secondary programming

Do you think that animals feel the way we do when we see things like this? Like, do they see our human babies and roll their eyes from internal melting?

I'll grant you, it's not the cutest, but in a disappointing hunt for available (<- key qualifier) polar bear holiday cards, this was found here.

cheerQ

You know how cheerleaders do this, "When I say X, you say Y" thing?

Why don't people actually do that, and yell with the cheerleaders - simultaneously? I promise it would in no way lessen my excitement.

sarah palin

McCain's selection of Sarah Palin marks him clearly as unconcerned with our country's future.

McCain's choice of a former pageant contestant whose greatest experience is as a PTA member, denotes at best self-concerned irresponsibility. Should something happen to him, this is honestly who he thinks would be the best leader for our nation? Someone who's even more extreme than him, who disregards separation of church and state in favor of teaching Creationism in public schools, and takes a more radical stance on abortion than a conservative male Republican?

If this VP candidate sways the disgruntled Hilary voters to his ticket, then the women of this country are slumped back not just one century but two - to a time when most women in America were illiterate, lacking any analytical training. And worse, if women blindly support a candidate because of gender, they practice a shallow bigotry. Such support would mean the majority of our U.S. women have either a tragic ignorance or shameful disregard for the sacrifices of all the heroines of the past who gave over their comfort, their safety, and sometimes their lives, so that we would be free to impact our own situation, to realize our potential, to contribute as we choose.

The irony is that while Sarah Palin benefits from these sacrifices now more than most American women, she wishes to stand on the backs of our saviors to keep others down. There is no surer factor for a woman's life to be impoverished than early motherhood.

Instead of progress, Sarah Palin's position indicates women in this country are this very day considered such simpletons that we'd fall for this ploy - that we'd sooner have a moment of false pride at the expense of our daughters' futures, that we're fools enough to prop a crowned Palin up on our shoulders while she whips away our pride and possibilities.

zoo

LZP and I thought it would be a good idea to go to the zoo.

That part was. Being there when other people were? [Doubtful mouth-scrunch]

Learn from our experience, that our suffering be not in vain. (Suffering in veins is unavoidable. It's called family, it's in your blood, yo.) Do not make the mistake of going to the Bronx Zoo on a Wednesday, the designated "suggested donation" day. It's great that it's there, though it seems to have little impact on education [shame in own species, engaged] - but really, just let the almost $30 entrance fee segregate as intended. IT IS WORTH IT.

We heard a woman telling her daughter, in all earnestness, that a red panda was a teddy bear. People were standing on one side (the wrong one) of open-air cages screaming, then being baffled that the animals wouldn't come near, then not notice that when people were quiet the animals would start moving closer. A boy aged about nine years pounded maniacally on the not-as-thick-as-you'd-think glass at the gorilla cage, with an adult female right next to the glass. LZP and I became progressively more liberal selecting children for deposit in the gorilla pits, lion fields, gator ponds, etc.

But there was one overheard highlight.

Adult Male to Presumably Have Fathered Boy: Do you know why flamingos are pink?
Boy Child: Because they're stupid. [statement]

we be schprechen american he'ya

Hey! I took two seconds and figured out 1) the font my blog wouldn't stop defaulting all attempts at text entry to was Hindi and 2) how to fix it.

This does, however, beg the question of HOW THE F DID MY BLOG TEXT DEFAULT GET SET TO HINDI?

'Tweren't I.

ihavetotypethiswayoritturnstoarabic

ewokgospel

provincial asshole-ness a modern invention, oh my!

From National Geographic regarding recent Stonehenge findings:

Furthermore, fragments of the same type of Welsh stone were identified from the nearby Stonehenge Cursus—a long, cigar-shaped ditched enclosure. The Cursus had been created centuries before the stone circle was constructed.

"It's making us think that this connection with Wales might really have been quite long lasting and not just to do with Stonehenge," Parker Pearson said.

Read all the razzle dazzle here.

chin marionette

This is the best idea I had all week (probably need more vitamins, true). The little be-string'd body could be dangling beneath the chin as live being sticks head out from behind backdrop and LO! the fun.

Introducing - the chinionette!

slightly asian, non-cajun rage

Another valuable bit of self-knowledge was realized on the train platform this morning.

Though incessant days of (cold) high winds likely play a part to some degree, apparently a young adult girl sporting a Dorothy Hamil haircut (a la bowl) incenses me. To urges of violence. On sight. Like a junkyard dog.

The band instruments in tow by her and an obnoxious co-tow-er didn't help.

Co-: Ohmuhgawwwd! We have to get off on the other side!
me: It's okay. We're probably all getting off here.

And when the doors opened, they still flew into a panic and pushed their tourist arses through everyone else exiting, knocking throngs with gigantic encased band instruments. Hair judgment? Justified.

god-sitters

Wouldn't this have been a way more interesting gig, the god-sitting, than any of the little (allegedly) mortal children we were paid meager hourly wages to keep safe?

GS: Okay, you little god, go brush your teeth.
LG: But I don't wanna go to bed!
GS: You can choose your bedtime book.
LG: But I don't need to sleep and I know all the stories. Ever. Every last one. And most aren't that good.
GS: God's teeth!
LG: Will not be brushed!

ventro-ventral with our animal friends

Ventro-ventral copulation that is.

I was trying to find video of the missionary position gorillas (more endearing than missionary gorillas running us down to convert, yes). Alas, only still photo mentions have been found. The female gorilla, Leah, did what us hetero-girl-types do and went for the alpha male. Of her and her silverback, a scientist commented, "It is also interesting that this same adult female has been noted for innovative behaviours before." The innovative behavior referenced? Her 2005 testing the depths of the waters. (Just beginning or intentional humorous foreshadowing?) Oh, Leah! What would Victorian scientists have had to say of you? You are both a primate and a female, yet so clever.

Of course, Leah might've grabbed the little Victorian men's arms and torn them a new, erm, asunder. Me? Here? Ya, completely fine with that option.

But on this same animal "friendly" note, an excerpt of classic conversation from last night:

Junie: The little guy* I'm dog-sitting? I leave NPR on for him when I'm gone, which is - as you both know - most of the time.
Julia: Great, so he'll wind up writing a book. On neglect.



* I'm pretty sure she is dog-sitting a dog.

correction

It's spelled Godd.

one step above a crack whore

Today I had the best prescriptive experience of my LIFE.

The convo with this wondrous doc went something like this (and he wasn't being sleazy, just joking):
me: What else can you give me?
he: Let me think...
me: [probably agreed to let him think]
he: Well, let's also do [laundry list] so you have them but then if you take this antibiotic then you probably will get a yeast infection...
me: So Diflucan?
he: That'll work, yes. Wow, look - we've knocked down a whole forest for your stack of prescriptions. But remember the antibiotic classes so only Z-pack...
me: for bronchitis and nothing short of that or it's a waste! [muppet smile] Didn't you mention also the Cipro?
he: Want that? I can't actually write these two together, though, so...
me: Just leave the date blank for the Z-pack and I'll fill it in when needed.
he: Okay. But really. I can get in trouble. So...We can couple Cipro with the diet change and nasal stuff and...
me: YES.
he: If this doesn't do the trick, then we'll do a CAT Scan and...
me: If there's some procedure to make this all go away, I WANT IT. Also, Ambien?
he: I don't write those.
me: I don't abuse it. Truly. Only when really needed.
he: You know they can track these now, and I could lose my license.
me: Please?
he: Okay. But then if my wife won't come see me in prison, you have to.
me: Okay.

inter-nipple dependency

Maybe it's wrong, but this query result was surprising:

















Consider that 1) nipple response to stimulus is involuntary but 2) some of us have noted only one nipple reacting on occasion.

So would a stroke victim who's suffered full loss of one side of the body have a consistently unresponsive nipple, or would stimulus still arouse it - or would it respond in conjunction with the "unaffected" nipple as an involuntary neuro-response?

bountiful bootie(s)

Would it not be hilarious to make little baby booties that look like WHALES?

[Stewy knee-slapping laughter]

Also, I fully intend to put a little Sulky Hat on pouty-faced baby at some point. (It doesn't have to be mine.) "See hat sit. Hat is inanimate!"

But wait, wait. These pants can go on, too.



Want your own? I found these here, while looking for baby gifts for my cousin's fetal male. These would not be appreciated there, but they are here.

They are here.

catholicism makes me feel guilty, too

You know how sometimes you say something that you mean as maybe a slight, itty bitty, little dig but then it sounds WAY WORSE?

Today: Ash Wednesday (Ash Odinsdag is not going to take. It's been verified.)

And I said to my [Catholic] boyfriend, "Okay, so go to church and get your Catholic facial."

[wince]

mrs. dalloway goes to daffy's

I need, in the need-zone of Want, a new dress for Valentine's Day. Fuchsia? Maybe. Something in a red/pink hue with blue undertones. Givenchy used to have a "miroir" line of cosmetics, with the lipstick packaging looking like a small (vibrating) rocket but the important thing was this one shade - #701 - that was (not arguably) the greatest lipstick shade ever used upon these lips; it was a pink that was strong but not eclipsing all else with distinct blueness that accentuated my (now some scientists claim mutated-ly blue) eyes.

Last night on my way to the Benjamin Cho show, I walked by Daffy's and, having almost ten minutes to kill while awaiting my co-attendee, ducked in. There was potential. New things were in. New designer-y things. And shoes.

SHOES - was my first word. Honest.

Today during lunch 18 dresses found worth giving a go, four of which were actually of the necessary level of formality sought. None of the four worked well enough, and I know this by way of my heart remaining un-singing in my chest. However, one among the 18 had made me suck in a deep breath upon first sight. So splendid was its detailing and so in keeping with my own aesthetic that I was mumbling to myself in a magical daze of disbelief. It was the only one, and it was in my exact size. [Mental ritualistic thanks given to pretend Ancient Egyptian shopping deities.]

Up to the register with two dresses I sprang, fairly literally, such was my high. But lo! What presented itself before me, but a glistening pair of Italian shoes with such a unique yet subtle treatment of the leather that again it seemed as if life had been overtaken by a djinni, circa 1960 sitcom, mixed with maybe a Lichtenstein-cum-Target ad.

A razzle
and
a dazzle,
sirrah.

Then, when it seemed nothing could possibly improve, on display at the very front was The Dress.

"O! That dress. Do you know if there are more?"
[Miss Squinty Squinterthon gazes afar.] "I think there's two more, there, in that grouping."
"Then I may not be quite ready but will be back soon!" which loosely indicates, 'So don't go wandering off after I just had to stand here staring around, waiting, for a good five minutes while this fashion buyer lady kept exclaiming over and trying to finger my goods, and I'm not sure she was going to stop with stuff not physically on my person.'

Make haste!

[Beat.]

Haste was made but it became apparent the display dress was the only one of that making there.
Miss SS changed into Miss Furrah Furrowbrowton and asked, "Oh no, there really aren't any more?" Was she disappointed in the luck or in her inaccuracy? We'll never know!

Still, I answered at the time, "There really aren't. Is it possible, if that's the right size, to take it down?" She smiled heroically and began with painstaking attention to examine its display trappings, pulling away obstacles, and finding the tag while the lady in front of me stays by just to wait and settle the suspense that understandably would've haunted her throughout the day, if not the fashion season and shares, "It looks small. You're small. Bet it's fine."

"If it's a zero, though, I'm screwed."

"It's a 2."

Glorious day!

"Okay, before getting it off there, can we see how much it is, because that matters...no matter how much I wish it didn't." Throughout my life, I have had this 'ability' to see nothing of any interest and when I see something I DO like then it's 99% of the time the most expensive thing in the store. But, while this was pushing it a bit, it was The Perfect Dress - nearly the 701 shade, in a matte silk, and somewhere between a 1950s party and a tropical gypsy dress. Yes. That good. That made for me.

So it was taken down, and you'd really think at this point the matter was settled, but Fate had smiled on me enough (says Fate) for today. As Miss Heroic Smile was unzipping the back, closely fingering the components, coaxing lovingly if a bit devilishly, Miss FF returned and furrowedly pronounced, "There is a hole, here, by the zipper. If I pull," scientifically calculating, "then it will worsen and tear the fabric this way." Yes, she had determined the exact path of damage. She was glorious.

"Well, if there's a hole, I guess I don't want it, anyway - break my heart though it does."
"I know," sympathetic look lasting just long enough to convey sincerity before becoming uncomfortable, "I know."

And so the dress hunt will continue, but this day will go down as a great one in D's Shopping History. [Mentally chiseling shopping glyphs into metaphysical tomb wall located far off from civilization, painting it, and leaving during the night to minimize observer interest and preserve the record for the ages.]

impossible to pick best part

In one of the greater convolutions of information passing that I've been involved, allow me to share (AP sent me this, from Dlisted, quoting Daily Candy) -

From Dlisted.com:

Daily Candy today sent out the funniest e-mail on ass bleach today. Ass bleach is always funny. This cream is from South Beach Skin Solutions and it's lightening gel for "sensitive areas." The sensitive area they are talking about is definitely your asshole, because I doubt you want to bleach your vag lips or peen head. Maybe you do? I don't know what you all are into these days.

One of the testimonials on the site is from Tran, "I bought the lighten gel and applied it on my underarm a week ago. Now I am happy to see that it really works and the skin on my underarm started to get whiter." Good try Tran! If your armpit is in your asshole, you really should seek medical attention.

Daily Candy wrote: "Van Morrison wrote the song "Brown Eyed Girl" as an endearing ode to a former love. And while some will always argue that brown eyes are classic, others are looking for a change. It has come to our attention that it is no longer acceptable for your bunghole to be, well, brown. (Yeah, we said bunghole.) And South Beach Skin Solutions has developed a lightening gel that is safe for that sensitive area (no, we have not tried it). The natural product claims to give your poopshooter "a fresher, more youthful look" by making it blend in with your natural skin tone. (Seriously?) Here's how it works: The gentle formula first exfoliates then naturally depigments and whitens the backdoor by reducing the activity of tyrosinase (an enzyme responsible for darkening) in the skin. They claim you'll see results in just a few weeks, or else you get your money back."

That e-mail really sounds like it came from my last date. Sorry folks, but my girl will remain brown-eyed. Actually, she has a little pink eye. Oh forget it! You don't need to know me...LIKE THAT.

{fini}

My mind is spinning. O! - had this writing only been seen by my fifteen-year old self...actually, considering that I thought whisperings of "pearls" (the kind people lube) were creations of my guy friends to try to sicken me, my head might've exploded from this tidbit/tuddbutt.

Still, it's leading to questions of greater meaning, like:

Are we to infer that darkness of Hole denotes aging?

Will people start getting bunglifts?

fried green what, fatty pancakes

I don't like looking at fat any more than Mississippi law-makers (nay, I reckon less), and have even picked off every little bit of it from my food for my entire life, but did you see this about a law proposed in MS trying to ban restaurants from serving obese people?

I immediately thought of one of my comedy writer friends (AP!) doing a truly hilarious piece based upon it.

MS-ians say with pridefully billowed chests, "Don't tell me who I can serve. We've come a long way. I decide who I discriminate against."

Law-makers explain, "We've just been without discrimination for so painfully long now, and if we can't do it by race or gender, at least we can all get behind hating fat people."

special city

Suckopolis

couture spring accessory inspireds

1. bright, light lilac tights
2. gradient blue tights
3. natural pearl armband
4. more armbands
5. a simple Victorian-esque push-forward hat
6. lace in hair
7. extreme gloves and "sleeves"
8. b/w patterned platforms

...so far.

italia

You were wondering why Italy is the birthplace of opera and is known for being, shall we say, dramatic?

goodie pink - the modern puritan creation

Goodie Pink. Yes.

Introducing, the nipple scarf.

special edition for javier, c. 1999

In the inescapable boredom of the Underwest, it was not unusual for college friends and I to spend a little more time than one can be proud about attempting to antagonize one another. Case in point:

THE TWELVE STEPS OF Catholics Anonymous (CA)

Step 1. We admitted we were powerless over Catholicism - that our lives had become un-enjoyable.
Step 2: We came to believe that a Power more reasonable than the Holy Catholic Church could restore us to sanity.
Step 3: We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of anyone but our priests, as we neither understand them, nor they us.
Step 4: We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Step 5: We admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being that our inventories were on a short list as we have few internalized morals.
Step 6: We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character, but decided being empty inside was too scary. Instead, we asked God to clarify contemporary definitions of sin.
Step 7: We humbly asked Him to remove these shortcomings, and replace them with more logical and fascinating ones.
Step 8: We made a list of all the persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all, even women and homosexuals.
Step 9: We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, even in public, except when to do so would injure them or others, carefully avoiding our former behaviors based on the notion that injuries brought by amends should always be indirect so no blame may be laid.
Step 10: We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it, and did not flog ourselves (even mentally) or seek absolution.
Step 11: We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understand him, praying only for knowledge of his will and the power to carry that out.
Step 12: Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

"The only requirement for membership in CA is the desire to stop being Catholic."

way ahead of pirate curve, c.1999

Below is the Pirate Checklist. Check all those that apply:

• I find myself trying to make others walk planks.
• Raping and pillaging sounds ho-hum to me.
• ‘Argh’ finds its way into my vocabulary on a daily basis.
• I do not have friends, but hardies and maties.
• All I value is buried.
• ‘Bootie’ has multiple meanings for me, all of which are pleasing.
• All of my maps have at least one large, hand-drawn X on them.
• I keep dying my chin blue in hopes of it appearing as such a hued beard.
• Peg-legs and patched eyes are aesthetically appealing, even if the two combined on one individual seem like overkill.
• My best friend is a foul-mouthed parrot.
• When I look at clouds, I often see skulls, treasure chests, and the Queen’s Navy.
• I’ve fantasized about slicing that braggart in Old Bartelby’s Pub.
• I’m actually responsible for Queequeg’s tattoos.
• Men who don’t have both ears pierced I know to be both poor seamen and faint of heart.
• The people I care most about I caution to, “Be sure to have plenty o’ lime, or yew’ll be gettin’ the scurvy.”
• My Freudian slips usually involve large metal hooks, flesh, and gold.
• People who don’t make lewd jokes about shivering ‘timbers’ are no friends o’ moin.
• Land pisses me off.
  
  

leaving L.A. trip for Grandma Josie's funeral: found file

And here's what was apparently going through my mind as I sat dumbstruck at the first grandmother death:

The strangest thing about looking in the mirror isn’t frequently being disgruntled by our appearance, or that we may on occasion even find ourselves quite – almost unbelievably – beautiful.

Instead, the strange thing is looking at the face, the head with its bigness, seeing we are not children or featureless expressions of our true inner-selves, but contained. And, in fact, these containers can seem to bare no earthly semblance whatsoever to the _____ we carry. Not a one of them. Even looking down at my own body, it is not uncommon for me to be still amazed I have breasts, muscles, and this adult body – completely simply by way of having been born, and continuing.

summer rain '06: found file

As I'm transferring a bit around here for my smashing new laptop, whose name remains tbd, this was found:

I feel absolutely today like I should be at sea, head wrapped in seal skin, staring out over a grayness so vast it’s difficult to see where sea and sky separate and the whole of the world seems in danger of evaporation. I should be out, solo, on a Viking ship, red sails full in the wind – one haunted with the floating smirks of those who delivered the first or the best hugs, curses, lullabies, tricks. Waves would slap the sides of the ship and we’d sit listening, content yet wondering, eager for the end of time - eager to see all that will be before the sun runs out.

getting brained

Why?

Why couldn't they have had these when I was a kid?

feelings - the real

Two new emotionally tailored terms have been developed today in exchanges with dear Arielski:

1. Underwest - n. American region commonly referred to as The Midwest, but better conveying personal sentiments. Ex: I am flying back to the Underwest for sheer love of Mother. (Germ-Anglish - Untervest.)
2. Budslothers - n. largest population of Americans, drinkers of Budweiser, better conveying personal sentiments; non-appreciators of any poetry aside from that of Maya Angelou, de-valuers of history; people comfortable with any of Bush's policies, ever, yet likely still more intelligent than Bush yet known to Bushites as, "[his] awesome, totally expendable population." (See also: military state, Ancient Rome, Third Reich.)

-ump Day

That's a capital hyphen.

Our coat closet has B.O. - or, more likely, someone who's placed a coat inside does. I went to grab my cellphone from my coat pocket, and it was so rank in there I may have swooned. If I didn't, then the fumes altered my brain chemistry enough that I distinctly thought I experienced a swoon.

I daren't attempt a rescue. Does anyone know the rate of stench dissipation in a closed space? (It's not air-tight. There's a good inch at the bottom of the door, and likely a 1/4" at the top, with periodic airings via door openings.) Should I just skip lunch?

But hey, I also found my favorite unrecognized female historical figure of the week. Ya, she's Mary Anning. She dealt in dinosaurs. There be love.

There also be terror in the horrible aesthetic sense of almost every other website 'dedicated' to her. (Note: tributes are more effective, people, when they aren't visually repugnant in their pastel-ity. Jesus, did someone blow up Barbie?)(OK, that would be awesome. If you did, then here's some Wiggle Room [trial version].)

atypical morning

After waking from a dream where my mother turns out to have decided not to tell me that I had a baby when I was three years old, the morning didn't seem off to a particularly stellar start.

But then I got a seat on the subway. That's right - on the L, in the morning rush. I know! (Granted, this was after two people pushing me out of the way to get on the first train, which never has happened, despite the fact that I'd been there longer, having just missed the previous train. Where is your Commuter Etiquette, W'burgers? Where is your shame?) But the seat. Yes.

Getting off the train, there was an unusually high number of cops supervising the platform. I looked at the one by the nearest stairs, doing a quick body language check to see if I should perhaps consider another path, and got a bit more reassurance than expected or necessary.

Cop: An angel walks before me.
Me: Dude. [Begins skirting a bit in approach to stairs.]
Cop: You look like, "They know not what they do."
Me: You've got me there. [And we have stairs.]

I'm assuming the fact that I was bundled nella mode 'Inuit' left only my face as a definable shape, and that most of that bundling was eggshell/feathery white, had more to do with this impression of said officer's. Wings? Halo? Under my Northface, and I do mean my North Face.

Then crossing the street, an old man was almost pacing me despite pulling a massive wheeled suitcase. The peripheral eyeball noticed he had, however, gotten stuck on the curb. The deeply (self-)ingrained from childhood "Help those who are weaker" kicked in, so I halted and turned. Eye contact - point blank. Up came his suitcase, but he was so pleased to see someone had been willing to help him, that I was showered with praise. I walked off translating all this into a whelming sentiment of, "Being not a complete asshole made his day. That's nice."

And then I came into work.

fortunate influx of friendness

However many times it happens, I remain un-condition-able when it comes to leaving behind doggie bags. In light of this self knowledge, when JB handed me his manuscript the other night at dinner, I said, "Please, REMIND ME, like make sure, that I take this when we leave."

"Just put it in your bag."
"It won't fit."
"Put it on top."
"It won't matter. Trust me." But I put it on top, with him saying he'd remind me.

[Fast-forward two hours.]
I sit straight up on the couch as a few of us are sitting around talking. Heads turn, startled.

"The manuscript."
"No. You couldn't have. It was right on top. You had it in your hand."
"But had to put it down to get my coat on and button it!"
"Maybe you left it at the dry cleaners?"
"No. I don't remember carrying it at all. Dear god."

I call the restaurant. A guy with a thick French accent answers, so that narrows it down to every guy who works there. My forced-calm and guilt-laden voice begins, "Hi. This is D. We were in there just a bit ago..."

"I remember you."
"...and I left a manuscript on the table."
"Yes, it is [audible effort to make 'h' sound] 'Heroes.'"
"Yes! Can someone pick it up tomorrow?"
"Yes, sweetheart, it is okay..." [continuing French scheduling details]

KR offered to, and did in fact, pick it up.

That was yesterday.

This morning, I was nearly into work and realized I'd forgotten my cell phone. There are only a few things I fear ever leaving behind .

Worst Possible Thing to Leave Behind: a baby, particularly on a car roof (I've done it with [virgin] drinks - so leaving a virgin human is at least a possibility).

Leaving behind my cellphone is not far behind, in terms of freak-out factor.

An email was sent out. KR responded, and - bless her - brought Pearl to me.

All is well, and I am thankful for so much and many.

:)

have some scents, over there, little further please

This morning as I was getting off the train, this woman starts flapping her arms and complaining loudly, "Damn. Somebody got on some of that Stink Perfume!"

I like to imagine this as the new Britney Spears scent, in a shiny, pink bottle with glitter.

(I know it's not necessary, but...)

wording con-choice

Oh.

Yes.

I was just documenting something at work and wrote, "...will not be allowed via the client's back-end."

...as in back-end development, which doesn't really sound much better, dooo eet?

serious advertising fun

Yes, I work in a field of high turnover and higher inter-agency incest - advertising.

With this in mind, I have just proposed (in my office) the creation of a sort of fantasy football league of our past employees.

It's called "adding value." Yep, that's what I've just done.

verbilination

Or verbalienation.

Anywho, I'm entertaining myself with two of my favorite sites - this one which is the bastard child of a site of godlike importance.

hangover edge or lack thereof

Four of us brunched together, three were hungover. One of us hoped to amuse the group. (Don't you love how the past tense of 'to hope' intrinsically implies failure?)

item #1:
JS mentioned her parents are having issues at their home with wolves. MG exclaimed her parents are now, too, because while wolves had been hunted in France they had simply gone to Italy but have returned - making these sound like vacationing wolves. So, here's my comment (of which I am obviously still proud) that fell nearly flat to my dearly hungovers gathered together.
"Yes, the wolves came back to France and were all like, 'Ciaooooooooooooowww.'"
[ba da bing!]

item #2:
We were discussing this year's theme for our home's third annual Most Depressing Day of the Year Party.
me: Should we dress only as our favorite people who also committed suicide, or include people we're most happy committed suicide?
[Blank stares. AP pokes her grits.]
nearly unintelligible voice of friend: What do you mean? Like what?
me: Like I love Virginia Woolf and will ever be sad she is gone, but am glad Hitler killed himself.
JS: You could combine them.
[Silence, during which certainly almost no consideration was given to the notion.]
me: Ya, put rocks in my pockets, wear an ugly little mustache and walk around with 'A Reich of One's Own.' [Happy Fragle muppet face!][Return of blank stares.]

And that's why we shouldn't drink.

But we're totally having our party. And drinking. Probably a lot.

But I'm also probably still working my joke into the invites. (Hold your applause.)