Today, in [fake] news!

Headline: "Ho-ho-hopeless: Burmese child constructs chimney in wish to bring Christmas to conflict-ridden nation."

Better Recognize!

I'm a pretty big deal.

Plastic Snacks

Nothing makes my mouth water quite the same as when I see a Barbie shoe. I hope I'm not alone in that. Because when I was an, apparently strange, little girl I would pop them into my mouth and chew on them until they got warm. But I'd spit them out though. Geez! I'm not a monster!

Boob-length hair

I've always had this dream of having boob-length hair. Not that I want to go around town inconspicuously topless, but I would certainly like to reserve the right to. 'Cause boob-length hair is good for so much! Hiding spill stains, playing make believe, old-timey japanese robberies, ...distracting attention from your smallish boobs. (YOUR smallish boobs!) Right now I'm nearly there, but it's still not good enough to keep me out of jail. I'm hoping that this time next year people will think twice before realizing, "That ain't no well-fitting brown shirt!" And that the makeshift mask I make with my hair as I run away will be convincing enough to protect my reputation.

Today, in [fake] news!

Headline: "Philippine government literally lifts lid on same sex marriage: Couples in holding await release"

Petrichor

Petrichor is the name for the smell of the ground after it rains. To me, "petrichor" sounds like the name of a dragon that flies into the clouds to create the rain. He'd be silvery white and let me ride on his back. Not in the clouds though, just around town because I'm scared of heights. But he'd know that because we'd be best friends. He'd look like this.

Lame chop

I decided to go as Lamb Chop for Halloween. But I spent the whole weekend silly-assing around and didn't have enough time to finish much more than these red mittens.  But I regret nothing, 'cause these are damn good red mittens.

I've narrowed my Halloween costume to two choices...

It's basically the same soup but different potatoes.

Maybe I shouldn't bug tech support with repeated emails...

I don't know what it means, but it sounds rude.

LA-centrism/shame

I went to Wisconsin to visit my sister this weekend. As we landed, I expected to only see the lights from the houses of the two families that alternate running the airport, but it was bustling. I was ashamed of myself.

Græy Hair

I saw my first græy hair when I was 25. I found it on the crown of my head and thought it was a errant thread (Note: add "Errant Thread" to my list of band names) from my sweater, so I pulled it out. Ever since, every couple of weeks I pull out græys because I haven't accepted what those wires say about my youth. But I've noticed these pulled hairs are starting to resist less and less. Like my head is dying! "Full House" drummed into me that pulling out græys was bad because two would grow in it's place. But I figure if it doubles the chance for me to feel sensation in my scalp again it's worth it.

Today, in [fake] news!

HEADLINE: "First Shadowman escapes crack in void. City evacuated."

Les Aventures de Twintwin

c'est incroyable! 

(And I don't mean the hair.)

I've become a man

Looks like I forgot our anniversary. According to my math[s] it has been a year and... 3 (4?) days since I started this blog. And I let this landmark event come and go without incident, and for that I feel awful. You deserve better than me. I never thought I'd be such a neglectful lover, but I let my personal life take all my time and forgot to treat you nice.


I made a lot of promises back then. Not "promises" I guess, but I said a lot of things I maybe didn't mean about what I planned to do with this blog and I feel like I only half delivered. I know that's a run-on sentence but hear me out. I'm real sore for what I've done. For like four months I posted at least once a day, but I'm acting like I don't care any more. I set a standard for myself when I started.  Let's see how I measure up:

     1. Not write anything that will make me less popular with my friends.

     Since I started this blog I've become a real bad-ass. F*ck friendship! I'm pals with the truth!

     2. Not to write anything ironically. (I'm only slightly serious and very naive. So don't read too much into what I may post/mean. Or do. I'm not bothered I suppose. ...fools.)

     Let's just take this one out.

     3. Do write things that I think the people that I think are interested in this type of thing (dreck) would like to read. (I'll try not to let you down!!)
     Check √. You guys are some weirdos.

     4. Not take myself too seriously. (It's just some e-words. so, they don't really exist! "You're crazy for reading!!!)

     I don't think I'm in any danger of that. 

     5. Stop if this gets boring for me. (I'm the best kind of selfish, but still love me.)

     Umm... this has gotten pretty boring for me at times, and I'm sure it has to you, but I don't have plans to quit any time soon. I like blogging. And like to think you're sometimes entertained by my nonsense. 

You know what, it doesn't matter if I passed or failed. Point is, I'm sorry. I know I'm always asking for forgiveness, but I'll try to do better. Hey?! I thought about retroactively posting a blog for September 30th but thought you deserved it straight. That's gotta count for something right? So give us another chance, dahlin'. I'll try to come 'round more. It's the least you deserve for putting up with a chump like me.  And who knows, maybe we'll find our way to each other again. 

I had the most obliging cashier today...

Frisky.

Biological Clock

There's a point in most women's lives when anything "baby" makes them go crazy. I'm no exception. Recently even the sight of a baby makes my mind wander. But not like you would think. Some women fantasize about having babies, I fantasize about naming them. I meet a person and think, "Ooh! That's a good name." Or read a book and know, "I wouldn't name my daughter that." It's absurd. Any Iggys, Petals, Olivers, or Thurstons I come across, I store in my mental Name-Bank to dump on some imaginary future kid. But it's all in fun. Right now I like babies as much as I like dogs. Because naming is far more exciting than the thought of raising a child I don't even have the attention to feed. The power to names things is amazing! Makes me feel like a real Adam. Not Eve. That tart ruined it for us all.

Do you ever...

...brush your teeth with your left hand and pretend you're going through physical therapy? ...me neither.

Today, in [fake] news!

HEADLINE: "Dog raised by cars finally finds love."

Romance Bone

I used to think I didn't have a romantic bone in my body.  I always thought romance was for the birds. Love birds. And that any time spent on anything touchy-feely could touch the broadest part of the bottom of my heart. 'Cause honestly who has room?! What with the 200+ already rattling 'round these overstuffed skin-bags. And I'm a modern woman for crying out loud! But despite my best efforts I discovered I have a fully matured romance bone. And no, it wasn't discovered near my romance-hole, but over a series of events that verified its existence. Recently I've been finding myself doing things I wouldn't otherwise do.  Feeling ways I hoped I wouldn't soon feel due to that inconvenient bone. It's all very new to me but I'm staying realistic. I've simply come to the conclusion that feelings are fine as long as you feel fine. But like literal bones, figurative bones can break, and I'm prepared for that. That's why I have insurance.

Rubbish Recipe

After years of tweaking, I've finally developed the prefect trash recipe! A no-fail mix of mess that'll have your guests saying, "Hey! Is that garbage I smell...?!" Just follow these simple steps and you'll be making muck in no time!

You'll need:
          - Banana peels (or skins)
          - [Raw] chicken skins (or peels)
          - Egg shells
          - Decaying veggies (or anything that produces "garbage juice")
          - Mint flavored dental floss
          - Walnuts

Chef's Note: The serving amount depends on how much trash you'd like to make. This recipe makes one large serving so I suggest multiplying as needed if you're planning on making trash for two or more people.

First you'll need to build on a nice flavorful base, so start with your favorite unwantables to make waste that's all your own. Add aged banana peels and egg shells. (Many or few depending on the amount of eggy-banana-stink you can handle.) In a separate bowl, mix raw chicken skins and old veggies, drain juices and set aside, then add bowl to egg-banana mixture. Fold in lengths of mint floss for good measure, and pour in drainage. Sprinkle liberally with walnuts. Serve at room temperature.

Serves 1-2.

'Cause no one wants a generic breakfast

I wonder what the re-sale value is on these. 

I don't know how to convince myself they aren't the same person

Romany Malco (R.M.) and Rutina Wesley (R.W.) And a "W" is just a "M" mid-summersault... Hmmm...

No.

There's got to be a more conclusive test. The others weren't nearly this hard to tell apart.

Human Lessons

Sorry for not posting more frequently. Things have been really hectic for me recently. (Does that rhyme?) ... (Should I make this a rhyming post?) I've been focusing a lot of my energy on things to turn my life around.  I've since learned how to drive and received my first human license! (I guess not.) I'm really excited about that. I've purchased and now sleep in an actual human bed. Thrilled about that. And, most proudly, I've taken up reading! I know! A whole me, reading a real-life page-book! I just felt it was about time I start. (Plus, I hear guys like a girl that knows her way around a library, if you know what I mean.)

Now to clear any confusion, I KNOW HOW TO READ. I just don't. And haven't since last year. The book I read last year was "The Great Gatsby". And the year before that, "A Picture of Dorian Grey". (I didn't read often so I had to make the ones I do count.) But I'm really excited about this book I'm practicing on now. I'm not going to say the name because I've already received spoilers from people who think they're hilarious when they're actually just your average run-of-the-mill crumb-bums. (A clue to the book I'm reading.) Anyowl, I'm really looking forward to this more capable me. Everything just seems more possible when you start to treat yourself like an actual human being. Honestly, a lesson I wish I were taught earlier. ('cause man did I hate them earlier lessons.)

Today, in [fake] news!

HEADLINE: Time And Relative Distress In South: Firefighters kneel in anticipation of The Doctor's arrival; the true authority in times of English crisis.

Return of "the bad-times bowl"

I didn't have the easiest time growing up. Nothing serious. But I seemed to get in trouble for EVERYTHING! Saying "good morning" unenthusiastically. Finishing my meat before touching anything else on my plate. Handing my parents things with my left hand... It was out of control! But nothing caused me as much trouble as dishes. I hated dishes! Not only did they not wash themselves, they broke easily. They hung out on tables after meals. And, although I can't prove this, I'm pretty sure one snuck into my parent's bedroom and did things to my father at night. Anyway dishes caused me nothing but trouble. But I graduated, left home, moved countries. Forgotten! But then one day I go into my sister's office and she brings out a piece of that wretched crockery to offer me cherries. She admitted she got it from my folks' house.

Never had the taste of cherries seemed so bitter on my tongue. And never had I been so determined to wash a bowl and put it back in its rightful place.

I've got the perfect man for you, Sookie!

He's an even mix of your two favorite leading men! He's got the murderous intensity of Bill Compton softened by the boyish features of Eric Northman. 

 And he's a model~!

I know it's for cheesy purple suits, but come on! He's a daywalker!! Beats the alternative, right?

Today, I looked into the all-seeing eyes of E-god!

There I am!

I [h]ate yogurt

But yogurt technology is going to have to advance a couple years before I put myself through that again.

Moving into the future

I'm confident this technology will replace writing. I look forward to the new alphabet.

This is ridiculous!

TV ears are what impaired my hearing in the first place!

I ♥ small bands

A while ago beloved nonsense blog, Schoolpants, streamed an album from the band "The Tulips".  I liked it so much I sent them the simple message: "May I have a CD please?" After letting me know the CD was available for purchase in stores, they said they'd mail me one if I was low on cash. I said I could send them $5 dollars for it (an embarrassing offer now that I think about it...) and they agreed. It arrived today! 

(Check out those slutty lips! No wonder I was jealous...)

Today's my mom's fake birthday

Until I was about 10, I thought my mom's birthday was July 9th. No, I'm not LD. It's because she TOLD me it was her birthday. All of us. And every year we'd get her presents, buy her cakes and sing her songs as if it was her birthday. Until one day when she tells us her birthday is actually September 9th and never mentions it again.

Oh yeah, and she also used to sculpt us cakes made of rice garnished with spinach on our birthdays. Yeah, I had to teach myself how to birthday.

Today, in [fake] news!

HEADLINE: "Running of the Boobs: Spectators stand opened mouthed at Pamplona's annual festival where, once a year, they enjoy wine that runs freely from the chest of Spanish co-eds."

"I've been dead for years."

My favorite line from a film I watched today, "Submarine." Debut effort from Naijulatto (African Ice Cream), Richard Ayoade. It made me wish it were possible to travel back 13 years just so I could have more time to fall in love again for the first time. Really precious film. Watch it, why not?

(I'm starting to forget what kind of blog this is. My content is all over the place lately. I'll return with nonsense shortly. ♥)

Birthday Briefing

If you're not so good wif maths, my birthday is the Fourth of July. The best thing about having a birthday on a national holiday is that you don't have to go into work . The second best thing is that you can just co-opt events and make it seem like you went all out in planning a birthday blow-out. For that, no day's better than the Fourth. I didn't plan a thing, but I still got a bbq, fireworks and crowds and crowds of people to celebrate with. But to tell you the truth, I'm not a big birthday person. I like the cake, gifts and love, but I hate the attention. I feel weird about people knowing I care enough to do certain things for myself. I start to obsess about how excited I should feel about "my special day." And then I start to feel guilty that I half expect other to feel the same. So it's easiest for me if I just sit back and let the holiday run its course. 'Cause if people knew how much I love blowing out candles I'd just die! ...Don't tell anyone you read this!

B-day Break

I turn 27 tomorrow. I thought I was old when I turned 24, but 27 actually FEELS different. It's the first age when people think what you're doing isn't cute or innocent. Not "cute" but like, if I committed a spate of murders, the news would most definitely say the crimes were done by "a woman". And that scares me. Twenty-seven's the time when parents up talks about husbands and careers and "direction". I'll keep getting reminded that I'm "not getting any younger." And now I'm expected to be too mature to reply, "True, but you're still more likely to die before me." If I was younger I could get away with saying things like that. Moxie's meant to die after 26. Or at least, be veiled as a personal brand of cynicism. That doesn't even make sense. I must be getting old. I have less than 7 hours of being 26. Quick! Someone get me a skateboard! I got a lot of youthing to cram in.

Jealousy

Sometimes I get jealous. Recently I was brushing my teeth at the foot of someone's bed. And across from me was a collage of clippings and curios. (And let me just say I wasn't snooping! It was just something for my eyes to do while "single-handedly" fighting plaque.) Among the images I see a lipstick-kissed card tucked behind a photo and I thought, "What thick-lipped COW does something like that?! Tacky much? I bet her breath smells like old hats..." I stood to spit when I saw it was a message from me from six months earlier. I felt awful. Embarrassed that I jumped to conclusions. And also self-conscious that I apparently have slutty lips.

Pearly Whines

I always wished I was one of those girls who could smile with her mouth closed. Coquettish. Don't get me wrong, I like my smile. But sometimes it doesn't express how I feel. I'd like one of those smiles that conveys that what I find funny isn't actually that funny. Or that I've kept the funniest part of the joke to myself. I've tried to smile that smile. But when I do, it looks like I'm surpressing a laugh. Or like I can barely stretch my lips over the surface of my teeth. It's not what any observer or photog would call natural. And it's certainly not a "happy smile." My smile as it is, is wide and open. You can see at least 10 teeth when I smile. And even more when I laugh. And sometimes it strangely makes me sad. And then I get that closed-mouth-picture-look that I wanted. But then I don't feel like taking pictures anymore, so I don't have any proof.

I'm back!

I'm finally back from my 10-day long British adventure and I've never been so tired. Every day was chockablock with activities so apologies if I didn't have time to buy you pressies.  It was a short holiday but I made sure to take it all in. This is some of what I learned!

1. The only people fit to enjoy Glastonbury festival is low-twenty-somethings on drugs.
2. Sheep's wool feels like workman's pajamas.
3. Casual racism(?) against Irish Catholics is not only tolerated, it's encouraged. And hilarious. 
4. It doesn't get dark in the UK until after 10:00 PM in summer.
5. English mud is certainly at least 3% sh*t.
6. Black sheep's wool just gets bunched with the white wool and bleached. ("Nice one!")
7. All English accents are not charming.
8. Irish "history" sounds as far-fetched as it's folklore.
9. People are more than happy to adjust their diction to make sure "you understand". 
10. Sheep herding is an exhausting, but fulfilling, lark.
11. People think all American eateries look like Fuddruckers. 
12. "Eaton Mess" is a delicious shambles!
13. Brit desserts have strange names. ("Victoria Sponge" sounds like the name of a spoiled Roald Dahl character that scolds her dolls.) 
14. Disney is responsible for people thinking people from Bristol sound like pirates.
15. The "Island mentality" has not caught on in the UK. 

What were the sentient cookie's last words?

See you in two weeks, buzzards!

Diction'ry Corner: "Irony"

Example: "Hildie complained about the irony taste of her Peach Snapple®."

-also-

Said thing A: "My weathercock has rusted East."

Said thing B: "How ironic."

I think I over-inflated my bed

Geez, it's like luxury planking.

Britain on the brain

I'm going to England a week today and I think the excitement is getting the best of me. I had the craziest moments of synchronicity today. No word of a lie, on my way to work today, I saw this puddle shaped like mainland England. I know what you're thinking, "Urg! What, are you blind? That doesn't look like England!" And to that, I say, geez, it's not an oil painting! It looks enough like England like a Mazda grill looks like the face of a robot cat. Plenty. Anyway, it looked enough like England to trip me out. So then this coincidence was solidified by me running into a guy from the British consulate when I was catching the elevator. I wonder what kind of UK energy I'm drawing to myself. Maybe I'm responsible for all this shit weather we've been having too. And I wonder what it means for my trip next week. It's an awful lot of pressure if these signs are telling me there's something I'm supposed to be doing. I hope they don't hear about the things I've been saying. 

Today, in [fake] news!

Headline: "67 and growing: Their numbers may be fewer than their freckles but, against mounting persecution, the Israeli 'Ginger Mov't' gains steam."

Looks like someone has a death-wish!

Here's a clue...

Hmm... that didn't come out too clearly. How about this...?

It's really quite a serendipitous picture if you know what I'm referring to. Or, "To what I am referring." (eff off)