I Bet YOU Don't Have One

Yesterday, I paid good money to receive something called a "rock 'n roll" haircut. I had no idea what that involved, so when the Greaser with the pompadour holding the scissors told me what he was about to do to me, I was all "whatevs". This is what happens when I get the (rare) opportunity to read trashy magazines. I stop paying attention. Plus, they ply you with free liquor...judgment impaired on all sides!

So basically...with no rhyme or reason...he just started chopping chunks off. Some of it is really short and some was left long and now I look like Joan Jett, only slightly less mullety. And blond. And I'm about 10 lbs heavier. Maybe 15. Shut up.I can't tell you how rock 'n roll I feel now, with my new look. Immediately after paying I had the urge to get a tattoo and trash a hotel room. But I couldn't and therefore, didn't. So I settled for riding home in the rain WITHOUT a helmet. So badass. Go ahead and be jealous that you aren't me.

So what's everyone doing for New Years? The world's most anti-climactic holiday where we all count down to midnight and then go, 'ok, now what?'. Well, maybe that's just here. In other countries there are fireworks and brouhahas. Here we all just get smashed playing boardgames or at bars and then fight over taxis to get home. No fireworks. No brouhahas. No presents. No turkey with stuffing. No heart shaped boxes of chocolate. No baskets of brightly colored eggs. Booo.

When we were kids, the waif and I would battle to stay up long enough to bang on pots and pans outside at the stroke of 12...but that lost its oomph after a while. We were never really loud enough to piss off any neighbors, so what was the point, you know?

I think I'm whiny because 2008 brings around my 10 year high school reunion. And that really kinda chaps my cookies, because I had planned to send a video greeting from whatever location I was directing/producing/writing my latest film. So, I'm running out of time to become a director/producer/writer with a film to make at an exotic location. I have til, like, May I think. Shit. I have things to do.

I'm a Thief

So, I stole this idea from Rachel, who I believe, stole this idea from her sister, who may or may not be an idea thief herself...I'm not willing to do that much research. Below are the first sentences from the first posts of each month of this past year; you know...the one that's about to end.

Here we go!

January:
This is gonna be short because I can feel the sweats coming back again.

February:
I took the first of my three self defense classes last night.

March:
You've all missed me, haven't you.

April:
So I have nothing to write about.

May:
I'm sick.

June:
I know.

July:
Saw Sicko this weekend.

August:
Have I used this title before?

September:
Sunday afternoon I was walking Quimby.

October:
And how is that, you ask?

November:
Some psycho wench against the war in Iraq tried to go at Condi with blood (paint) on her hands at a House of Rep. foreign relations committee hearing.

December:
This title is misleading.

Well, mine didn't turn out as interesting as hers did. Oh well. What is kind of cool is how it reads like a conversation. If you lump them all together, they're kind of like dialogue.

Based on these sentences I have...had the flu, learned how to fight off baddies, grown a swollen head, lost my inspiration, gotten sick again, gone to see a movie about sickness, repeated myself, walked a dog, answered my own questions, verbally defended Condi's coif and mislead my readers. I'd like to call that a full year, but I don't know if I can. Obviously I need to make some changes in my life to add a little excitement. Or maybe I should just make it up for the benefit of my posts. Nah...that's too much work.

Speaking of work, I have no reason to be here today. It's the definition of dead in this office...minus the smell. But because of the wonderful world of databases...not only will I sit here twiddling my thumbs all day...but I'll have to work tonight. Friday night. When I should be kickin' it with a tasty groove (TM - Tenacious D). Blast databases and all their uselessness. If they had children, I would curse them with webbed feet. Would database babies have feet? These are the things I plan to investigate in 2008. It should make for some interesting posts.

Or I'll just keep writing about the levels of hotness and shoes. What I do best.

A Christmas Miracle

It snowed today. On Christmas. For, like...hours. Well..., maybe two. But still, I can't tell you the last time it snowed on Christmas here. I could probably google it, but I don't have that kind of energy. I'm in a consumption coma.

I hope everyone had a delightful Christmas. I enjoyed mine, even if the snow did melt by 3:00 PM.

As is our tradition, amy g. and I went to a movie this evening. We find it to be a good way to wind down from all the family of the several days prior. Usually we hit the pub theater for a glass of wine and a slice of pie, but this year we had company. Kansas, the waif and her man-half til death tears them asunder, ty, amy g. and I all went to see Sweeney Todd...because I had been hyperventilating with anticipation ever since I saw the trailer on somethingorother months ago. I'm a huge Tim Burton fan. And an even huger Johnny Depp fan. And an even HUGER Burton/Depp hybrid fan (with the exception of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...what the fuck was that?)

Even better, I'd already gone to Rotten Tomatoes to see that finally Burton has graced us with a winner in review-land. It's been a while. So we went. Immediately I had to pee. Why does that always happen? But I held it. When watching a stage-to-screen musical such as this, it is imperative that one pays extra close attention to the songs, since they are the primary mover of the storyline in a way that dialogue...well...just isn't. So I stayed in my seat trying not to think about how many glasses of horrible white zinfandel I'd downed before setting myself down for a two hour stint. Because you can't miss a second of a musical and still know what's going on.

So this is what I thought:

Sacha Baron Cohen is a gem. His part was fabulous. He was the much needed comic relief when Helena Bonham Carter just couldn't be. And based on the tightness of his trousers, I would say his wife is a very lucky woman.

Carter should get an Oscar. That woman needs recognition for being CONSISTENTLY wonderful, whether it be Shakespeare or Chuck Palaniuk she's reciting. And I truly feel that if it hadn't been for her character, the complete lack of heart in the film would've left me feeling empty as well as ooged out.

Depp is hot. That is both obvious and an understatement, but when you take into account the double digits of roles where his character has OBVIOUSLY questionable personal hygiene and he still is the hottest thing in the room...that says something. I was surprised at how pleasant his singing voice was but mourned the complete lack of emotional depth of his Sweeney. I realize that's the character...it was what he was supposed to be, but he does "emotional" so beautifully...I felt ever so slightly robbed.

Broadway plays have never been known for their tight storylines...but this translated pretty well onto the film. There are the usual plot holes that we feel more distinctly on screen than if one were sitting in an audience waiting for intermission to grab a cocktail so the set can change. But I think trying to hold something like this to the same storyline standard as, say, Syriana is unfair. Still...it'd be nice if Burton could've tightened it up a little.

But visually...it was fucking sweeeeet.

Ladies and Gentlemen...A Christmas Party:

Dr. Zaius watched over the proceedings from his place at the top of the Tannenbaum:

Laurie and Kansas with their serious attire and their serious faces:

Kara's late night balancing act:
I can only imagine what they're discussing. Only imagine:
This is from the "steal Kara's baby picture and hold it high so she can't reach it" game. Not one of my all time favorites:
They steal my baby picture...I steal their baby:

I don't trust that face for a second:

It's about 3:00 AM here. Kellie probably isn't listening to what I'm saying as much as just laughing at general drunkeness:

Needs no caption...but I guess it got one anyway:

Feet:

Mandy is winking. Yes, we care that much:

So much booze...so many child proof caps:

Standing room only in the kitchen:

Sitting room only in the living room. The waif breaks rules:

I...don't know.

It was...fun. The next day, it was like a bomb had fallen. A sticky bomb. You know the kind.

There are a million more pictures but I don't know who wants their faces on the internet and who doesn't, so this is all you get.

Sarah - I have, like, NO picture of you. Several of your baby, but not you. What's your deal, lady?

I have to go. I have to go back to Powell's...AGAIN. And you know how I get when I have to go there. Angry is how I get. This'll make TWO visits during the Christmas season. Oh the tortures I suffer to be a giver.

Just Now...

George Bush:
It's like I always say. People love the presidency. And sometimes...they love the president.

Silence.

George Bush:
Get it?

Uproarious laughter from the journalists.

George Bush:
Heh. Heh.


Bunch of kiss asses. The press is worthless.



Pictures still coming. Probably tonight.

It's a Festivus for the Rest of Us

Tonight I am hosting a Festivus gathering at the abode of Kansas and Kara. I imagine it will be something like playing Sardines in finery. With booze.

I'm hoping there will be pictures.

There will definitely be moments worth capturing.

I'm off - cocktail weenies to marinate.

This Program is Brought to You By...

The letter "C" and the number "7".

No, that's Sesame Street. Nevermind.

So this is a little shout out to me pappy, Zenboomer (aka. apterix55). He's begun a blog expose on his adventures in Second Life. Ahhhh retirement. When complete, it'll be a 12 part mini-series. It's fascinating, and I hope he continues for more than twelve entries.

I, for one, have never been on Second Life, nor will I ever go, I think. There's too much going on in this world to start bothering with a second one. Shit...I can't even find the time to clean my apartment...what do you think my virtual apartment would look like? Exactly. So this is a good way to get answers to all those pesky questions without having to do any research whatsoever. I heart those who do the heavy lifting for me.

Anyway, if one is curious, one may check it out here. The entries are numbered in the sidebar if one is so inclined to read things in order.

And now back to your regularly scheduled program.

Why This Country's Going To Pot

One reason and one reason only...

Because Chuck Norris can sway the outcome of a presidential primary.

I don't know if everyone's seen this ad with Chuck Norris endorsing Mike Huckabee, a republican presidential candidate, but you need to. And then you need to let this fact sink in:

After this ad ran on youtube, Mr. Nobody-Mike Huckabee skyrocketed up in the polls...particularly in Iowa...where the definitive candidate will be decided upon early next year.

Shit like this is how we end up with Conan the Barbarian as the governor of California. We are OBSESSED with celebrity. This includes myself, as I will kill a good hour or two on dlisted.com every week. And you know I occasionally post a little something on the likes of Paris or Britney. But I'll tell you this right now, I haven't got a clue as to which candidate they are endorsing (if they're even aware that next year is an election year), but even if I DID, it would in no way sway my own decision! Come ON people! Think for yourself! We don't need Kanye West telling us that George Bush hates black people! We already KNOW that! We don't need Bon Jovi singing a totally unrelated "Living on a Prayer" to us at a John Kerry rally. Shit, we're AT the rally...wouldn't that make us supporters? Celebrity endorsements are idiotic! And people who are swayed by them should be prevented from reproducing! No kids for you...here, have a ferret instead! And don't even GET me started on Fred Thompson!

My, that was a bit of a rant, wasn't it. My paragraphs aren't normally that long...it's pretty obvious that feel strongly about this exceedingly important - life or death - end of the world issue. I mean, they can tell us what jeans to buy...what facial cream to apply and what hair dye to use to keep away the gray...but they need to back the fuck off from politics.

You know, I think it's a shame the term "going to pot" isn't used that much anymore. I'm not exactly sure what actually going to pot would in entail, somethinging soil, I imagine...but it's so catchy and light hearted...one just has to throw it into general conversation at times, n'est pas?

Alright...I'm taking my bruised ass to bed. I know it's early but I was up really fucking late last night. Doing Karoke. At a bar called The Old Barn. No, I don't want to talk about it.


Don't vote for this dumbass:

My Ass

Yesterday I fell down my stairs.

I walked in...hands full...shoes wet from the rain and near the bottom, my lower back landed on the edge of a single stair. I believe after that some swearing ensued.

Good news is, I've only "deeply bruised" my tailbone as opposed to breaking my back, so that's positive. Bad news is, I sit in an office all day...so that's going to suck for the next few weeks.

The worst news is...I feel like a FOOL!

Anyway, I had to go to the Urgent Care clinic to make sure there was no crackage and I worked from home today in the classic Cleopatra-style...on my side...with slave boys hand feeding me grapes.

What's amazing about women (like me, oh how I enjoy generalizing) is their ability to still have messed up perspective on things even when they're in immense amounts of pain. I couldn't stand, I couldn't sit...I couldn't lay comfortably, and yet, here's what went down with Marie on IM today:

kara: phooey. i got weighed at the dr.s last night and almost cried. some more.
kara: seriously
Marie: i think when you bruise, you weigh more. that's my medical opinion
Marie: if you think about it, stair climbing helps you lose weight. so the opposite would be true that if you go down the stairs, you gain weight
kara: wow. how would you like to be my personal physician?
Marie: so if you fell down the stairs, you gain weight super fast
kara: NICE. yes, that has to be it. there's no other reason for it.

See? Effed up.

Dissent and Why It's Wrong.

This title is misleading. I mean it that way on purpose. I think it's because I'm listening to Iggy Pop. Or maybe because I'm not wearing pants...I don't know...the influences all blend together.

Wait. I forgot that Brits read this blog on occasion.

I'm not wearing trousers. I AM wearing pants. Well, actually, they're rather like skivvy shorts. If such a thing exists. Well, it has to because I'm wearing it.

Anyway, my chores are way easier to do when I don't have a tight waistband all up in my business. And music always makes chores easier. And Kansas has these giant head crushing earphones (he's playing Halo3, the slug) so I'm rocking out with giant head crushing earrphones in a sweatshirt (ipod in el pocketo) ...skivvies...and canvas tennies (the floor is cold and I can't be bothered to find my slippers). I've told you all of this because I'm a movie junkie and setting is important. But in this case, it isn't...so ignore it.

Ready for my rant? Here it goes:
I'm an opinionated person. I know this about myself...and I make it fairly obvious to the everyone I encounter. Sometimes it's helped me, but more often than that...it's kicked me in the ass. And that's ok, you know, everyone has their thing.

Now, I love having this blog. It's my nest. I can say, do, be what I want here...which is a snarky, sarcastic little bitch...with a sense of style (ok, maybe not). I've also said before that not everyone has to agree with the things I say and do. I have an outrageous number of opinions, it stands to reason that other people do too.

As much as I love having my blog, I love having readers...and even MORE than that...I love having commenters. Now, in the few years since I've had this blog, not everyone has bowed down to the alter of condi's hair. Whatever...they'll all die young of the clap. I'm ok with people practicing dissent. Lord knows there's not enough of it going on in this country. But what I DON'T think is cool is hiding behind the term "anonymous" so that they can get their two cents in but can't be traced...because heaven forbid they be CHALLENGED on their assertions and dragged into an actual dialogue. Why, then they might have to defend their point of view. Wouldn't that just be the worst? Well, remaining anonymous implies that they cannot.

Unlike some of my fellow bloggers, I allow anonymous comments to be posted on this blog. I have several reasons for this. 1. Not all of my people are motivated enough to create an account (kansas/amy g.). 2. Unless you are grossly insulting or obscene in your remarks and/or are a spammer, you deserve to be published. Who am I to decide what should or should not be said in this vast open space that is the internet?

However, you have to understand, all you anonymous people out there, that when you are so very moved by someone's post as to respond in a negative way...you really need to grow a pair and attach an identity to it. Maybe then whatever you say can begin to carry some weight.

I'm going to go watch that show that Sue was going on about. Yes, I'm turning on the Sci-Fi Channel. Who wants to fight?