(Hi, Marin)
...and I'm bad at dating.
(encouraging applause)
Not in a cutesy, "Oh, isn't dating just the worst... heeheeheeheehee," way, but I'm really and truly terrible at it.
I've been "dating" via the innernets for more than ten years and I'm just fucking awful.
When I go on that first date with someone I've been talking to on Match, I'm filled with apprehension and I render myself unable to talk.†
I grow to dislike and distrust myself, the guy who has to put up with me and -- really -- just about everyone in the world except the waiter who's bringing me a drink.‡
[SUMMARY: You can see why I'm single.]
I'm sure there are several guys out there who wonder how the vibrant, witty creature who intrigued them so on her profile could be the short,§ dull thing that lets the whole evening go one-sided¶ in two minutes flat.#
They probably think I paid someone else to write my profile.
When I have a chance meeting in a happy place,% it's all good. I can tease and flirt and sparkle and revel in my dorkness and my twelveness.
When I email someone for a week or two and set up a date, it feels like a job interview.
[SUMMARY: Guess what I did last night?]
On the plus side, I got to see a lot of DNC stuff -- pretty people in suits going to TiVi interviews, TiVi cameras on every corner,†† vendors selling Obama yearbooks for $40,‡‡ a dog in a baby sling dressed in an Obama photograph, white boater hats with red-white-and-blue grosgrain ribbons 'round the crowns.§§
Riot police in vans... on bikes... on motorbikes... on horseback...¶¶
Protestors and Democrat supporters dressed as hippies... dressed as prisoners... dressed as display racks.##
And the tear gas didn't start until I was back at the office to pick up my purse.††† Two nice security guards in the building apprised me of the spray-painting, window-breaking and the consequent tear-gassing and told me to be careful.
[SUMMARY: They like me! They really like me!]
So at least I have that going for me.
*************
L'Eau d'Hiver - Frederic Malle (edp)
Marin says: I'm anticipating a roll-out on this one. It's the one thing I really expect from a Jean Claude Ellena creation.
The initial blast was citrus, but a carmel scent came up from beneath that pretty quickly. Then something sharp, like menthol.
About a half-hour in, it smells like green wood‡‡‡ and carnation, a wet nature smell like woods after rain.
An hour in, it's wood and carmel.
Four hours down, it's very, very soapy. Meh.
The Perfumed Court says: An Oriental blend of bergamot,$ angelica, iris, hawthorn, jasmine, honey, carnation,$ white heliotrope, caramel$ and musk.
Hans says: Ooooh. That smells like licorice!§§§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And the closer I get to date time, the more I want to call in sick.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Charming, no? If it makes you feel any better, I rarely drink more than one on a first date. Surly, paranoid, uncommunicative and drunk. Line up boys, I *am* your dream date!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not height. I don't like about my height. But snappish. And monosyllabic. Can you imagine the girl who regularly uses the word "monosyllabic" being monosyllabic?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): More than one guy has said, "Am I asking too many questions? Is there anything you want to know about me? Is there anything else I should know about you?"
Yes... I can't date.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The exception that proves the rule is Soldier Boy, which explains why he calls every time he's in town. Psych 101: Soldier Boy was home for two weeks on leave and was returning to Iraq. Stakes were minimal. Expectations were limited.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like bars, football games, BBQs or the book store.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): News teams from everywhere were getting background/stock footage of DNC crowds. I must've walked through two dozen view screens yesterday. Look for me on a TiVi set near you!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Yeah, I don't know what an Obama yearbook is either. Or why it's worth $40.
§§FOOTNOTE (wafts): A look I find charming, though it reeks of political events and barbershop quartets.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (meerkats): It was really impressive when they all took off to do riot control last night. I know a lot of people think Denver is still a cowtown, but it's been a long time since horses have galloped down the streets here.
##FOOTNOTE (two pounds, two pints): You know how some people have so many bumper stickers on their cars you wonder if there's anything they won't honk at? There are human equivalents with t-shirts, hats, buttons and banners all over the place.
†††FOOTNOTE (scent strips): I didn't want to take it into the throngs. Just in case. I left it safe in my office.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE(like tracks through my nose holes): Which is a bitterly green smell.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Ha! Got one!
§§§FOOTNOTE (Hans twirls his hands as he ): Hans got to smell five minutes after I sprayed -- and I bet carmel and menthol smells a lot like licorice.
Showing posts with label Soldier Boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soldier Boy. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Long Time No Lick
Couldn't you just slurp 'em up?
*************
Heat is not my favourite medium.†
But the little yard outside the Baptist church I can see from my window currently sports a crew‡ of landscape maintenance technicians§ and one of them has his shirt off.
Let's just say this boy should ALWAYS go shirtless.
Hey, you have your boys of summer, I have mine.¶
*************
Sunday night at family dinner, I mentioned the crane in Houston that broke free and killed its oppressors.#
Brother gave me that... Brother... look.
Dad began to wax eloquent on cranes, and Brother said, "You have a crane thing? Is that where she gets it?"
"No, this is years of observation."
Heredity. Cranes are in the blood.††
*************
Speaking of nature vs. nurture. Sort of:
A couple of weeks ago, Dr. Doom said, "AntiM, I wish I was a girl."
So, y'know, partly worried that one of my favourite nephews was experiencing gender identity pains and partly worried about what this would do to his childhood, I said, "I'm sorry to hear that. Why do you wish you were a girl?"
"Because girls get to like princesses and I love the princesses only boys aren't supposed to like princesses."
Caught halfway between laughing and crying, I said, "Boys can like princesses if they like. There's not a thing in the world wrong with liking princesses no matter who you are."
So I was at Target Sunday and, on a whim,‡‡ I checked on the pink aisle to see what they had in a Disney Princess. Lo and behold, they had a set of Disney princess action figures. There was only one set left. I bought it and decided to give it to him right away.§§
It should be noted for those of you who may think the Dr. Doom appelation is inappropriate for such a sensitive little boy that there was a princess death match at dinner and Ariel kicked some major ballgowned ass.¶¶
*************
Soldier Boy called yesterday.
If you cast your mind back, the last time he called, I called back to say, "I need time to shave my legs. Please give me notice next time."
So the message, "I'm in Denver for a couple of days and thought maybe we could get together for a beer. I know the last time I talked to you, you said you need time to buff and polish, so I'm callin' to see if we can get together tomorrow or Wednesday. Maybe get some munchies."
I think it's heartening to know he listened. I think it's even more heartening that he remembered something from that long ago.###
*************
I gave in.
At lunch, I bought this:
The fact that there are vampires and scent## surely make up for the fact that when I couldn't find it in Fiction and Literature or Sci-Fi/Fantasy and asked at the information desk, I had to be led to the teen section.†††
*************
I also bought this:
I believe knitting is waning fast as a fad.
I looked at my local grocery store.‡‡‡ I looked at Borders. I found one lone copy of Knitscene at Barnes & Noble.
While I was at B&N, I checked the knitting section to see if there's anything I need.§§§
The knitting section is less than half what it was a month ago.
When I was looking for a picture of the cover to post here, I found that neither B&N online nor Amazon.com is carrying Knitscene anymore.
I suspect there are a lot of that particular type of snob¶¶¶ who will purport to be thrilled not to have to cope with amateur hour at the local yarn store anymore, but if knitting is no longer the It hobby, I think we'll see less books, less yarn, less patterns.
More isn't always bad. Popularity isn't always a curse.
*************
Finally, let's take a sniff at today's perfume: Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Angelique - Lilas.
This is my *ahem* Danielle Steele scent.%
And it smells like lilacs. For a long time, it smells like lilacs. It smells like lilacs right out of the bottle and keeps on smelling like lilacs. I thought for fleeting moments I got a whiff of grass, but it always went back to lilacs...
...until about 3:03 this afternoon, when it softened into a cedar-tinged light musk, which I really rather like.
Huh.
I love the smell of lilacs when it arrives in the spring. Around day three of lilac season, I'm done. That first whiff is a harbinger, a soft, sweet sign of the season. The fifty-first whiff is a blanket of sweet I can't get away from.
I feel the same way about orange blossoms in Scottsdale.
Damn, I'm picky.
The Perfumed Court says: "Lilas creates a sensual blend of soft floral notes, bright green notes,* and subtle musk$ notes. With notes of pink peppercorn, jasmine, Seville orange,^ angelica,= lilac,@ ylang ylang,& cedar$ and heliotrope."
Hans says: *sniff* *eyeroll* *pause*
"I rather like that."
He cocked his head, beckoned with his fingers for me to hold my wrist up again, took a deep whiff and said, "Fruity!"
I guess Hans could smell the orange.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): At least when it comes to weather.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Three guys. I could mow this lawn, trim it and blow the lawn schrapnel off in less than an hour. Three guys? I am, of course, mostly bitching because I only got to watch the Young and the Shirtless for about ten minutes.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I made that up. It sounds really PC, doesn't it?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Let's not talk about the Rockies just now, shall we? Concentrate on the pretty boy with the pretty chest.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm developing my own theory on the Mass Crane Collapse of 2008.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Wouldn't it make a fantastic nature vs. nurture study?
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Much surrounding princesses is whimsical.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn around when you're two, turn around when you're four...): Justifying my psycho-auntdom, who knows if he'll still be into princesses at Christmas?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (and the winner is...): I like to think this is because Ariel is a redhead.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the ego of a 41-year-old in the teen section): Thank you, Secret Pal.
†††FOOTNOTE (three times a vampire): I really thought the guy said the books were in "thirteenth century." Wishful thinking.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (railroad tracks to nowhere): Which not only didn't have Knitscene, but isn't carrying knitting magazines at all anymore.
§§§FOOTNOTE (yarn over): Read: anything I don't already have.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (three needle bind-off): You know the type -- the ones who get sputtering mad over the phrase, "Not your grandmother's knitting" or the designation "hip."
###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding I could have had!): Though disheartening that he apparently got booked up for the couple of days he's here. We talked for a bit and he kinda said, "Nobody ever comes to visit me in Vail. I try to touch base every time I'm in Denver. Talk to you later." Does *anyone* know the Boy-to-Girl translation of this? Other than, "Marin is not getting laid any time this week"?
%FOOTNOTE (percented, because four of anything is anathema): From "Zoya," the first Danielle Steele book I ever read, about a Russian noble who was friends with the royal family and had to flee in the face of the Revolution. Zoya and the royal daughters wore Lilas and it was used to denote a trip down memory lane for the post-Revolution portion of the book. For the record, I checked another Danielle Steele novel out of the library, hated it and never read Danielle Steele again. I re-read Zoya every couple of years just 'cause it's a good yarn.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, ibid): Where? WHERE ARE THE GREEN NOTES? I'm pretty sure I like green notes.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed, ibid): Ha! Got one!
^FOOTNOTE (careted, ibid): Lookie there. Hans was right. I knew he'd redeem himself for the very flippant "diaper" comment.
=FOOTNOTE (equaled): I wouldn't know an angelica if it bit me in the ass. Isn't angelica that stuff that makes yarn sparkly?
@FOOTNOTE (atted, ibid): Duh
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded, ibid): There's ylang-ylang in this? Wow. Maybe ylang-ylang isn't the spew of the devil I thought it was. Out of fairness to ylang-ylang, most of my experience with it is in the form of bubble baths from Whole Foods that are supposed to be sexy. Oh, yeah. I'm that girl.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Denver Dumb Men's League
TTHFCIF
First and foremost, I promised updates on the keychain situation as circumstances warranted.
*warrantwarrantwarrant*†
First, Angel-eek found the entire push-button animal keychain line here,% where they have many, many cool things and I really want the duck mirror. I don't even look in mirrors‡ and I want the one with the duck feet.
Then Lyda, bemoaning the lack of zombie keychains, tracked these down. Despite her misgivings they may be too cute, I am madly in love with them. I used to have nightmares when I was six that looked a lot like those keychains.
Well, those and the hideous Frankentoys from "Toy Story."
For the record? Nothing to do with keychains, but Lyda also found this collection. I think a Zombie Knitter thong would be an excellent test for a man's dedication to the pursuit of a little trim.
Which brings us to our real topic of the day: men. And the dedication aforementioned.
[SUMMARY: Segueways are my speciality.§]
So let's talk about boys.
Oh, how I love boys. And men. And guys... 'specially guys.
I love their chronic simplicity. I love their straightforward communication style. I love taking their money at the poker table and how good natured they can be about it. I love watching football with them.
The more astute among you may recognise I'm talking about guy *friends*. If there's a hint of love or lust in the air, all that goes out the window.
Then they become the stereotype of a thousand predictable sitcoms. Every bad, mad comedienne shilling for two drink minimum shifts from shrew to incisive sociologist solely because she's so RIGHT. And even we reasonable and sane women¶ suffer from bouts of why-can't-he-call-when-he-says-he's-going-to-call misandry.
[SUMMARY: Poetic wax: apply liberally, buff to a purple shine.]
See, I met this nice guy last weekend.#
He beat me in a spelling bee, but graciously†† conceded that our spelling aptitude was at least comparable, amid mild bouts of giving me shit for misspelling "boudoir."
And he chatted me up.
And I gave him one of my MOO cards.
And he kissed me. Several times.
And when I told him I'd knitted Sue's rainbow scarf, he said, "Huh. That's kinda... hot."
Wait... let's go back to the kissing.
Top four kisses, all time (in order):
I was speculating with Ange and Bag Lady Kathryn that he may have misunderstood something I said.
See, after a few of these lovely kisses, I told him he was very good at it. He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I guess there's always room for improvement."
At the time, I thought it was a little odd, but it sounded like the sort of thing I say when I'm caught wrong-footed,## so I shrugged, smiled and said, "Could be."
We had been in the midst of saying our good-byes, but I turned around to say something to Kelley and he just disappeared. Again, I didn't think a whole lot of it, but...
Now he hasn't called.
And now that I'm in the check-the-phone-for-a-dial-tone phase, I'm wondering if he thought I told him he *wasn't* very good at kissing. And he was crushed. And he's somewhere, nursing his wounds, dreaming of the young††† woman who so fascinated him and so defeated him.
Perhaps he cries in his pillow every night.
[SUMMARY: Leave me to my fantasies. Did you not hear he hasn't called?]
On the other hand, there's Soldier Boy, who calls every couple of weeks and either 1) says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? We should get a beer or something," then never calls, or 2) calls at 9:30 on Sunday night to say, "I'm in your neck of the woods, I was hanging out with a buddy and I thought maybe we could get a beer or something. Right now. Run."
OK, he doesn't really say, "run," but you get the idea.
I called him after I got home Wednesday night, a couple of glasses of wine making me brave, and said, "You do know I'm a girl, right? And you have to give me at least a few hours of lead time so I can shave my legs and put on the war paint."
"Honey, you know I'm not a planning kind of guy..."
"Oh, I know. But... legs. Shaving. Girly stuff. I'm not asking for much. Three or four hours warning."
"What are you doing August 8?"
"Smart ass."
At least we're both very aware of our needs and our shortcomings. I don't know The Spelling Bee Champ well enough to know what the hell he's thinking. If he's thinking at all.^
There I was crying in my beer, making Ange and Kathryn listen to my junior high rantings.‡‡‡ They were being very supportive, and Ange chimed in with, "They should have a Denver Dumb Men's League."§§§
Ange introduced me to the Denver Dumb Friends League KittenCam, which can be equal parts disappointing and addicting. We had been talking about that and DDML just popped right into place.
[SUMMARY: That, my elementary school-level readers, is a clear example of serendipity.]
Now, I got my cats at the DDFL ten years ago. My hedgehog had waddled off the mortal coil almost a year before and Brother offered to adopt me a cat for my birthday.
"But I don't like cats," I said.
"You only don't like cats because you've never had a cat," he replied.
So we went to a couple of different DDFL shelters a couple of times each. I watched the cats. I read their names and what history the DDFL had on them. I learned of their medical and emotional issues.
In the very room you see on KittenCam, I fell in love with my Quill and Lucy.¶¶¶ I watched them climb and hide and rub noses and I knew this was the pair I was seeking. The DDFL rep brought them into a room with me so I could get a little one-on-one and we all three were hooked.###
I had to fill out paperwork promising to take care of them and allowing that the DDFL could inspect my home for cat suitability and repossess the cats in the event any allegations of abuse or neglect were substantiated.
Then there is a two- or three-day cooling off period (you can't take them home the second you find them).
Because I was renting, they also had to get the OK from my landlord for me to have pets.
Then they micro-chipped them and sent them home with me.
My friends came over a couple of nights later to meet and greet and bring kitty treats.
[SUMMARY: A well-conceived process.]
How difficult a transition is it to make to a DDML?††††
Think about it:
-A place where you can watch the men in their habitat for a few days before seeing them in person.
-A place where you can visit them and get a feel for them before you actually mingle with them.
-A place where they have their medical history, emotional state and family history all typed up on a card.
-A place where there are always options for adoption.
-A place where they are electronically marked so you can find them if they stray.
-A place that makes sure you have thought it through and your home is open to the adoption.
Then a forum to meet friends and family all in one fell swoop?
It may be ideal. If only we could get the men into those little cages...
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Don't send Glenn Sacks after me!]
How much would you love to be looking at the DDML SmittenCam right now?
And do you think I should ask Sue to ask Sarah to ask The Spelling Bee Champ to check whether he likes me, yes or no?‡‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's much funnier in person. Out loud. Really.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ange also got a post-grad collegiate rating on her reading level, but it in no way makes me want to stick DPNs up her nose. I'm happy for her continued success and wish her all the best.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by my classic Nick-Nolte-in-lockup hairdo.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you say this with a posh British pronunciation (spěsh'ē-āl'ĭ-tē), I'm pretty sure it will boost my reading level.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shut up. If you want to stay on the "reasonable and sane" train with me, you have to stop laughing.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, yeah. This may look a little like social commentary, but it's all about me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And -- it seemed -- sincerely...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): For easier viewing!
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy, head-spinning smooches): No, you've never heard of them. Just detail for the sake of authenticity.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like tuning pegs on a guitar): Not an oxymoron.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like an object lesson into your brain): Like the time I was staring at The Boy, daydreaming, largely unaware he was even there, when he said, "What?" in that sorta sexy way that invites a love-nibble of a reply. "Did anyone ever tell you you have really nice teeth?" I said. Wrong-footed. Like that.
†††FOOTNOTE (Calgary? Cavalry? Calvary?): Damnit, stop laughing. Hey, one other point in his favour was that I thought he was about 30 and when he asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" and I confessed to 40 (thinking I might just be relegating myself to the role of mother figure), he was so visibly relieved because he thought I might be in my 20s and he's 38 and just doesn't have a lot of truck with youngsters. It could happen. I was wearing pigtails.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Perish the thought! He hasn't stopped thinking of me since that night. He's haunted by my wit, my beauty, my curly hair... his work suffers and he loses sleep. Or maybe I'm projecting.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (how many ways can I say "train tracks"?): "Maybe I should ask Sue to ask Sarah if he likes me. Or maybe I should tell Sue to tell Sarah to tell him I thought he was a really good kisser, just in case he thinks I said he was a bad kisser. I really like him. Where's Sue? Do you think I should talk to Sue?"
§§§FOOTNOTE (spinning right out of orbit): Ange regularly and frequently says the funniest, smartest things I hear in any given week. She claims, "...my contribution was the name. I'm just the idea person, I'm not so-much about action or follow-through." Bless you, Angel-eek for letting me steal your idea and provide my own wonky follow-through.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (clubby!): Quill and Lucy were littermates, actual brother and sister, given up by a guy who moved to a rental where he couldn't have both cats and his dog. He chose the dog. He also named the cats "Garth" and "Axl," so his whole mental state may be suspect, but they were well-loved and well-trained kitties, so I bless him a little every time Cat for Scale purrs at me.
###FOOTNOTE (we are taking such a pounding): I don't think Brother was immune, so let's say "all four of us." He started volunteering at the shelter not too long after that.
††††FOOTNOTE (have I ever been this crossed?): None. None difficult transition.
‡‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're nearing the Golden Spike): Wasn't this fun? Hasn't it been a long time since I've shared my stupid girl neuroses about boys with you? Don't you wish we could do this more often?
Wow. It's really unfortunate Blogger won't let me put "Dork" in the labels more than once.
First and foremost, I promised updates on the keychain situation as circumstances warranted.
*warrantwarrantwarrant*†
First, Angel-eek found the entire push-button animal keychain line here,% where they have many, many cool things and I really want the duck mirror. I don't even look in mirrors‡ and I want the one with the duck feet.
Then Lyda, bemoaning the lack of zombie keychains, tracked these down. Despite her misgivings they may be too cute, I am madly in love with them. I used to have nightmares when I was six that looked a lot like those keychains.
Well, those and the hideous Frankentoys from "Toy Story."
For the record? Nothing to do with keychains, but Lyda also found this collection. I think a Zombie Knitter thong would be an excellent test for a man's dedication to the pursuit of a little trim.
Which brings us to our real topic of the day: men. And the dedication aforementioned.
[SUMMARY: Segueways are my speciality.§]
So let's talk about boys.
Oh, how I love boys. And men. And guys... 'specially guys.
I love their chronic simplicity. I love their straightforward communication style. I love taking their money at the poker table and how good natured they can be about it. I love watching football with them.
The more astute among you may recognise I'm talking about guy *friends*. If there's a hint of love or lust in the air, all that goes out the window.
Then they become the stereotype of a thousand predictable sitcoms. Every bad, mad comedienne shilling for two drink minimum shifts from shrew to incisive sociologist solely because she's so RIGHT. And even we reasonable and sane women¶ suffer from bouts of why-can't-he-call-when-he-says-he's-going-to-call misandry.
[SUMMARY: Poetic wax: apply liberally, buff to a purple shine.]
See, I met this nice guy last weekend.#
He beat me in a spelling bee, but graciously†† conceded that our spelling aptitude was at least comparable, amid mild bouts of giving me shit for misspelling "boudoir."
And he chatted me up.
And I gave him one of my MOO cards.
And he kissed me. Several times.
And when I told him I'd knitted Sue's rainbow scarf, he said, "Huh. That's kinda... hot."
Wait... let's go back to the kissing.
Top four kisses, all time (in order):
- Mark, the coffin kiss, 1982: Our high school drama department was working the Denver Jaycees' haunted house. I was out of our cauldron and down the graveyard path at the BBYO cemetery, hanging out in a stand-up coffin, playing dead, getting a little rest from all the cackling and stirring. Mark walked up, pulled the split-lid‡‡ over us a little, leaned in and laid his lips on mine, absolutely parallel, and ran the very tip of his tongue across my top lip and then blew on it gently. I don't know if it was the coffin, the hot guy or my lack of experience, but I may have come just a little at that moment.
- Different Mark, the stair kiss, 1986: I was hanging out with The Denny Lake Band§§ at the ABC Motel in Gunnison after their gig during Western State College homecoming festivities. The very cute, very smart guitarist¶¶ spent the night in the corner talking to me about important stuff while the other musicians drank, diddled their egos and tried to get into Stesha's pants. He asked for my phone number when Stesh and I were leaving. I was behind him going down the outside stairs from their door. Halfway down, he turned and I thought he was going to say something, but he laid a liplock on me that literally made my knees go weak. Good thing he had his arm locked around my waist or I would have collapsed. It was a quality kiss, but it was the spontaneity of it that put it over the top. And the aesthetic -- very Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville.
- Currently a tie: The Boy, the bottom of my stairs, 8/15/06: I believe he was jealous of Marco during the Def Leppard concert at Red Rocks. Marco and I were having a good time, singing along, joking... and on the way home, Marco and The Boy made friends and agreed to take Mary, Marco's girlfriend, and me golfing the following weekend. Feathers soothed a little, The Boy laid a relieved, slightly possessive kiss on me before saying goodnight that made me go, "Oh!" TIED WITH: The Spelling Bee Champ, by the watering station at the Coral Room, the wee hours of 3/23/08: Just a spectacular kiss. Firm, warm, mobile (but not too), wet (but not too), sexy, judicious use of the tongue, good suction... just a really good kiss. And it didn't hurt that it was followed by a half-dozen more of the same. And a declaration of knitting as "hot."
I was speculating with Ange and Bag Lady Kathryn that he may have misunderstood something I said.
See, after a few of these lovely kisses, I told him he was very good at it. He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I guess there's always room for improvement."
At the time, I thought it was a little odd, but it sounded like the sort of thing I say when I'm caught wrong-footed,## so I shrugged, smiled and said, "Could be."
We had been in the midst of saying our good-byes, but I turned around to say something to Kelley and he just disappeared. Again, I didn't think a whole lot of it, but...
Now he hasn't called.
And now that I'm in the check-the-phone-for-a-dial-tone phase, I'm wondering if he thought I told him he *wasn't* very good at kissing. And he was crushed. And he's somewhere, nursing his wounds, dreaming of the young††† woman who so fascinated him and so defeated him.
Perhaps he cries in his pillow every night.
[SUMMARY: Leave me to my fantasies. Did you not hear he hasn't called?]
On the other hand, there's Soldier Boy, who calls every couple of weeks and either 1) says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? We should get a beer or something," then never calls, or 2) calls at 9:30 on Sunday night to say, "I'm in your neck of the woods, I was hanging out with a buddy and I thought maybe we could get a beer or something. Right now. Run."
OK, he doesn't really say, "run," but you get the idea.
I called him after I got home Wednesday night, a couple of glasses of wine making me brave, and said, "You do know I'm a girl, right? And you have to give me at least a few hours of lead time so I can shave my legs and put on the war paint."
"Honey, you know I'm not a planning kind of guy..."
"Oh, I know. But... legs. Shaving. Girly stuff. I'm not asking for much. Three or four hours warning."
"What are you doing August 8?"
"Smart ass."
At least we're both very aware of our needs and our shortcomings. I don't know The Spelling Bee Champ well enough to know what the hell he's thinking. If he's thinking at all.^
There I was crying in my beer, making Ange and Kathryn listen to my junior high rantings.‡‡‡ They were being very supportive, and Ange chimed in with, "They should have a Denver Dumb Men's League."§§§
Ange introduced me to the Denver Dumb Friends League KittenCam, which can be equal parts disappointing and addicting. We had been talking about that and DDML just popped right into place.
[SUMMARY: That, my elementary school-level readers, is a clear example of serendipity.]
Now, I got my cats at the DDFL ten years ago. My hedgehog had waddled off the mortal coil almost a year before and Brother offered to adopt me a cat for my birthday.
"But I don't like cats," I said.
"You only don't like cats because you've never had a cat," he replied.
So we went to a couple of different DDFL shelters a couple of times each. I watched the cats. I read their names and what history the DDFL had on them. I learned of their medical and emotional issues.
In the very room you see on KittenCam, I fell in love with my Quill and Lucy.¶¶¶ I watched them climb and hide and rub noses and I knew this was the pair I was seeking. The DDFL rep brought them into a room with me so I could get a little one-on-one and we all three were hooked.###
I had to fill out paperwork promising to take care of them and allowing that the DDFL could inspect my home for cat suitability and repossess the cats in the event any allegations of abuse or neglect were substantiated.
Then there is a two- or three-day cooling off period (you can't take them home the second you find them).
Because I was renting, they also had to get the OK from my landlord for me to have pets.
Then they micro-chipped them and sent them home with me.
My friends came over a couple of nights later to meet and greet and bring kitty treats.
[SUMMARY: A well-conceived process.]
How difficult a transition is it to make to a DDML?††††
Think about it:
-A place where you can watch the men in their habitat for a few days before seeing them in person.
-A place where you can visit them and get a feel for them before you actually mingle with them.
-A place where they have their medical history, emotional state and family history all typed up on a card.
-A place where there are always options for adoption.
-A place where they are electronically marked so you can find them if they stray.
-A place that makes sure you have thought it through and your home is open to the adoption.
Then a forum to meet friends and family all in one fell swoop?
It may be ideal. If only we could get the men into those little cages...
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Don't send Glenn Sacks after me!]
How much would you love to be looking at the DDML SmittenCam right now?
And do you think I should ask Sue to ask Sarah to ask The Spelling Bee Champ to check whether he likes me, yes or no?‡‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's much funnier in person. Out loud. Really.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ange also got a post-grad collegiate rating on her reading level, but it in no way makes me want to stick DPNs up her nose. I'm happy for her continued success and wish her all the best.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by my classic Nick-Nolte-in-lockup hairdo.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you say this with a posh British pronunciation (spěsh'ē-āl'ĭ-tē), I'm pretty sure it will boost my reading level.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shut up. If you want to stay on the "reasonable and sane" train with me, you have to stop laughing.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, yeah. This may look a little like social commentary, but it's all about me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And -- it seemed -- sincerely...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): For easier viewing!
§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy, head-spinning smooches): No, you've never heard of them. Just detail for the sake of authenticity.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (like tuning pegs on a guitar): Not an oxymoron.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like an object lesson into your brain): Like the time I was staring at The Boy, daydreaming, largely unaware he was even there, when he said, "What?" in that sorta sexy way that invites a love-nibble of a reply. "Did anyone ever tell you you have really nice teeth?" I said. Wrong-footed. Like that.
†††FOOTNOTE (Calgary? Cavalry? Calvary?): Damnit, stop laughing. Hey, one other point in his favour was that I thought he was about 30 and when he asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" and I confessed to 40 (thinking I might just be relegating myself to the role of mother figure), he was so visibly relieved because he thought I might be in my 20s and he's 38 and just doesn't have a lot of truck with youngsters. It could happen. I was wearing pigtails.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Perish the thought! He hasn't stopped thinking of me since that night. He's haunted by my wit, my beauty, my curly hair... his work suffers and he loses sleep. Or maybe I'm projecting.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (how many ways can I say "train tracks"?): "Maybe I should ask Sue to ask Sarah if he likes me. Or maybe I should tell Sue to tell Sarah to tell him I thought he was a really good kisser, just in case he thinks I said he was a bad kisser. I really like him. Where's Sue? Do you think I should talk to Sue?"
§§§FOOTNOTE (spinning right out of orbit): Ange regularly and frequently says the funniest, smartest things I hear in any given week. She claims, "...my contribution was the name. I'm just the idea person, I'm not so-much about action or follow-through." Bless you, Angel-eek for letting me steal your idea and provide my own wonky follow-through.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (clubby!): Quill and Lucy were littermates, actual brother and sister, given up by a guy who moved to a rental where he couldn't have both cats and his dog. He chose the dog. He also named the cats "Garth" and "Axl," so his whole mental state may be suspect, but they were well-loved and well-trained kitties, so I bless him a little every time Cat for Scale purrs at me.
###FOOTNOTE (we are taking such a pounding): I don't think Brother was immune, so let's say "all four of us." He started volunteering at the shelter not too long after that.
††††FOOTNOTE (have I ever been this crossed?): None. None difficult transition.
‡‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're nearing the Golden Spike): Wasn't this fun? Hasn't it been a long time since I've shared my stupid girl neuroses about boys with you? Don't you wish we could do this more often?
Wow. It's really unfortunate Blogger won't let me put "Dork" in the labels more than once.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Sick and Twisted
Talking literally, here, folks.† I had a really spectacular flu the last three days. Poor Steve had it first, and I had to call him Monday to say, "Hey, hope you're feeling better, but I really need to know this is going to be over soon."
It was one of those where I spent a significant amount of time thinking I was going to die and another significant amount of time thinking it may not be the worst thing.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
I've been gone so long... today I feel I'm a stranger‡ in a strange land.
It's going to be disjointed, but we'll all get there together. Without joints.§ And you know what that means...
That pig is gonna get the tongue-bath of his life.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
*************
First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:
I'm a big fan of the "Click Clack Moo" series¶ anyway, but this isn't really a kids' book. Well, maybe. But you'll get more out of it than your five-year-old.
And you can read it standing up at your local B&N.
[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]
*************
Second, happy Super Bowl. Don't drink this:
Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best
And maybe you think you have no call to drink Boone's Farm Sangria-Flavoured Wine Product Food Stuff, but, hey... this isn't what I thought I'd be using my college degree for either.
See, our Super Bowl is about tradition. The Elks have been Super Bowling for nearly 20 years. In fact, next year is our 20th anniversary.# Because most of us were just out of college when this whole mess started, a lot of our traditions revolve around alcohol.
Because we're all still wildly immature and in denial about our age,†† we've seen no reason to delete, modify‡‡ or render symbolic+ any of these alcoholic traditions.
These traditions include the National Anthem Chug, in which the *stated* object of the game is to begin chugging a grossly cheap beer§§ at the first note of the anthem, finishing as the anthem finishes. Around, "...does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." it devolves into a highly competitive race to finish first.
These traditions also include the Lonely Guy Hour, which used to mean passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm at half-time, but now means everybody brings four or five bottles, which are cracked right after the national anthem and somewhere around the post-game confetti explosion, someone says, "Gorrdamit! Where's the best of the Roone's Flarm?"
After years of delicate tasting, we have highly sophisticated Boone's Farm palates.
Thusly:
"Where's the pink?¶¶ The pink is really good!"
"Are you high? The pink made me barf. Now, the blue..."
"Oh, dude, the blue SUCKS! Ya gotta get the orange."
"You'd drink that peach shit?"
"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."
"Ha! That's what she said!"
Anyway, our verdict is the Sangria is just bad. It actually tastes like blood.##
Also? This year we may have started a new tradition. Y'all twelve-year-olds will appreciate it: just about anytime anybody says anything, answer with, "That's what she said," or the occasionally snarf-worthier, "That's what he said."
Funniest thing ever. I still giggle every time I say it.
Maybe you had to be there.&
[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]
*************
Soldier Boy called Friday night. I think I'm gonna get me some this weekend.
[SUMMARY: WOOOOOOOOOT! I mean... That's what she said!]
*************
At one time, I had a lot of words to impart on the whole Queensryche/Dokken experience. Because it's so far gone, I'm going to give you some bullet points:
*************
THIS JUST IN:
I received an plane ticket sales email thingie* from Frontier under the heading, "Why Hibernate?" and saying you could escape with low airfare. On the "to/from Denver" list? Anchorage. Chicago. Billings. Rapid City. Detroit.
What exactly am I escaping? And why would I leave hibernation to do it?
[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]
*************
Speaking of concerts, did I mention Rush? At Red Rocks?@ I got my ticket last week. $120. Fuck me.^
So I guess I won't be leaving the eighties any time this year. It's a total celebration of lack of maturation.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
*************
While I was sick, I spent a lot of time in front of the TiVi,††† and this is on Comcast On-Demand. Watch it:
*************
Dang. I'm sure there's lots more. I'll probably have to lick that lucky pig tomorrow.
[SUMMARY: All together now: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you're used to my metaphorical... um... flights of fancy and purple prose whatsits, but there I was, sick (throwing up every hour on the hour for 22 hours) and twisted (wrapping myself around the toilet in new ways I never I could manage).
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, even stranger than usual.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not those kind. If you ever saw me stoned, you'd know why I never, ever mean *those* kind. Mentally, I went straight to Lyda's zombies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't judge. Anyone who has kids or has bedtimed for, "Read it again. Read it again. Read it again," appreciates a book you can both appreciate.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be T-shirts.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except for some of the guys whose daughters are rapidly approaching teenage-hood. Ah, Mateo... this is where you get it back for all your slick, horn-dog years.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): At least not to save our souls and livers.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): You know... like substituting Crystal Light for Boone's Farm or tossing confetti instead of our cookies.
§§FOOTNOTE (now, there's a nice, tight spiral... that's what she said): In honour of our humble beginnings.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two bottles for the price of one!): Because Boone's Farm, like Gatorade, doesn't so much come in flavours as colours.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Patriot): Well, Blood-Flavoured Wine Food Product Stuff, in any case.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I will, of course, be forcing it down your throat for the rest of the post. *pause* *think* *giggle* That's what he said!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Don Dokken has a new album coming out. Acoustic. All new stuff. Seriously.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A little geology humour for those of you who are so inclined. Or synclined. Or anticlined, if you'd rather. Gosh, I think I'm funny.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can believe that): Plane Ticket Sales Email Thingie® Frontier Airlines. All saints preserve us.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): The place where U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" video was shot. You know, where the girl in the polar bear jacket mauls Bono, then he waves a flag.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): That's what he said.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple your pleasure): Except for Monday, when I spent a lot of time in front of the toilet and the rest of the time chasing ducks in fever delusions. Fever delusions are kinda cool.
It was one of those where I spent a significant amount of time thinking I was going to die and another significant amount of time thinking it may not be the worst thing.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
I've been gone so long... today I feel I'm a stranger‡ in a strange land.
It's going to be disjointed, but we'll all get there together. Without joints.§ And you know what that means...
That pig is gonna get the tongue-bath of his life.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
*************
First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:
I'm a big fan of the "Click Clack Moo" series¶ anyway, but this isn't really a kids' book. Well, maybe. But you'll get more out of it than your five-year-old.
And you can read it standing up at your local B&N.
[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]
*************
Second, happy Super Bowl. Don't drink this:
Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best
And maybe you think you have no call to drink Boone's Farm Sangria-Flavoured Wine Product Food Stuff, but, hey... this isn't what I thought I'd be using my college degree for either.
See, our Super Bowl is about tradition. The Elks have been Super Bowling for nearly 20 years. In fact, next year is our 20th anniversary.# Because most of us were just out of college when this whole mess started, a lot of our traditions revolve around alcohol.
Because we're all still wildly immature and in denial about our age,†† we've seen no reason to delete, modify‡‡ or render symbolic+ any of these alcoholic traditions.
These traditions include the National Anthem Chug, in which the *stated* object of the game is to begin chugging a grossly cheap beer§§ at the first note of the anthem, finishing as the anthem finishes. Around, "...does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." it devolves into a highly competitive race to finish first.
These traditions also include the Lonely Guy Hour, which used to mean passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm at half-time, but now means everybody brings four or five bottles, which are cracked right after the national anthem and somewhere around the post-game confetti explosion, someone says, "Gorrdamit! Where's the best of the Roone's Flarm?"
After years of delicate tasting, we have highly sophisticated Boone's Farm palates.
Thusly:
"Where's the pink?¶¶ The pink is really good!"
"Are you high? The pink made me barf. Now, the blue..."
"Oh, dude, the blue SUCKS! Ya gotta get the orange."
"You'd drink that peach shit?"
"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."
"Ha! That's what she said!"
Anyway, our verdict is the Sangria is just bad. It actually tastes like blood.##
Also? This year we may have started a new tradition. Y'all twelve-year-olds will appreciate it: just about anytime anybody says anything, answer with, "That's what she said," or the occasionally snarf-worthier, "That's what he said."
Funniest thing ever. I still giggle every time I say it.
Maybe you had to be there.&
[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]
*************
Soldier Boy called Friday night. I think I'm gonna get me some this weekend.
[SUMMARY: WOOOOOOOOOT! I mean... That's what she said!]
*************
At one time, I had a lot of words to impart on the whole Queensryche/Dokken experience. Because it's so far gone, I'm going to give you some bullet points:
- Look! Bullet!
- We got our tickets under face value from a scalper. I didn't know that happened. I felt dangerous and hip and savvy.
- It was the first time in (probably) twenty years that I haven't been vigorously frisked going into a concert. 1) Damnit. It would have been the most action I'd seen in months, and 2) if I'd had a clue, I'd've brought my camera.
- Don Dokken now looks like Kenny Rogers.
- Don Dokken did an all-acoustic set, and all of Dokken's Greatest Hits sound pretty much alike, acoustially presented.
- Don Dokken pulled a Tragedy Vampire on the whole Heath Ledger thing with, "I wasn't going to play anything off the new album,% but this is for a guy... a guy who liked music. And he used a lot of music. And I met him a couple of times..." I will never forget the chorus to the alleged song because I was so intent on memorising it just so I could share with ya'll:
I've been driven by wild horses, dragged beneath their feet.
Why do the children cry? How can we get relief?
- All that said, Don Dokken was personable, friendly, cheerful (other than the Tragedy Vampire portion of the program), played the hits and got off stage. I think I could have a beer with Don Dokken.
- Queensryche rocked. Geoff Tate has lost the tiniest bit off his highest wail, but mostly just rocked like an antiformal syncline.$ They did not do "The Lady Wore Black," though I had a dork moment when I thought they were going to and I turned to Greg and said, "No way. No fucking way." Later, I had to confess I'd failed to recognise some Queensryche hit that sounded a lot like TLWB and Greg said he thought it was TLWB too. So... vindicated.
- Geoff Tate is DEADLY serious about his work. While that often makes art and culture more laughable, I came to the conclusion that if he wasn't so very, very serious, his work would be a joke.
- Geoff Tate doesn't cuss. Not so much as a "hell" or a "damn." Particularly in contrast to Don Dokken's every-other-word-is-fuck, it was kinda refreshing.
- Reservoir tip ski hats are back in. Half the roadies were wearing them, but I also saw a couple of escaped Abercrombie & Fitch models in front of us and one was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana reservoir tip hat and I have a strong feeling that if it was five minutes passé, the boy wouldn't be caught dead in it.
- I'm pretty sure the couple to my left at the encore actually had sex. Right there. Next to me. And she was wearing this strappy, complicated, dominatrix thing that took her about ten minutes to get straightened when the lights came up.
*************
THIS JUST IN:
I received an plane ticket sales email thingie* from Frontier under the heading, "Why Hibernate?" and saying you could escape with low airfare. On the "to/from Denver" list? Anchorage. Chicago. Billings. Rapid City. Detroit.
What exactly am I escaping? And why would I leave hibernation to do it?
[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]
*************
Speaking of concerts, did I mention Rush? At Red Rocks?@ I got my ticket last week. $120. Fuck me.^
So I guess I won't be leaving the eighties any time this year. It's a total celebration of lack of maturation.
[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]
*************
While I was sick, I spent a lot of time in front of the TiVi,††† and this is on Comcast On-Demand. Watch it:
*************
Dang. I'm sure there's lots more. I'll probably have to lick that lucky pig tomorrow.
[SUMMARY: All together now: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you're used to my metaphorical... um... flights of fancy and purple prose whatsits, but there I was, sick (throwing up every hour on the hour for 22 hours) and twisted (wrapping myself around the toilet in new ways I never I could manage).
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, even stranger than usual.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not those kind. If you ever saw me stoned, you'd know why I never, ever mean *those* kind. Mentally, I went straight to Lyda's zombies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't judge. Anyone who has kids or has bedtimed for, "Read it again. Read it again. Read it again," appreciates a book you can both appreciate.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be T-shirts.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except for some of the guys whose daughters are rapidly approaching teenage-hood. Ah, Mateo... this is where you get it back for all your slick, horn-dog years.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): At least not to save our souls and livers.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): You know... like substituting Crystal Light for Boone's Farm or tossing confetti instead of our cookies.
§§FOOTNOTE (now, there's a nice, tight spiral... that's what she said): In honour of our humble beginnings.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two bottles for the price of one!): Because Boone's Farm, like Gatorade, doesn't so much come in flavours as colours.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Patriot): Well, Blood-Flavoured Wine Food Product Stuff, in any case.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I will, of course, be forcing it down your throat for the rest of the post. *pause* *think* *giggle* That's what he said!
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Don Dokken has a new album coming out. Acoustic. All new stuff. Seriously.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A little geology humour for those of you who are so inclined. Or synclined. Or anticlined, if you'd rather. Gosh, I think I'm funny.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can believe that): Plane Ticket Sales Email Thingie® Frontier Airlines. All saints preserve us.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): The place where U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" video was shot. You know, where the girl in the polar bear jacket mauls Bono, then he waves a flag.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): That's what he said.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple your pleasure): Except for Monday, when I spent a lot of time in front of the toilet and the rest of the time chasing ducks in fever delusions. Fever delusions are kinda cool.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I Learned in 2007
- It's not "rock seals and planes," it's "rocks, hills and plains."
- Page views go up every time Tommy makes an appearance.
- Never knit a baby blanket in linen stitch.
- Expired license plates are serious business.
- Estrogen is my friend. Sometimes friends abandon.
- Judy's Magic Cast On is... magic.
- Smile for the camera.
- Life is too short for bad friends, bad yarn or bad wine. Bad boys are another issue entirely.
- There is a fine-line difference between rap and hip hop, but I have to be in a room with you to explain it to you because there are hand gestures.
- You can never have too many T-pins.
- There is a Law of Conservation of Patience in my realm: patience can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Thus, all the patience I may have exhibited in teaching Brother and Father to knit was eventually counter-balanced by an irrational blow-up at a customer service agent.
- No matter how much I pare back the nephews' gift list, I always end up getting them too much.
- Champagne can be a harsh mistress.
- Nothing bad ever happens to clean people (OK, I've known this one for years, thanks to my friend who works for DPD, but it bears repeating).
- Cars are cuter when they're clean.
- No matter how much you pay for kitty toys, they always play with the boxes. Figuratively speaking.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Just a Lickle...
How many times can one† lick the pig in a single week before one's loyal friends and readers openly revolt?
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Wonderlick*
I finally got the camera together with the computer.† While there are still no knitting pictures, I find the meeting of the electronics a good thing. If nothing else, it means I am not a complete technoloser for the twelfth day running.
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Hey, Kids! Do You Know What Time It Is?
It's time to
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
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