Monday, July 31, 2006

Stealth Fan-Hating Ninja Midgets

Last night I went to sleep with the fan on. I know I did...I had been attempting to clean and the room felt hot, so I flipped it on before crashing into the bed head first and missing my pillow completely. When I woke up this morning...the fan was off. It had not been knocked down. My electricity was still on. It was nothing accidental. The knob was turned to "off". This can mean only one thing. Sometime in the middle of the night stealth fan-hating ninja midgets snuck in through my open window and brutally and violently turned off my fan. I'm lucky I wasn't killed.

In other news, my grandma is officially off her nut. I was house sitting for my mother this weekend so she could take the old people to a family reunion in Spokane. My sister and I have decided that the Family Reunion Tradition will officially die with our generation. We're going to kill it dead and then kick its lifeless body. That's how much we hate family reunions. We'd spend 4 hours driving somewhere to hang out with the close family members we see all year long and ignore the third and fourth cousins from bumpkinland. Pointless.

So back to my grandma. She corners me in the kitchen talking about her problems with constipation and how she likes to use the toliet at the house because she can "lean back". Apparantly if you want to "empty your bladder of waste, you gotta leeean back" (yes, there are motions). I just stared at her blankly. She didn't seem to notice. I'm signing up to be euthanized by 75.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Comment Whore

I love all these crazy comments on my blog. Well, except for the ones from Laura...she will be dealt with in turn. I've also BECOME a comment whore. I'm commenting like gangbusters on other people's blogs and I find it quite invigorating. Like a cool splash of water to the face. Ok, that's just stupid.

Anyway, the crux of it all is...I'm extraordinarily bored at the moment. My job is not currently challenging me and I have nothing to shop for online, and I've read all the good online comics over and over (insert shameless plug for Pirate and Alien here), so here I am, on blogspot, all the fucking time. I don't even have internet at home, and yet I think I've attained "junkie" status. Don't get me wrong, I go out almost every night, I'm a busy busy gal. But this site is like crack. If I only knew what crack was like, I'm sure I'd be convinced that it's the correct comparison.

Jesbus, this post sucks. Even I'm bored by it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my co-workers are all talking about their babies around me. Bleh. I feel the urge to bring up the fact that I can leave my cat alone for a whole weekend and it won't die, therefore I feel superior. I don't think they'd take that well. Well maybe they would. I'll try it out...

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Typical Conversation Between My Sister And I

She works ten feet away from me. Obviously we're very productive:

[11:23] L: i love bamboo shoots
[11:23] k: good, you can write about that
[11:25] L: i had to kill a daddylongleg this morning that tried to get in the shower with me

[11:25] L: it was awful
[11:25] k: i'm sure it was
[11:25] k: how you even managed to come in today, i'll never know
[11:26] L: it made me late, i'll tell you that
[11:27] k: oh my GOD
[11:27] L: i splatted it with my flip flop and then I had to stare at it till i was dry enough to go get a paper towel and clean it up. Ughhhh!
[11:28] k: oh my GOD.
[11:28] k: you are the biggest wus.
[11:28] L: just with spiders. give me a rat or a snake any day.
[11:30] k: that's so fucked up...rats and snakes are much more combative...and their teeth are larger.
[11:30] L: yeah but they're also cuter
[11:31] L: and they don't have so many legs
[11:31] L: evil nasty yucky legs
[11:31] k: but they have the bubonic plague and snake venom
[11:31] L: nah, not all snakes and rats
[11:31] L: not in the general Portland area anyway
[11:32] k: well, daddy long legs don't bite...they're like the puppies of spiders
[11:33] L: not even! puppies do not have a billion legs and go crawling around over you while you're taking a shower and lay eggs in your stomach and stuff
[11:33] k: you need so much therapy
[11:33] L: and this was a particularly big-bodied daddylongleg, not cute at all
[11:33] k: i'm so done with you

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Honest To Peckinpah!

That's my new swear word, "Peckinpah!" I'm well aware that it isn't a swear word at all, but the last name of a director, but bear with me a moment. Ok, imagine you've just stubbed your toe, or been cut off by the car in front of you, or you lost your keys AGAIN. You want to let loose a string of the usuals, but they all sound so hollow now. So over-used. So...unoriginal. And so, you shout "Aww, Peckinpah!" And then it hits you. It's the perfect swear word! It rolls beautifully off the has the perfect number of syllables. You can say it in school, and not get detention. You can say it in church and not get smote! "Peckinpah" will change the world!

Ok, so, it's fucking hot here. Or at least it was up until today. Oregonians aren't meant for 100 degree weather. We deflate. We do crazy things like run to Home Depot and buy window units that we can only use 10 days out of the year and the rest of the time will serve as a plant stand for our African Violets. I'm not one of those people. I'd like to think it's because I'm above the need to keep cool...but really it's because I'd have to lug the box home on the bus. And I'd probably be wearing cute wedge heels (cause it's summer and that's what I do) so it could get awkward.

Anyway, air conditioning is for pansies. It's like that fake air they circulate on airplanes, you know, because the real air would kill everyone. Whatever. Pansies.

Friday, July 21, 2006

A Photo Journal Of Last Night

First, Amy and I drank some of these. Well, several of these. And then we went...

to a fundraising extravaganza given by this foundation, where we saw...

David Cross, who rocks my fucking socks off. The man is funnier than any man has any right to be. At one point he was talking about a baby's foreskin getting sucked off at a Briss and through the disgust I was STILL cracking up. Anyway, I'm planning on marrying him. Then came...

Eh...went out and drank beer in the lobby until...

At 40, Eddie Vedder is still a beautiful beautiful man. Beautiful. And although his fashion sense is exactly like it was when I first saw them at age 16...yes, a decade ago...I still want to do him. I sang Evenflow at the top of my lungs in the shower this morning. Screw you, neighbors!

My god they're old now...Mike McCready's hair was completely gray...the average fan was dressed in business casual, and everyone in there (except me) could afford the $80 was ridiculous. And yet, I found my self actually jumping (yes, feet leaving the ground) when I heard "Do the Evolution", like none of it mattered. And that's because it didn't. The bash ended with the world's LONGEST rendition of "Keep on rockin' in the free world" by "papa Neil". It went on for a good ten minutes. But it was ok, because David Cross was on tambourine and there was cow bell.

And as I fell into bed last night, drunk and clutching my "Crohn's and Me" free water bottle, I thought to myself...that was a very enjoyable evening...oh, and Jewish people have some fucked up traditions.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Name Calling

I have lovely red tennis shoes on today. They're lovely and they say "diesel" on them. I think all shoes should be titled after fossil fuels. Black ones could be called "coal"...clear ones "gas". But I won't really know about the others because I usually stick with red shoes. They're tarty, I know, but what the fuck do I care about what YOU think?

Sorry. Didn't mean to get snippy. It's just, I love my lovely red shoes so much, I get sensitive when you call them tarty. I mean, I can call them tarty because they're mine...but it's just crossing a line to have you say they are. Why would you want to judge the shoes of a person you've never even met? I could be the least tarty person you know. I mean, jebus, just give my innate purity a chance to shine through the tarty red shoes.

Oh much pressure. Poor, poor shoes.

Monday, July 17, 2006

The Good, The Bad, And The Fugly

Go see this movie.

Here's my review:
It's like the Maltese Falcon...except in high school.

That is all.

No, that's not all...I have a bone to pick with America. The news is full of shocking headlines today, most of which are about actual news...except there's one story that seems to keep popping up and it has to do with our president using the word "shit". Specifically, (and according to CNN) he says, "See the irony is what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it's over."

These are my issues with the current media hullabaloo surrounding this story:

1. He misuses the word "irony" fact, the whole sentence barely makes sense.
2. So he swears. So the fuck what? Everyone says "shit". Even the pope probably says "shit" (in Latin, of course). I mean, he calls himself a man of the people, doesn't he? Well, in this ONE instance, he is correct.

3. This is the cake topper...throughout the whole conversation, Bush's mouth is full of food. He's chewing with his mouth open, he's talking with garbled food-filled sentences, it's disgusting.

Apparently Barbara could always find the time to match her pearls to her hair, but she couldn't manage to teach her son any table manners. Blair probably didn't even notice the slight in speech since all he could focus on was the glob of whatever the hell Bush was masticating.

Yes, it would seem our commander in chief was born in a barn. Someone report on THAT.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Holy Catholic Ghost, My Karma Is Bad

So I'm doing the single-thing for the first time in a while. The whole extraction process from the ex is messy and never-ending, and I'm a shitty flirter anyway, so anytime I meet new people, it makes for a Curb Your Enthusiasm meets Closer kind of fucked up situation again and again. Of course my friends eat it messed up social skills are nothing but amusement for them. Bastards.

So last Friday I get dragged to this party of my friend's new boy toy. They're in that disgustingly sweet honeymoon stage where she doesn't really know his friends so I was forced along as wingman (wingwoman sounds stupid). I'm ok with that, she's been wingman for me for many an event, so I figure it's good karma. The people there aren't really my "type" of people. Lots of "business" friends...and some G's sporting bling, which makes for good people watching, horrible conversation. So when my friend abandons me to go snog her new boy toy in a corner, I just continuously visit the keg. By 1:30 I'm swaying pretty heavily, and apparently seductively cause I get rolled up on by this tall drink of water who sells real estate. He's cute, and amusing and though I can tell we have NOTHING in common, I've got nothing to do, so I turn on the flirtation.

For those who don't know me, let me just make something messed up brain's idea of flirting is to verbally castrate men. I mock them, I judge them, I make them feel stupid, and most of the time this makes them run away (as it should, I am such a BITCH, it's awful); but sometimes they can look past it if I'm wearing something particularly cute (and I don't know if that's skeezy or sweet). This guy not only takes it for two hours straight, he gives me his email address when I leave (in this day and age, you don't just go giving men your number) and I say I'll email him something saucy. God, I'm a dork.

Saturday I wake up ashamed of myself. I don't email him.

Monday I meet up with my girlfriends after work for happy hour in the Pearl District...a snooty part of downtown Portland that I rarely set foot in (and certainly not in daylight). Yes, I'm snooty about the snooty part of town, sue me. On our way back to their cars, we discover that my two friends parked right next to each other. Coincidence! As we discuss this, I look across the street and see him. Mr. Real Estate. Fuck! And oh god, he sees me too. The street is crossed and the second most awkward conversation of my life ensues with, "So I thought I was going to get a saucy email..." Must flirt! So you know what that means...I become cruel. I ask if his LeBron James belt buckle is The Thundercats symbol, then ask what the deal is with white tennis shoes, then ask him why he even wants an email...enough...reliving this is too awful.

I eventually emailed him with my number 'cause I felt so bad. He hasn't called. Shocked.

Worst was the 2nd most awkward conversation because almost this exact thing has happened to me before. Several months ago I tried to avoid a guy and then ran into him some place I never even go at like 2pm on a Sunday. Why? Why does my karma hate me so?

Monday, July 10, 2006

Fashions Of The Northwest, UNITE!

So I have discovered that there is one place in the world where you can see greasers, polo shirt-ers, and, um, "Nascar" fans (you know what I mean, don't make me say it), PLUS their assorted ladies in one poorly ventilated place! Where is this place, you ask? Why, it's a Social Distortion concert, my friends! Bringing motley crews together since...well, whenever the band formed. Imagine watching all these different heads of hair bobbing in one motion, the mullet, the crew cut, the occasional frizz helmet, the wave-thing that greasers have goin''s breathtaking, simply breathtaking. The band was good too.

My arms and shoulders are burnt to a crisp. I tell you, this global warming thing is gonna take out the Irish and the Scandavian pasties in record masses of skin cancer epidemics. We don't have a fucking chance. I thought the end of the world would take the vegetarians first, and this gave me pleasure...but it seems I was wrong. I wear SPF 30 and still come home looking like I'm glowing with radiation. (Yes, I know that would mean I am glowing green, but I disagree with that cinematic take on the effect of radiation 'cause I like red better...Simpsons be damned).

Friday, July 07, 2006

A Limerick About The Pesto In My Teeth

Lunch was linguine with pesto
But what's happened to the resto?
It's stuck in my teeth
In the gums beneath
Someday, I'll elope with Ernesto

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

The Peter Pan Complex Bitch Slap

Ok. It's not that I'm so delusional as to think that I'm still a child, but at 26 I still consider myself "young". I'm relatively fit, couldn't lift a car or anything, but if push came to shove, I could run a mile in under ten minutes. I'll hold a moment to let your amazement sink in.

So, on Monday some friends and I ventured into the mountainous bowels of Washington to sun and bathe ourselves on the banks of the Washougal River. A good time was had by all, though I'm still discovering scratches and scrapes from where I continuously bit it while wading on the rocks.

After about a half hour of consuming Pabsts and cheddar/beer Kettle Chips (I KNOW), we decide it's time to explore. It is here I shall introduce the rope swing. It was long, and knotted, and so so innocent looking, tied under a bridge, worn and obviously loved. To utilize the rope swing, one had to climb a large boulder on the far left side. It was so tall that you could almost touch the bridge's underbelly. The idea was, you swing from the boulder, clear the rocks below, and let go once you reach the deep part of the river. Sounds easy, right? We see kids do this in movies all the time (yes, movies, I live in the city, damnit!) Well two days later I'm still freakishly sore. Turns out I cannot easily support my own body's weight, and attempting to do so ended up in several stinging belly flops in the cold cold water. The boys kept yelling "bring up your legs! It's easier!" Yeah, thanks for that. Gravity is a bitch, friends.

So the afternoon was a painful reminder that those childish days of summer are gone forever. What was once youthful adventure, had now become painful and frankly, quite humbling. I mean, it's not like we were alone, oh no. Children looked on with mouths agape...I think they got a glimpse into their future and it scared them. Their parents averted their eyes to avoid openly laughing at our, well, physical retardation. A person can only take so much. We tucked our dripping hair behind our ears and sheepishly returned to our towels and booze, the consolation prize of adulthood. I have yet to decide whether or not medicinal shoe shopping is in order.