pre-speak

Last night, I used the phrase "mice hex" in conversation. A moment later it hit me what that sounded like.

nothing needs be said

miss south

She wowed them in South Carolina, mastering advanced classes like:
Religion
Highlighting (markers)
Highlighting (hair)
Prepositional Magic
Creative Cartography



And inspired a nation.

Osama us bin making better uses of our time than others.

sweet, nourishing michael ian black

(Foreword: I am still mourning the loss of the Stella Show, and eager to once more relive the magic that was the Migrant Worker episode.)

We were so close last night, Michael Ian, though I have created situations that visually made you appear closer. But that was long ago. We needn't dwell.

Your head? So big! It's really so, so big. [Sigh.]

And LZP will likely continue to attempt brainwashing me into believing you did look right at me when waving goodbye at your Exeunt Stage Right. So I will continue telling her your eyes said, "Sure, my son is a disappointment - but I want to have my less disappointing child with you."

Our baby? Not as good as the pending Darlana (coming: next future!), but still a better knock-knock joke writer.

genius beggar

This is one way to get people to give you clothing.

sure-fire ways into wikipedia

1) the spaghetti dance
2) invention of "koi dressage" - which will most importantly consist of the fish head sticking out from the water, and carrying out the blowing of a kiss with fantastical coordination of a fin and fish lips. This can be performed singly or in battle formation.

i'm sorry. my id seems to be on your ego.

It wasn't me. Sometimes the id just has these more muscled-imp moments.

[Trapped listening to a conversation so tedious it was painful to drudge up memories of its competitors...]
dude: "You look like you're thinking about something."
me: "I do that." (Congratulate self for not blurting out cheap and obvious, 'Unfamiliar expression for you, isn't it?')
dude: "So, what're you thinking about?"
id: That question requires punishment for multiple reasons.
me: "I was debating internally if the mere challenge of determining anything equal in sheer dullness to this entire interaction was, beautifully, actually making it intriguing. Or not."
dude: "I don't get it."

See. So I don't even have to feel badly.

Because that was straight, cold-ass bitch.

the photos, they speaksies

Just living a full life, along with all y'all.

dear future dependents

I just wanted to let my potential eventual berbies know that at one time their mother had to handle such serious issues as this, from my co-worker:

Hi Everyone,

If you have my voice changing megaphone please return it to me…no questions asked. The future of this company depends upon it.

Best,

Keith

So, berbies, I guess you should totally expect me to be able to handle all else quite adeptly.

self-filter: off

Danger.

Danger will rogers you blind.

So as I was texting and waiting to cross the street last evening, I apparently had offended Mr. Thuglife Extraordinaire by standing precisely where he had hoped to walk into. Peripherally (avec mon giant peepers), I could see him standing directly in front of me, hoping to intimidate me into getting out of his precious way. Jarred unexpectedly from my engrossing text response, some Internal Dialogue slipped out.

"Oo, I'm so impressed with your little display of aggression." GLARE.

Grit teeth.

Okay, that's probably more than just the filter being off, but whatevs. Sometimes a person responds on an animal, instinctual level to an implied threat. Sometimes a person snarls. It's to be expected.

when least expected

So I'd been wanting to see Emi's commercial, to the extent that I'd even taking to watching t.v., but given that we don't have cable* and all of four channels, I'd fairly given up.

Then, the other night, I was actually eating something at home - making an actual dinner, in my own kitchen [gasp!] - and I heard, "Hey." Emi?

I turned just in time to see her on the tube, as in television, not the 'Mind the gap' variety. But we're still fairly fascinated that one little word was so distinctly identifiable.

*(because we "don't exist" according to the cable/internet company, and because when they realized we DO exist, they used this opportunity to fail repeatedly and suck up hours of my life and cell minutes, only to decide we - in fact - do not exist.)

finally - a thought i'm ashamed to have had

So in reading this article (alerted in AQ's blog), when I read this part:

Iraq accounted for the overwhelming number — with 27 of the suicides coming from that conflict and three from Afghanistan. Also, there were 948 attempted suicides, officials said, adding that they didn't have a comparison for previous years.

And thought, 'It's a wonder we aren't being decimated. These guys aren't even good at killing themselves.' Then, 'WOW, am I an aaa-haaaa-ass-HOLE.'

Not proud. But, what is the descriptor for this feeling?

poor choice in pre-proposition conversation

"c"/o a male cultural anthropologist

A: ...That's why men can't help how they are, not that they can't exercise self-discipline.

me: There's that.

A: It's just that by nature we, as males, are driven to spread our seed - to propagate the species - so must have many mates. Women, on the other hand, are after finding the strongest hunter/provider to reproduce with who then will also be able to protect her and their young.

me: Except, of course, that that's faulty logic because under that supposition each woman should also be looking for multiple mates so she could essentially develop a team of protectors. In theory, the female could also require all her mates to protect all her offspring equally well, using the safety of each male's offspring as leverage against the male, should he fail or attempt to decline.

A: That's an interesting point. [He looks away, moving his nearest shoulder away a good inch.]

me: Maybe that's just me.

A: Can I get you another drink?

me: [It won't help.]

celtic grotesque, almost

Baby, it's like...I can't tell where I end and you begin, or where I end, except that it really, well, it kind of hurts.

SOMEday...

I must have a brilliant baby. (Yuka, you still have dibs on any and all retarded berbies issued forth from this womb. Fret not.)

I needs me a smart 'un for to teach it to say things like this:

Scene 1, Ex-act 0:
A three-year old is learning to play catch. The adult is throwing balls gently, lobbing them with a soft arch. The toddler misses as the audience looks on, but then...

Toddler: Hey! I caught something! And this time it's not viral!

bacon strips displace brain in heat wave

1) The thought I'm most excited about for the entirety of the day is: Victorian squid wallpaper. (It's important to note that the squid be in an elaborately flourishing Victorian style, and not the remains or photos of squid from the Victorian Era. Thank you.)

2) My Creative Team and I are pretty sure that while dogs dream in b/w, and we dream in high-resolution CMY color, Paris Hilton's dreams occur not in b/w but the monochromatic hue of pink, and all actors within are drunken chihuahuas.