The Things I Do For People I Don't Know

This might be the second meme request from Mary in which I'm forced to give details about myself. I'm convinced it's because she wants to gather what info she can and then steal my identity to open a crapload of credit cards and max them out at some place really lame, like JC Penney's. Sneaky.

This time, it's in the form of an award. I don't know how this is an award really, since it comes with conditions. But I'm still at "work" and it's New Years Eve and I've watched ENTIRELY too many Twilight Zone episodes in a 7 hour period, so here we go.

This will be my special Last Day of 2008 version of the meme where I will give you 10 honest little nuggets from this special, special - flew by like it was on speed laced with coke - year. Yes, that was an extra "special". I'm serious about things. Here they are in the order of when I thought of them.

10. I saw Baby Mama. In the theater. And not the cheap, second-run theater. But in my defense, Mum and I took Grandma, and her laughing at it made it worth every second of my life lost. (What's worse is that I thought it was a fairly amusing)

9. Due to happy-relationship weight-gain, I purchased and wore one of those hideous beige spanx-type girdle undergarment things. I felt...confined.

8. I had a sex dream about a faceless hermaphrodite. The actual dream wasn't as perverse as that sentence makes it out to be, but damn, I woke up uncomfortable.

7. I called my sister fat. Several times. Recently. I'll probably do it again tomorrow. And every time I do it, I feel better about myself. I'm not sure why since she's still a smaller size than me at 6 months of pregnasty. Funny, that.

6. I didn't see a dead body that I saw.

5. I found a way to blog from Romania. Awesome. And sad.

4. I went to my 10-year high school reunion. And came back from it.

3. I fell out of love.

2. I became David Cross' best friend. I know it, even if he doesn't.

1. I fell in love.

Now you know it all. Don't ask me for anything ever again.

Merry New Year. Merry merry.

UPDATE

It was a dead body.

I walked right by him and had no idea. How horribly sad.

And yet...what a perfect place to go.




I hope you all had a Merry Christmas. Mine was white for the first time since I can remember. And I get to celebrate it by digging out Brendan's car. I miss childhood.

I hope your weekend is filled with rolling around in Christmas swag.

Cheers.

All Work and No Play

This was yesterday:This is today:

So of course I went back to the cemetery (to keep from strangling the cat out of sheer boredom). This time I took my camera. It was at dusk so very few of the pictures turned out awesome. But some of them are purty.

Here's the whackamole bit, though. While I was taking a picture up on a hill, I heard yelling. I turned around and took the earbud out. There was a woman in long flowy skirts standing about 100 yards from me (I don't actually know how far away that is, but people since it's commonly used to mean "not that far", I think it fits). She asked if I had a cell phone. I told her I had left it at home (having just recently had one fall out of my pocket). She did seem to believe me and said that it was kind of an emergency. I told her of a battery shop nearby that might let her use a phone. She mumbled something about just going herself and walked away. And I went back to taking pictures.

45 minutes later, I'd stomped through just about every corner. It had gotten too dark to take any more worthwile pictures and I started toward the entrance. I heard a bunch of sirens and saw flashing lights up ahead. As I kept walking I saw the gypsy coming toward me, this time with some firefighters. They weren't running, or even walking briskly...just headed my direction. I passed them quietly and kept going. Not far behind them were two paramedics carrying medical kits, but still...just walking. At the entrance some cops stopped me and asked if I was the one who called. I said no and they thanked me for my "help".

This is what's weird about that story: If it was indeed an emergency, why weren't they running? Or at least walking quickly? And who was the emergency for? I'd been all over the cemetery and hadn't seen another soul. There's only one entrance and they weren't heading for it. Weird.

Maybe she'd found something.

Like...a dead person.

Above ground.

Anyway, I took pictures. Cemetery at dusk...with something horrible and emergency-like within that I walked right by and never noticed.

Silent Night

I'm back on the couch in long johns and Harry Potter slipper socks after a brave foray into shin-deep snow. I don't know that Portland has ever had shin-deep snow in my lifetime. It's beautiful.

My original plan for the evening was to trek the 10 blocks to Safeway for cream cheese. The prospect of a morning with cream cheeseless bagels was more than I could bear. I put on what can only be described as FOUR LAYERS of clothing, all of which was awesome thanks to the mid-winter trip to Romania in Feb.

The streets were beautiful. So bright and shining, you'd never think it was night. Every couple of blocks I had to just stop and look around. I think it was the Elliot Smith. He was made to serenade a snowy night. On the way back from the store I got lured into Marie and Palindrome's for some Bailey's hot chocolate and a good game of Scrabble. Which I won. This makes me extra awesome since both of them are extraordinarily lingual and literary. I spelled "zee" twice. Clinched it.

The walk home felt too short...even though a light freezing rain begin a gentle assault on my layers. I just wasn't quite ready to go inside. It was too lovely. So I walked across the street to the Pioneer Cemetery.

I have to say, I'm not a religious person, but I appreciate everything it's done for me. Things like The Exorcist and La Sagrada Família. Ave Maria and Ben-Hur. Christmas and gargoyles. And cemeteries. Such lovely cemeteries. There is nothing more beautiful than a tree-filled cemetery a foot deep in snow with no other living thing around. It's enough to inspire a change to my will that would require both cremation and a overly intricately carved headstone with angels and quotes from Shakespeare. It was peaceful and serene. It was cold and a little wet. It was thoughtful and silent. It was almost a perfect night. But I didn't take any pictures. I didn't want to share it. I know, selfish.

Now I must go bathe my face in chapstick.

You Better Watch Out

Taken out of context, that line is fucked up.

I sort of remember when I stopped believing in Santa. I was older than I probably should've been (hey, some of us LIKE believing in things) but still in early grade school. It was 4:00 AM, Christmas morning and I heard a noise in the living room. I opened my door as slowly and quietly as I could and peeked down the hallway. The Christmas tree was lit with bubble lights (because we were awesome) and I could just make out my mother putting bits o' wonderful in our stockings.

Deflated. So it's true. Well, I suppose it makes sense. "From Santa" always looked like Mom's handwriting.

Re-inflated. But I still get presents!

And went back to bed until probably around 6:00 AM. I'm sorry, parents.

the Waif and I were horrible snoopers too. Around the first week of December, we'd start to hit all the places we could conceive of hidden gifts. Once they were wrapped and placed under the tree...we lifted, molested, shook and held to the light any and everything with our names on it. What brats.

One year, I got this giant plastic piggy bank in the shape of a Coca-Cola bottle (it's like she knew it was going to run my life one day) that was about as tall as my hip. When wrapped, it proved to be my greatest guessing challenge. I did everything but unwrap it. I think I even put a few fingers in the paper opening to see what I could feel. Didn't do any good, I couldn't figure the fucking thing out. Though I doubt she'd admit it, I still feel today (not too long after that piggy bank has had to be officially retired...which is ok because it had a shitty interest rate) that she got me that bank to punish me for present snooping. Game well played, madam. Well played, indeed.

The lesson here, children, is that your snooping abilities are only as good as the parents you're up against. And she could've taught classes.

Now go find the pickle.

We Are Dumbasses...Collectively.

Please excuse the Benny Hill music. Though I normally want to kick puppies when I hear that theme, it really does go with this video. Portland drivers have no idea what to do when the temperature drops below 40. And yet...we all drive Subarus.

**Please note that around 1:08 there's a car that actually switches drivers at the bottom of the hill. I find this to be awesome.**

(Thanks Andrew!)

It's a Marshmallow World

The Christmas pahhhty was a good'un. If my home had gills, one might have noticed it was stuffed to them. That being said, I hope my home never has gills. I imagine it would have a negative effect on the insulation.

Brendan and I are making sugar cookies tonight. I need to do something that doesn't involve a couch. It was 20 degrees and icy so I worked all day on my couch. Now I hate it. Cabin fever gives me extreme emotions. I might make out with it later. Anyone living in the Midwest or East Coast will roll their eyes at the fact that I stayed home on what in their godforsaken part of the world one would consider a mild winter day. Well shut up. My face almost froze half off when I took out the Netflix. And I didn't like it.

My job is making two things very difficult for me this month. Blogging and Christmas shopping. It really is a problem for me, all this working. It makes me not want to type anymore and you know what that means. Less magic for you. But more importantly, I'm normally done with all my shopping by now. Until tonight I wasn't even close. I was going to be left with frantically snatching up whatever I could a few days before Christmas like a DUDE. Thankfully Amazon and eBay saved portions of my bacon. Only portions, mind you...I still have to brave the Winter weather for others. And they won't even know how I suffered for them. Like a martyr that didn't get any sort of biblical write-up or canonization. There's so many of us out there.

Stressing about Christmas shopping makes it difficult to keep my life stress free. That's how you end up with M&Ms in the popcorn. Oh fuck, Legally Blonde is on again...I gotta go.

Black Gold is Cheap

Why isn't anyone talking about the fact that gas is $1.90? Or are they talking about it, but I'm just not listening? Gas hasn't been $1.90 since I was in college (for those who hate maths, that was 2001ish). And wasn't it about $4.50 not too long ago? I mean, I know I don't have a car and everything, but did everything go hybrid and no one inform me? Did the war(s) end? Economic crisis right itself? Did we find a new liquid stash under the wildlife refuges of Alaska? I knew SP was too quiet. Sneaky ho.

Seriously though. Why aren't we outraged? Here we are, watching the world head toward the possibility of a global depression (dramatic, but possible) and no one's even a little irate that gas just magically gotten way the fuck cheaper? I mean...does that mean when it went up a dollar every year, it did so because somewhere Papa needed a new suit? I want to know who's fault this is. I want someone to shake my fist at for this suddenly cheap-as-hell gasoline. Who are these deciders? Who do they answer to? What's going to become of all these rhetorical questions?

I just don't know. This weekend is my 2nd Annual Christmas Cocktail Party. Some of the players have changed, but the game's still the same...see how many snazzily-dressed sardines I can stuff into a basement apartment. I keep staring at my surroundings wondering how I'm going to manufacture more space. It will be an exercise in physics. My favorite.

Who Loves Air Travel? I Love Air Travel.

An open letter to the man who took up half of my seat on the flight to Atlanta:

Dear Grease Ball,
You owe me $300. You took up approximately 1/3 of my seat and should therefore reimburse me for 1/3 of my ticket. This should help compensate for most of your left thigh, a healthy portion of your love handles and the meaty portion of your upper arm flattening me against the window with the grease spots from someone's nose on it. I"m also certain that your Huxtable sweater was made entirely of allergens based on the number of times I sneezed in a 4.5 hour period.

And I appreciate that you turned your earphones way the fuck up so that I could hear whatever you were watching since the sound on my in-seat video system didn't work. I really enjoyed that sit-com about the dysfunctional family and their relatable problems. It really helped the time just fly.

But what I really appreciated was your help with exercising my lung capacity. Your exotic aromas of bad hygiene and cheap cologne inspired a new record for holding my breath. I didn't have a Guinness Book handy, but if I did, I probably would have celebrated my beating the record with a $6 individually-sized Ernest and Julio Gallo Merlot.

And when we landed and were stuck on the tarmac for 20 minutes, I thoroughly enjoyed the play by play you gave to your "darling lover girl" that included every minute detail of all the JUST SITTING THERE that people were doing. Obviously the climax came when we finally stopped and you, in your delightful Long Island, was-totally-an-extra-on-The Sopranos accent concluded the tale of travel with how they turned the lights on that people were getting up. I was so riveted, I couldn't take my eyes off your carefully coifed combover.

So thank you, horrible seat buddy. Thank you for enriching my life with way too much information about your own. In fact, I have enough to go on that I'll most likely be able to figure out where to send the bill for the $300 smackers.

Cheerio,
Kara

Money For Nothing, And the Chicks for Free

Ok, this year sucks. First, Paul Newman dies, and that sucks because it's like a generation of hotness completely and totally EXPIRES. And what do we have to replace this hotness? Fucking dumbshits like Orlando Bloom and whatnot? No. THEN, I gain 5 pounds, which is not ok...and I don't agree with how much starch in ingest. And then I go and lose my FUCKING cell phone this morning. What an asshole. The cell phone, not me. I've had it for a number of months, maybe years, either way, I'm naked.

I fought against the cell phone thing. But I got stranded by my old car in sketchy parts of New Orleans once too many time and my parents were all "you're getting one". So that was that. It's been my adopted baby ever since. First Nokia, then Sony and then LG...and now...well...skype. It's horrible. Everyone says I sound like a robot.

Do you detect some vodka in this post? Yeah, I do too.

Anyway, this week the prego Waif and Ty took away their pretty 42" television that we've be TV-sitting for them since May. Originally I was supposed to keep it for two months or so but the remodelling of their GIANT new house took 6 months. So we became very attached to their TV and corresponding entertainment unit.

When they took it away this is what we were left with.

No offense to Andrew and Tracy who provided us with the lovely (FREE) television that you see above but it just wasn't the same. The Xbox wouldn't play any movies and the TV was perched very precariously on the 1940s radio console. And the sound didn't actually work. It was a bad situation. No one was happy.

So Brendan made the very difficult decision to not go to Australia for the the writer's workshop he was accepted to. Though prestigious, the entire program would have cost him a mint and he eventually decided to put going off for a while until he could afford it (you know...the economy and shit), but immediately after making this decision, he caught Flat Screen Fever. This lasted about a week. Then Monday came and the above turned into this:

What you see there is a BIG FUCKING TV. That bitch is 47 inches. No one needs a TV that large. And yet, we have one. I feel as though I should rent Lawrence of Arabia just to do it justice. I've never actually seen Lawrence of Arabia? Did I mention I was a film student back in the day? I know...funny.

What was I talking about?

Oh yes. We have a giant TV. Who says there's a recession on?

How Do You Say 'Tequila' in Spanish?

Did I ever mention that I'm going to Mexico? Well I am. And no, this is not one of my normal, non-relaxing backpacking adventurous vacations. This is going to be a rolling luggage, only bringing flip flops and a floppy hat, swimming pools with floating bars kind of vacation. That's right, I'm going to a RESORT! I'm so excited I could pee. But not in the pool, I'm just too old for that anymore.

I've never been anywhere tropical. Sub-tropical, Mediterranean and just plain hot-ass desert I've done...but never tropical. I might eat a coconut. Shit, I might try to shimmy up a tree and pick one of the damn things myself. Though to be perfectly honest, I don't know that I'd recognize one in its natural element. I disgust myself with my citiness.

Anyway, this goes down in early January so I need to start doing some sort physical-type thing to prepare my body for a bathing suit post-holiday season baked goods binging (which has already begun). I was thinking maybe yoga. It's really the only "sport" I can think of that involves a lot of sitting and laying down. I like that. I took some yoga classes way the hell back in college, but was really put off by the chanting. I don't mind the audible breathing or whatever, but I'm not going to fucking chant "ohm". It's not relaxing. It's stupid.

Yes, I realize this kind of negative point of view will never get my chakras aligned. I'm prepared to deal with that disappointment.

Blame It On The Rain

Along with age comes single hairs growing out of strange places. At 28 I have three strange hairs. I greatly fear my thirties.

Maybe I'm the only one who feels this way, and I'm certain I'm not, but you have to say such things so as not to sound as though you assume you are the leader of all thought - but since I live in a rainy climate I see absolutely NO FUCKING REASON why there exists any Fall/Winter jacket in the marketplace sold without a hood. What's more, if a jacket identifies itself even remotely as something to be worn in foul weather via the label, brand and/or style, the non-inclusion of a hood should result in a return to the manufacturer where they ought to be required by federal law to snap one the fuck on!

And don't even get me started on the weird and pointless world of trench coats. THE most useless invention since the lettuce knife. Supposedly they are made for rain, and yet get so easily soaked through in a heavy downpour. AND NO HOOD. So you're forced to wear a hat or have an umbrella. Well, I lose umbrellas and I don't look good in hats, so that's me being persecuted by the coat industry right there. LAWSUIT.

Going Once, Going Twice, Going Chicken Soup With Rice

So we have a new president. La la la la la. Someone will probably try to point out the whole "doesn't take office til Jan '09" business, but I'm not having it. We have a new president.

This puts me in a pickle, however. I doubt anyone ever thinks about the name of this blog when they think of this blog...though I imagine they think of this blog often. As well they should. It's a delightful blog. I don't remember how Condi's Hair came about. I mean, I remember when people were like "you should start a blog" and then the Waif was all "use this site and make it look like this [type][type][type]". Those were sound effects by the way. But I don't remember why I called it Condi's Hair. I have an inkling that the very first post I ever posted was also a verbal rant from some point in my work day and was instructed to document it for posterity. Not sure why...it's a silly rant. You can read it here. I was so young. Anyway, the name stuck. And then one of my office mates who is a genius with a mini Etch-A-Sketch created the masterpiece located in the upper left corner and a star is born. That's the term, isn't it.

It was never supposed to last this long. And it was never supposed to be traceable...though I imagine if any of you were to pop through Portland, it'd be remarkably easy to look me up. I haven't been exactly stubtle about my anonymity. Oh well.

Now here I am, a number of years later (I can't be bothered to look) and I'm sitting in a poorly lit bar waiting for amy g., sipping something called a Cherry Blossom (it's got sake in it!) and alternating between blogging this piece of literary magic and watching my work inbox to see if a technical issue is fixed so I can send a shit-ton of emails. How the world has changed.

Cherry Blossoms are divine.

As usual, I'm taking far too long to get to my point. Well, I have to kill time because tech support is being slow and tech supporty and I can't just and watch nerd talk go back and forth, so shut up. My point is, after January and not too far beyond that the name "Condi" will cease to to have any sort of relevance. Though my blog may be doomed to the same fate, I'd like to try and prevent it if at all possible. It would be horrible if I lost my one and only hobby. Ok, my one and only hobby besides hating old people.

This is where you come in. I thought about doing another poll, but have decided that polls are beneath me. So is high fructose corn syrup and name brand cotton swabs, but I digress. Do I change the name of Condi's Hair when Condi is no longer in office? And more importantly, do I move to WordPress where apparently you can do magical things like make links on your own without having to beg your sister to do it for you because you know fuck all about HTML and just looking at that code makes you want to both scream AND circle things like a Word Find. That sentence could use some commas.

Anyway, I really can't decide what to do. If I go with a re-naming plan of action, I don't know, that might be more work than I can bear. But then, I don't want to be answering dumbass questions like "Who's Condi?" if I still have this thing in 2 years. Violence is wrong, and I might forget that.

So I put it to you, friends, who have helped me so much in the past. I'd go into a list detailing just how useful I feel all of you are to me, but I want to post this instead:
If I sleep with him...is that cheating?

Um, There's A Dodgeball In Your Stomach

I was sick as a dog and Brendan was exhausted...but we managed to rock our costumes for a couple of hours. I didn't mean to match. That was kind of an accident. But console yourself with the fact that my Converse were green.
Sunny D is nasty.

And sweatbands squeeze your brain.

Play By Play

People are always "blogging live" at events like the National Conventions or the Oscars. I've decided I'm going to "blog live" from my desk...later my couch...and then not at all because I'm going to a show (Electric Six, baby).

I'm excited.

11/4 - 4:44 pm/PT
McCain's won Kentucky (you see, of course, why Brendan left). Obama's taken Vermont. He'll be getting free maple syrup for the rest of his life, I can see it now. All this on the heels of McCain's brush with death and Obama's conspiracy to release the news about his Grandmother to secure sympathy votes.

11/4 - 4:58 pm/PT
South Carolina to McCain. Whatever.

11/4 - 5:47 pm/PT
McCain wins the cotton fields. Obama gets the cotton mills. Agriculture vs. Industrialization...it's like U.S. History all over again. And Geography. And...I suddenly have a hankering for fried foods and clam chowder.

11/4 - 5:50 pm/PT
I live-blogged the above while STANDING. Did you ever HEAR of anyone more hardcore? No.

11/4 - 6:30 pm/PT
There was supposed to be a Stewart/Colbert election special on Comedy Central. It's not on. I'm being forced to watch PBS. Their map graphic is inferior.

11/4 - 6:51 pm/PT
Obama just got Ohio. Do you hear that? It's not even 7:00 PM and Ohio is DECIDED. We have arrived, friends! Also, I just saw a Timberland commercial with the words "everyone dreams of standing on a podium" running across the image. Dumbasses. You don't stand on podiums. You stand at them.

11/4 - 7:01 pm/PT
Ok, the Stewart/Colbert special finally started. I feel better.

11/4 - 7:29 pm/PT
I ate dinner.

11/4 - 8:06 pm/PT
OBAMA WOOOOONNNNNNNNN! And now for celebratory cocktails and make-out sessions.

11/4 - 8:21 pm/PT
McCain's concession speech is probably the most eloquent one he's given yet. Kudos to the person who wrote it, as it was most assuredly not him. Cindy looks like she's been vomited on. They really should've shared some of Palin's wardrobe budget with her. I know that's mean, but it's her own fault she dresses like a tranny with a Jackie O complex.

11/4 - 9:31 pm/PT
Beautiful speech by PRESIDENT ELECT Barack Obama. And Michelle...remarkably UNtranny. That woman has style. This from the girl on her couch wearing a used Johnny Cash t-shirt covered in paint splatters and thrift store jeans. Whatevs.

And with that...I'm going out. You've been a beautiful audience.

11/5 - 1:11 am/PT
The show was rad. I shook my money maker. If you've never heard of the band Electric Six, I suggest you do some youtube-ing. Come on, the election's over, it's not like you've got anything better to do. Ok, maybe I'm a little drunk. I thought shaking my money maker would help that. Apparently not.

I also re-read the play by play and it was less than enthralling. Oh well. I'll make you like me for other reasons.

Don't F*ing Mess with the Shortcake.

All right. This is an outrage.

I tolerated the trashing of Transformers being turned into a box-office bomb. I held my tongue when they sloppily digified Scooby-Doo and sank Inspector Gadget in the Hollywood sewer. But I refuse, REFUSE to stand idly by and watch my beloved childhood idol be Barbie-fied before my very eyes. It is sacrilege and it will not be tolerated.

Take a look at the "new" Strawberry. I mean, what is the DEAL with that garish god-awful early-90's hot pink? I don't know about you, but where I come from, strawberries are red, not radioactive magenta (I believe that is an actual Crayola™ color now). The original Strawberry was all wholesome with her disproportional oversize-head-to-sticklike-body ratio and simple red dress with the white smock. New Strawberry looks like a trollop.

It just ain't right. I shan't support this sort of manipulation of my childhood figureheads. The line is officially drawn. If my #2 happens to be female and if it ever so happens she would want one of these new tramp line of Strawberry Shortcakes, she's just going to have a little lesson about living with disappointment.

If I Could Fit Time In A Bottle...

it would be one of these:
Let's talk about the Reunion, shall we?

I went to it. I put on a tag bearing both my name and my senior picture. I had my senior pictures taken about a month after I got back to America from being an exchange student in Denmark in 1997. I don't know if any of you have ever been to Denmark, but if you had you'd have eaten the food and you'd KNOW that your choices are pickled herring or fatty fatty fatty foods with even fattier sauces. I gained 20 lbs over there. I lost it by October of senior year, but it was too late. Immortalized forever as a chubalub. So that was nice to see again.

Immediately I was recognized and recognizing. Ok, I'll admit in some situations I had to squint a lot, but in my defense, I was three cocktails in and I'd only actually gone to high school for about a year and a half...so some of these fuckers were absolute strangers as far as I was concerned.

There's really not a lot to talk about here. I know, you're disappointed. I didn't dance on any tables...not even a one. Brendan was good arm candy...I made him wear fitted clothes. Poor boy, when he puts on any garment tighter than 3 sizes too big, he gets claustrophobic. But back to me. I drank, I ate some food, I talked to some people I was really pleased to see, I pretended to be pleased to see people I really didn't remember...I danced to Thriller. It was an event. Never was there a more horrible DJ, however...in that it was very much like high school. At least he didn't play Stairway to Heaven or Green Day's Time of Your Life. Yes, both were a concern.

Some people had gotten wider, some thinner...some purchased whole new body parts. If I'd gone with anybody other than the people I went with...it wouldn't have been worth it. As it was, being with my core gang again...thick as thieves as we used to be...it tugged at the heartstrings a moment or two. But then I knocked back another glass of wine, squelching my nostalgia thusly.

One is allowed to make up words whilst one is reminiscing.

But I'm over it now. There are some gloriously unattractive photos of me floating around on the Facebook, for those of you who are my "friend". They will not be posted here. I have a dying plant to deal with now. My plan is to look at it hopefully so as to inspire re-growth of all the bits that are browning and falling off. My life is very full. If nothing else, this weekend taught me that.

This Is You All Up In My Business

This week blows. You ever have a week that just blows? And by the time it's Wednesday night, all you want to do is drink old wine and get through the next day so you can go with your coworkers to the Tillamook Macaroni & Cheese cookoff contest @ Kell's Irish Pub and drink yourself into overeating. That's all.

By the way, have you seen The Night of the Hunter? Rent it. Right now. I'm not even joking.

Consider that my review. I'm awesome.

AND for some reason we seem to have free HBO this week. Of all the bad timing. It's like the cable gods WANT me to punch them in the nads.

In other self-involved news, I have to go back on evil evil birth control pills because I keep getting hemorrhagic ovarian cysts. I'm not excited. I stopped taking hormonal birth control several years ago because I was the 5% that experienced horrible side effects for EVERY METHOD ON THE MARKET. But let me just say...hemorrhagic cysts are the devil. And I'm not talking about the Burgess Meredith or Elizabeth Hurley devil. I'm talking about the Tim Curry from Legend devil. You don't fuck around with that. Ever.
So now I will probably gain even more weight and go up another fucking cup size (I'm going to have to start wearing a back brace), but I'm sure Brendan will enjoy the halting of hormonal mood swings that inspire me to call him a girl to his face. And I'll actually have less pain in my life overall. So that's good. Plus no accidental babies. Don't want those until I'm ready to buy them.

Whut'up **w/ Pictures**

I'm trying to post and watch Aliens at the same time and it's not working. Strike that, I'm trying to post, watch Aliens, eat grapes and bid for vintage Christmas trees on ebay at the same time and it's not working. This could perhaps be proof that I am less than a stellar multitasker. So I'll comfort myself with a cookie.

Halloween's coming. I loves it. The Mis...Brendan and I will be dressing up as Juno and Paulie for the occasion. You know it's mainly to see him wear those shorts out in public. I'm so excited. That reminds me, if anyone has a suggestion for crafting a pregnant belly that involves something a little more realistic than a pillow, please pass it along. I promise to post pictures once the ensembles are complete. We will be stunning. Oh Halloween. I loves it.

In other news, I've been doing lots of things with pumpkins. Picking them out in fields. Carrying them to the car. Bringing them in the house. And carving them into ravens. Well, I carved a raven...Brendan carved Christopher Walken's face into his. You see, of course, why I adore this boy. We did the corn maze again this year with a bigger crowd...but the existence of teenagers can easily ruin any good time. Little curses, all of them. So I've been busy.

The reunion is next weekend. On the phone this evening, Amy g. asked if I'd thought about what to wear. This is funny to me for several reasons. 1. Why the hell would I think about what to wear a week before an event at a casual BAR with people who's opinions meant nothing to me ten years ago? And 2. Last week I had a dream that I went to my reunion without a shirt or bra on. Timely. I only talk about the blasted event for the benefit of those who like to live vicariously through other people's uncomfortable moments. Normally I am one of those people, so I'm empathetic to their desires.

There's also been some writer's block and general sickness (involving medication that wouldn't allow for drinking). But I feel as though you're all tired of my reasons for not blogging. I may have lost some of you. And I haven't even posted the CondiCast yet. Well, damnit. Sometimes you have to go to 5 thrift stores before you find a short pleated skirt and it's not even plaid. Some perspective. You're welcome.

Time to read all your junk. I've missed you. I think I threw up a little just now.

One Small Step For Man

My parents divorced when I was very young and to this day have very little in common besides the fabulousness that is me...well okay, and maybe the Waif too. However, there is one thing they DO have in common that they like to go on and on and, yes, on about. Their generation. Baby Boomers they call themselves. The physical symbols of prosperity after war. They could stay out playing with their friends til dark with not a care in the world. They witnessed the emergence of rock and roll, the birth control pill and integration. They had Laugh-In. Blah blah blah.

I've been thinking a lot about those claims lately. As someone born in 1980, I've always felt fuzzy about which generation I belonged to. Being from the NW, I don't think it's surprising that I identified with Gen X's pop-culture and mindset, though I was technically too young to belong. But Gen Y never held that much for me. Often people only a year younger identify with references that go completely over my head. In this regard, I'm a man without country. Except I'm a woman. And I'm not even remotely talking about countries.

Personal identity aside (it always ends up being about me, doesn't it), I'm here to say that my generation...we'll call it X/Y...is pretty damn awesome. I think you and I both know that a list is about to happen. Ok, so you got The Rolling Stones and Lenny Bruce. Polyester and roller disco. But really, I don't know that they trump:

1. The Nintendo
This shit brings people together. Let me rephrase that...DUCK HUNT brings people together. Nothing like pretend shooting pretend ducks after a long day of real life. And the Wii is trying to bring it all back. I've never actually played a Wii (I know), but they look nice and I might get one as an instillation art piece.

2. The Cassette Tape
Every car trip my family and I have ever taken has included both the Stand By Me and the Good Morning Vietnam soundtracks on tape. We would sing along to the oldies and try to forget that we were in some godforsaken place like Montana. Insert shudder. Before tapes, I'm thinking families probably had to actually talk to each other. Insert another shudder.

3. Slap Bracelets
You hurt yourself to take away the pain inside. That adolescent pain. But no one makes you go to a counselor because unlike cutting, the end result is an accessory instead of a flesh wound! And they come in florescents!

4. Thriller
I don't know that there has ever been a more influential dance routine in prisons, at weddings or on subways. That video scared the shit out of me as a kid, though. I also like that Michael Jackson is kind of the anti-Elvis, though you know if he'd lived long enough, they would've done some bastardish duet in the vein of Ebony and Ivory. Insert yet another shudder.

5. E.T.
I know you guys thought I'd say The Goonies, but really, it all started with this one. Though sadly, it doesn't hold up as well upon reviewing. But the ride at Universal Studios says your name as you exit! Hurray!

6. Stretchy Denim
It's no wonder our mothers and grandmothers couldn't wear "trousers" to school/work back in the day. A pair of Levis would chafe your damn leg hair off. Cowboys and boy scouts could use the friction to start camp fires.

7. TV Remotes
I remember I used to watch shit I didn't even want to watch on the same channel just so I wouldn't have to get up to change it. I saw a lot of M*A*S*H that way.

8. Cordless Phones
It's really quite difficult to go on and on about how your mother doesn't understand you when the cord will only stretch as far as the kitchen table. My shit-talking skills of today can be attributed to the fabulous gift to the world that is the cordless phone.

9. MTV
Though it's a shell of its former self...it was once a shining beacon of style, beauty and grace. All embodied in the glory that was Headbanger's Ball, Bevis and Butthead, The State, Singled Out and Daria and not to mention videos that CHANGED MY LIFE on a weekly to semi-weekly basis. I'm fairly certain I cried when I first saw the video for Jeremy. And then I thought deeply about things for several days.

10. Kevin Smith
I still quote Clerks and Mallrats. And I think we can all agree that only Kevin Smith knows how to adequately utilize Shannon Doherty. But then around 2000, something happened to him. Something bad. And it still seems to be happening. Sad.

11. The Fly Girls
You bet your ass this goes to 11. I was going to be a Fly Girl, you know. All those jazz classes...all those Heavy D and Young MC tapes...I was so close. And yet...nowhere near.

And here we are in the age of the iPod and an African Amercian Presidential nominee. Shit's lookin UP, people. And it's all being guided by the hands that brought you Nirvana's Unplugged album, sweater dresses and Tim Burton movies. We can't go wrong.

(I give this optimism about 22 hours, so enjoy it while you can)

Oh, and in case you don't know what a Fly Girl is.

I AM History

First order of business:
Vice-presidential debates TONIEEETE. People here are leaving work early. There are bars and independent movie theaters all over the city broadcasting it for the masses GRATIS. This is where I'll be throwing popcorn at the screen in disgust:

History in the making. I fucking hate that term. Every second is history in the making. That sentence that I just wrote is now historical. Whatever.

Second order of business. It's been a while since I've requested forcefully that you bow to the cuteness that is my nephew. Well the Face just turned two. I think it's time to revisit.

Cuteness as it emerges:

Cuteness as it stands today:

Cuteness eternal:
(Which means I'm going to find a way to keep him this age. I'll use science!)

And did I mention the Waif is knocked up with another? How will the world contain such cuteness? A question for the ages. Now we can all sit back and watch her gain, like, three pounds over the next 7 months.

Seriously, This Shit Is Serious.

This just slayed me. And the sad thing is, it's not so very far off from the actual interview. I have youtube proof.




See? Proof:



Enjoy. I'll post a real one latas.

It is ON!

You know you like a boy when you eat for four straight hours after dropping him off at the airport. Sad.

So, it's 4:30 PM right now. The Presidential Debates start in an hour and a half. But check out this Wall Street Journal screenshot:

I guess when you pay for the ads, they throw a fixed outcome in there for free! What a bargain!

But seriously. I'm excited. I'm really really excited. Not as excited as I will be for the Vice-Presidential debates, but still...excited. I'm probably going to continue eating, but will meter with beverages. The beverages are a must since amy g. and I will most likely be yelling at the TV within the first ten minutes.

This is my football season, people.

Tis The Season

My Coworker sent me a screenshot from a Hotmail account yesterday. He wanted me to note the banner at the top of the page. And then he sat back and waited.

This was it:
Priceless.

There's so much to address in this one little banner I don't know where to begin. Coworker knew where to begin. He followed the initial screenshot with a series of concerns. I've included them below for my own amusement:

Coworker's Concerns:
(4:43:08 PM) Coworker: Here are some question I have. How long does girlfriend season last?
(4:43:24 PM) Coworker: Can you use calls, decoys and/or scents?
(4:43:46 PM) Coworker: How much is a license, what's the limit?
(4:43:55 PM) Coworker: Do bow hunters get to go first?
(4:44:11 PM) Coworker: What about age limits and catch and release?
(4:45:20 PM) Coworker: Can they provide a list of taxidermists?

And here is where I address his concerns:
1. Until Spring...that's twitterpating season...time to change partners.
2. Don't use scents. Most man cologne is revolting. Cat calls are discouraged as well. As for decoys, I suggest holding a life-size cardboard cut out of Benny & Joon era Johnny Depp in front of your person.
3. You don't so much need a license as you do a budget for drinks and dinners.
4. Do they get to go first in regular hunting? Weird. Why?
5. There are age restrictions. Anything younger than 25 should be let go until they've had sufficient time in the pond.
6. Depends on how much you like being compared to Ed Gein.

There. That's settled.

Two other things. One - The Waif and I have finally recorded a CondiCast. I haven't finished editing it because I am lazy. It's total shit as the first two were (almost two years ago), but you guys can be the judge whenever I get around to posting it. I just gave you all a reason to live. You're welcome.

Two - Nick Cave is still hot at 51 and this is WITH his current skeez 'stache. That's right, I said it. I saw him Monday night for the first time and the dude played for over 2 hours. I'm still recovering. That said, I'm going to leave you with one of my favorite songs of his. The video is early 90s lame, but keep the tab open while you peruse your other blog loves and let his voice just melt over you with its hotness. You see what I did right there? That's right.



Kara OUT

I Find The Following To Be Offensive:

1. That my sister thinks she has the right to free speech. No...once you weigh under 110 lbs, you lose your right to speak.

2. People who list "Blackberry" numbers instead of just "cell" numbers. I don't give a fuck what kind of phone I'm calling...I just need to know that you have a mobile number. Not that it links to a douchey phone.

3. Formal shorts. Particularly this monstrosity I stumbled upon today:They're velvet and on sale for $135. Gay pirate mid-drift sold separately.

4. Thursday night happy hours. They make Friday so very difficult.

5. Old people (not news)

6. Sarah Palin

7. That you guys really thought I was going to let you decide on the Missus' nickname. This is America. There's only one decider. His new nickname is Brendan. Yeah. I've finally used a name. First person who gives me shit about "settling down" gets a knee in the balls.

8. Saltwater taffy once it hardens.

9. That it's already starting to get cold.

10. That my high school reunion was planned over Facebook and MySpace. Yes...I'll be going. I don't want to deal with the guilt.

Drink for the Cure III is on Sunday! I know I never got around to posting pictures from II last year...but I'll throw in a link to Drink for the Cure I just for ol' time's sake. I can't believe how much time has passed. It was sooooo many boy toys ago. Yes, that is an acceptable measurement of time for me. Shut it.

OUT!

Hold it right there, Toots.

[Yes, TheWaif is now speaking. And yes, I finally have full access to this blog, so watch out peoples.]

Ok, here's the thing. In light of my sister's last post, I find myself pondering something. Something profound. And that something is this: why is it she does not have a nickname? Hardly seems fair that she gets to be all GW-like and dole them out to us willy-nilly and we have to just tolerate being called Waif and Missus and Goranas, etcetera and so forth, and yet she gets to skate along scot-free with no label of her own. Well, I say it's time to set things right. From now on, I propose that Kara be known only as...*drumroll*... PuddinPop! Ehh? Whaddya think? Who's with me? Hey, it's better than Pootie Poot, am I right Vlad?

Good. So that's settled then. On to the next item of business, which is venting about the pushback of the next Harry Potter movie premiere. God, that sucks! I hate you, Warner Brothers. Ok, I'm over it now. Thanks for listening, guys.

I'd say that's enough for one post. That was fun, let's do this again sometime, m'kay PuddinPop? M'kay.

A Whole Lot O' What

The chops are gone. Gone. All that work. All that watching. All that pep-talking and name calling and deal-making. Gone. I got to enjoy the completed works for all of a week. Life is unjust. This ranks up there with the Trail of Tears. God I'm an asshole.

I yelled at old people the other day. In my defense, they were toothless and from Ohio (sorry, Kevin). I had a staycation last week when my wonderful darling of a friend from New Orleans came to visit and we were stuck behind them at a gas station and they wouldn't move their fucking minivan so we could get out. We were going to be late for the Timber's game and I'd already taken a nasty blow to the chin from an asshole boulder while river wading in the gorge (don't ask) and my patience was null. So I yelled at them to move. Not politely...though not overly nastily. However, what makes this story worthwhile was the teenage dude in the Trans Am who turned to me after I did it and said through his open window "fucking old people".

Now, people who know me well, or even a little, know that I utter this phrase rather constantly. To hear it from someone else at a moment like this justified my very curmudgeonly existence. We shared a moment, he and I, and it was a lovely one (if clouded by old people).

So, if I have any readers left, you'll have noticed that my last post ended with a cliffhanger. I was going to give the Missus his grand prize of a new, more masculine blog nickname for "successfully" growing chops. But the fact of the matter is...I can't decide on one. You people, though not asked, volunteered to help. Since this is a free country and all, and some of you actually live in it...I think I'll let you give you a little taste of Democracy and we'll put it to a vote.

Behold...a poll.

Places in Washington You Should Never Go

Ok, so I'm only going to show you one...but I think it's an excellent representation of an idea that should never have been actualized.

Ignore for a moment that the Chinese food is only a dollar...and that you're supposed to leave with it. Instead, please note the spelling of "inn". Are they just playing with the spelling for funsies or can you actually stay there? And if you DO stay there...do YOU become an ingredient in the $1 food?



AAAAnyway...

Chopwatch '08(TM) comes to a close. I know you'll all be sorry to see them go. It was an exciting adventure. I know you'll all be looking forward to future pointless and somewhat humilating shenanaigans I can talk him into in the name of science. And amusement. Without further ado...

Week 4: Completion as we will ever know it


The Missus has fought long and hard, and has kind of mostly succeeded. Though they wouldn't necessarily make Ulysses S. Grant proud...they've been sculpted into a pleasant shape and I like to stroke them like that James Bond villain strokes his cat. You know, the white one.


And even though I think they make him look like a hipster with heart, he detests them and wants them to go away. This is his pleading face.


But now I have to hold up my end of the bargain. I don't remember if I told you about that. I made the deal that if he grew me some chops, I would give him a manlier blog name. Which I will right now. Everyone, meet...

I Am A Jerkwad

I haven't written or read a blog-related thing in over a week.

I have, however, just stated the obvious.

I'll get back to it, I promise. Right now I have...stuff.

Yes, stuff.

This is just to let you know that my absence isn't due to my cat living in my neck or anything.

ChopWatch '08 : Week 3

Week 3: Introducing...the Chin

I had this image uploaded as "medium" and the chin just about jumped out of the monitor and chin-butted me. It's what I imagine a headbutt would feel like using the chin. I hope never to feel one in actuality...hence the reduction of the image size to "small".

Anyway, so this is the chin. It's clean shaven now...Ahabe has retired for the remainder of the journey. The chops are nearly complete.
the Misses seems surprised in this one. I don't know what by. I've shoved a camera in his face two weeks in a row now...the third shouldn't have come as a surprise. You can see rthat the chops are taking shape. I don't know what shape...but a shape, nonetheless.
However...some splotchines. I think time is all he needs. More time. He disagrees. He insists that what isn't there now will never appear. That's the kind of pessamisim that loses wars. I don't lose wars. Mainly because I don't fight them. You can tell I've had wine, can't you. Well, I have.

I've entitled this picture: Resignation.

In other news...I saw Wanted tonight. For $3. It was about $2 too many. Still, it starred my Scottish lover, James Macvoy. And:
A lot of raw meat
A lot of bullets meeting bullets and crushing each other
A lot of Angelina Holie being anorexic and hoish...skinny, ridiculously healthy-haired bitch.
A lot of unnecessary innocent bystander casualties.
A lot of RIDICULOUS slow motion
Some guns
James Mcavoy without a shirt - yes
Jame Mcavoy without his Scottish accent - noooooo
And an overabundance of Nine Inch Nails

Mmmmm...

And yes before you ask, the Missus DOES look like this under his oversized novelty t-shirts.