Thursday, March 31, 2005

Climb to the Top Of This Crummy Water Tower Screamin' I Can't Hardly Wait

Easter Wrap-Up

The final tallies are in.

After a careful review by my accountants, 17 Peeps and 17 Creme Eggs were consumed during the time period known as pre-Easter. Or, Lent. But use of the word Lent conjures up what is known as "Catholic Guilt" when one realizes that one didn't give up anything for Lent. So. Pre-Easter it is.

The Peeps numbers were down sharply this year, for reasons unknown. It is conservatively estimated that in past pre-Easters, up to 100 Peeps were consumed. On occasion, a certain mother (or motherblogger...heh, heh, heh) will find Peeps on sale and send them to a certain blogger, so the Peeps tally may or may not rise in the coming weeks and months. But rest assured, the number will in no way approach previous records set.

The Creme Eggs numbers, however, appear to be slightly above average. And might I add, sickeningly so. Looking at the numbers, in fact, makes me want to barf.

Other candies were consumed, but not in vast quantities. Robin Eggs, plain chocolate eggs, Butterfinger squares, Krackle, egg-shaped Mounds and the odd Starburst candy found their way into my mouth when it was left unoccupied by Creme Eggs.

Some goals for next year will be set after the sugar detox period is over.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Tiny


This is my first entry for Photo Friday, and much thanks to cityrag for telling me about it!

Ten Great Song Lyrics

1. The ashtray says you were up all night.
2. It may be the whiskey talking, but the whiskey says I miss you every day.
3. I hear the man say, "You wanna see the others?" A mermaid and a heart that says 'mother'. But I don't know from maritime, and I never did hard time.
4. I wanna be cool, tall, vulnerable and luscious. I would have it all if I'd only had this much.
5. If being wrong's a crime, I'm serving forever. If being strong's your kind, then I need help here with this feather.
6. Follow you into bed, run around until morning and we’ll stay awake all night.We’ll repeat the same stories, but of course never in front of friends.
7. Things I'd never tell you down the line someday. You'll be a song I sing, a thing I give away.
8. Hate the way I am around you, I'm so nervous and weird. Sometimes I feel like I'm breathing underwater.
9. Split up on a dark, sad night, both agreeing it was best. She turned around to look at me as I was walkin' away. I heard her say over my shoulder, "We'll meet again someday on the avenue."
10. What's with these homies dissin' my girl? Why do they gotta front? What did we ever do to these guys that made them so violent?

Blargh

Apparently I am no longer unbreakable, as I have caught some sort of bug. I feel much better than I did this morning, but am still out of it and don't have much energy for anything. So, stay tuned until I am more alive.

P.S. Happy birthday to Dad and TomTom Club!

Monday, March 28, 2005

I Am A Terrible Knitter, By the Way

Yesterday, my crafty friends came over and we worked on our various projects -- sewing, knitting, beading, whatever. We're thinking of calling the group Grumpy Grannies, because the conversation covered the following topics: various graphic health issues, how to acquire more coupons for the fabric store, the latest coupon for the craft store, neighbors who refuse to park in front of their own damn house (HENRY), neighbors who send out treatises specifying the right of every American to park in front of their own house (totally not me, but it does look suspicious, doesn't it?), little yappy dogs and crocheting techniques. Oh, and we also drank tea. We didn't get around to discussing Depends or dentures or our angina, I'm sorry. Maybe next time.

At one point, we found ourselves on the topic of dreams. One of the girls wondered who came up with the dream code that says if you dream about a fish, it means you're going to die, or some crap. That's a good question that I demand answers to right now.

I was reminded of the most profound dream I have ever (and probably will ever) have. No, not the dream about the headless demon dripping blood and hovering inches from my face as I slept. But that dream was so vivid, I actually checked the floor for blood as soon as I woke up. You'll be relieved to know there was none.

No, the most profound dream is this: I came home one day and pressed "play" on the answering machine. It was a message from my maternal grandfather, who had died about a year earlier (and it will be 10 years on April 11). "Hi, honey. I just want you to know I made it here okay, and I'm having a great time."

I woke up smiling.

I Growed It Mah-Say-Ulf


I owe the dreamy look to the mugginess outside this afternoon. Also, what kind of bulb is this? I didn't save the packaging, so I have no clue what I'm growing here.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Get Out of Bed? Um...Why?


We moved the 27-inch into our bedroom and got a newer, bigger TV downstairs. The Mr. is the only one who's really been watching it so far, but don't worry, my time is coming. As soon as we get a mini refrigerator, we can officially join the Hermit Club.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Oh, That Smell? That's Me.

It doesn't happen often that I actually become obsessed with a food that isn't bad for me in the massive quantities I tend to favor. Usually I'm found shaking my fists at the heavens lamenting, "Why, WHY can't I have pizza for breakfast and double doubles for lunch every day?! Curses! Damn the lot of you!" Because I like to imitate Charlton Heston.

Yesterday, I made some white bean dip from a recipe that jasclo gave me approximately 400 years ago and holy crap is it good. It's meant to be a veggie and/or pita dip, but I say forget that garbage and just get a spoon. It's full of garlicky-salty goodness, which pretty much means no one will be getting within 20 feet of me as long as I'm eating this stuff with a shovel.

Chain

Friday, March 25, 2005

Fence

Poker Face? What Poker Face?

I have a deep love of the artfully constructed practical joke. Not the kind that causes humiliation or direct embarrassment. I enjoy the kind of situation that results in a lot of curious onlookers and/or some confusion.

I can't execute the jokes myself. I've never, ever been able to keep a straight face. Sure, the short-range jokes have been OK. For example, when my brother and I were 5 and 7 respectively, we thought it was hilarious to crank call people, hold up a ticking clock for a few seconds, then say, "This...is...60 Minutes." and hang up. That I could do. But barely.

It's the Curse of Cracking Myself Up, inherited from both mom and dad. The chances for any potential children I have being normal do not look good, either. If I were rich, I would have to pay someone handsomly to execute my jokes for me. One of the first ones my Joke Minion would carry out is to go to the fitness supply store decked out in gym gear -- workout clothes, heart rate monitor, iPod -- and hop on one of the treadmills and act as though it's his own personal gym. Come on! That's funny. Maybe you have to be in my head. I'm picturing lots of confused salespeople arguing about who's going to confront the gym rat and break the news that it's not a real gym.

Coming up with the ideas is not a problem. One night in high school, my friend Mai and I got the idea to pretend we were staffers at Cosmo and call guys we know and conduct an "All About Sex" quiz. Together, we crafted the questions. Then the matter of who would do the actual calling arose.
"You do it," she said.
"You KNOW I can't."
"Come on!"
"I'll laugh!"
"Fine."
She hadn't even dialed the first three digits of the first number when I doubled over in hysterics. Choking, heaving, crying. Guy #1 answered, and Mai began to deliver her extremely convincing spiel. If I was choking, heaving and crying before, by now I was near death. He was actually buying it! Mai covered the phone. "Go in the bathroom now. I cannot handle you in here!" I ran out. As I heard her muffled voice ask the questions, I believe I lost bladder control and had a seizure. My stomach was cramping. It was a bad scene.

So, who's going to work for me? Is P. Diddy's umbrella guy looking for work?

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Well, Hello There

Yesterday was a big day around here. The always excellent and hilarious cityrag posted some pics of Nabby, who never misses an opportunity to get more attention and virtual belly rubs. All day, Nabby was like, "Who's the shit? Me! Now, who's taking me for a walk? And can I get some snausages over here? I'm starving!" I first e-mailed cityrag when I learned that they own an absolutely adorable corgi-chihuahua mix named Buddy. Look at that face. And those ears! And now, Nabby and Buddy...they're buddies. Yeah!

So, anyway. If you're here via cityrag, welcome!

Gesticulation


Mike "the Guvnah" talking wildly with his hands.

I'm Serious About the Fumes. But I Still Love the Smell of Gasoline Better.

The seller of our house bought it when it was in a shambles and brought it back to glory. There are a few things that he curiously left unfinished. I'm not complaining, because it gives me something to do and learn. However, of all the things he did with this place, the things he left undone seem like they would be among the easier tasks he could have accomplished.

Take, for example, the fireplace in our bedroom. The mantle was left plain, and the rest of the wood was dull and poorly refinished. I decided to tackle it and make it purty, and learned some new words. Like "fine-grain sandpaper." And now I can say "clear semi-gloss ployurethane" convincingly. And also, those fumes smelled great. I slept like a baby the last two nights. The Mr. got a headache, though.

Before:

Dull, lifeless. As I mentioned, note the mantle, in particular.

After:

Shiny! New! I sanded it down, used two coats of Mini-Wax Red Mahogany stain and two coats of the aforementioned clear semi-gloss polyurethane.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Another Flower


Not in my yard, though.

Ten Ways In Which My Life Didn't Turn Out As I Thought It Would (These "Plans" Were Mostly In College)

1) Didn't get married by 26
2) Didn't have kids by 30
3) Didn't get married to a guy who doesn't like sports
4) Didn't get married to a sensitive poet type or rock star, either
5) Am not totally loaded and living in a mansion (blast it)
6) Am not a concert pianist
7) Don't live next door to my best friends
8) Don't live in NYC
9) Didn't backpack around Europe after college
10) Didn't get married to that stupid idiot college boyfriend of mine who thought he was such a genius (THANK GOD)

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Yuck, Dirt Up the Fingernails

Now that the weather isn't so bitterly cold, I suppose I can no longer use it as an excuse for not going outside and raking/pulling weeds. Our back and front yards are an embarrassment. Although, I don't feel too embarrassed, because as I write, I can see that one of the back yards on the next block has a dilapidated shed, half-empty garbage bags and a gas can. And no greenery. He should be embarrassed. At least we have weeds for color. Oh, and the bulbs are actually still growing. Can you believe that? They can withstand the plant-killing rays that shoot from my eyes.

So, that's what I'll be doing today. Making our yards the pride of the neighborhood! But I'll settle for "Not the biggest scourge."

Old, Crackly Paint


An empty light socket in the little entryway to a vacant shop.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Doors and Windows

An Open Letter

Dear Person Who Hit My Car and Didn't Leave a Note,

Did you give up courtesy for Lent? Because, wow. Good job! I am impressed. You make it look so easy. I couldn't even give up Creme Eggs. Therefore, I am going to hell. But you have a great time in heaven, you turdface. Yeah, that's right. TURD. FACE.

Nabbalicious

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Lilies

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Just Wondering

Is anyone out there watching the new season of Project Greenlight? The new season looks like it's going to be a doozy, because the director they chose is a little, er...quirky. Yes, I said doozy. Shut up.

Instead of attempting to make a quality film this time, they freely admit they are going after profit. Which they kind of need to, seeing as no production company is going to keep throwing millions of dollars away just so a crazy director can lose it all. But still. The whole thing just smells like doom to me.

But what I'm wondering is, if Ben and Matt disagree with this approach so much (but seem to understand it, regardless), why don't they pony up the money and produce the movie themselves? I dunno, I've heard they might have a few bucks. Truth? Rumor? I'll admit that I'm not well-versed in the ways Hollywood works, but it makes good sense to me.

Nabby's Eye View


I just found this one. It must be from last summer.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Does Not Play Well With Others

Most people know that when I want to, I can really pack it in when it comes to food. In college, Trish and I would make regular use of Little Caesar's Pizza Pizza dealie -- one large pizza for each of us, and an order of Krazy Bread. I'd polish off my share within, oh, 30 minutes. Meanwhile, Trish would make her pizza and Krazy Bread last for the rest of the semester. You should just know: I like a LOT of food. I believe it's called "volume eater" in mental health circles. Some people go for quality. Some people go for quantity. If that's wrong, I don't wanna be right.

So, last night, the Mr. and I went to the Second-Best Burger Joint We Know Of, Five Guys. In case you're wondering, The Best is, of course, In N' Out. While Five Guys is great, the Mr. and I feel we can't even consider them for The Best position, because they don't sell milkshakes. What the hell is that all about, anyway? But as long as Five Guys is comfortable with second place, then that's their choice. At least the food is super fresh and yummy.

We sauntered up to the counter, and I placed my cheeseburger order, which was the equivalent of the glorious Double Double at In N' Out. Then I asked for a regular fries. Now, Five Guys gives a LOT of fries. They fill the little cup, and then they dump in a handful extra. Lucky thing, because both the Mr. and I happen to like a LOT of fries.

After the Mr. ordered, the cashier asked him, "Do you want fries, too?" The Mr. looked at me, ready to have me share my thoughts on that, which were approximately: "Yes, get your own damn fries." Before I could vocalize that, the cashier said, "One regular order is plenty." OH, IS IT, Judgy Judgerson? Have you ever seen me eat? Plenty for a wuss like you, maybe. For me, it's just a start. And your boss probably wouldn't be too happy to know you were talking people out of ordering more food. But of course, having been informed that it's plenty, and already having ordered a massive burger, I felt a little awkward insisting on my own fries o' plenty.

After we received our order and settled at our table, the Mr. dumped the fries out of the bag. I grabbed one or two, then started in on the burger. Meanwhile, the Mr. is picking up fries by the handful and shoving them in his mouth at warp speed, ignoring his burger. I began to panic. I wanted to at least get a few bites of my burger before eating some fries. I didn't want to put it down and engage in a fry race, as I wasn't ready for the fries, but he's eating all the freaking fries. I knew this would happen. They were disappearing fast.

Panicked at the thought that if I continued to eat my burger and hold off on the fries, there wouldn't be any left, I lunged for a giant handful which was promptly tucked away so the Mr. wouldn't be able get to them. There was no other choice. What was supposed to be an enjoyable dinner quickly turned into a desperate fry-grab. I don't think the Mr. even knew he was in a race. He just happens to be the only person on the planet who eats faster than I do. You should see him.

Eventually, he took a few bites of his burger, then went in for yet more fries, even grabbing a few of the ones I had secreted away. I finally snapped. "You're taking more than your FAIR SHARE!" How does he put up with me?

So, really, when you're out with me? Get your own food. I'm not sharing anymore. Nyeah.

Puddle


The freeway reflected in a puddle, which resides in an empty canal.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

What Is The Last of the Snow, One Hopes


We got this snow last week, and good thing I ran outside immediately to snap a few pictures, because it had completely melted 30 minutes later.

I'm Fully Potty-Trained, Though

Yesterday, Jasclo and I were talking a little more about her party. I mentioned that the frosting balloons on her cake were really good, but said that she had probably noticed me sitting on the floor at one point, eating the frosting off a particularly frosting-heavy slice of cake.

"Wait. YOU did that?"
"Um...yeah."
"YOU left a piece of cake without any frosting on it?"
"Um... .... .... yeah."
"We were wondering who did that! We thought Abby [their friends' three-year-old daughter] did that!"
"I love it. It was either the three-year-old or the 31-year-old."

Which means, of course, that when I claim to be 12, it's a little optimistic.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

The Morning Routine


Some need coffee, some need belly rubs.

Ten Things I Would Do If I Won the Lottery

1) First things first, let's be totally honest: I'm going shopping.
2) Pay off my parents' houses
3) Give all my siblings a few bucks
4) Pay off our own house
5) Give some to charity. Probably AIDS, cancer research and animal welfare.
6) Likely stop working and pursue things that money is stopping me from pursuing right this second
7) Take a vacation to someplace like Tahiti
8) Put most of the winnings in savings and live off the interest
9) Hire a personal trainer, because how cool would that be?
10) Two words: MORE CORGIS

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Caution: Major Gushing Ahead

I've been meaning to rave about my newest addition to the handbag family. I blame Alyssa, for one day she linked to Annabelle Handbags and immediately, I flipped out. The cuteness...no one is ready for that much cuteness. These handbags are awesome. Not only do they come in an array of adorable styles, but you can customize them by adding pockets, choosing your straps, what type of closure you'd like, how big you want the bag, etc. It's truly mind-boggling. If you could hug web sites, I would want to hug this one.

I recently purchased a bag similar to this one, except instead of dots, it's pink and brown paisley, with brown lining inside. Sadly, it's not available anymore, but a million new styles were added to the site, so don't fret. The picture on the site doesn't do it justice. It's almost as cute as a puppy in person. Almost, because not much is as cute as a puppy. Aside from the cuteness, it is well-made and sturdy.

I'm glad this lady is based on Washington state, because if she worked near me, I'd be visiting her to buy handbags as often as I go to Target. Which is every five minutes.

The weather here is still on the chilly side, and as tempted as I am to will spring into being by carrying this handbag, wearing skirts and sandals, and possibly a big floppy hat, I've opted to at least wait until it actually really truly is spring before forcing the issue, lest I give myself frostbite. Blue limbs probably would clash with pink and brown, no?

Handy Dandy Traffic Mirror

Monday, March 14, 2005

Visitors! We May Have Visitors!

Trish called yesterday and said she and Brian were seriously thinking of coming to visit us this summer (with their new daughter Aubrie Anne in tow). As we were hashing out the details and plans, she said, "We're just seriously thinking about it, if you haven't gotten that impression." I told her that even if they decided not to do it, that would be OK, because I was so excited that someone was even thinking of visiting us out here. I can't wait to show them around! Possibly! We don't get visitors often enough, so seriously, we are hella excited. Hella.

I Guess This Gives Away the Age

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Sometimes You Wanna Go Where You Can Order Pinot Noir and Nobody Will Spit in Your Wine or Call You a Poseur



Mr. Jasclo had a party last night to celebrate Mrs. Jasclo's (censored)th birthday. They shared their giant wine collection with the gang.

All of a Sudden, People Is Looking Good

Sometime this week, be sure to check the business news for reports of a marked increase in productivity. The Fametracker forums went dark sometime between yesterday and just now when I went to get some others' thoughts on the latest episodes of Apprentice and Survivor. It was no secret that the forums were closing at some point, but I thought we all had until at least Monday. But, alas, it was not to be. And just when I was starting to recover from the closing of the Hissyfit boards, what, 4 years ago now? How much more can anyone take?

Sure, I could check the TWoP forums for snark on TV shows, but it just isn't the same. While every bit as well-moderated, the forums on that site skew a little younger and they're much, much busier. It can get a little cumbersome to read through at times.

Fametracker will be sorely missed. I credit it with about 97% of my useless celebrity knowledge. These people had the goods, I'm telling you. Whenever anyone had any information or just some really, really good snark, they'd head over there and post it, saving the rest of us the trouble of digging around the Internets. What? I have to do it myself now?

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Frickin' frackin' .... $@$%#

I try so hard not to be an impulse buyer, but the shopping gods are not working with me on this. Last week at Target, there was an adorable indigo denim skirt on display. While I loved it, I thought better of chucking it into my basket and buying it. I'll think it over, which is my habit now. If it's still on my mind a few days later, I'll go back and look again, and maybe even purchase it.

Today, the skirt was still there in my head. It would not leave, because it was so cute. Even the Creme Eggs and Peeps in my head were trying it on and twirling. I drove to Target and ran frantically through the racks looking for it. Just when I was ready to give up, there it was -- in sizes 6, 16 and 18. I can assure you I'm none of those sizes. Not to be denied, I grabbed the 6 and the 16, hoping Isaac Mizrahi likes cutting things really small or really large. Turns out he's pretty accurate. The ONE time I need a designer to cut my size and sell it as a 6! Jerk.

The nice lady running the dressing room called another Target for me, and they had the skirt in sizes 12 and 16. Getting warmer...

What kind of world are we living in, that being a non-impulse shopper leads to pain and misery and heartbreak? What kind of world is this?!?

Hahahahaha



Doesn't Nabby look like the Mr. just told her a really funny joke about Snausages or something?

Friday, March 11, 2005

Pennies

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Muscle Men



One of my favorite sculptures downtown. It's huge, too.

An Open Letter

Dear Sideways,

You were such a good movie. So fast-moving and witty and funny. I enjoyed our time together. Like, when you had those guys chased off the golf course? That was a riot. And don't even get me started on the guy with his you-know-what hanging out, running around in broad daylight without a care in the world. Or when Thomas Hayden-Church did his voiceover where he listed the side effects and punctuated it with, "You're dead, asshole!" So great.

But I have a bone to pick with you. Thanks to you and your wine snobbery, I'm all self-conscious now. I like merlot, dammit. Whenever we went out to eat and I felt like having wine, I would order merlot without a care. I didn't know there was anything wrong with it until you came out and implied that everything was wrong with it. It's too common. Everyone likes it. It's wine for rubes.

I'll have you know, I was perfectly happy being a rube. I'm not happy feeling self-conscious, though, which is what I do when so much as thinking about ordering merlot now. The waiter has probably seen you, or at least heard about you, and if I order it, he'll look down his nose at me and chuckle, "She must not have seen Sideways. Loser!" And then he may very well spit in my wine.

Then I decided that's fine. I should probably branch out a little more, anyway. Pinot noir sounds good.

Yeeeetttt...I can't order that, either, because now I look like a poseur who's only ordering it because of you. Which is true, more or less, I admit it. But I don't want everyone to know that. So if I order pinot noir now, the waiter will chuckle and think, "She must have seen Sideways. Loser! And poseur!" And, of course, that will be followed by spit in the wine.

You're thinking I just can't win, aren't you? But I can. Now I just order Shiraz and circumvent the issue entirely.

I wonder when the statute of limitations is up and it's safe to order pinot noir and merlot again?

Nabbalicious

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Gate

Ten Things I Remember Fondly From My Childhood


Me and Aunt Stacy in Carmel, CA, 1978

1) Mom's "chop dogs" recipe. It was this excellent comfort food concoction, consisting of chopped up hot dogs, pickles, mustard and other excellent things, mixed together, put on a bun, wrapped in foil and cooked in the oven. Trust me, it was awesome.
2) Strawberry Shortcake. Aww, she smelled so nice.
3) Love's Baby Soft
4) A midnight snack of gingersnaps and milk with Grandma
5) Peanut butter and jelly on crackers made by Mom when I had a nightmare. This was a very food-centric childhood, wasn't it?
6) My canopy bed and Holly Hobby bedding
7) Running my hands along Grandpa's crew cut and babbling "Nah-jee, nah-jee."
8) Tether ball
9) Judy Blume and Beverly Cleary
10) Riding on the El with dad

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Sunny...Or Not

At Least I Don't Find Boone's Farm Tasty Anymore

The most obvious sign that I'm getting older isn't that sometimes I wake up in the morning a little stiff or that I regularly cruise the home remedies aisle at the drugstore, just to see if there's anything new for any number of discomforts I might be feeling. And I get way too excited when there is something new. Like those heat patches? Those are so great. I mean, really. Why would anyone want, say, a Tickle-Me-Elmo doll when they could just slap on a little heat patch thing and the pain will go away? It's magic.

Anyway, yeah. The most obvious sign: I don't recover from hangovers so well anymore. Mary was nursing one from Saturday night, which reminded me of college. I could get rip-roaring drunk and still show up at class the next day. Sure, I usually needed a tape recorder, because there would not be much taking of the notes. But the fact is, I was there. Walking upright, conversing with people.

When I look at myself now after a night of partying, I can't believe there was a time that I didn't need at least 24-hours to feel completely normal again. Did that really happen? The sad thing is, I don't go crazy like I did in college, so I actually need twice the time to recover for roughly half the amount of partying.

I think I'm going to cry...

Monday, March 07, 2005

Have the All-Chocolate Ones Been Discontinued? Because Nobody Asked Me If That Was OK.

See, I hate craving chocolate when I'm not PMSy, because now I can't justify it.

More specifically, Creme Eggs. I need a loophole. Any loophole.

I've been told that Creme Eggs are available year-round in England. As I told Mary, in England, I weigh 900 lbs.

Another Pic of Statue Girl

Sunday, March 06, 2005

The Smiths: Some Songs Are Better Than Others (But There Are No Bad Ones)

As I was listening to "The Queen Is Dead" the other day, I wondered: do the Smiths have one truly bad song in their catalog? There are some songs that on certain days I might skip, but I'm hard-pressed to find a single one that I flat-out can't stand. The Mr. couldn't think of one, either.

They're one of the few bands that I was obsessed with in my youth that still sound every bit as good now as they did when I was 13 (Hi, Wham! You sound like butt now.), and the video for "The Boy With the Thorn In His Side" aired on MTV late one night. I asked mom what it meant to have a thorn in your side, and she didn't know. But it didn't matter: I was hooked. They're definitely one of my top five favorite bands of all time. While I'm a big fan of Morrissey's sometimes uneven solo stuff and loved his most recent album, he and Johnny Marr were a force.

There is going to be a musical (which I've heard is going to be called William, It Was Really Nothing, not the title mentioned in the story). If Marr and Morrissey have agreed to sign off on this, does this mean a reconciliation is in the future?

Also, when is someone going to update Poor Richard's Almanack with the Wisdom According to Stephen Morrissey? Nobody can pack more phrases into one song that make you chuckle in recognition. So, if not me, who, right? I guess I will do it in abbreviated form here:
  • If you must write prose and poems, the words you use should be your own. Don't plagiarize or take on loan.
  • If you're wondering why all the love that you long for eludes you and people are rude and cruel to you, I'll tell you why: you just haven't earned it yet, baby.
  • Shyness is nice, shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to.
  • The devil will find work for idle hands to do. I stole and I lied, and why? because you asked me to.
  • It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind.
  • Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held, it pays my way and it corrodes my soul. I want to leave, you will not miss me. I want to go down in musical history.
  • I am human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does.
  • Why do I smile at people I'd much rather kick in the eye?
  • Jury, you've heard every word, but before you decide, would you look into those "Mother me" eyes?
  • I wish I could laugh, but that joke isn't funny anymore.
  • There's too much caffeine in your bloodstream, and a lack of real spice in your life.
  • Love, peace and harmony? Very nice, but maybe in the next world.
  • Now I know how Joan of Arc felt as the flames rose to her Roman nose and her walkman started to melt.
  • If it's not love, then it's the bomb that will bring us together.
  • Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ, because the music they constantly play says nothing to me about life.

All right, all right. I'll cut it out. This could go on all night!

Self Portrait in a Filthy Puddle



Some dude honked at me while I was leaning over to take this picture. He probably thought I had gotten plastered the night before and was emptying the contents of my stomach. Wouldn't that have made an interesting picture?

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Spring Is Almost Here!


I Know It's Not Wednesday, Don't Much Care

The latest meme making the rounds has finally hit the Nabbalicious Headquarters. I swiped this from Pound:

Ten things I've done which you probably haven't
1) Had my birth announced on all the police scanners in Chicagoland
2) Lived in the same neighborhood as John Wayne Gacy
3) Had Matt Kenseth observe that I wasn't wearing shoes
4) Been refused an autograph by Adam Duritz, back when he didn't look like Kid n' Play.
5) Burped "Jingle Bells"
6) Been one of nine passengers in a convertible Mustang
7) Ridden in a car with Al Unser Jr.
8) Had a best friend in high school who went on to become the number one porn star in Japan in January of some year
9) While watching television, injured knee in such a manner that it necessitated a trip to the emergency room
10) Told my boss off in the middle of a shift, then left for good

Friday, March 04, 2005

More Cake, Because You Can Never Have Too Much



The best part of it was this right here: the frosting and the cookie dough. Overall, it was a bit of a disappointment, because they forgot to actually put cookie dough inside the ice cream in the cake as well. How could they forget the cookie dough?!

More Tales from the Land of Ass-Backward Teachers

The entry the other day about my most embarrassing moment and the ensuing shock among some of you reminded me of my other horrific teacher. Don't feel too bad about either of these stories, really. As the Smiths say, I can smile about it now, but at the time it was terrible. The note thing followed me around for pretty much the rest of eighth grade, and then I went to a different high school than most of the people who were in my class that day, where nobody knew Tony. Or about me and my stupid note, for that matter. The slate was wiped clean so it could be filled with all new embarrassments.

Is it just me? Did any of you guys have at least one teacher who seemed better suited to some other line of work, such as lopping the hands off thieves in countries that do that sort of thing? Teachers with gasoline for blood. I swear I have had some of the most purely evil teachers in all of the Teachifying Kingdom.

So, this other bad teacher. Mrs. Berman, third grade. She was hated by kids and parents alike, but there were only two third-grade teachers and they couldn't give all the students to the better of the two. Let's face it, half of the third grade class was going to be superbly unlucky.

It was discovered that I had hearing impairment midway through the year. I wasn't and am still not deaf, but I was missing out on a lot and my grades were suffering. Mom took me to a specialist, I got tested and was told I'd need hearing aids. They fitted me for them and said they'd arrive in a few weeks. Meanwhile, mom took me back to school and gave Mrs. Berman the rundown. You know, so that should would be aware of my hearing, sensitive to it and make the necessary accommodations. That's what any decent teacher would do, yes?

It was around the same time that my third grade crush and classmate, Eric, had also just been diagnosed as hearing impaired himself.

I am not, nor have I ever been a teacher, but I still think I can imagine pretty well what a qualified one would do in certain situations. Mrs. Not Berman probably would have moved Eric and I to the front of the class and not single us out in any other way. Right, right?

A jerk such as, I dunno, Mrs. Berman would probably do something like conduct her own hearing tests in front of the entire class every morning after the bell rang. As luck would have it, she actually was a jerk, that's exactly what she did. Me first, Eric second. I was instructed to walk to the front of the classroom and turn my back to the class. Mrs. Berman stood in the very back of the room and asked questions like, "What color are your pants today?" "What color is my hair?" "What is your favorite food?" When she was satisfied with our answers and our "hearing," she asked us to take our seats and she would continue with that day's lesson. If memory serves, this went on until we were given our hearing aids.

Why did I always get these teachers? Who did I piss off in my last life??

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Statue in Front of a House


I Wonder If Anyone Picked It Up, Licked It and Put It Back On the Ground?

The Mr. has amassed a collection of pens. Not just any pens, mind you. Green and white Courtyard Marriott pens. He knows how many he has at all times. It doesn't matter that he has no fewer than 3 opportunities a month to replenish his supply should any die on him or disappear. It is always met with great consternation when I swipe one in a moment of need and do not immediately put it back where I found it. "Where is my pen? Did you take my pen?" he asks.
"What pen?" I ask. I know what pen. He's just so attached to these pens and I find it amusing and necessary to tease him. They're just dressed-up Bics.
"My Marriott pen!"
"But you have 400 of them."
"They're good pens!"

Last night, we were walking to a class taught by a friend where the Mr. was going to lead a q&a about his job. As we made our way to the building, he pulled out his notepad. "Aw, shit! Where's my pen?" He digs through his pockets. No pen. "What happened to my pen?" He was visibly upset. His beloved pen has fallen out of his pocket. It's cold. His pen is out there in the world, freezing. Alone. But there is no time. We are running late. Farewell, faithful servant.

For almost 90 minutes, he led the q&a like a pro. Then we went to dinner for an hour or so. We stopped at 7-Eleven so the Mr. could get M&Ms for his homemade sundae. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he said, "Hold on. I want to find my pen." Mind you, it's pushing 10 p.m. "It's not a freaking Mont Blanc. You have other pens!"
"This is a good pen, though! It's my Marriott pen!"
He parked near where he suspected the pen fell out, pulled up the emergency brake and left the engine running as he jumped out to find the sacred pen. A minute later, he strolled back to the car grinning. Then he pulls it out of his pocket. His pen. THE PEN. I still can't believe he found the stupid thing.

As we drove home, he marveled at the fact that 100 students must have strolled by this little jewel and didn't pick it up. He questioned their industriousness, their taste. Pearls before swine, I guess.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

I Wonder If Anyone Picked It Up, Licked It and Put It Back On the Ground?

The Mr. has amassed a collection of pens. Not just any pens, mind you. Green and white Courtyard Marriott pens. He knows how many he has at all times. It doesn't matter that he has no fewer than 3 opportunities a month to replenish his supply should any die on him or disappear. It is always met with great consternation when I swipe one in a moment of need and do not immediately put it back where I found it. "Where is my pen? Did you take my pen?" he asks.
"What pen?" I ask. I know what pen. He's just so attached to these pens and I find it amusing and necessary to tease him. They're just dressed-up Bics.
"My Marriott pen!"
"But you have 400 of them."
"They're good pens!"

Last night, we were walking to a class taught by a friend where the Mr. was going to lead a q&a about his job. As we made our way to the building, he pulled out his notepad. "Aw, shit! Where's my pen?" He digs through his pockets. No pen. "What happened to my pen?" He was visibly upset. His beloved pen has fallen out of his pocket. It's cold. His pen is out there in the world, freezing. Alone. But there is no time. We are running late. Farewell, faithful servant.

For almost 90 minutes, he led the q&a like a pro. Then we went to dinner for an hour or so. We stopped at 7-Eleven so the Mr. could get M&Ms for his homemade sundae. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he said, "Hold on. I want to find my pen." Mind you, it's pushing 10 p.m. "It's not a freaking Mont Blanc. You have other pens!"
"This is a good pen, though! It's my Marriott pen!"
He parked near where he suspected the pen fell out, pulled up the emergency brake and left the engine running as he jumped out to find the sacred pen. A minute later, he strolled back to the car grinning. Then he pulls it out of his pocket. His pen. THE PEN. I still can't believe he found the stupid thing.

As we drove home, he marveled at the fact that 100 students must have strolled by this little jewel and didn't pick it up. He questioned their industriousness, their taste. Pearls before swine, I guess.

Nabby Waits for Cake



That smear on the lower right of the cake is where it shifted and smashed into the plastic top, where it left a lot of frosting on the side when I peeled it away. I swear, I did not do that on purpose. But like any normal person, I grabbed a spoon and dug in. By the way, this was for the Mr.'s 30-something-eth birthday yesterday, and the title of this cake is Cookie Dough Delirium. Oh, yes.

Ten Things I Need To Stop Doing

1) Going out to dinner, drinking a lot of red wine, then hopping on the computer to send loopy e-mails and/or make loopy comments in other blogs and write loopy entries in my own.
2) Buying oranges. They are such a hassle to eat, and yet, whenever I see them piled up in the produce aisle looking all pretty I think, "Oooh, must buy pretty oranges. I swear I will eat them this time because of the prettiness."
3) Checking to see if Ben & Jerry have any new flavors. Sometimes they are new, and they are labeled "limited edition." Which means, of course, I must buy it now because who knows when the opportunity will present itself again? And even if they aren't limited edition, you know I'll just buy it anyway. Because, hey, new ice cream.
4) Trying to like salmon. It is not going to happen. I have tried about 5 times to like it, but I just do not. It's so fishy tasting and gross. What a waste of a pretty color. Salmon should be green to adequately reflect its grossness, and leave the pink to, say...mahi mahi.
5) Thinking I'm ever going to sew anything. That needle scares the bejesus out of me. Whenever I try to sew something, I get so scared that the needle is going to impale my finger that I just wind up with a crookedly hemmed blob of fabric.
6) Thinking I'm ever going to go on a freaking picnic, where we will quaff wine and eat cheese. I need to stop freaking out every time I see a damn picnic basket, because it is just not going to happen.
7) Brushing my teeth so hard. My dentist seems to think that the reason my gums are receding from my teeth is because I use my toothbrush like a jackhammer. She's probably right.
8) Buying 1lb bags of M&Ms and thinking that I will actually eat them all in one sitting. It will take 2, at least.
9) Saying words that rhyme with "walk" to Nabby, just to get her head to tilt. Oh, come on, though. It's really funny. The best one is "wakka wakka wakka!" a la Fozzie Bear. She looks so confused.
10) Getting overambitious and trying silly eating regimens that require me to actually cook my food every day. Once in awhile, OK. But until I have a personal chef like Oprah's, it's Lean Cuisine City. Let's hear it for processed food!

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

What a Bee-yatch

Yesterday, dooce asked her readers to share their most embarrassing moments. My own memory promptly undid years of therapy.

It was 8th grade, Home Ec class. Me and the girl who sat in front of me were passing notes. I had been scribbling about how much I loooooved Tony Montosa (sidenote: I Googled him just now to see if anything would come up, but nada) and did she think he liked me? She would reply that she thought there was a chance (IN HELL). I would reply with more musings on Tony's beauty and how we were just meant to be. She would agree instead of telling me the awful truth, like any decent friend would.

On one of the passes, our note was intercepted by the teacher (sidenote, again: I went to my school's web site, and she isn't listed anymore, which means she's retired, the cruel old bat). As she slowly strolled to the front of the class, she unfolded the note. "AH!" she exclaimed. "It seems that [nabbalicious] has a crush on you, Tony!"

Yeah. TONY WAS IN MY CLASS. I'll never forget. Two rows over, front of the classroom.

Tony clearly wanted to die. The pudgy acne-faced nerd girl liked him! Whatever. He didn't know from wanting to die. Our teacher proceeded to read the entire contents of the note. She even added voices and inflections. It was a full-scale, award-winning theatrical production. And she killed, of course. The class was roaring. Tony's friends were slapping him on the back, choking with laughter. I just kept my head on my desk, waiting for it all to be over.

Eventually, it was. I went home and told my mom what happened, and as further proof that she is the most awesome mom ever: she didn't make me go to school for the rest of the week.

Cemetery



Not the best photo, but I liked the view from where I stood.