Saturday, December 20, 2008

Sorry for all of the youtube links lately, but this is sick.

Hello Wedding!!!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Christmas makes me happy.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

I'm doing some research on Bukowski for novel revisions, and among the booze and the whores I stumbled upon this gem:

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

-The Laughing Heart; Charles Bukowski

wishing you love from Baltimore,

Saturday, November 22, 2008

A brief check in:

Work = kicking my ass
NaNoWriMo = kicking my ass
Approaching holiday weekend = not as anxiety-inspiring as I anticipated
Facial mask I have on = tightening the skin on my chin, forehead and cheeks

Twitter has been a terrible influence. So much easier to put thoughts out in small blurbs. Great outlet for those of us with just a touch of narcissism – the kind that permeates the personality like a vein of white running through an otherwise gray stone.

So yeah, that's what I've got today. A tightening mask, growing word count, newfound appreciation of offshore development teams and love of short, vague statements posted on and for the Internets to either enjoy or overlook.

Take what you like, and leave the rest ;)

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

My husband and I spent a week in Orlando and did not enjoy nearly the same quality of bonding that we did over the neti pot.

Here's the deal if you are not familiar with one of these things. It looks like a funny-shaped teapot. But the tea is salt water and the oriface for entry is your nostril. Water pours in one nostril and comes mystically out the other. I've read this is a yoga practice. If the yoga pose you're trying to achieve is belly over thigh, with legs squeezed together in "downward dog trying not to piss himself" pose, then this is the practice for you.

Don't know about you, but the driving force of laughter in my tiny household is bodily functions. Belches, farts, you know the drill. And I can admit it. Poop humor is funny. Maybe not with your co-workers. Understood. But come on...

So my husband and I spent all day egging each other on to use this thing, and insisting that the other watch when we did it. This resulted in the deepest belly laughs and longest giggle fits we've had in years. Of course my honey could not control the stream, and it dripped down his face and onto his shirt. Pure comedic gold. I'm just impressed he tried it at all. I think he just couldn't resist.

Here's a little demo I came across on the web, from, to illustrate. Enjoy...

Monday, June 23, 2008

Tim Russert died last week.
George Carlin died yesterday.

Ladies and Gentlemen, wtf are we going to do?

I don't think I can take the loss of another level headed individual in the sea of sludge that is American media and entertainment.

As a side note, the break from the blog is intentional this time. Thanks for your patience - I'm undergoing a bit of an overhaul.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

"Why Can't We be Friends?"

Well, since you asked I feel compelled to reply.

It isn't the ugliness that went down (7 or 8 years ago?), though that was enough.

It's not the strange way you contacted me 4 years later, 4 months before I got married, wanting to "just hang out sometime" and "exchange mix cds".

It isn't even the fact that you contacted me again, this week, another 4 years later, after hunting me down on Facebook (which was, well, creepy). But in your defense, social networking sites make it easy to do that. I made it easy by using part of my real name in my profile.

I have good friends. Ones that have stuck by me through this crazy move to Maryland. I have some new friends too, so I can't say that it's too late or I'm too old to let new people into the life I share with my husband.

One thing all of these people have in common is that they will never have to ask that question - only statement you made in your message.

You had to ask it, which says enough.

Why would I bother with a wordy, direct reply to your question, when I had the option of making it quick and easy with the push of a button?

a month later an a few hundred dollars short...

the one beer lotusesss!!!

I know! Super impressive!

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Lesson of the day:

1 Beer, of the consumed variety
+ 1 sheet of 20 year old origami paper
+ 1 book of origami directions written in foreign language
= a paper lotus blossom so ugly that it's not even worth sharing.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

There are times when I wished I had a paint gun, just so I could shoot down billboards.

Back in Jersey, there was a pink billboard up on Rt. 3 with a wrinkly dog on it. It said something to the effect of "feeling fat and wrinkly? Join Spa Woman!" It made me ill. Yeah. Put an image of a bloated, floppy dog on a billboard, and ask me to compare my non-furry, non wrinkly, non drooly body to it and all its dogness. Make me feel like a furry, flabby bitch. It made me sick.

Now that I have moved to Baltimore, 2 other billboards have made it to my list. One showed up earlier in my tenure here:

Well gee, up until now I had thought of the word Virgin as maybe having a stigma, but not being dirty. If anything I consider virgins being, well, anything BUT dirty. What a bunch of assholes. Now when I hear the word all I think of is this bloody-looking nasty graphic. Someone really got their message across. Good Job!

And lately I've been peeved at this billboard:

Well, that's news to me! Sign me up!

Look, marriage has been good to me. I'm very very happily married and if it's for you I say go for it. But if anyone thinks extra cash (and I've never seen this extra cash)is the end-all-be-all ingredient for a happy healthy marriage, they're an ass. I have read the demographic for these ads are young mothers who don't intend to marry the father of their child, but wake up people. Maybe there is a good reason for that. And if they do want to marry the person, should it be because they want the commitment and companionship or the $$$? Are children better off in any two parent home, even when the parents are joined out of pressure and not out of love? I have a hard time believing that.

I also believe that most people have a good idea of what the best decisions are for themselves and their situations. Be it their opinion about their level of health, decisions regarding their sexuality or their choice to commit. Its when outsiders begin to think it is their right to choose for, or impose their "ideals" upon others that things get a bit fucked up.

So get me a paint gun. Preferably loaded with black or blue pellets. Shoot the shit out of these billboards and call it a day. Perhaps these groups can better spend their advertising money on buying themselves some lunch.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Wherever the hell I've been, Tommy brought me back.

Last week my husband and I came to the conclusion that if one of us buys the farm, the other one is pretty much screwed. So we decided to get life insurance.

Boy's boss knows someone who can help us. Beautiful. We make an appointment to meet the guy at a restaurant close to work, so I can slip in and out during my lunch hour. Everything was set.

When I walked into the restaurant, there was a strange man at the front table with what may be the worst comb-over I have ever seen in my life. Envision a pudding bowl haircut, with a full and blunt bang. Now imagine every one of the hairs creating the bang derives from the very back of the person's head. The mass was thick and yellow in color, and did no justice for the ruddy skin and bulbous nose sitting underneath. The style made any one of Phil Specter’s look reasonable. It was tragic.

And this tragedy was sitting next to my husband. His name was Tommy.

Tommy went right to. He began by describing the difference between Cash Value and Term life insurance. He said he liked to describe these things with his hands. He curled his sausage-like fingers as if he was squeezing balls or groping breasts as he described first the cash, then the term. Look, his hands were right across from the girls. He'd look me dead in the eye, curl up one hand, and then the other. He was too damn close and looked too damn pervy for that kind of gesture. I found I was inadvertently sitting with my arms crossed tightly across my chest.

The sun was in his eyes, and he kept scooting from left to right until he decided to block the light with a worn-out Red Socks hat. The look truly complemented the jeans that were too short and dated leather football jacket. The hat pushed his hair out to the side of his head in thick bail-of-straw-like slabs.

And this guy was going to work with us. This hot mess. I am putting every ounce of energy into concentrating on what he's saying, because if I don't, I will bust out screaming, or crying, or laughing, or some strange hybrid of aforementioned expressions. He looked like an overgrown five year old who was dressed by his Mommy. The look ain't working for someone in his 60's who, again, is selling us LIFE INSURANCE.

The hat is not helping for the heat. As he takes off his jacket, he says, "I assume your husband has told you I carry a gun".


And there it is - a pistol in a leather vest-like harness.

I am sitting in the restaurant on my work campus, with a man who looks like a demented freak and is packing heat. I pray nobody sees me, as I have no fucking way of explaining this one.

Thankfully through all of this I manage understand every word he has said. Again, mind over matter - had I lost focus I would have lost my shit. Strangely enough he made sense and had proposed a decent course of action. He asked if we wanted to sign for physicals to get the process going.

My husband said yes. Fuck. Guy's got a gun. Guess we had to.

20 minutes later I called my boy. All I had to say was "What the fuck was that?”

That evening, My friend JMcD called. "Why did you stop with the blog?" he asked.
That same evening, I spoke to my girl SSanti. She wanted to know the same.
I didn't bring it up - they did.
And I had just met Tommy the same day.

One thing I've figured out - when the universe drops hints, you act.

Game on.