Return to hot pocket.

I am not so sure I can nonchalantly trample back through the tall grass to log in (especially with all that dual login doodoo), and just start posting willy nilly as if I had not skipped town on the boat to Freelance City, Homowner Island, and Sleepfield.

Well now that Freelance City has sunk into the ocean, I really can't afford to spend alot of money in Homowner Island. That leaves me with a lot of holidaying in Sleepfield, which makes me think I can turn this blog into a dream diary. Everyone loves those right?

they did it.

Finally.

Rivalling those paternal DNA testing billboards: From Here to Paternity

trends in heroes

Why are all my favorite comediennes taking on domestic arts books?

can I log in around here?

a reason to blog. hoorah. I was really hoping to make it to my first primary elections for that reason. Especially since J. Owens bothered to try and add me as a friend on myspace. Have you got that kind of campaign attention recently? When you can't calmly talk about Schaeffer with your family, you know you're deeply rooted in Baltimore.

Unleashed

When Mr. Bush visited the Russian president’s dacha outside Moscow, Mr. Putin’s Labrador bounded out to greet them. Comparing his dog to Mr. Bush’s smaller Scottish terrier, Mr. Putin turned to Mr. Bush and said, “Bigger, tougher, stronger, faster, meaner — than Barney,” Mr. Bush’s dog. Mr. Bush’s aides say they take the tale as a mark of a friendship strengthened by a little needling. But Russian policy analysts said they heard a different message in the story when Mr. Putin told it to them.

read here

a brief history of tshirts

Recently, I purchased the shirt below, entirely oblivious to its association with 9/11. Its kind of like one of those magic pictures where sometimes when I look at it I see nothing to do with 9/11. and then I look at it and I can see the ironic bratty little anti-patriotic apathetic brooklyn hipsters.


well I wore it anyway, and got a taste of that old-fashion embarrasSment a-la up the stairs in a skirt too short. I was behind 5 firefighters in Matthew's pizza and kept crossing my arms and holding my purse in front of me like a cardboard flyer.

here's the latest urge:

secret hotel

been catching up on my utter lack of north korean culture and history. Found this interesting, odd, sad, well-written photo essay:

beeswax bologna

Still working on highering my efficiency. I've decided to give this old white dude credit for making the words paradigm, emotional bank account, and codependency household labels.

In other household news I have a wasp or hornet nest. It looks like an old tamale. According to my internet research I am s'posed to go at it at night when they are all home spritzing it with Wasp and Hornet Killer. It also recommends overalls. Somewhere I remember learning that the more you get stung by a bee, the less resistent you are too their sting until it can kill you. Does that only pertain to killer African bees?

wait til I get my seven habits on you.

I got a hold of an incomplete audio book of Stephen Covey's top-selling book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I am really trying to get through the whole thing before I launch into all the millions of scathing reviews I can imagine exist on this book. So far, on chapter 3, (don't have chapter 2), my impressions are:

1. he is one of those speakers who put an "h" before their "w"'s. Both impressive and annoying.
2. he's all over the place with his models, examples, and metaphors. Maybe it's just cause I am driving in rush hour traffic.
3. This stuff only applied in the 80s.

stay tuned for a highly enlightened effective synergized newly-paradigmed view.

L0sT

are there cliff notes for this show???

status 12

I had a very pleasant conversation with the IRS this morning. The check they sent me was not a mistake, because I have filled my obligation to my uncle sam from back in 2004. Thanks to installments and estimated payments in 2005, and a highly-skilled and highly-payed accountant. I am now in the category of Status 12-- where the rest of yall non-debt govment-owing slacks be. I dunno where I was before. Maybe I was on the list where they were watching my phone calls.

All of it reminds me of this movie that I watched for the first time ever. I had the privelage of watching it with a person who hadn't already been spoiled by the overspoken ending. She indeed figured it out ahead of time. I seem to be alone in thinking that a remake of this movie could be very intriguing. I am of the belief that we should leave the Jane Austen movies behind because people never change really. I would love to see Jeff Goldblum (the new Mr. Heston) on a cell phone, and the exchange actually doing research on the interweb. It might also be nice to see that women could be regarded in an even more dismissive manner then furniture too, that might be nice.

its official. macs suck less.

so I found this website (no idea about its validity) breaking down just how much your computer is gonna runs up yer BGE$ this long hot summer, down to the busting open of multiple girls g0ne wi1d photos. Its gonna cost you. Better savor one by printing it out and look at it by candlelight while an illegal immigrant fans you in the dark.

I am getting a little sick of all this expensive house business and constant splinters.

bleeding ho

If there was ever a habit of visiting my blog, routine has died I'm sure.

Im not proud to report it, but I went to walmart and got into a cranky dispute with the cashier. It ended in her bleeding on my poorly packaged carpet scraper. Trust me in saying, she really deserved it. Back before I sat on my butt I helped people ALOT.I know it sounds righteous, but I spent so many dreadful moments for a customer, and if I didn't I would be really polite in bullshitting my way out of it. Such as the days when I used to 'bleed orange' at the H0me Dep0t. It was one of the best paying retail jobs I ever had and it was kind of a rigorous test to get a job there, requiring a Southwest airlines shit-eating grin mentality and the ability to state that I would NEVER EVER even if my life depended on it, would I ever...steal a pen. My high school tennis partner's dad managed the store: home nepotism.

So while I was there I graduated from cashier college and listened to tons of people volunteer their weekend warrior DIY sagas and I sincerely did not give a shit. I had no idea what I scanned for the long 10 hour shifts except for galvanized things and lumber (as we were told that contractors liked to target young ladies lines in hopes of walking away with some spending dough).

There was a time I was not the diligent worker that I have made myself out to be. One time there was the funnest party of my life. Old high school friends were home from college and we partied throughout the entire night in matching recreation soccer gear until that dreadful 6 a.m. rolled around and I needed to be at work. By 9 a.m., it had occurred to me that I was counting out money like hours, having some serious disconnect when I saw change higher then 12. I am sure someone had a righteous customer service moment with me that saturday.

something I forgot about myself

I like to play house. I start from scratch and buy a sword. then I buy a better sword. Then I buy a shield. Then I get a hammer. Then I can stab down with my sword.

When my brother and I were young we would line up all the furniture and gijoes (they fit almost perfectly in my dollhouse) for selection. He would mock all my first draft GIJoe picks and I smartly retorted that they were HIS toys. We would spend what seemed like eternity decorating the dollhouse. When all the furniture was just where I wanted it. My brother got to kill off each of the GI Joes I selected and we were done.

So all of the settlement hangups don't deserve details, suffice it to say I am in my new house. I am getting accustomed to the silence and sound of birds in the a.m. freaky. I am very aware of the absence of firetrucks and "Welcome aboard MTAs". Playing house for a month until I select a housemate...that I won't kill. I promise.

Back to the Lake

Returning soon to a theatre near you, featuring Reese W1therspoon. This poster rocks! This movie was weird! It came on regular tv one day and I watched part of it, and imagined it was the Twin Peaks of its time

get name

For at lEASt 5 years I have been trying to remember the name of this game I received from my sister one year for Christmas. It was during the bratty tween years where gifts bore or baby. This one was a real winner. I retreated to my bedroom immediately to travel the universe in 64 bits.

For years every time I knew I was coming close to the name of the game, "Rick Santorum" would get in the way. It just popped into my head just now while typing a print estimate. For no reason- "Tracers Sanction".

My myspace friend Tom was in Vanity Fair!

Vanity Fair this month was like a printed extension of MySpace. Ubiquitous and unable to break away from. salon breaks it down feministically.

The Pink, Pink, Lady Of Malibu

Before there was American Idol, there were song-poems.

Before I had a full-time job that I love, I had a full-time job that I hated. When I was feeling particularly jaded in my job, I spent entire days downloading the ENTIRE collection and playing and archiving them and imagining that I could write bad songs. I see on metafilter that there is a movie now.

go sno blow yourself

Its been a long time since I have had to travel outside the city (or my home) on snowy days. Sunday worked out to be okay. A mellow soft quiet calm plow out for mondays a.m. delayed schedule.

Monday getting home didn't work out so well. After a quick visit to the realtors, it occurred to me that any unclaimed chair spots would be full at that hour. I decided to park in an illegal spot figuring that some sources have been calling this a blizzard. Bad idea. I got stuck just backing in.

I went in for a moment to just be away from snow and car. I returned with my shovel to ease the delivery of my vehicle into place. It had now become hard tough dirty ice from all the people driving up the street spitting it out and then packing it down. An SUV pulled slowly up to me and my running car. I should say I was already quietly raging at my own physical incompetance against this surprising state of snow. I blurted out "Get lost!". I actually said "get lost"! loudly too. I was immediately embarrassed by my own hot fury staring at the couple inside who I thought was trying to grab my space who began to appear like they were going to give me a hand until I indicated otherwise. Couples don't help. they want to get a soda at Royal Farms and go home and watch tv. Philanthropic people are independent.

Minutes later as I begin to enjoy savagely tearing into ice and snow, a gentleman approaches by foot, "you straight?". "I'm straight." I mean I was. I was going to town. I soo genuinely appreciated this approach though- offering up some assistance without making me feel helpless. On his way back out of the RoFo, he told me I looked like a guy the way that I was shovelling. I was hurling huge rocks of ice over my shoulder hoping to hit someone. Then I busted myself in the face with the shovel.

Thank goodness my roomate pulled up at that instant as the emotional, independent, physical exhaustion began to take over. She told me she gladly had a fireman help her from her spot with a couple tips that she shared with me.

Sotu Mountain

The only part of the State of the Union Address I caught included the line about being addicted to oil. Whats with cowboys inability to quit shit?

inspection

I may have spoke to soon when I used the word "bought" in reference to a house. In doing so, I have jinxed it. Instead of writing about how bummed this is and could turn out to be, I will link to my first ever podcast listening-- episode 8 of the Ricky Gervais show. If there was ever a reason on this earth to use weed in my life, it would need to include an opportunity to share a laugh with this brilliant laughing chap.

Last week I was going to get a perm

but I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to my trusty stylist who doesn't think its a good idea but wanted to "experiment", or the elderly urban stylist in midtown who does them everyday. While I was accessing the merits of the two, I bought a house.

I didn't plan to. I mean I was taking the number one form of advice, that being- take your time. I was in no hurry. Just looking. Enrolled at the end of the month in a first time buyers program. All the good painful slow stuff. Then there it was: a 10 point beauty.

Second major piece of advice was to get a handy person (guy) to go to my inspection with me. I don't know handy people. Along with hiring an inspector, you should have the option to hire an "objective handy advisor".

Thats all until then. Lets hope if the roof caves in, I incur minor damages enough to afford my closing costs, and thats it.

google goggles

Yesterdays email included about four exchanges regarding rocknroll communiy yoga at Midt0wn. Don't get me started. By the days end, I noticed my google headline ticker offered an ad for:
"Authentic yoga wear - www.shareyoga.com - Inspire your practice with unique, q...".

I refreshed the page a few times, and another about yoga mat discounts, then another one about lucy's yoga. Then one about Warrantys, which had been another exchange I had. I was tempted to start dialogues about some really obscure topics to test it. Ultimately, it doesn't feel like someone is reading my mail. It does seem like there is some code that reads like, "where dumbass types x, run x ad". I don't really care about that. Should I?

Alabaster crashes d0wn (s1x months is a long time?)

Not since my beloved ford e$$cort, have I really cruised listening to the Smiths. I had it banned from my ears as bad pathetic self-loathing break-up music for my 90s. but the ban has been lifted, and I find quite coincidentally, that I am travelling along the same Rolling Road(it never changes) thinking the same things as I once did 8 years ago when I hear words about a heartless hand on my shoulder.

My first boyfriend was O-B-sessed with the band and introduced me to the music--making my first ever "jimmy tape". He painstakingly pulled nearly all of "l0uder than bombs" with some smatterings of his special faves. His tape-recording craft was impecable. Only one song was cut off, and later I would attribute special soar heart-felt meaning to it. When I hear the song now I anticipate the cut off and stopping sound of what I know to be the end, but now it keeps going. I guess I could make some sort of anecdote for that. The song was "Let the right one in".

He also began a very frustrating habit of reciting certain lyrics, just in fascination and identifcation. I would scramble to uncover their meanings as if it was a code. hmmm..."nature is a language can't you read". thats gotta mean something.

I guess when you are 20 you assign everything a meaning thats why love hurts like a big bitchy morrissey. I really think we could have conducted our whole break-up in Smith lyrics alone. I wish we would have. Thats the way a first romance should be. bitter and melodramatic.

king konky dory

so I love my new job. I am afraid to say it, but I do. I have made habits of looking on the bright side too much. Like that whole bit about hearing my footsteps stuff...well its because I am wearing dress shoes I figured out. When I am home I am slumming it in my $15 converse bobos. soundless. the way mother nature intended us to be when we walk for survival in the woods and jungles. heeless. Clacking around every hallway is going to get me hunted down. or maybe I have too much King Kong on the brain.

The other thing that I am being ms. brightside about is the trek out of the city. Its a great way to let the bags slowly shake out from under my eyes when I am driving to work. AND, it allows me to be reminded of how beautiful the city is on my way back in. what is it thats making me so shit-eating grin happy or however they say? I'm worried.

first week impressions

So all my first day mania of different impressions have began to die down. I am slowly becoming acquainted to my new job description and environs. My misleadingly large (and temporary until new space cube) office had me whirling as to what I was exactly supposed to do in there. The only books on the shelves were a really old edition of Elements of Writing Style and Design in the Electronic Age with a clip art illustration of some Rennaissance peeps working on a desktop computer.

One thing that continues to bother me is the commute out of the city. I have always felt compelled to work close-by. I mean its the city right? brimming with activity and industry thats why I chose to live here. So for now I will have to focus on the quiet retreat it lends. When I walk outside I can hear my footsteps. Here, between the Young Unwed Mothers Agressive Debate Club late everynight and the firehouse up the street, my mind is swimming with my own thoughts and the sounds of trouble all around me. Those moments at work even just walking to the cafeteria where my pace is the only metronome for my thoughts for what feels like a good mile away. Pretty nice.

I've also had a 75% cutback on obsessive financial hysteria. What an interrupting cow to my thoughts that was! This is just the first week--when I am sitting home on a paid holiday, I am sure I will have a lot more things to say about Senor 9-5.

first day on the jarb you find:

While heading to Panera bread in the backseat of my new coworkers car, surrounded by countless Simply Red cds, I heard the song on the radio that couldn't have acted on me more in an 80's y6acht rock sense.

I must have relayed 20 times today to all the nice people who asked about my first day-- routine is the key to all my comments. My previous routine was chaos, the consistent routine of drama. now 8 am and conversations about weight watchers. the only conversations I had before were on im about photos, flickr, css, or the occassional ball $having debate.

I am looking forward to sleep right now. Thats what I will think about tomorrow should I have another Bruce Hornsby moment, or even just a memory of that keyboard flourish.

last rituals

Today I had an amalgamation of all my freelance day activities-- Playstation, flickr, elimidate, guitar, and dishwashing. To switch it up, I decided to take a drive even though it was crappy out. It reminded me of an article in Harpers about prison inmates last meals. Heres a sample. dramatic comparision, I know. I am arbitrarily whiny about my great new job, but mostly cause I can't pinpoint whatso upsetting bout it. ps. I had the catfish with lemon risotto and some gingersnaps and a tylenol p.m.