I'll kill your friends, your family, and that bitch you took to the prom

My new goal in life is to be published in McSweeney’s . So far, I have written and submitted one piece, a play in one act, called “Moonroof and Sunroof Go to Chilis.” I haven’t heard back on this yet and I am afraid it is not up to snuff. I was going to write another piece today, but it has been busy at work and I can’t find time to create a proper piece.

Last night, when I got home, the dogs were in their bandanas. My god, they are so cute when they are in their bandanas. I want to call them Tex and Daisy when they are all dressed up. I realize I am now one of those people that treat their pets like their children. The desktop on my phone? My dogs. It’s a little sad, but then they do something cute and I just want to film them for hours on end and show it to all my friends, wasting their Saturday nights and forcing them to stop answering my phone calls. Pretty soon, I’ll be dressing them up in full costume and riding them around the neighborhood in a wagon, calling them Mr. and Mrs. Squiggles, and putting saffron and truffle oil in their food, because they just like it better.

The future looks bleak.

They are all laser guided and I get crazy if you touch them

Saturday night, while playing my favorite party game – Scatagories, I invented a new strain of super chicken. Meet the whycken. The whycken is a teenaged hen who practices Wicca and/or lesbianism. The whycken writes bad poetry about life in a cage. She also takes offense to being told when to lay eggs and believes that all chickens should be free range. It was either invent the whycken or find another farm animal that starts with a W, so whycken it is. I was going to try to be cute and do an MSPaint of the whycken – replete with homemade carry-all, book of angry, feminist prose, and a little satchel of herbs around her neck. However, when I searched for chicken images on Google, I found an image labeled “chicken knickers” and it was a picture of someone standing in underwear with a raw chicken attached to the groin. I was very much traumatized and couldn’t look at another chicken picture.

In other news, and I have been meaning to write about this for some time, what makes Crocs (the hideous shoes) so god-damned special? Why are they granted diplomatic immunity from good fashion sense? I can’t count all of the times I have seen someone dressed in one color and wearing a completely different color of Crocs. People seem to treat all Crocs like they are denim or black. They abuse this belief by matching pink with green or blue with black and white; it is hideous. I’m biased because I dislike Crocs altogether, but the blatant disregard for matching, or even partial coordinating, makes me hate them violently. I really hate it when people wear the back strap up and over the top of their foot, instead of back around their heel. People who wear their crocs like this make me want to punch them in their faces. Bastards!

Nothing much else to update from the weekend. We went over to Yella and Alaska’s house on Saturday to help them decorate their tree. I love Christmas. We will probably setup our tree this weekend and help ChinaCharlie do his in the very near future. Then, the lights will stay up till some time in early February when I finally get tired of seeing the Christmas lights. In order to prepare for this, I had to move the keyboard and the overstuffed chair out of the front room and back into my office. The chair is about 1.3 the size of the whole room and I feel very strange and almost regal when I sit on it, like a queen on her throne. 2-4-6-8 Gooooooooo Christmas.

When it absolutely has to be there overnight...

Normally, I don't like posting what other people say, because it makes me look dumb. Similarly, I don't like posting my thoughts and feelings about the Britney/Kevin divorce because it also makes me look dumb. However, I am willing to put all that aside today because something I read on The Superficial that made me spit water through my nose.

It is about the fact that Kevin Federline filing for sole custody of his children because he concerned for their money safety.

If this thing goes to court the judge is gonna take a long hard look at Kevin and Britney and just hand custody over to a pair of raccoons he saw at the park. And sure they might have rabies, but that just means they're only slightly more qualified than either of these two.

America's Playground is closed

I started writing this post in my head, while I was getting dressed. I was running late and it was one of those mornings where I was late because I couldn’t fully talk myself into calling in sick. I was getting dressed and I knew I was going to wear brown gaucho pants and brown sandals. Because I was late, I thought “I shouldn’t take the time to switch out my purse,” which would mean I would be carrying my black Coach bag with a brown-centric outfit and I started writing the post in my head as a plea for people not to rush to judgment. I hate when people wear all brown clothing and shoes and carry a black purse, and I was about to become this person. The post was going to be full of self-loathing and sadness that I was reduced to carrying the black bag.

In the end, my words were so effective and my self-esteem so shattered, I took the extra 3 minutes and swapped out my purse, opting for my brown Kenneth Cole. I am a vain and wicked person.

It would appear that the groups’ attempt at spontaneity was squashed by the high price of Vegas travel. As the group as a whole starts to earn more money, we have all become conspicuous consumers. Our love for high end consumer goods has made us all less liquid than we should be. So, no trip. Sigh. I will just have to settle for Oklahoma.

P.S. When I was 10 years old, I actually thought I came up with the Lost Wages slogan. I probably read it on a fanny pack, internalized it and then tried to claim it as my own. My father had to let me down real gentle like.

This cocktail is bound for those showgirls

I just wanted everyone to know, well mostly Villi, that Gina Gershon was one of the backup dancers in the Patti Labelle video for New Attitude.



She is resplendent with her “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” ultra 80s haircut. I love Gina Gershon and love when she pops up in the most obscure places, like VH1 classic.

So jury duty is finally over. We finished deliberation today and turned in our decision. About 5 of my fellow jurors complimented me on both my ability to articulate and ability to remember details. In fact, it was the suggestion of 3 of the jurors that I go to law school, for which I demurely thanked them. While I was thinking how totally fucking awesome I am.

On Tuesday, I was ready to come home and say all sorts of nasty things about the jury process, but now, I am happy that I did it and I even forgive some of the faults of the other jurors, as I assume they had to do with me as well.

And, on the plus side, I only have to work one day this week.

They're running the viper in reverse

I was unable to channel my inner Pauly Shore and get out of jury duty successfully. I am not permitted, by order of the guy to talk about the case specifically. I can say, generally, that it was the most boring 8 hours of my life. I sat on a jury like 8 years ago, when I was 18 or 19, and the defendant didn't have an attorney. He made a ton of procedural errors and I tried to keep my supreme annoyance about his wasting my time out of my mind when returning a guilty verdict; I probably failed.

And this is just part of why I am so ill-recommended for jury duty. I spent the whole day mentally finishing the sentences of the witnesses and the attorneys. During the recess, I felt nothing but contempt and annoyance for my fellow jurors, and I realized, at about 10 AM, that I would totally preferred going to work this week. Too late.

I just watched the season finale of Weeds. It was obviously building for the cliffhangers, so the dialogue was a lot weaker than normal. Isabelle, however, provided a truly hilarious scene referring to Lord Voldemort. I laughed for 2 straight minutes. I don't seem to be able to write in detail right now and I am going to attribute that to my extremely long day. That said, it's time for bed.

You musn't forget how much light you bring

I was trying to start a post about the mosquito ringtone that only kids can hear and I wanted to use a song lyric for the title that talked about getting older. I chose a line from Tracy Bonham's Shine and then realized the beginning of this song would make a kick ass ring tone. Then, I started to think about all the people I gave my great Amelie ringtones to and I started to wonder about why I try to please people that I don't even really like. All in all, thinking about ringtones is making me deeply contemplative and a little sad about my life.

Anyhow, here is a link to the mosquito ring tone so you can see how old and crappy your hearing is. I was able to hear it without problem, but two of the guys I work with (younger than me I might add [and why would I say I might add, because I already did add it])could not hear it. I felt pretty young and vibrant at that point, ignoring the ache in my back and the creaking in my knees.

Peace!

Parasite bent on devouring its host

I totally remembered what I was going to post about yesterday, but then forgot. I just got a CD in the mail from the lovely Jenny Owen Youngs who's wonderful song "Fuck Was I" was on Weeds and totally caught my attention. Included with my CD was a pin, a sticker (which I would stick on my trapper keeper if I had one), and a nice little thank you on my paypal receipt. When I purchased a CD from Bonfire Madigan, again I received two pins, a handmade CD case cover and a nice note on the receipt. I love buying CDs from independent artists. They are always so grateful; they always include some little personal touch and you know they are stuffing envelopes and sewing CD cases in their spare time.

So, when does it become okay to steal music? I don't think there is a definite rule for this; it seems more organic. Like a baby bird just knows when to fly, I trust my instincts for when an artist is bloated, awful, and rich enough for me to justify stealing their music.

Tackable Surface

It was only as I was eating cold oatmeal and checking back over the site for grammar errors, spelling errors, and sin of pride, did I realize that it had almost been a month since I last posted to the site. I felt very guilty, since I always get annoyed when people don't update their blogs daily. I had an idea of something to write about last night, but I had forgotten it by the time I woke up this morning.

When I got into work, I didn't feel like working, so I carefully unpacked the Campbell's Chunky Soup I brought for lunch this week, and the oatmeal and cherry flavored sparkling water. Then, despite having a mountain of enhancement requests to sort, I went through the spam folder for my inbox to make sure nothing was incorrectly labeled as spam. I noticed all these similar subjuct lines-

Momentous note. You must to read.
Momentous message. You should to read.
Significant letter. You have to read.
Significant letter. You should to read.
Serious message. You should to read.
Significant letter. You must to read.

I've always wondered how spam generators choose subjects and body text that allure people into opening them. There seem to be trends to Spam subjects, like "Significant letter. You have to read" is the hot, new subject and everyone is trying to get on board with their knockoffs.

This is a shitty post, but I am going to submit it anyway, because it is better than nothing and it lets Yella know that I am at least trying.

Good thing my gun was not properly calibrated

Last night was another rollicking good time. It started earlier than our normal weekend parties and actually commenced with an actual meal together. Normally, we skip those niceties and go straight for the drinking. I only had two patron margaritas, which were tasty and good with my tacos. Some others, like Dave, had much, much more to drink. The 8 of us, though, had a good time playing DOA, Tekken, Guitar Hero and Mission Confidential.

This same group of people was gathered back in April for Ethan's first birthday and we had a conversation about asians being good at math. Liem, John, Anna, and Andrea, all Asian, asked about us whiteys and what we were good at. I remarked that I "excel at imperialism." This remark received a pretty good chuckle. Today, while reading a few more pages in "The People's History of the United States," I came across a quote from political scientist John Burgess (1844-1931) that actually states that whites were "particularly endowed with the capacity for establishing national states...the are entrusted with the mission of conducting the political civilization of the modern world."

I was shocked to find something I said with equal parts sarcasm, wit, and liberal guilt was actually someone's belief system. Three cheers for western expansion.