Tricksie Little Bloggerses

Blogger tricked me and now I'm in the new Beta one. I feel used. Cheated. And a little dirty, though that may be unrelated.

Yesterday it snowed for about a minute. And what a glorious minute it was. Now it's back to grey. Grey grey grey. I haven't taken any pictures of the city lately so I tried to find one online to show you all the grey. Apparently, people only take pictures of Portland when it's sunny. So for 10 days a year...everyone breaks out the camera. Anyway, this was the best I could come up with. You can see the cloudy blehness. I work next to that tall tall rectangular building. You know, FYI.

I just went out to get a sandwich and buy some tights. While waiting for my turkey on wheat to go, I looked around the room at the patrons of the Bagel Bistro. Most of them were heavy. Strange. No real point to that observation, but still. There was this rather large and homely woman reading a bodice-ripper over a mound of food leavings. This struck me as sad. You know the books I'm talking about...there's an example here on the right. A funny funny example.

Anyway, those novels make me irate. Have you ever read one? No? I'll tell you why, then. First of all, they're female porn. Yes they are. The lack of pictures doesn't make it any less pornographic, especially since women are cerebral and men are visual. AND they use words like "manroot" and "member". Which is just wrong. Any woman that scoffs at men for liking porn and then runs off to read such drivel is a hypocrite. Yes they are.

Anyway, my point was this: seeing large, homely women reading novels about being captured by shirtless buccaneers and whisked away to Barbados to be de-virginized (don't worry, she loves it) among the slaves who are too scared of the master and his dark, brooding-yet-hot temper to save the damsel but that's ok 'cause she fell in love with him when he called her a "tawdry wench who thickens his lust" - probably sets an unrealistic expectation of romantic love. Don't you think?

Anyway, I pilfered the book covers from this site, if you haven't already, go to it. I know it's old news for some, but the two below had me practically peeing my pants. You know, in a good way.

I'm a Big Fat Cow

LOOK AT THAT FACE. Not mine. His. Have you ever seen such a chubalub? That child is TWO MONTHS old. He's giant. And he looks guilty there...like he stole and ate the entire turkey. He didn't, but he CAN pretty much hold his head up for several seconds. I know. It's exciting.

So other than monopolizing my new nephew, the only thing I did on Thanksgiving was eat non-stop. Literally. And then I took some home with me and ate it there. I'm a big fat cow. And then the rest of the weekend I ate more. Why? Because I could. Eating is a social thing to do...and I'm a social girl. Remeber that weight I lost in Morocco? Yeah. Back with a vengeance. I blame the pilgrims. Smallpox and obesity, that's what they to be thanked for. Jerks.

So people who don't post the weekend are lame. I can say this now because it's Sunday night and I'm posting. I don't usually do this. Yes, I bordered on lame. Teetered, if you will. But I'm ok now. Thanks for asking. But there's some serious TV to go watch so I'll be off now. We had a Robert Altman-a-thon at the res last night. It was exhausting. The only way to recoup is with a little Family Guy, you know?

Goddamn You Robert Altman!

WHY? Why'd you have to go and DIE? You did such fantastic things (with the exception of supporting Lindsey Lohan's "acting" career). I remember the first time I saw The Player. "Pay attention to the tracking shot", my Dad said, "It's one of the longest ever filmed". And while they did the shot...the actor's dialogue was ABOUT the famous tracking shot in Orson Welles' Touch of Evil. Brilliance, BRILLIANCE. And that's what Altman was, effing brilliant. And this I remember thinking in the first 10 minutes of that film.

Don't get me wrong, not everything he did was great. I remember finishing Short Cuts and being like 'whaaaa?" but the man took chances with film. No one seems to do that anymore. Except for maybe Wes Anderson. Even Soderbergh went all commercially stagnant. I blame Julia Roberts for that. I also like to blame her for traffic, splinters and the existence of Snowbabies.

But the man was inspiring. He helped drive my interest in film...an interest that directed me towards a film major in college. A degree that I'm now wasting in...well...this wasteland of e-mail marketing. Rosebud.

Regardless...Robert Altman brought Popeye to life for me...my childhood hero...and for that I can never thank him enough. So I'm pissed at him for dying.

Snowbabies!!!!!!

Tis the season for shitty Snowbaby ads! For those of you who are not familiar with the phenomenon of collectible porcelain "babies" that are wrapped in some kind of suit that is supposed to indicate warmth, and maybe some sort of animal skin. They're not cheap. And they're hideous.

This Snowbaby comes from God. I know this because it says so.

However, the makers of Snowbabies know that not every collector is religious so they have a back-up for the heathenish among us...


And that would be THIS Snowbaby being delivered by a STORK! Because if it didn't come from God...well then it HAD to come from one of Darwin's creatures! And we all know from his teachings that little human babies evolved from adult storks. Yes we do. BOW TO THE FIGURINE.

Not all the Snowbabies are so sweet and innocent and denominational. Sometimes the Snowbabies are dark and morbid...I'll give you this example...





This little number may LOOK "angelic", but what you're witnessing here is the darkest of sins. That Snowman has just murdered that Snowbaby. Look at the vacant, glassy stare in the Snowbaby's eyes. And the ravens (here embodied by some sort of penguin/raven...or the ravguin) have already arrived to pick its little snow-covered bones. Available immediately to grace your happy Christmas hearth for $24.95.

Jen took a stab at copywriting a little ad blurb for this bad boy:

Clarence the Snowman Angel of Death and Percy Penguin, Bird of Doom looked over the dead body of the Snowbaby. "Well Percy, looks like we get extra meat for our sandwiches..."

Boy is SHE in the right business. I think that will have them flying off the shelves. What do you think?

Face Off

I refuse to switch to the new blogger. You hear me? REFUSE!

Was on the bus yesterday and this guy with one rotten tooth was all, "Excuse me, do you work at Dantes?" (local bar/music venue).
And I'm all, "No." (and then laugh condescendingly).
And then he's all, "Are you sure? (world's stupidest question...yes, I'm sure asshole) I'm not hitting on you or anything, but there's this girl who works there that looks just like you. Like...you could be twins".
And then I'm all "Yeah, I get that a lot".
And he goes "Seriously, just like you..." (launches into description of what could be ANYONE).

The point of the glorious dialogue above is this...I have the world's most common face. You wouldn't believe how often the above conversation happens to me. Usually within 10 minutes of meeting me, people have someone they can compare me with. I'm just like their roommate in college, or their cousin's wife, or the mentally ill woman on the corner of such and such who screams the fortunes from fortune cookies at passing cars. Usually I find it amusing, but sometimes, it's just plain creepy. I had some guy follow me around an Urban Outfitters once because he SWORE I was someone he went to school with. Don't you think I'd KNOW where I went to school? Honestly!

My neighbor-who-smokes-a-pipe-but-looks-way-too-young-to-be-smoking-a-pipe is moving out too. So then it's just going to be The Vampire and The Sorority chick in the building, at least until the Vampire sucks her dry too. Alas. Hopefully it will implode of its own volition. Can a building have its own volition? It should. If it could feel it should be manically depressed. Either way, once I'm out, I won't care a fig what happens to it. A FIG, I say!

I took some cough syrup last night for my...well...cough...but I think I took it too late in the night. It has Vicadin in it and I had a really hard time waking up and have felt a little drunk all day. It was really bad until I shoved some lunchtime sushi down my own throat. With chopsticks.

Anyway, my coworkers have been mocking. I suppose it's well deserved. Everyone knows how dangerous doing e-mail advertising can be when you're on the sauce. But I didn't know it would last this long! And it tasted like citrus fruit candy! Damnit!

I SAW U

So I want to post an I SAW U ad for:

The Guy on the MAX (train) at 5PM wearing iPod earbuds. I'm the Blond Chick also wearing iPod earbuds. You're hot...let's get an alcoholic beverage and imbibe it together.

And see how many responses I get.

Yes, I've joined the iPod clan. I used to spend my bus rides home counting the people with them and then imagining what they had to go without for a month in order to afford the outrageous extravagence that an iPod is. That's before I got one.

In my defense...I didn't really get one. I stole it from my mother. And in my defense again, I stole it with her permission, so it's not legitimate theft. And in her defense...she had this gorgeous new video iPod that she NEVER used and she understood that this is a crime against nature/humanity/electronics and that it needed to go to a good home where it would be loved and made to feel useful.

I provided that home. And now the bus crazies have to breach a wall of Interpol and Nina Simone to get to me. So far it has been inpenetrable. Yes, I just wanted an excuse to use that word.

Anyway, I rode the train to see Babel with Amy g. I'm conflicted over wheither or not to give this film a good review, because there was one story element that didn't seem to fit and it bugged. However, the scenes from Morocco are incredible and the places that they filmed are many of the places I saw. Ironically, one of the things we discussed from our Sahara Excursions van was how much it would suck if anyone needed a hospital out there. And then they went and made a movie about it. I am an idea generating MACHINE!

On the train I saw the most beautiful man I've ever encountered. I wanted to bite his lower lip. There were two problems with this. 1. I'm sure he'd take issue if I approached him and bit his lower lip being that I'm a stranger and all. 2. He wasn't actually on the train. He was on the bus that pulled up next to the train. Bitter bitter fate.

I'm All Grows Up

I have good news friends...I've finally taken that flying leap into the wonderful world of adultdome. I know some of you might say that I've taken it already with my grown up job and my grown up high heels and my grown up propensity to drink heavily on any given occasion; or maybe I took it upon entry of my first Spartacus-esque establishment. Or my first presidential vote. Or the first time I paid taxes. But you'd all be wrong. The truth is, friends...I've FINALLY begun to floss. Daily, as a matter of fact...not just the hour before I have to visit the dentist. That being said, I haven't visited the dentist in several years...which is what makes the flossing DAILY even MORE awe-inspiring. I'll give you all a moment to be deeply and profoundly impressed.

In other news...there are creatures crawling under my floor. Yep. The night I carved my idiotic looking pumpkin I could hear something creeping beneath me. Scared the SHIOT out of me, cause I was of a Halloween mind then. I got off the floor and put my feet up on the couch, you know, to protect them from the Tremors, just in case they broke through. It's happened a couple times since. They could be cats...they could be possums...they could be The Vampire's minions. I really don't know. Well, I do know, mostly they're cats. Two of them had a fight under there on Saturday. I met my neighbor outside (not the Vampire, the one who smokes a pipe but looks way too young to be smoking a pipe, but that's ok because it smells good so I don't mock him until he's out of earshot). And we're like "woah, did you hear that?", only neither of us actually talk like Bill and Ted. It's a funny mental image, though...Bill or Ted smoking a pipe.

Boy do I know how to get off topic. What was my point? Oh yes...flossing kind of hurts. But that's what being an adult is all about, right? Withstanding horrible physical pain on a regular basis.

I guess one may infer that not a lot went down this weekend. So maybe you're right. Oh no wait! I had my first slice of pumpkin pie for the season. And then a second one a day later. The third probably won't be til Thanksgiving, but you know, I can wait, or whatever.

I know you all wish you had my life. But really, it's not as glamorous as it appears. I mean, I have problems too. Like, I lost my hat on Friday, and I was really sad because it was an impulse buy from London that I'm extraordinarily happy with and I thought it was lost forever...but I had just left it at the office. So maybe I don't have problems. But it felt like one for a while. I'm okay now, though. Disaster averted.

This post sucks rope.

Other People's Dumbass Bike Stories (w/update)

First...read this post from Jen. You'll pee your pants. In a good way.

And now...these tickled me all sorts of pink (yes, I know I already said so), so I'm posting them here in an attempt to amuse on this rainy, windy, all around CRAPPY Friday.

We'll see if I feel like posting again later, but you know, I think I'd rather drink.

And here they are, fresh from the comments...other people's dumbass bike stories:

eccentric recluse said...
my first bike was equipped with what I refered to as inertial braking, one stopped pedalling and applied reverse pressure. I always felt that it worked better than the disc style brakes on my later velocipedes, better control and less liklihood of going over the handlebars.

d said...
i remember an accident i had with a bike. (yes, a story about me... haven't we been through this? it's not always about you). anyway, i was on my brother's old beater of a bike... it had the banana seat and the high handle bars. (it too, i believe, was from the 60's). anyway, i was going pretty fast down a steep hill and saw a big rock ahead of me. so i turned the handle bars to the right and nothing happened. i end up hitting the rock and go flying head-first over the handle bars and land on my head. after that, people started calling me "special". i like that. and i like candy. oooooh! look! a bird...

Jillybean said...
OK Kara, I have a bike related story for you.....when I was about 10 years old, my family stopped at a Garage Sale near our home where we purchased a beautiful Schwinn bicycle. Somebody had to ride it home, so I volunteered, I was so excited for this 'new' bike. I was especially excited to watch the pedals go round and round. I was watching the pedals go round and round,(and not watching the road)going full speed rammed my brand 'new' bike in to the back side of a parked bus. As I flew over the handlebars and hit the ground, I realized a passing car witnessed the entire fiasco. They stopped the car and ran to my rescue. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, these nice people helped my get the rest of the way home,(the bike no longer worked). Does this make you feel any better?? Your former babysitter...Jill

Mycaelus said...
I want to tell a story now.

Once upon a time, I had a bike. It was bike-shaped and had two wheels. I rode it around sometimes. But eventually I stopped. The bike stayed in my basement, feeling lonely. Then I gave it away to a poor kid who wanted a bike. The end.

It's a very exciting and humorous story, I know. It's almost as exciting as my story about the mailbox on my corner.

Word.

And More!

Devon said...
I've got that shit beat.

So Karl and I were riding around Rock creek area. We stopped by at Mike Lain's and all decided since it was a nice day, to go for a little ride.

We came across a sort of half assed construction site next to a church and what looked like the perfect bicycle jump (a pile of firmly packed dirt about 5 feet high, smooth ramp, clear landing area.) So Karl goes and get's a head start to jump it but chickens out at the last minute.

I, being the supreme genius that I am, took this as a challenge. I went 3 blocks up the street and peddled like crazy to get enough speed to jump it. I passed a car going my way and i must've been going about 20-22mph when i hit the dirt mound.

I hit the jump and went flying into the air. My feet weren't attached to my peddles in any way so they immediately flew off and i ended up in the "supperman" position when i hit the ground.

Like I said, this was all right next to a church parking lot that was full of people who ALL saw it.

sarah said...
My bike story sounds very much like Mycaelus only I didn't GIVE my bike to a poor kid. He stole it from my garage, along with a steamcleaner.

Niall said...
When I was about 8 I went cycling around the place, and on my way back the chain came off, so I stopped to put it on. In the darkness behind me an Irish wolfhound sneaks up behind me, and barked its mellow growl. I freaked out cause this dog was about four times as tall as me, so I got on my bike and tried to cycle away, but the dog catches up to me and knocks me off the bike and tries to bite my head off (lick my face), so I kick and scream and the dog calls for his backup crew and another dog comes over and as far as I can tell it tried to sit on me. Anyways, eventually they decided I could use a few more years growing before I get eaten and they left me go home, but they didn't let me take my bike and when I got back someone had taken the handle bar, seat and tyres.

apterix55 said...
I saw Jesus riding a bicycle once.. but that's another story entirely.

The Future said...
You know, bike accidents wouldn't be so funny if they didn't happen at a very unfortunate time. Mine was on a bike trail in Sunriver when all of a sudden my bike went off the trail (it definitely had a mind of its own)and I ended up off it and under it. Of course, I couldn't get up and back on it fast enough to prevent the hundreds of bikers behind me and those coming from the other direction from seeing it all (you included).

slaghammer said...
My bike crashes were all run-of-the-mill knee knockers and elbow scrapers. It was the bikes themselves that were the story. They were mismatched amalgamations of old junkyard castaways with rusted out bearings, bent pedals and cobbled together chains. The craziest one I ever put together was a road bike with a tiger stripped banana seat, race bike handlebars, a tiny front wheel, and an embarrassingly oversized rear wheel. It took a while to find two pedals that fit so I made due for a while with just one. I eventually found some brake cable and some old pads but not before I plowed headlong into a few stationary objects including a large prickly pear cactus.

Thanks for sharing in the wackiness, oh my wonderful commentors!

(if anyone feels left out of the dumbass loop...they can still comment with their stories and I'll update the post)

I'd Like to Call this a Great Day

Rumsfeld is shamed into resigning. Santorum is out...Saxton is defeated. We're inches away from a Democratic Senate and House. Measure 43, which would automatically notify parents of a teenager's abortion regardless of their situation did NOT pass (though it was close and I shudder to think why)...this should be an incredible day. But it's hard to celebrate when there is this hanging over our heads:

I'm listening to last week's This American Life episode. The show is one I'm hopelessly addicted to and am of the opinion that everyone else should be too...but you know...some people think public radio is evil. Not me...I just don't think Garrison Keiller is funny...I know...blasphemy. Guess that's why I don't have any friends. Ha!

Anyway, this site, iraqbodycount.net, has a running body count (obviously) of Iraqi casualties that can be confirmed...though the real number is probably nowhere near this. Can I just say, I'm thrilled that we've finally got some people in office that might keep this country from becoming the willfully ignorant, bigoted social trainwreck it's so close to being. But most of all...I hope they do something about this FUCKED UP WAR that our PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A PRESIDENT started. I'd liked to think we learned something from Vietnam...but I guess for some people it's hard to learn from a war that they successfully evaded.

The Lancet Report has a much scarier number of Iraqi casualties. Read it. We owe it to these people to read it. Here's a quote:

Making conservative assumptions, we think that about 100000 excess deaths, or more have happened since the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

Guess that will teach them to attack us with our own airplanes. Oh no wait...that wasn't them, was it. Damn.


(I'll post more levity later this week in the form of other peoples dumbass bike stories. Now I have to go...I'm going to print out a picture of Rumsfeld's face and step on it with my left saucy, black-booted, pointy kitten heel.)

Brakes Don't Work in the Rain and Other Stories

So Ms. Inamini posted a post (that's fun to say out loud) about the stupid things she's done. I commented with the stupid thing I'd done THAT DAY, which was WAY worse than any of her stupid things. I'm including the story below:

Kara said...

Today I was riding my bike. The light changed and I tried to brake to a stop. It was pouring rain. My original 1960s English Raleigh's brake pads don't work in the rain so I had to use my feet as I slid into the intersection. My shoes slipped and my nether regions came crashing down on the bar. 4 different lines of traffic were watching. I am now on a couch with an ice pack on my bleeding, swollen lady bits with the Ex Sys. Admin changing my brake pads. Why am I telling you this??? Well, I refused to replace the brake pads earlier because they said "Made in England" and I thought that was cool. You're a brain surgeon compared to me.

It occurs to me now (since the pain has lessened a bit...though just a bit) that the story is a tad humorous. I mean, how stupid is it that bike brakes don't work in the rain? How'd people stop in the 60s? I wonder if that's why platform shoes were invented. You know, to allow for all the wear on the soles of your shoes that stopping with your feet results in. Too bad no one from the 60s is still alive to answer these important anthropological questions. If only there was a way to get through to one of them...you know, like a seance of something. Anyway...it's my generation's loss. My bike is getting a modernizing overhaul.

2 weeks til I move. I sent the letter to my landlord stating that I was gonna leave his crap heap because he never responded to ANY of my repair requests (which were ALWAYS very polite in nature) and because now my front door doesn't even fucking close. If you know what Portland's been like lately (pouring rain all day every day) you'll sympathize with a girl who can't fully close her front door. And if you can't...you're a heartless bastard and I'm going to call PETA and tell them that you torture kittens.

Besides, I have to move because a month ago my Dad and Step-mom came to visit and I had my windows open and my upstairs neighbor was coming down the stairs and my Dad was like "Hey, is that The Vampire?" REALLY not-quietly. Let me repeat...my windows were open. The Vampire didn't ACT like he'd heard...but I'm fairly certain that when this rain lets up, I'm first in line for a draining.

Anyway, I'm gonna have a roommate again. I hope he doesn't hate my cat. Lots of people hate my cat. She's needy. But I think she's nice, so they can all go to hell. Jebus, and so can this post.

(PS: The picture above isn't actually my bike but it's pretty damn close. My bike is better, though cause I've bling'd it up with some streamers and sparkly handles. Word.)

My Friends Are The Coolest

This is why I love Marie. Last night, 2/3 of the Crew and I go for lemon drop happy hour (sorry, Laura, you have to be able to leave your baby/leach for more than an hour). We split around 8 because I have to go check out an apartment and when I leave said apartment a couple hours later, there's a message on my phone.

Here's an abbreviated transcript:

Marie (very distressed): Kara, this is Marie. I need you to call me back because I just got these new salt and pepper shakers and I can't figure out which one is for salt and which is for pepper and I'm trying to fill them. Anyway, I need your help.

I begin chortling immediately. 'Silly girl', I thought, everyone knows how to tell which is which.
Yeah, wrong.

So I call her back:

Me (patronizingly): You have a few too many lemon drops, Marie?
Marie: I kept going when I got home.
Me: Ahhhh...that's ok then. So here's how you tell...the one with more holes is for salt, 'cause you want more salt than you do pepper, in general.
Marie: Yeah but the other one has bigger holes.
Me (disbelieving): The one with less holes has bigger holes?
Marie (exasperated): Yes!
Me (flabbergasted): Oh.
Marie: Yeah.
Me: Well shit. I think that one's still for pepper, because, you know, pepper bits are sometimes bigger than salt.
Marie: Yeah, ok, that makes sense.
Me: Oh yeah, I'm moving out of my ghetto apartment in two weeks.
Marie: Yay!

The last part, though mentioned, has nothing to do with the amusingness of this conversation, but I included it because it's true and I'm excited about it. I'm going to have a new roommate and a home with heat...a front door that closes and probably locks...and NO BLACK MOLD!

Happy Friday, people!

The Cure for a Snake Bite

This is in Marrakech. The dude would play his horn and the snakes would all flail about. I never got closer than this. I saw children go much closer and I thought "idiots".

But later I was told that I was the idiot. It was perfectly safe to go up to the snakes. You could even taunt them if you wanted to...wanna know why??? They're mouths were sewn shut. If you could look closer, you'd see black thread criss-crossing along their poor little venomnous mouths.

Snake slavery at its worst.

Yesterday I was riding my bike home and then something funny happened that I was definitely going to blog about. But I forgot it, like, 10 minutes later. I'm aging, friends.

Halloween was the shit. The good kind. Not Halloween, exactly, but the Saturday before it. Maybe I'll post a picture, maybe I won't...'cause my costume is kinda nekkidy. I was a dead ballerina. The Crew, Law Student and I party hopped, and that was pretty ok, except that I was designated driver so, you know, sober.

Election time is coming. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to vote because my ballot had gone to my now demolished previous residence on Stark st. But I got it all sorted out and I will single-handedly bring down the inbred twat that is State Gubernatorial candidate...Ron Saxton. Fear me, Ron...fear me.

Blowhard