I never know quite how to take this one:
"You look so amazing ON FILM."
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
week's highlights
1) Last Friday, Anne did what Anne does and was wanting to slap my posterior. I saw the look in her eye! So, I wiggled it in her face and told her to go ahead (yes, we'd been drinking and dancing). She swats me and instantly looks up and says, "How's Lauren been?"
Ass-ociation.
2) The other day, I was telling Anne how bad my next day was going to be...to the extent I was programming in a reminder to myself to eat at lunch. "What else could I forget that's vital?"
"Brush teeth. Bathe."
"Sleep."
"Remove tampon."
"No, I'm keeping that."
3) The coffee and tea companies are getting serious about their copy. The San Lorenzo Dark roast is "bold, dark, exquisite." Gimme summa that! And then there's the Lemon Blueberry PASSION tea. Hey, I have lemon blueberry passion! It's like we were meant to BE.
Ass-ociation.
2) The other day, I was telling Anne how bad my next day was going to be...to the extent I was programming in a reminder to myself to eat at lunch. "What else could I forget that's vital?"
"Brush teeth. Bathe."
"Sleep."
"Remove tampon."
"No, I'm keeping that."
3) The coffee and tea companies are getting serious about their copy. The San Lorenzo Dark roast is "bold, dark, exquisite." Gimme summa that! And then there's the Lemon Blueberry PASSION tea. Hey, I have lemon blueberry passion! It's like we were meant to BE.
Friday, May 04, 2007
crying from desire
This has never happened to me before, though I've sort of wanted it to. It's true, too; my eyes are watering from Want.
But it's a worthy cause. Meet the cocoa bar. Specifically, it was this that did it to me - : rasberry truffle cake :. As if that's not enough to liquify my brains and have them run down...well, nothing sounds good here and I do not want to ruin my appetite, but the point is that the new one is right by my darling LZP's.
Okay, the thought of doing our margaritas-to-go and eating some of these chocolates and then some blood orange and grapefruit gelati with Pelle in the dogpark just made me get misty with anticipatory joy. Oh sunshine, we've missed ye.
But it's a worthy cause. Meet the cocoa bar. Specifically, it was this that did it to me - : rasberry truffle cake :. As if that's not enough to liquify my brains and have them run down...well, nothing sounds good here and I do not want to ruin my appetite, but the point is that the new one is right by my darling LZP's.
Okay, the thought of doing our margaritas-to-go and eating some of these chocolates and then some blood orange and grapefruit gelati with Pelle in the dogpark just made me get misty with anticipatory joy. Oh sunshine, we've missed ye.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
iscream, lover
I've never been able to talk dirty to a lover, but judging by the filth that was just coming out of my mouth as I sat un-observed talking to my ice cream, I think I know what I need to imagine if I want to possibly pull off Le Dirty Parle.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
the ghost of william's testicle
I admire the aplomb with which my dear friend (with the help of his many and wonderful friends who are not me) handled his diagnosis of testicular cancer and resulting surgery. It's not surprising, but typical. Still - appreci-a-ti-on.
Apparently this was bothering me more than I was aware, however, and made itself be known in dreamland last night - and, fittingly, in a most appropriately annoying way.
IN THE DREAM, Balls (long ago referred to as TMS, in keeping with blogging naming constraints) was there. I call Balls Balls because he would say it as an exclamation, and he climbs crazy high things and is generally balls-out. Of course, initially it was to try to get him to stop exclaiming, "Balls!" but we know how those things play out. One of the last times I saw Balls, I believe between trips to the Himalayas and to partake of the TransSiberian Railroad, he was all chatty about wanting to have kids. As I recall, I had spontaneous and temporary Parkinson's develop, being unable to stop shaking my head 'no' as he talked. ("Hello sweet baby. I know it's my fault who your dad is. Or was. Since he died trying to backflip off Everest. And Aunt Emi and Aunt Anne totally have alibis. Wink wink. Urm, sorry, though. I goofed. You got me.") Also, he always had at least 1/8" of facial hair. Why? Why?! And usually at least 1/4". Outside of the Arctic Circle, no one should have facial hair - or certainly not on a regular basis.
Anyhairroot, Balls has shaved (so many layers of meaning - totally), and is attempting to make himself appealing as a mate. As he keeps talking, I start making a case for how serious reproductive stuff is, and tell him about how William had this particular cancer, and his funny photos, and how so many people began judging his sperm and leaving comments as to their appearance/destiny. Balls is un-phased, and counters. He has had this testicular cancer so had his manstuff frozen. All I have to do is agree and he can have me knocked up with more surety than an average male. (This would appeal to him, so the thought will never be shared. With him. Who doesn't know diddly about this blog.) More insidiousness ensued, but unlike so many other things I'd gladly forget, this bit my brain has mercifully blocked from memory.
Apparently this was bothering me more than I was aware, however, and made itself be known in dreamland last night - and, fittingly, in a most appropriately annoying way.
IN THE DREAM, Balls (long ago referred to as TMS, in keeping with blogging naming constraints) was there. I call Balls Balls because he would say it as an exclamation, and he climbs crazy high things and is generally balls-out. Of course, initially it was to try to get him to stop exclaiming, "Balls!" but we know how those things play out. One of the last times I saw Balls, I believe between trips to the Himalayas and to partake of the TransSiberian Railroad, he was all chatty about wanting to have kids. As I recall, I had spontaneous and temporary Parkinson's develop, being unable to stop shaking my head 'no' as he talked. ("Hello sweet baby. I know it's my fault who your dad is. Or was. Since he died trying to backflip off Everest. And Aunt Emi and Aunt Anne totally have alibis. Wink wink. Urm, sorry, though. I goofed. You got me.") Also, he always had at least 1/8" of facial hair. Why? Why?! And usually at least 1/4". Outside of the Arctic Circle, no one should have facial hair - or certainly not on a regular basis.
Anyhairroot, Balls has shaved (so many layers of meaning - totally), and is attempting to make himself appealing as a mate. As he keeps talking, I start making a case for how serious reproductive stuff is, and tell him about how William had this particular cancer, and his funny photos, and how so many people began judging his sperm and leaving comments as to their appearance/destiny. Balls is un-phased, and counters. He has had this testicular cancer so had his manstuff frozen. All I have to do is agree and he can have me knocked up with more surety than an average male. (This would appeal to him, so the thought will never be shared. With him. Who doesn't know diddly about this blog.) More insidiousness ensued, but unlike so many other things I'd gladly forget, this bit my brain has mercifully blocked from memory.
hey hey hey, it's may day
Remember how nice it was when you were little and you'd wake up on May Day and be all, "Weeeee! Where are my lace doilies?! [Then, more manically...] I must make May Day baskets for all our old neighbors and leave them on their front doors, and it will be a total surprise and make them so happy and and andAND AND..." [spinning girlishly, giggling and being in love with the sky and sun] "I have to start picking flowers THIS INSTANT."
Then the careful selection of which blossoms had reached their prime and it was justifiable to sacrifice, keeping them watered as the bouquets were prepared, and then matching them up in what were essentially floral death ceremonies. (Oh, stop. I know, I know - such the Romantic. Sweet youth!)
Finally, walking them discreetly down the block, a smaller crop each year, as I realized how few of our neighbors I actually considered worthy. Halloween? Carefully noted. "You-a give me a leetle sumthin' sweet, and I'll-a give-a you a leetle bit a dees [flowers]..." Then, in the end, the disappointment that the purity of the sentiment was getting colored, and probably at least ten to thirty minutes of self-criticism before resolving to Put Things Right and put some bouquets even onto the doors of total strangers.
To regret later.
Yay! May Day!
Then the careful selection of which blossoms had reached their prime and it was justifiable to sacrifice, keeping them watered as the bouquets were prepared, and then matching them up in what were essentially floral death ceremonies. (Oh, stop. I know, I know - such the Romantic. Sweet youth!)
Finally, walking them discreetly down the block, a smaller crop each year, as I realized how few of our neighbors I actually considered worthy. Halloween? Carefully noted. "You-a give me a leetle sumthin' sweet, and I'll-a give-a you a leetle bit a dees [flowers]..." Then, in the end, the disappointment that the purity of the sentiment was getting colored, and probably at least ten to thirty minutes of self-criticism before resolving to Put Things Right and put some bouquets even onto the doors of total strangers.
To regret later.
Yay! May Day!
good at being pretty and that's all they see
That's our house.
I love it that I just found this note on my bedroom floor (sounding so much spicier than it is), have absolutely zero idea of where it came from, and after reading, "You are so beautiful that I want to kiss you," my first thought was, 'I wonder if this is mine or if it was for KR or JS.' There's no telling. It could've gotten swept in under the door. The paper? Somewhat familiar looking. The handwriting? Girly. The wording? Unspecific.
Go to it, supersleuths. Nancy Drew, we need you!
I love it that I just found this note on my bedroom floor (sounding so much spicier than it is), have absolutely zero idea of where it came from, and after reading, "You are so beautiful that I want to kiss you," my first thought was, 'I wonder if this is mine or if it was for KR or JS.' There's no telling. It could've gotten swept in under the door. The paper? Somewhat familiar looking. The handwriting? Girly. The wording? Unspecific.
Go to it, supersleuths. Nancy Drew, we need you!
Friday, April 27, 2007
theeee perfume
Since everyone keeps asking...NO, I do not naturally smell like this. 
This is what it smells like when you crush up fairy bells, all your childhood dreams of bettering the world, and mix with Mother Nature's embryonic fluid. I only have old, very worn Swedish sleigh bells, shattered dreams, and Momma N keeps slapping my hands away when I make a move for her fluids. (Okay, eew.)(But maybe if the bells had been shattered, rather than the dreams...closer. I always get those confused.)
This is what it smells like when you crush up fairy bells, all your childhood dreams of bettering the world, and mix with Mother Nature's embryonic fluid. I only have old, very worn Swedish sleigh bells, shattered dreams, and Momma N keeps slapping my hands away when I make a move for her fluids. (Okay, eew.)(But maybe if the bells had been shattered, rather than the dreams...closer. I always get those confused.) Un Jardin sur le Nil...is good. I'll wear it all my life. I'd bathe in it if I could - snort it, drink it, you name it. Spray it and it'll be just like I'm there with you, but invisible...so, urm, a bit more like I'm waiting in the darkness of your home, waiting to strike. Any. Minute.
NOW.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
kr's take on her excellent match
K: "Ya, so he is a twin. Identical. And they used to have a hip hop band or whatever they're called...when it's hip hop."
me: "Nice."
K: "And he beat boxes."
me: "Like Run DMC, making noises with his mouth?"
K: "He says his art is [hysterical laughter][deep breath, continuing hysterical laughter] really enhanced by a mic."
A: "I love how you can't even talk about it with a straight face."
K: "He makes his living teaching physics and chemistry privately, at $100 an hour. This is actually pretty cool. And he's teaching me stuff - right now, it's about vectors. Really interesting, as you might expect."
A: "He sounds pretty great to me." She's sincere, and knowing this makes me laugh, steadily, with satisfaction.
K: "Ya, and - the best part - he hates Shakespeare. He's perfect for me!" [Laughing hard, tears in eyes, unsure of kind of tears.]
A: "But seriously, doing all that and teaching those things, that makes an interesting package."
K: "I mean, come on, of course. I'm dating this drug-abusing private physicist hip harp artist."'
[Uncontainable, delirious laughter. Imagining hip hop with harps, little ones on hips. K and I are crying, picturing this. We try explaining the mental image to A, but unsuccessfully. Like now.]
me: "Ít's like, 'Ya'll ready fo' dis? Hit it! Wheeky wheeky wee...[thrust left hip, impassioned yet tight and small plucking motions] bliiiiiinky bliiink doodiliydoo." Fairly blank stare. "No? Oh, well."
A: "So he's a hip harpist."
[K again has laughing fit, explaining the new term extra-tickled. We are all happy we are friends.]
And that's when we left to walk around and shop while drinking wine then sucking on Blow Pops. This was far more fun than is reasonable.
me: "Nice."
K: "And he beat boxes."
me: "Like Run DMC, making noises with his mouth?"
K: "He says his art is [hysterical laughter][deep breath, continuing hysterical laughter] really enhanced by a mic."
A: "I love how you can't even talk about it with a straight face."
K: "He makes his living teaching physics and chemistry privately, at $100 an hour. This is actually pretty cool. And he's teaching me stuff - right now, it's about vectors. Really interesting, as you might expect."
A: "He sounds pretty great to me." She's sincere, and knowing this makes me laugh, steadily, with satisfaction.
K: "Ya, and - the best part - he hates Shakespeare. He's perfect for me!" [Laughing hard, tears in eyes, unsure of kind of tears.]
A: "But seriously, doing all that and teaching those things, that makes an interesting package."
K: "I mean, come on, of course. I'm dating this drug-abusing private physicist hip harp artist."'
[Uncontainable, delirious laughter. Imagining hip hop with harps, little ones on hips. K and I are crying, picturing this. We try explaining the mental image to A, but unsuccessfully. Like now.]
me: "Ít's like, 'Ya'll ready fo' dis? Hit it! Wheeky wheeky wee...[thrust left hip, impassioned yet tight and small plucking motions] bliiiiiinky bliiink doodiliydoo." Fairly blank stare. "No? Oh, well."
A: "So he's a hip harpist."
[K again has laughing fit, explaining the new term extra-tickled. We are all happy we are friends.]
And that's when we left to walk around and shop while drinking wine then sucking on Blow Pops. This was far more fun than is reasonable.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
self-indulgent alienation, part deux
Welcome to the total douchebag conversation we were forced to endure in McCarren Park on Sunday - except this may make you laugh.
light time is the right time, for some things
Perfect sunny spring conditions = me and everyone else abdicating our Responsibility Thrones (at least at lunch) and heading outside to bask. I think the men folk need another week or so to adjust, though.
1) A crosswalk signal said stop. Fine with standing in the sun and not being splattered, I waited. Horns started honking because the person in front wasn't moving despite the greenlight. Even before the horns, that was noticeable because - hi - we'd all stopped just so he could go, and it's a major peeve of mine when people do that because as the first person in the line, you owe it to everyone behind you to pay attention and get a move on. But he finally goes. Then the guy behind him, annoyed apparently to the point of hypocrisy being a sound solution, stops TO YELL AT ME. Thanks, guy. "He sat here through half the __ light because he was too busy staring at YOU!" I learned from this that even a simple usher arm-motion can say so much and be fairly satisfying, and it was not punctuated with any special finger flourishes as D had her Zen on.
2) Sitting out with everyone else should've been nice, but then some freak business dude twice was trying to peek over my shoulder at my phone as I was messaging. DUDE. Okay, so walk over to steps and sit. Fall in love with sun. Put purse under legs and wrap straps around wrist, close eyes. Long to be on beach. Open eyes. There's significantly less open space around, which would've been okay except that when I moved my head then all the other heads looked to me and wanted to speak, and were all male. It was somewhere between feeling like birdseed in San Marco's Square (ahhh, pigeons!!!) and an awkward attempt at a 1950s "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" scene, except all the dancers were straight, a few overweight, and they looked like those big-ish primitive fish with pasty eyes and fat lips as they gobbled the air, trying to make words come out. I know guys! What to say? What can one say to a perfect stranger you have no excuse in the world to be bothering as she's clearly just trying to enjoy a little quiet moment to herself in the small slice of nature available? We'll just pretend that they were aware of exactly that and were trying to make me feel more at home, like I was out at the pond feeding fish or ducks or something. Aw, duck feeding. Ka-yoot-ness.
1) A crosswalk signal said stop. Fine with standing in the sun and not being splattered, I waited. Horns started honking because the person in front wasn't moving despite the greenlight. Even before the horns, that was noticeable because - hi - we'd all stopped just so he could go, and it's a major peeve of mine when people do that because as the first person in the line, you owe it to everyone behind you to pay attention and get a move on. But he finally goes. Then the guy behind him, annoyed apparently to the point of hypocrisy being a sound solution, stops TO YELL AT ME. Thanks, guy. "He sat here through half the __ light because he was too busy staring at YOU!" I learned from this that even a simple usher arm-motion can say so much and be fairly satisfying, and it was not punctuated with any special finger flourishes as D had her Zen on.
2) Sitting out with everyone else should've been nice, but then some freak business dude twice was trying to peek over my shoulder at my phone as I was messaging. DUDE. Okay, so walk over to steps and sit. Fall in love with sun. Put purse under legs and wrap straps around wrist, close eyes. Long to be on beach. Open eyes. There's significantly less open space around, which would've been okay except that when I moved my head then all the other heads looked to me and wanted to speak, and were all male. It was somewhere between feeling like birdseed in San Marco's Square (ahhh, pigeons!!!) and an awkward attempt at a 1950s "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" scene, except all the dancers were straight, a few overweight, and they looked like those big-ish primitive fish with pasty eyes and fat lips as they gobbled the air, trying to make words come out. I know guys! What to say? What can one say to a perfect stranger you have no excuse in the world to be bothering as she's clearly just trying to enjoy a little quiet moment to herself in the small slice of nature available? We'll just pretend that they were aware of exactly that and were trying to make me feel more at home, like I was out at the pond feeding fish or ducks or something. Aw, duck feeding. Ka-yoot-ness.
rat solution
And not a Final Solution, either, for rats are shmaht and can be kind of cute.*
Why not just train the rats to serve the food? Talk about profit margin. And who'd champion Rat Rights? Plus, they'd be cute in bitty rat gloves and fur-nets, and maintain probably about the same amount of rat hairs in our food anyway.
*In fact, a rat has hacked into D's site and is typing this.
Why not just train the rats to serve the food? Talk about profit margin. And who'd champion Rat Rights? Plus, they'd be cute in bitty rat gloves and fur-nets, and maintain probably about the same amount of rat hairs in our food anyway.
*In fact, a rat has hacked into D's site and is typing this.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
KR's play
Cloud 9 is just an awesome play, anyway, but then you add in serious talent and boyohboy. So much is the pride in our KR. After a fabulous evening with some of our most dazzling and dear companions, we were trying to grab a cab. Given the pleasant temp, the Saturday night wait wasn't phasing us but K put her hand up and just kept it up, saying, "Something will come, eventually." We keep talking, and then this passenger says as they drive by - in full Borat voice - "Hi-a five!"
People are so lovable sometimes.
People are so lovable sometimes.
summary
I have/had so much to say, but find it all summed up in, "Haaachachacha."
Details forthcoming.
(No, they're totally not. You have to come play!)
Details forthcoming.
(No, they're totally not. You have to come play!)
Friday, April 20, 2007
spring?
Is that you? Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. We've just all missed you so, so much. Are you really here?
And it's going to be a beautiful weekend. The word 'beach' has been uttered. There is sun. (I've seen it and can confirm. Secondary visual verified the sighting.) I had fresh o.j. already this morning, and am going in a few for an excellent coffee and almond croissant at my Frenchy place. Now to just not die of loveliness.
And it's going to be a beautiful weekend. The word 'beach' has been uttered. There is sun. (I've seen it and can confirm. Secondary visual verified the sighting.) I had fresh o.j. already this morning, and am going in a few for an excellent coffee and almond croissant at my Frenchy place. Now to just not die of loveliness.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
little glimpses of love
There was this couple on the beach, one that normally would be dismissed as "attractive but older guy who ditched his wife and probably left his kids for 'greener pastures'" but they seemed to be having such an interactive discussion, and they'd look out on the water with the same far-away contendedness and their heads moved in a dance in every moment.
The next time I looked over at them, he was laying on his tummer, and she was up sitting on him, rubbing his back. Her face was all crinkled up, but not in annoyance; she was concertedly feeling the knots in his muscles. This level of concentration and expression of concern that he clearly couldn't possibly be aware of was so genuine and sweet, it was hard* to not go sing them a love song or a lullaby.
* - but quite feasible to refrain as while the sentiment was well-wishing, the action - nella mia voce - would be cruel and I did not want to hurt zem.
The next time I looked over at them, he was laying on his tummer, and she was up sitting on him, rubbing his back. Her face was all crinkled up, but not in annoyance; she was concertedly feeling the knots in his muscles. This level of concentration and expression of concern that he clearly couldn't possibly be aware of was so genuine and sweet, it was hard* to not go sing them a love song or a lullaby.
* - but quite feasible to refrain as while the sentiment was well-wishing, the action - nella mia voce - would be cruel and I did not want to hurt zem.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
'head'-line isn't the right word for this
...but I saw on AQ's link to this andra blog a headline that reads:
Advocacy Group Plans Friendlier Cavity Searches
"Hey! First round's on me!"
Imagine their meetings. First, what to advocate?
A few weeks in:
(I'd link it but the article it refers to has been removed anyway.)
Advocacy Group Plans Friendlier Cavity Searches
"Hey! First round's on me!"
Imagine their meetings. First, what to advocate?
Equal rights?
Not really doing it for us.
Inequal rights?
Done to death.
Rumplestiltskin?
Hard one.
Then I know - cavity searches!
All those opposed...
[Silence]
A few weeks in:
I still think we're on the right path here, but I don't know, sometimes I feel kind of badly.
Like you're violating something?
Ya. But not in a fun way.
Ya.
Look, I'm not stopping. I don't care what you guys do.
Maybe if we just made it nicer...
[Dubious glance.] How so?
Less abrasive, classical music in the background, gentler...
I am NOT being gentler!
Okay, man, okay. Geez. How about some lube then? The rest of you - totally free to be gentler.
I guess I can lube them - after!
No, come on now, before. BEFORE. Promise us, you scamp.
Fine.
Say it.
I promise to lube them, beforehand. [Laughing fit ensues. Wiping tears from eyes, he explains.] Ohgawd, for word choice. Get it? Before hand? Oh lord. Dear, sweet Jesus milk. Oh, my stomach; it hurts. It hurts so much.
(I'd link it but the article it refers to has been removed anyway.)
Monday, April 16, 2007
ferrell child
I had to remove this posting of Will Ferrell's baby playing the part of his landlord, because it starts playing every single time the page is viewed which makes me want to slit my own throat.
blessed tax weekend
Myske, what WAS it we wanted to PhotoShop? What was that ripe fodder, I think primarily from the last bar? All that's coming to mind is talk of the new Tudor series and thinking about Henry figuratively getting fat off the flesh of his slain wives. But that's not it, as hilarious as that is. (No.)
And otherwise, here's to the best weekend I've had in ages upon ages. And sleeping only three hours Saturday night but it not even phasing me yesterday (vot?!), and having such a splendid time that even this perpetual gray raininess and taxes isn't denting the general yay-ness.
A cheers now, to tango on Thursday!
And otherwise, here's to the best weekend I've had in ages upon ages. And sleeping only three hours Saturday night but it not even phasing me yesterday (vot?!), and having such a splendid time that even this perpetual gray raininess and taxes isn't denting the general yay-ness.
A cheers now, to tango on Thursday!
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