I Keep Cutting Off The Top Of Kansas' Head

What's up, people? I'm watching TV. It's Daily Show time. I'm not even sure if I have the dual attention span required to blog. We'll see.

So I see that England has pulled through despite the powerful hoodoo curse. Yes...that's what I think caused the great Great Britain flooding...hoodoo. I think two years after Katrina with almost no tangible restitution some hoodoo priests and priestesses got together to curse the pastiest country they could think of. Behold...the power of bedevilment.

A year ago around this time I posted a post, that I won't bother with going back to find, with a picture of just of my legs and a beer...the beer being held up by my legs, obviously...at an outdoor concert. I've decided to make that an annual thing. From now on, it's not summer until I post a picture of my knees holding up a beer in a park. There's no tradition like a new tradition.

This year I was wearing a skirt and I didn't shave my legs that day (it was a Sunday, get off my back) so it's about the least attractive angle I can possibly imagine...but I can hold the season back no longer. It will be announced. And so, without further ado...I give you, the official announcement of summer:


It appears as though those knees have never seen the light of day. Well you're not far off.

That Dutch beer tasted just like Pabst. Seriously.

Pinkie RIP!

I broke my pinkie toe. Don't you think "pinkie" should be spelled "pinky"? I do too. So I was doing a little dance-glide through the not-so-spacious living room when my little rebellious pinky toe, which absolutely REFUSED to keep up with the others, took a little side trip on the metal part of the foot stool. And SNAP! It was gross, people.

Turns out I no longer own the first aid kit I got from my dad when I graduated high school...9 years ago...so I had to tape up my toes with corn prevention tape. Is it strange that I had the one thing and not the other? I don't know.

I've been given a laptop for my new job that I must attach to my hip and never be without. It feels like a tracking device. I might run. I might just freak out and run.

But I'll probably get shanghaied and wake up in The Village.

Today they were handing out free root beer floats in Pioneer Square (pictured above...the Square, not the floats). They weren't served in thimbles as originally feared...they were a good 12oz. cup size. It was glorious. The Square is known as "Portland's Living Room". I had no idea this was the case until just now when I was looking pictures up on Google Images. I'm wondering where "Portland's Bathroom" is located. And "Portland's Kitchen" too, for that matter. Strange.

This city's citizens are weird about doing things with each other. There's always these official "activities" to bring us to the "Living Room". Like...we have an annual pillow fight. And we all gather to light a giant Christmas Tree, etc. I resent these forced activities...not so much because of the forced socialization...but more because I usually forget about them til after they've already happened so I feel resentful and left out. That's why I'm glad I caught the Free Root Beer Float day. Inclusion. And ice cream. And root beer.

Why I Sometimes Shouldn't Be Allowed To Write

I was going to write about how much my job sucks, but I've just finished watching The Colbert Report...I'm most of the way through an overfilled glass of Merlot...and Kansas is rubbing my back. Suddenly can't seem to find the will to bitch about how I'm being told that the job that I've devoted several years and countless hours to is "unnecessary". Grrrrrr.

Hold on, I need to refill...

Have you had a Charleston Chew lately? Deeelightful, they are. I don't know exactly what nougat is...but like the invention of polyester...I welcome it with open arms.

Usually I need to have something to look forward to to get through my days at work. Something big that I can only achieve by schlepping my sleepy ass to a place that provides me with a paycheck every two weeks. Something like a vacation. My last vacation was to Morocco last October. Though that trip didn't turn out the way I imagined...it was still incredible. It was also a useful exercise in discovering who I needed in my life and who I didn't. And, most importantly, it allowed me to put my saucy red Diesel sneakers to the ultimate test...the Sahara. They passed with flying colors. Well...the colors are a might dingier now...but you get the idea.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that what I think I've been missing from my life for the past several months is a new mission. A new vacation to work toward. And now I have one. In February Kansas and I are going to spend our 1-year anniversary traveling through the Czech Republic, Hungary and Romania. To say I'm excited would be an understatement. But to be honest...the last time I traveled with someone, it didn't go over so well, so there is some nervousness there. Of course, if Kansas decides to leave me in the middle of Bucharest...well, let's just say he'd be going home with one less limb. And not one of the four you'd expect.

Sorry...got a little carried away there. Damn corner store Merlot. But I tell you all this for a reason. I've been to the Czech Republic. Went when I was 17 and more concerned with drinking vodka in the square than seeing the sites, but, you know, I saw the major things. However, I've never been to Hungary or Romania. If anyone out there has and they know of anywhere I MUST see, or anywhere I MUST stay or any place I MUST eat...you MUST let me know. Lawd, I'm just SO dramatic.

Peace out bitches...I'm getting a cookie.

Speaking of Stupid...

I wore the below shoes Friday night for a bout of fuck-it-all clubbing. Cute, right? Yeah...for about an hour. After that, they're just pain. Pain with a pointy toe. After 3 hours I pretty much had to be carried. But no one would carry me...so I started to do this strange little shuffle-walk. By then it was 2 AM and I was done. DONE, I tell you!
Speaking of stupid...Now that Paris has made prison all the rage...the other twit-celebs are quickly following suit. The latest to don the telltale stripes? Lindsay Lohan! In a move that makes me shudder in revulsion when I think of our government's legal system...Lindz had to turn herself in for the May DUI and hit and run accident she was oh-so-underagedly-involved in. Perhaps some of you remember this lovely pictorial memento of the occasion:Actually...I don't think the above picture was from the hit-n-run night...but I wanted an excuse to use it. It's too priceless. So yes...any other underage drunk driver who gets into an accident and then runs away with it would usually be arrested on the spot. But NO! Several months have to pass until Paris proves that jail is for cool kids and then all the delinquent divas are LINING UP to get their booking pics taken. Everyone knows the precinct in downtown LA has the most flattering lighting.

So yeah...as a great man once said, "stupid is as stupid does". And although I have no idea what that statement actually means...I couldn't agree with it more. So will Lindz learn from her mistakes and stop all the carousing and brouhahaing long enough to try to make a serious go at acting? Or will the remake of The Parent Trap continue to stand as the best representation of her body of work? Only time will tell.

As for me and my stupidity...well...the shoes are fuckin' hot, so I'll keep wearing them until all the nerve endings in my feet die and I no longer feel pain.

Thank you and good night.

Well...damnit.

For the second time I have been awarded the Rockin' Girl Blogger award. This time it was from Macoosh...the previous time from Thinker. You're supposed to then go and nominate 5 girl bloggers of your own and then you may display the award in your sidebar. Though I was very grateful for the award and the darling things that were said about me...I didn't like the idea of having to pick and choose people on my blog roll in a way that would leave anyone (with two X chromosomes) out. So...I have decided that I can ignore it no longer. The award is here...and it's going to stay. What I will do in return is list all the female bloggers on my sidebar and give them a tagline that will hopefully inspire you to check them out for yourselves...for as far as I'm concerned...they should all be able to display the award proudly and with a colorful background. My, but this paragraph has gotten lengthy.

Sweet Gherkins! - the Waif is my sister...and the co-host of the almost dead CondiCast.

Frogs' Legs Aren't Funny - the Future is my mum...and is the Queen of the Non Sequitur.

Blog This - Jen is my workmate...a fellow shoe whore with a certain type of voice that is only reserved for basketball games and loud neighbors.

Reflection of a Dream - Macoosh is living MY life and I want it back!

Diary of an Incomplete Woman - cousin to Macoosh...she has had her eyebrows removed via methods far more unnatural than tweezing.

The Constant Whiner - Jill whines a whole hell of a lot less than I do...but when she does...she usually has a better reason...and at some point, she's fixing me a drink.

Dogs Are My Life - Kendra is saving the world one puppy at a time.

What's a Blog? - These are Sarah's gems...and I'm not just referring to her children...oh no...there's so much more.

Open-faced Club Sandwich - Fro is a vegetarian who knows how to pick her battles...with killer whales and trolls.

Not Enough Time in the Day - There really isn't for Em, as her days tend to exhaust me second hand.

Susie Q's To Dos - Sue and her completely unique outlook on life surprises me every time...like a jack in the box but less scary.

Theory of Thought - If I knew then what she knows now at the age I was then...well I would've been a lot more like the Thinker...but I wasn't...so that makes her special.

This is You Reading About Me...or Not - YinYang is the perfect balance of herself...seriously, see for yourself.

The Problem-child Bride - Sam lives in her own fantastical world...and sometimes she lets you in for a visit...if you're very very lucky.

Sheep in Trees - Nic and the Short do NOT live in a forest...as previously thought...but that doesn't matter because she's got it all figured out, you know?

Phosgraphis - This woman is not afraid to say what she feels and act on what she believes.

Rock on.

Crock Pots Are A Crock

Is no one else alarmed by the idea that something can take a full 8 hours to cook? Doesn't that seem like an exorbitant amount of time? For anything. And who figured this out before the whole invention of the crock pot? Who sat over a pot and stirred chicken on a low flame for 8 hours? Is that seriously what women did before earning the right to vote? Fuck. No wonder they were willing to march in corsets.

It was really quite stupid to try to cook in a crock pot on a Sunday in the heat of the summer. It's up there with baking cookies. Mmmm, cookies. What was I talking about? Oh...meat. Anyway...it freaks my shit out that these ingredients sit and stew in their own botchulistic juices. Of course that's a word. And then we eat them and don't die. Fascinating.

So I took the job. I'm moving into Account Management in a week. I'm officially a whore for money. All principles thrown out the window at the prospect of being able to afford a home of my own someday. What's happened to me? What happened to the girl who could pack up two suitcases and move across the country or throw on a backpack and hit Europe like she owned it? Well...I'll tell you one thing...the exchange rate happened. This war has been a bitch for tourism. Could that have sounded any more callous and selfish? Probably not.

What can I say, you know? I have needs. Footwear needs. Student Loan Repayment needs. Laptop needs. Paid PTO needs. I've sold out and become a fucking adult. Please don't read that as a verb. This promotion has been the hardest decision I've had to make in a long time. I've been with my company for almost 4 years and I hate who they are, what they do and what they stand for (which is not fucking much other than lining their own poorly dresses pockets). But I left teaching preschool because I couldn't make a living wage. And now I make a living wage and I can't seem to be satisfied with that. I want it to go up and up. I want to keep up with the Jones'...and I secretly despise myself for it. And yet, here I am. I bought $20 shampoo yesterday. Like my toddler hair is worth it.

Sorry for the mood. I've been listening to a lot of Jeff Buckley lately and Kansas has had to be away a lot for work. The two are a lethal combination for even the most high-spirited. I need a good long night out of dancing. Release some endorphins or some junk. It might feel good to get out and judge some people. It's always uplifting to point out those who are "not up to code". You know?

I Hate You, J.K. Rowling.

And here's why. The Waif and I were there. Opening night of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I'm fairly certain Waif was bouncing in her chair. She has to be careful with that sort of thing...her fragile little bird bones can snap like a twig on those hard seats. Anyway...we were there. I saw it on opening night. Could I tell you a thing about it? No.

Why?


Because all I could see was this man. Goddamn, Gary Oldman is hot.

And then he died and I wanted to storm out of the theater in a huff. I literally lost interest completely after that point. It was an unconscious reaction that couldn't be helped. Staring at Helena B-C's rotting gums didn't help matters. But this is the effect Oldman has on me. Has been ever since I first met him (at an age old enough to recognize pure lust)...














...in this. I probably watched this movie more times than I'm willing to admit...even to perfect and imperfect strangers. Never have I wanted fangs piercing the fleshiness of my throat more than when this man was doing just that to Winona Ryder. And never since...cause that shit's just fucked up.












And then there was Sid. Not being the world's biggest Sex Pistols' fan...I prefer The Clash...it took me a while to see this. But then I did. And then I did again. And then one more time...just fast forwarding to the good parts.






Some lonely night in a video store I stumbled upon this little gem. It's not that great of a movie, but you get to see his nekkid self diving into water like the aqueous god that he is. A man nymph. Does such a thing exist? Well I say it does.

Demi Moore is a poorly acting cow in this film, so I just mentally superimpose my face over hers. The cow. Anyway, I highly recommend this one. He has a fuck-me-now Scottish accent as the cherry that should sit right up near the top of this sundae of luuurv.










I'd even do him as Beethoven. Watched this projected on the wall of a patisserie several months ago. It made him almost life-sized.

There are, of course, exceptions. His character in 5th Element looks like a circus freak and sounds like George W. Bush...which I bet is intentional. And his role as Commissioner Gordon in the new Batman movie(s) leaves something to be visually desired (lose the 'stache - the cheese cannot stand alone)...but he the man fairly consistently makes my heart race.











But here's the crux of the thing. THe's pushing 50. And by "pushing" I mean, I think he actually is 50. That puts him in the same Baby Boomer generation as my parents. But somehow...it just doesn't matter. Every year when he should be going the pruney way of Sean Connery...he somehow manages to get a little bit hotter. Why is this? What sort of fucked up Dorian Gray deal with the devil has this man made? Somebody tell me why I have no control over the beating of my body temperature when he steps into the frame?

Look at him here next to Harry. I'm having a hard time keeping my index finger from running down that tattooed chest. I wouldn't try so hard, except that I'm at work and it would look...odd.

So if you were looking for a review of the new Harry Potter...I'm sorry. I've failed you all...I've failed myself...I've failed my film degree. But it was worth it. I'd do it again in a second...if it didn't cost me $10.

I'll Tell You People What...

This place is crazy. Yesterday was a hundred and something degrees. I know that's standard for a lot of the country, but you guys can just shut it because that's fucking hot for Oregon. The land of "what's air conditioning?". We wear socks with our sandals 9 months out of the year for chrissakes.

The only answer was a pool. Amy g. has a pool. And yesterday...I was in it. With a vodka-laced Slurpee. And in between lounging in the plastic deck chair (in the shallow end, of course) and telling small children to piss off...I got to thinking about the Iraq war. Yeah.

NPR had a report this morning stating that even Republicans are having second thoughts about our Commander and Chief's fantastical stratagems where that tragic pile of sand (once home to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon) is concerned. They seem to think (according to one conservative member of congress who's name I cannot recall) that the Iraqi government isn't doing its part to become truly independent. You know, they're relying too heavily on our troops and not keeping up with their end of the deal to train and control their own troops. What I'm not clear on is this "deal" thing. When was that made? As I recall...no one from Iraq ever actually asked us to liberate their country. There was never a "can you pop on by when you have a minute?" letter sent to Bush that I know of. So where do we get off being overly annoyed at THEM not being able to get their shit together in a timely manner while bombs go off in every direction? Hmmmm? I thought so.

THEN I get to work this morning and everything breaks. So I read a little of the New York Times. Headline: Surgeon General Sees 4-Year Term as Compromised

Some snippets for you:
The administration, Dr. Carmona (Ex Surgeon General) said, would not allow him to speak or issue reports about stem cells, emergency contraception, sex education, or prison, mental and global health issues. Top officials delayed for years and tried to “water down” a landmark report on secondhand smoke, he said.

Lovely.

Dr. Carmona said he was ordered to mention President Bush three times on every page of his speeches. He also said he was asked to make speeches to support Republican political candidates and to attend political briefings.

You know...just in case anyone forgot his name.

Emily Lawrimore, a White House spokeswoman, said the surgeon general “is the leading voice for the health of all Americans."
"It’s disappointing to us,” Ms. Lawrimore said, “if he failed to use this position to the fullest extent in advocating for policies he thought were in the best interests of the nation."

It's disappointing to ME that she didn't also include the fact that this man tortures and skins kittens for DNA testing and is trying to cure cancer by utilizing the healing power of the 'thought bubble'. The quack.

To be fair, the article goes on to pinpoint the issues that Bush Sr. and Clinton tried to suppress as well...but what the fuck?! Where do they get off controlling the dissemination of health-related informations? Suddenly I'm seeing a little red, if you get my not-so-veiled play-on word right there. Somebody get me a Slurpee!

Fine...screw you all, I'll get one myself.

We've Finally Found Him

I just got this text message, well...it was actually two text messages because it was too long for one, but still...I just got this:

From: Kansas (971-xxx-xxxx)
I hate to say it honey, but this bedroom is a nightmare straight from hell. I was digging around and found not only long lost clothing but also a skeleton that I am convinced is Jimmy Hoffa. We must tag-team it some day. The room, that is.
July 9, 11:32am

You see, of course, why I love him.

So I'm not a neat-nick...who cares! None of the great ones ever are! Cleanliness asphyxiates creativity! It cuts it off, right at the vocal cords. That's a lot of pain. Clean, boring, mundane stick-people drawing pain. If I have to get busy cleaning...I'll run out of time for the really important things, like writing in my blog and drinking! Drinking! You can't drink and clean! What if you get confused due to lightheadedness from the chemicals and you take a swig from the bleach instead of the beer? There's very little difference between and glass and a plastic bottle, people! Very little!

I'm not dirty, though. I'm messy. What he's referring to in that text message are mountains of CLEAN laundry that I can't be bothered putting away because I might want to wear it at ANY MINUTE and piles and piles of papers and whatnot. I cannot seem to keep the paper that infiltrates my life in any sort of organized containment unit. I used to use a filing thingy on my dresser but it started overflowing, so I put some of it in a drawer. But now the drawer is full and I'm relatively sure there's a bill somewhere in there that I haven't paid and now I can't find it for all the envelopes screaming at me every time I try to open the drawer. So now I use the floor. It has mingled well with the clothing and has somehow avoided be thrown up on by the cat (this is her latest thing...I think she WANTS me to kill her). So it was all settled.

Or, at least it was 'til I got this text. Bless his little heart.

The Sun Is A Mass Of Incandescent Gas

Like a gigantic nuclear furnace. Guess what that does to my pasty self? Go on...guess. I dare you. Double dog dare you. Ok fine, I'll just tell you...

It burns it to all fuck.

Sat at a picnic table for 15, count them 15 minutes this afternoon with an iced tea and The Mercury and what do you THINK happened. What? Go on, guess. Really. Ok, fine...I'll just tell you...

I got a sunburn.

People wonder why I'm not outdoorsy...well, probably no one actually wonders that, but the fact is I'm not and THIS is why. It's hard to enjoy spending time in the sunlight when it's constantly trying to kill you.

It's almost akin to taking up yahting when you can't swim.

Or working in a casino when you only have one lung.

Or shopping when you're broke.

Actually...I don't know that any of those examples are really what I meant...but I like them, so they're going to stay. Kansas is currently trying to kill Tallulah who is trying to kill the neighbor cat, albeit through a screen...but the effort is there.

I should probably intervene to save at least one of them...but I'm drinking a beer and it'll become room temperature if not consumed quickly. See...priorities.

This is the first Saturday night that I haven't had something I've had to go do in ages. It's thrilling. We're thinking of walking out to a pub theater to see a movie...but who knows since I'm so very slightly charred. I might be feeling too fragile. But probably not. I do want to get at least two more beers down my gullet before heading out, though, so I think I need to go focus on that. You guys were great, though...thanks for listening.

Maybe I'll even drink too much and start a fight with someone over something trivial, like the price of milk.. And then Kansas will have to pull me off as I continue to kick their lifeless body after utilizing my secret weapon...the pinky rip. That could be fun.

My Night Terror

According to Kansas, sometime in the wee hours of Thursday morning I jumped up to my hands and knees (I sleep on my stomach) and started freaking out about bugs. Kansas, so rudely awakened by my freak out, calmed me back down into the appropriate nighty night time position only to discover that I was and had been sound asleep the entire time.

Thursday Morning, 6:30AM
Kansas: Remember what you did last night?
Kara: Did?
Kansas: You jumped up in bed and freaked out.
Kara: I what?

Yeah...explain THAT.

So What IS The Problem?

Saw Sicko this weekend. I also fell on my ass in front of a sidewalk full of people, but that's another story. One which I'll also tell today.

But first...I have my issues with Michael Moore as much as anyone else does. He's a self-righteous man who exploits the victims he includes in his movies as much as he helps them. His sense of humor is obtuse and somewhat patronizing. And his biggest problem, I believe, is that his attitude and "in your face" style narrows his audience down til what is left is the proverbial choir. Thus, his message (which is generally a great one) only goes out to people who are already outraged enough to spend $10 a piece to become even more outraged at one of his movies. He's not convincing anyone new of anything they didn't already guess. In this way, he is ineffective.

But still...the man asks the most beautiful questions. And his name can get him, as a filmmaker, into places no other filmmaker could ever get in to. And for that, he is invaluable. Sicko is a beautiful film...with the exception of its opening credits (this dude sews up a cut on his leg). I think he focuses too much time on the "utopian" societies that are Canada, France, England and Cuba (uh huh) and too little time on how we can change America...but the message he sends is clear and sickening. We NEED socialized healthcare to keep so many people from suffering and dying unnecessarily. And we need to stop being so afraid of our government. As one of the interviewees, an ex-member of the British Parliament put it (imagine Peter O'Toole's voice) "a government should be afraid of the people, not the people afraid of the government." All I can say to that profound statement is 'Fuckin' A, man'.

As for what happened on the bike... I was balancing sideways on the straight bar of the frame on the sidewalk in front of McMenamin's Blue Moon Pub waiting for the check to come to our table so we could get the fuck to the soccer (football for the Commonwealth) game that had already started (Timbers WON!). Suddenly, I felt the bike lose ground and it hit the concrete with a *crash*! And my ass fell right on top of it. In front of an entire sidewalk of tables filled with hipsters. I got an applause. Assholes.





PS: I love you, mom...even if your employer is evil incarnate.