a lot of those lately, from people leaving their jobs or new people joining staffs or writers announcing new books. they all start with "please forgive the mass email." well you know what? NO. just kidding, i don't really mind it.

in case you were wondering or just expecting i would come around, i won't. this blog has no point. it's just stupid rambling. "there's something scary about stupidity made coherent," as henry says in the real thing. but don't worry, i promise i'm harmless. i won't turn you into a cleaning lady in an air vent. ooh... hm . maybe too soon.


for more nonsense, please visit: well dressed animals

turkeycorns

today, over turkey-brie burgers, my sister said to me: "i thought bison were extinct. and then i saw them at the zoo." it reminded me of the time she laughed at me for believing ligers were real, and not a product of the genius imagination of napoleon dynamite. it also reminded me of wooly mammoths, and what shit luck it is that they're dead, but still can't rest in peace because we keep picking them out of blocks of ice. tragic.

what beats rock, paper, and scissors, all at once?

i almost knocked out my yoga teacher's teeth this morning. i had a bit to drink last night, didn't have any water, then woke up late and forgot to drink water before running to my morning class. i felt alright, with just a bit of a tension headache. then we were in warrior 3 pose, and as i began to tilt forward to transition into a vertical split, i felt woozy and lost my balance. i'm not even sure how it happened, but basically i back flipped, made a roundhouse kick motion with my legs, and very narrowly avoided kicking my teacher in the face. luckily she had a sense of humor. henceforth, i shall only answer to the name Chuck Norris.



i don't sleep. i wait.

where my lock&lock at, bitch?!

last night, as i was sifting through my pantry, i noticed that i am missing several tupperwares. this made me a great deal angrier than what would be considered normal.

i'll find you, tupperware troll... and you will pay.

omg

omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg



!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

toast

after one day sans-SPF, my skin is effed. thus, i can safely say that i am definitely not a california girl anymore. i wish we all could be. i don't know when i stopped being burn-proof. i never used to wear sunblock (i am not promoting this at all, sunblock is important), and i never burned. i freckled. but at this moment, i am trying very hard to keep still and NOT scratch, and every 5 minutes slathering myself in aloe. it is so very painful. well, at least my gynecologist can stop yelling at me about being pale. why you so pale?! you no like sun?! vitamin D come from sun!! crazy woman. who the hell is tan down there? ughhh i feel like a baked ham. my skin is glowing like i'm some radioactive monster emerging from a chemical spill.



you know marisa tomei is in this movie? fact.

ow ow ow ow. oh summer.

wailin' jennys

my new love. with lyrics like these, they don't even need to sing. but they do.

When it rains it snows in this prairie town
There's a good three inches on the ground
It seems I'll be losing any peace I've found

I see your face all over this town
But I know you're nowhere to be found
You're far away, you're safe and sound

Far from this prairie town
Far from this prairie town

So leaving seems the thing to do
When I'm here I'm lost in thoughts of you
And in my dreams I'm city bound

But if you ask me to come to you
To leave these fields and these skies of blue
You know I'd be leaving my sacred ground

Leaving this prairie town
Leaving this prairie town

No one's love comes close to yours
Nothing's what it was before
My eyes are heavy and my heart is sore

Leaving this prairie town
Leaving this prairie town

When it rains it snows in this prairie town
And we just watch it fall to the ground
And wait for love to come around

So ask me in that way you do
And I'll leave these fields and I'll come to you
And watch my heart as it breaks in two

I'm leaving this prairie town
I'm leaving this prairie town

de trooth iz ote der

so apparently Sci Fi Channel has changed its name to Syfy. i remember when i first saw it on tv, one very small smidgen of my consciousness thought, "That must be a joke." The rest of my attention was focused on more important things, like tracing the shapes of the remote control buttons with my fingernail. i bring this up only because i came across an article about it on CNN:

silly news story of the day

you don't have to read it. i wouldn't blame you. summary below:

sci fi is now called syfy. stupid? consensus: yes! additional comments: "wtf," "are you retarded," and "what the hell is sci fi channel." segue : other channels have also changed their names in the past. consensus: no one noticed, or cared. concluding statement: sci fi channel begs audience, please stop calling us siffy.

it's funny that the article was posted yesterday, when the change happened about 3 or 4 months ago. or maybe more. or less. judging from the timeliness of CNN's article, no one cares. one line that i did like from the article, though, was a statement from Dave Howe (president of SciFiSyfySiffy channel): "The last thing we want to do is alienate our core audience."

he doesn't want to alienate their core audience. get it? alien? sci fi? syfy?

ho ho ho :)


[update]
REAL NEWS STORY OF THE DAY:

my boss has a MASSIVE hickey! waaaaaaaaaah!

puff puff puff

a lot of fuss being made over sarah palin. as usual. i wish people would just ignore her. i have no idea how her haters haven't figured it out yet. sarah palin is the epitome of the theory that there's "no such thing as bad publicity." she's a goddamn hot air balloon. the more heat you give her, the higher she rises.

our only hope is that a polar bear gobbles her up. and then we will make him the national mascot, parade him through the streets, bestow upon him the medal of honor, and call him snowball. and we will give him a national holiday, and it shall be called snowball day.

huzzah!

somebody loved :: weepies

Rain turns the sand into mud
Wind turns the trees into bone
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into somebody loved

Nights when the heat had gone out
We danced together alone
Cold turned our breath into clouds
We never said what we were dreaming of
But you turned me into somebody loved

Someday when we're old and worn
Like two softened shoes
I will wonder on how I was born
The night I first ran away from you

Now my feet turn the corner back home
Sun turns the evening to rose
Stars turning high up above
You turn me into somebody loved



for some reason, this song makes me think of my dad.

day off

so two days ago, the shit hit the fan, and our servers completely crashed.

meaning:
no email
no contact databases
no internet
no connection to anything anywhere with anyone
not even the printer.

significance:
went home at 2 on tuesday
no work at all on wednesday
not much to do still since some things remain down and our tech guy went home to suffer a minor aneurysm... on thursday.

i just got back from vacation, and the classified deadline just passed, and i have to contact over 400 people about their ads from the last issue, and i have to get web ads posted, and i have to take more orders for classifieds because i haven't hit my goal yet, and, and, and....................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

but.

on tuesday night i made risotto with bacon-wrapped scallop skewers and garlic spinach, and watched how to lose friends and alienate people (story of my life... jk), and chilled with some cervezas. then on wednesday, woke up late, got 8 dumplings for 4 dollars + the most disgusting bubble tea i've ever experienced, watched transformers 2 (which was really entertaining. as for the people who thought it sucked... what the hell were you expecting?), and then sat in the park and watched a really drunk and possibly sleeping guy beat drumsticks against his park bench and then try to steal someone's bag, and then sit and cry for about 20 minutes. then i got 20 wings for 2 dollars.

this whole server shit has really screwed me, and trying to get this issue to the printer is going to be a pain in the ass. but i had a good week anyway. which just goes to show, days off are never bad, especially in good company. sitting in the office staring at my massive workload unable to do anything about it on the other hand... not so much.

oh well. BBQ ON SAT!!!!

i heart le boeuf




and labeouf ;)




bahaha.

cuba mia

sparklers on a cake. hell yea.












2am, booze, dancing, loud music, 3 year old...
















salsa <3

boca & soldaderos

for jon:

que tal

and the carnage begins...









for bev:


for chris:


one of these will be in my backyard someday: