Captain Sniffles McSickypants

It turns out the man-of-a-million-immunities has an Achilles heel: a stealthy and lethal combination of vacation and goofy blond children. Josh is officially sick for the first time in about 3 years, so please extend your sympathies. i'm pretty sure he'd convinced himself he would never get another cold as long as he lived (something about killing and drinking the blood of a virgin unicorn on a Leap Year under a full moon).

Happy New Years Eve Day, pizza pocket. Sorry you're sick and sorry i slammed the pillow over my head this morning when you kept blowing your nose.

arriva derci, due mila otto

This is the time of year when humans go nuts making lists of things done and things to do because a committee somewhere in science and history determined that there needed to be a 'year' and it needed to end and begin in a single second. The rest of the birds, trees, beasties and elements go about their business because the whole calendar thing is pretty darn arbitrary, but we make lists because it helps with closure...which is another odd thing the birds, trees, beasties and elements don't need or understand. Here is the joshandkallie list of what 2008 was:
The Year of the Penny- we adopted our spotty darling and all the accompanying bliss and chaos. We learned of her affection for trash and discovered some mad skills in the area of hallway racing.
The Year of the Pavilion- we came to terms with the architectural actuality of the 'addition' on our house, tore the 'walls' out and created a rad 'pavilion'. (available for weddings and functions and ideal for karaoke parties)
The Year of Gainful Employment- Josh became a Creative Design Manager and i became a Marketing Coordinator. We discovered what 2 full-time salaries feels like... and what 2 full-time schedules feels like. i take comfort in having a smaller salary but a bigger and better office.
The Year of the CityLetter- we took trips to San Francisco to party with the Party family, to Portland to visit all kinds of peeps, to the coast to camp in happiness, and to Bremerton & Seattle to visit old housemate John and old college mates J & Winter. There were also a handful of trips to Oroville and Lodi but i can't seem to finish those letters....
The Year of Triumph Over Critters- we ousted - and more importantly, KEPT OUT - the possums/skunks/raccoons that had taken up residence in our walls.
The Year of Milestones- Josh became an official Nazarene, got his iPhone and new tv, Travis turned 30, Kassie & Frank got married, and i got a NEEEWWW CAAAAARRRRRRR!
The Year of Gas Prices, Fires, Primaries, Presidents, & Recessions- we feel like we only had 5 conversations this year, and had them over and over and over and over again.
The Year Our House Turned 50- if you're asking yourself 'wtf?' then you obviously missed the party.
The Year of the New Blog Design- in case you hadn't noticed. Be sure to vote for the next theme. And vote right, dammit. (Don't play dumb, you know what that means.)

Since i stumbled upon and watched The Bridges of Madison County over the weekend (and subsequently cried my eyes out), i shall steal good year-end quote from Clint Eastwood. It's nothing earth-shattering, but i kind of like my earths unshattered every once in a while: "Things change. They always do, it's one of the things of nature. Most people are afraid of change, but if you look at it as something you can always count on, then it can be a comfort."

Featured logo

So I was contacted by Rudolf Horvath back in early May about featuring my logo on http://www.logorevue.sk/. After eliminating the possibility of this email being a hoax or attempt to add me to someone's spam list, I submitted my logo to Rudolf and low and behold, it was actually featured on their website. Although I was never informed as to why my logo was selected I would like to take the time to thank Rudolf for subtly inflating my ego.

the further dominance of the ponies

Just a note to assure you that the Pretty Pink Ponies closed out the Fantasy Football season in third place with a 6-6-1 record. Who was in fourth place? Oh that would be Josh's team, which i bested by 30 points in the final matchup. Special thanks are due to DeAngelo Williams for his stellar performance against the Giants. Extremely begrudged and not-at-heartfetlt congratulations to Danny for winning first place, and sincere congrats to Jake for always being a worthy opponent.

fortifido

Despite the many reasons to NOT partake in bottled water, Americans sure love it. And despite the current economic.... situation, we are a ridiculously wealthy group of people. You know how i know? i have a dog. No, it's not a non-sequiter, pet-ownership gives you a view into a very unique behavior of human kind, especially 1st world, Western behavior and what kind of markets and spending that creates. Por ejemplo, Penny got some cookies for Christmas. They're dog treats, but they look like cookies. Now, introduce me to a dog who will say 'oh! wonderful! they look just like little Snickerdoodles!' Or, for that matter, think about dog treats shaped and colored to look like T-bones. Unless your dog spends alot of time looking at and eating raw cuts of beef, i don't think even the smartest canine makes the connection when you hold out an inch-sized treat and say 'siiiiiiiiiit.' There's no association for the dog between the human-food representation and the shape and color of the treat. Thus, these products are solely for the human to enjoy giving. A cookie-shaped treat is more fun for you to give because YOU enjoy eating cookies more than you enjoy eating odd, brownish nuggets, so it's like an extra treaty treat for Fido and that makes you a better Alpha. Humans are funny like that. What's less funny and more disturbing is when we create, package, market and SELL this kind of BS:

It's bottled water, FOR YOUR DOG. This is the same dog who barks at his own farts, eats rope for fun, tries to stick her head through a closed doggie door...TWICE, is scared of wrapping paper, and a billion other odd/unintelligent/vile/goony things canines do. REALLY. There are four flavors of this stuff: peanut butter, parsley, lemongrass and spearmint. Penny loves anything peanut butter, most dogs do, but lemongrass? seriously? spearmint? Your dog isn't going to take a few sips and turn and tell you 'wow, that's really refreshing with the mint, thank you Alan. We should try some with fresh raspberries too.' The premise of course is that this water is fortified with nutrients and vitamins your dog needs for a healthy life. To that i say BUY BETTER DOG FOOD. Or, you know, BUY VITAMINS FROM YOUR VET. They're probably alot more effective than the (literally) watered down version that a dog Penny's size would need 2 quarts of every day. (that's 2 bottles of Fortifido. Every. Day. (all bottles sold seperately)) The spearmint flavor also acts as a breath freshener, but i doubt it would take very many tongue baths around the ol' dog-gina to cancel out that benefit.
Cookies and t-bones: weird, but whatever. 1 box lasts several months, you recycle or re-use it when you're done and that's that. 2 plastic bottles of water a day so your dog can get vitamins it should be getting from its food or its doctor? Excessive, and evidence of a society with its priorities on ass backwards.

black Ducks, veggie burrito

Today i met Ashley for lunch at Chipotle. While we were there, a group of black men arrived. i don't know how much you know about Redding, but it's a very ...pale town. These men were all wearing University of Oregon apparel. Those of us in the semi-pacific northwest and who are married to football fans are knowledgeable of the famous U of O Fighting Ducks. Enthused by my knowledge, and that lil old Redding made it on these Ducks' list of 'places to stop and pee and grab a bite to eat', i composed a text message to Josh: "Ducks in Chipotle!" then i realized that the message didn't properly communicate that these were U of O Fighting Ducks, and not waterfowl who'd lost their way. i edited: "There were black Ducks in Chipotle!" He responded in a way that utterly typifies him and his attitude toward my enthusiasms: "Black? i'm meeting John at In N Out." Soooo very 'Josh' of him. 'The Wife is being weird. Respond wittily and move on.'

cake wrecks

Oh, the magic of the interweb. A place where someone can have a blog dedicated to a single oddball subject and people all over the planet will send them material. Such is the premise of "Cake Wrecks: When professional cakes go horribly, hilariously wrong." It just like it sounds: pictures and posts about professionally decorated cakes (usually of the grocery store variety) with such marvels as "Congratulations Keith & (bride) Barron!" or the person who requested a 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' cake for their Wizard of Oz party and got a cake with a rainbow and the word 'somewheres' scrawled on top. This gem is supposed to represent the Texas Longhorns:
...but looks more like a tobacco enthusiast's heart dangling from a rope of poo. There are other cakes with Santas with their hands on backwards, a dinosaur scene with skeletons and the lone inscription 'Greg!', horribly unappetizing monkeys with ill-placed tails, and some terrifying turkeys. Funny stuff- makes me want to take a camera to the grocery store just to see what i can find.

texties

(i'll just give you a minute to be uncomfortable with that word)

In case you're new: when my text inbox gets full i put all the choicest ones on here for you to giggle at and ponder the contexts of the conversation....assuming there was one.

-I'm watching Wheel of Fortune and i think Pat Sayjack might be drunk.

-mom made me vacuum. i told her that u luvd 2 vacuum w/a dyson and that we should let u do it when u arrived. she didn't go for it.

-Have you noticed that the the little icon on Obama's posters kinda looks like a patriotic pokimon ball?

-Yes, i'm particularly interested in how it ended up in Wisconsin...

-I'm going to a Passion Party for my sister in law tonight. If you don't know, it's like a tupperware party for sex toys. I'm going with my in laws.
---How do you pick out an outfit for that?

-I was wondering what name you'd give me this time...I imagined your reply, 'oh blow fish...' or 'silly lizard...' :) thanks pussy willow.

-(p.s. It's true. My good looks have 'gayed' many a man.)

-May need then for shooting before then.

-COACH FRACKING TAYLOR in all his majestic hair-flying glory. i luuuurve him.

-Very. I almost fell asleep and started making out with my chair.

-no one else would appreciate my loose seal costume.

-I love you though. And my mama.

-Corn corn corn maze.

-Just drove by swiftly stillwater - on my way to Good Times Pizza bitches!!!

-Yeah i'm at a restaurant and i don't have a pumpkin...

-we just saw approx 30 geese walking in single file along the side of the highway

-i told tam they were real and so far she believes me.

-Can I steal Josh's klepto costume idea? What did he do to pull it off? (i don't think she had any idea how punny this message was)

-We had our first Mormons on saturday :) he said he had lit. about 'what is truth' so i said 'we attend the naz church, so we're good on that front'
---He mumbled something & started to back away. Poor little acne faced asain mormon boy was at a loss for words

-Amz saw Deathcab and Neil Young last night- well most of Neil, until she got kicked out for throwing a cup at someone.

-Wanna watch Cloverfield at our place?
---It won't be so shakey on a small screen.

-no it wont. it will still be stupid.

-Happy 95 thesis day!!!

-Did you say the f word?

-What is the range of your set of bells?

-We were shopping for a cage for moonshine or something.

-What's hootie's real name? i think he's a country singer now.

-I tried the bar of soap last night. Slept pretty well!

-Thanks Bazooma Bunny.

-I tricked a girl into being my girlfriend.

-Story for you. Today I was rummaging thru a cluttered drawer at work and saw a lone green skittle at the bottom of the drawer. i though, "yum a treat for me". i went to grab it and realized it was the plastic end of a small screw driver. I am sad.

-no. shut up i hate you.

-Ok rad. Drinking with my momma. Wohooooo

-Dude. What's up with your blog?

-That's gonna come back to haunt him.

-3629 Hildale Ave

-Write it down this time please! 3629 Hildale Ave

-So you know who serviced you.

-And josh is a party poop hat

-FYI Lyn is in a muppet Xmas sing along coma right now.

-Tina is bringing a panda film.

-She still has to fly to AZ to sick it up.

-Did Turkey-clause bring you anything good?

-Rhinestone cowboy! WHAT TIME?

-Oh i had a crazy night with stuff once. Or twice.

well hello there childhood, nice to see you again

Today i was in Office Max at lunch time and snagged a soda on my way to the cash register, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a bag of BUGLES. i don't know about you, but i crunched many a Bugle as a kid, and over the course of several summers goofing off at the lake with my siblings and cousins, probably put over a thousand Bugles on my fingertips and waved my hand around like a weirdo, cackling like a witch. i guess i'd thought that Bugles had gone the way of Peter Pan peanut butter and other 80s food gems. i didn't expect to ever do Crazy Hands again and certainly didn't expect to find this high fructose time capsule at my local Office Max. So i bought and scarfed. Then i realized that before i ate every last Bugle (my brain keeps insisting that the singular form of Bugle is Buge, not sure why) i should make some into finger-hats and take a cell-phone picture. Because i'm a grown up like that. i chose a few Buges with the biggest circumference and tried to fit my fingertips into the greasy salt pits, but it wouldn't happen. Time has robbed me. Turns out i no longer have the fingertips of a 6 year old, and the Bugles did not grow with me. (does anything ever grow with us? it seems not) Let us have a moment of silence and remembrance for lost days at the lakeshore, lost silliness and childish metabolism.

creative responses to junk mail

This marvelous list of ideas comes to us from the good people at ProQuo.

"Junk Mail is renowned for cluttering mailboxes, increasing the risk of identity theft, and, of course, killing millions of trees every year. Not surprisingly, it elicits annoyance from most people. But, believe it or not, it also elicits creativity from others."

Here are a few:
CUSTOM PORTRAITS- A self-proclaimed “rabid recycler,” Artizona artist Sandy Schimmel uses unwanted materials, such as junk mail, to create impressionistic portraits. Her portraits focus on individual faces and explore themes such as beauty and fashion. "I believe we are an aggregate of tiny bits: who we are and where we've been - or who we want or pretend to be. The tesserae, the 'tiles,' I create from junk mail represent those bits in color and texture and meaning.”

MULCH- A reader of the finance blog Get Rich Slowly regularly shreds his junk mail and makes mulch out of it. Since mulch is basically composed of tiny bits of trees, he's recycling and his gardening no longer takes the same toll on the environment. Here are some of the guidelines he follows to account for junk mail's ink and varied material:
1. “I only shred the non-glossy stuff, and try to avoid colored ink as much as possible.”
2. “I shred plastic items like credit cards and CDs separately and discard.”
3. “I only use the shreds where food is not grown, just to be safe. You can also use it in the bottom of flower pots inside the house to save potting soil.”

VENETIAN BLINDS- A blogger named Matthew Rasmussen was interested in making practical use out of things people are expected to throw away. He theorized (correctly) that he could attach about three months worth of junk mail to his venetian blinds and significantly lower the amount of light passing through his kitchen window (and still be able to raise and lower the blinds without any difficulty). The process included a whole lot of measuring, bending, taping, and even some beer drinking (not a process requirement, I'm assuming). Full details on the process are available on his blog.

Big ups to Korina for being a rad Public Relations agent for rad companies.

plan b

i would like to introduce you to these bunny noses. You can buy them and other gems at my friend Betsy's Etsy shop (yes, i know, and it does not get old): Plan B. Let's face it- we live in a world where It doesn't exist until It's on a blog somewhere.

Glossed Over

Coming on the heels of my Princess Tirade, it's going to seem that i'm a wooly-armpitted, angry women's studies major. If you know me, you know my armpits are only wooly out of laziness, not politics, and that i love eyeliner and boots with heels that make chiropractors cringe, and that my absolute LEAST favorite reading assignments in my literature major were anything remotely feminist or 'empowering'.

i used to get InStyle and i frequently purchased Vanity Fair and occasionally Vogue. i also used to spend $30 on paper thin t-shirts at J Crew. i also used to crimp my hair so i could look like Vicki Vale. i also used to pick my nose and eat dry dog food. Point: i used to do stupid things. i don't do (most of) those anymore, but you know who's still doing the same stupid stuff they did 20 years ago? Fashion magazines. i realize that these esteemed publications make no bones about selling illusion and discontent, but seeing as how the world is getting wiser and more troubled, the contrast of ideals is ever more glaring. It's not limited to the glossies, either. i looked through an issue of Real Simple that trumpeted a beauty routine that encouraged eye creams in the $400 dollar range (for the bulk discount of 2.5 ounces, naturally.) Seems realistic and simple to me.

A good outlet for rolling your eyes at such shenanigans is Glossed Over. It's one woman's response to the disappointment magazines like InStyle, Glamour, etc cause. What i appreciate about the author is that she loves fashion as an art but doesn't let that cancel out her common sense or her sense of injustice. She points out a single issue of Lucky that crows about an $85 dollar bronzer that will donate 5% of your purchase to endangered tigers, only to tell you how great fur coats look a few pages later. Or this nugget from a recent issue of Glamour:

$1,712: Value of the gift bag from Glamour’s Women of the Year gala. 68.75: Percent of honorees cited at least in part for their work improving the lives of women in poverty or oppressive situations.

Or InStyle's recent suggestion that you take the $200/month you'd spend on gas and spend it on 1 ounce of Wrinkle Serum and then just take public transportation. (oh! i see we're back to real simplicity.)

Anyway, it's refreshing and often funny. And i've pretty much stopped buying fashion magazines since i discovered this site, with the exception of the occasional Vanity Fair, which actually employs investigatory journalists who investigate things more significant than Healthy, Shiny Hair! or How Madonna Works Off the Holidays. i won't say that i've stopped eating dog food, but i HAVE stopped buying overpriced basic at J Crew. Cheers to me.

don't get me started on Barbie

Why do we evoke princesses when we want our daughters to have heroines and ideals? When we want to compare a sense of specialty, we say ‘he treated her like she was a princess.’ What is a princess?
“Non-reigning female member of a royal family.”
“The consort of a prince.”
“A woman member of a royal family other than the monarch, especially a daughter of a monarch.”
A princess is nothing more than importance by association. She is either married to a royal (glorified trophy wife) or the daughter of a royal (heiress). Really? Because when I hear the title ‘heiress’ I think of Paris Hilton and the likes of her ilk. And trophy wife? At the end of the day do you REALLY want your daughter to aspire to be like Melania Trump? Princesses have no value outside their statuses, which are not earned. They are born or married into privilege and did not work or demonstrate any talent to achieve that privilege. Phooey. Furthermore, idealization of princesses promotes inter-female hostility and general bitchery. Observe:

SNOW WHITE
Valued for her hair color, skin tone, royal parentage, soprano vibrato.
Your daughter learns: to be pretty, inherit something, and to win American Idol

Stepmother/Queen is jealous of SW’s hair so she makes plan to assassinate her.
Your daughter learns: that ugly girls are mean and jealous and will kill her for her beauty

SW escapes and lives in community with working class social pariahs: the 7 dwarves. They all get along famously and she contributes to the household.
Your daughter learns: to run away from her problems, move in with strange men and sleep in their beds

(not sure why the story can't end here since our heroine is safe, happy and still pretty, but i digress) The Dwarves warn her not to talk to strangers, something every 7 year old can grasp, but she totally flunks and not only talks to strangers, but eats whatever they put in her hand.
Your daughter learns: to accept that Pretty and Stupid go hand in hand, best not to fight it.

SW goes comatose and the equally-dim dwarves deem her dead and put her in a glass coffin. I guess they’re betting on her prettiness decomposing prettily.
Your daughter learns: pretty, even in death. Pretty is highest priority. Always be pretty and people will worship you. Pretty.

A prince happens upon this twisted scene, and goes all necro and insists on kissing the dead girl. It must have been some funky kiss because it functions as the heimlech maneuver and the poisoned fruit/choking hazard is dislodged. SW gets to marry this sexual deviant and go back to a castle and be a princess/queen for the rest of her life.
Your daughter learns: to accept marriage proposals from any handsome pervert with a good bank account, to abandon all skills learned in hard work, pursue lifestyle of leisure and beauty-worship.

THE LITTLE MERMAID (alias Ariel)
Valued for her appearance, miraculous seashell bra, singing voice
Your daughter learns: be pretty, have breasts that defy gravity, win American Idol

Ariel has a secret cave full of trinkets from the non-ocean world
Your daughter learns: to be a kleptomaniac archaeologist, but keep it secret lest anyone find out you have any hobby or interest besides singing and being a princess

Ariel spies on a ship, rescues the handsome prince from drowning, falls in love and sings about it.
Your daughter learns: hot guys are dumb and can’t swim, and we, the women, must swim for them.

Her father, King Triton, finds her secret treasure trove and smashes it all to pieces.
Your daughter learns: parents are the enemy and won’t understand your hobby or secret desire. Best to disobey them posthaste!

She has a meeting with the sea witch, a robust woman, who trades Ariel’s voice for a pair of legs and oxygen-breathing lungs.
Your daughter learns: fat girls are evil and always jealously seeking to destroy you, but dealing with evil is necessary to trade what God gave you for what you think you might want based on a cute boy you've never actually spoken to who may not even be single or interested in you.

She meets up with the prince and his dog, grins dopily the whole time because she can’t talk. They have an incredibly awkward date that she resolves by kissing him.
Your daughter learns: when the conversational chemistry isn’t there, just put out and the date will go much better. Also, giving up your voice, literally and figuratively, for the rest of your life is worth it if you have a guy who will worship you for your beauty and your dopey-girl charm.

The evil witch double-crosses her and uses her singing voice to steal her prince's affections.
Your daughter learns: jealous bitches will stop at nothing, and your boyfriend is a fickle, fickle beast who will instantly leave you for someone who can sing better.

Ariel and her pals crash the wedding, the evil witch and King Triton have a battle royale, and Ariel somehow ends up with legs, lungs AND voice. Thus, since she is the complete physical package, the prince likes her again and they marry and Ariel can never return to her family or her species.
Your daughter learns: completely change yourself to suit your man and all will be well.

SLEEPING BEAUTY, alias Aurora
Valued for her beauty, parentage, singing voice.
Your daughter learns: again, nothing worthwhile

At her christening, a jealous witch curses her so that she’ll prick her finger on a needle when she turns 16 and diiiiiiie. A kind fairy edits the curse from ‘diiiiiiie’ to ‘sleeeeeeeep’.
Your daughter learns: again, ugly girls are jealous, mean and violent. And they harness evil powers.

The king orders every needle in the kingdom destroyed and sends Aurora to live in the woods with the 3 benevolent old-lady fairies.
Your daughter learns: hide from danger, run from problems. Little old ladies are not rivals, but every other female is. (At least this one has female friends. All other princess-worthy sidekicks are either male or bizarrely androgynous.(see: Flounder))

16 years later, the princess and Prince Phillip meet in the woods and fall in love after duetting. The evil witch kidnaps Phillip and tricks Aurora into pricking her finger on an evil needle, sending her into an immediate coma.
Your daughter learns: to not use dirty needles, which is a good lesson. Although I can’t see how my cat can manage to remove every stick pin from my pin cushion and roll around in them without injuring himself, but this dummy walks right up to a needle and sticks her hand on it.

The good fairies rescue Phillip, who battles the witch and her evil forestation, and then he kisses Aurora and revives her from her coma. They marry and everyone lives happily ever after.
Your daughter learns: to just take a nap while everyone else does all the work because, after all, she looks so darn pretty when she sleeps and pretty trumps everything else. Also, marrying a relative stranger at 16 is perfectly acceptable if you are both adequately attractive and have royal titles you did nothing to earn.

Princess Jasmine (from Aladdin)
Valued for her midriff, giant eyeballs, and impressive rack. Also her royal family.
Your daughter learns: scantily clad women can be considered ‘exotic’ and it’s ok. Also, Bengal tigers make acceptable pets.

Meets a cute street rat, who then fakes his identity and pretends to be a rich prince come to woo her. She, of course, can only marry a prince.
Your daughter learns: to be blinded by wealth, pomp and circumstance.

They go on a magic carpet ride, he promises to show her a whole new world, which is made possible by a magic lamp that he stole from a tomb.
Your daughter learns: to consort with and drink up the promises of charming graverobbers, who are obviously lying.

Her father’s evil adviser, Jafar, evilly evils in order to get Jasmine to marry him and secure his evil plans.
Your daughter learns: that people with Middle Eastern accents are evil or inconsequential, since the only people in this movie with accents are evil or are extras.

Jasmine is trapped in an hour glass and Aladdin must battle Jafar. I can’t remember exactly but good triumphs and the cuties can marry even though Aladdin lied about everything, abandoned his friends and isn’t even a law-abiding citizen.
Your daughter learns: marry any deadbeat who looks good in hammer pants and a vest.

There are modern day princesses who I’m sure do significant philanthropic work between equestrian shows and parties, but they’re only included the stream of culture when tragedy or scandal touches them, so our daughters and nieces only ever know of the pretty-and-empty princess or the cocaine-and-sex-tape princess. One might say both are equally dangerous role models. I understand the reasoning behind princess-theory: we want our daughters to have self-worth and high standards and to expect excellent treatment from the men they date/love. I agree with those needs. But I don’t think that princess-worship is the best or the only way to instill that. It imposes limits on what she imagines a girl can grow up to be. Show me a 6 year old girl who dreams of becoming a deadly assassin and I’ll applaud that weird, bloodlusty little thing for believing she can break into the boys club. I want to meet a little girl and ask ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ and have her say ‘um a librarian or a commodities trader or a dolphin.’

i do want to extend a 'well done' to Pixar and its peers for the kid-flicks of the past few years: Madagascar, Wall-E, The Incredibles, Kung Fu Panda, etc., none of which include princesses or dopey damsels in distress and are about friendship and hard work and recycling instead of evil crones and dating.

belated

The last several days have been insane at work, which, let's face it, is where i do most of my blogging, so here's some catching up.
<- Matt and Bren had a baby! Congrats to them for another beautiful, genius, little girl. Welcome to the world, Addison- watch out for that sister of yours, she's crazy like a fox.

Josselyn and Deven are having another child too! Their little pumpkin is due in April.

Scott and Katie are having their first baby!

Penny is violently enjoying her chew toy and the Steelers are beating the Bengals! (just wanted to break up the baby talk)

watch. laugh. repeat.

ahh, satire

Secret abortions must be secured
By Russ Neal, published in the Paradise Post

I am going to start collecting signatures for a ballot initiative for our next election. It'll be a constitutional amendment so that no group of justices with common sense can overturn it. I'll call it "The Child Secrecy Initiative."

Or maybe "The Parental Ignorance Act." Oh, well, I'll figure out the name later. Here's the deal. I've noticed in the past several elections that there has been some sort of parental notification proposition on the ballot. Each time it has gone down to defeat.

But we can't be too complacent.

Maybe some day parents will wake up and realize the government and Planned Parenthood are taking their children away to perform secret abortions on them. We must be sure this secrecy is maintained and parents never know what is happening to their offspring.

So, I propose we start circulating a petition to create an irrevocable constitutional amendment that will forever keep parents in the dark concerning the health and welfare of their children. Currently we have laws that forbid giving children aspirin at school without the parents' permission. Soon these parents will want to know about the secret abortions being performed on their minor children and then where we will be as a society?

Some parents are actually cruel and mean to their children. As a result, we must be certain to keep medical information regarding abortions away from all parents. Forget that most parents love and cherish their children. That's irrelevant. Forget that some children, who have already had these clandestine procedures, have come home with serious medical and psychological problems about which the parents know nothing. That's a small price to pay in order to keep from informing parents that their offspring are going under the knife.

Forget the fact that some children have actually died as a result. What's a few deaths weighed against the benefits of maintaining our secrecy and keeping parents in the dark?

Although I have not worked out the final wording here are the salient points of the initiative: Background: Up to this point in time, parents have generally had control over the medical care given to their children. For some reason, this control has not been extended to the various and sundry ways in which the pregnancy of a minor can be terminated.

To ensure - for all time - that parents will be kept out of this decision to terminate a pregnancy, this amendment to the Constitution of the State of California permanently establishes, without recourse to its opponents, the right of the state to perform as many abortions on the minor children of this state as it deems necessary or desirable.

Furthermore, it is expressly forbidden for any abortion provider, school official, or employee of these organizations to make any attempt to notify the parents of the minor child in question. Secrecy concerning this procedure must be maintained. Should any complications arise regarding the minor child undergoing said abortion procedure, the child will be returned to the parents, but no information shall be given to them regarding the procedure or the complications arising therein.

Parents will be held solely responsible for all medical costs that may arise from said complications, and all abortion providers shall be held blameless regardless of circumstances, including failure to inform, negligence and/or incompetence.

My proposition ensures this veil of secrecy regarding medical procedures performed on the children will forever be enshrined in our state constitution. Then, if and when the voting parents ever wake up, we will be certain this practice can and will continue in the shadows - forever.

If any of you have any additional suggestions to keep parents out of their children's medical involvement and history, please send them to Planned Parenthood so that they may be incorporated into the amendment. Both Planned Parenthood and the government know better than any of you parents what's good for your children. So please be sure to write in and request a petition so that you can start gathering signatures. This veil of darkness must be maintained.

PS: This is important so that the 47 percent of Butte County voters who actually voted for parental notification during the last election could be educated in the timeless adage: "Ignorance is bliss."

Bloggedry

Bit different, yeah? My designer (and bedfellow) has contracted a minor multiple personality situation and this one is the result of much late night Zelda, a bit of Halloween, and, if you ask me, a lack of excitement in his desk monkey life. Stay tuned for the personality that loves unicorns and blankets, that one’s my favorite.

The comments work now, so no excuses for not participating in the more participatory participation posts. I would appreciate it if you would let me know who’s actually reading this bananasandwich of a site, because I honestly have no idea if it’s mostly relatives, friends, strangers or aliens studying my species. Due to the long silence, I’d pretty much convinced myself that i had one lone reader, and that her name was Mom, so if you don’t post a comment all my fears will be confirmed and I’ll eat my sadness and get diabetes. Don’t be that guy. Please. I’m craving a kettlechip caramel moosetracks milkshake just thinking about that possibility.

It’s easy. You click on the link that says # comments and put your name in the box where it says leave your comment. Then you fill in the goofy code that blocks smappers (ha! dyslexic typing) and choose an identity. If you don’t have a Google or Blogger account, you just select Name/URL and enter your name, and URL if you have a site you want to share. Or you can be anonymous, but that kind of defeats the purpose of this particular assignment. If you’d like to stay anonymous but want to be counted, pretend to be someone awesome, ie ‘Hey Kalpal, love this site and you’re a GENIUS. Sincerely, Ray Bradbury’ and then I’ll get super excited that Ray Bradbury likes my lamey blog posts. (no I really am that self-delusioning) (and I make up words)

So to help you figure out how to comment, I ask you:

Do you think the new blog layout is…
a. Just the right amount of Zelda
b. Lacking in filigree
c. A Muslim Socialist
d. Actiontastic

How To Mess With Your Own Head

Read TWO novels about dystopian societies with out-of-control governments (Fahrenheit 451 and Brave New World) right before election day.

Happy Halloween

Time: 8:17
Number of coworkers totally baffled and convinced by my tattoo sleeves: 3

i just made this up

"Creativity is nothing more than resourcefulness set to music."

There's a certain very Michael Scott-y part of me that says things that sound good but don't actually make any sense. i'm not sure if this makes sense, but it sounds like it should. So. This is what you can reply to the next person who complains that they're not creative, which is bull because every person on earth is creative.

Pandora

i was recently introduced to Pandora, and i've loved it all week except that right now P and i have reached that point in the relationship where the honeymoon blinders come off and we realize we didn't know each other as well we initially thought we did and we don't actually value ALL the same things like we initially thought and it's very jarring. i think it's just a spell.
Back it up for the fogies and musically/internetally-challenged: Pandora is a website that functions as a radio and uses the Music Genome Project to analyze the artists or songs you type in to offer you a selection of songs with melody, harmony, instrumentation, rhythm, vocals, lyrics, etc that align with your entry. Then you mark each offered song with a thumbs up or a thumbs down and it adjusts its offerings accordingly.
OR DOES IT? Because i watched La Vie En Rose last night and am consequently enamored with the late Edith Piaf, so i entered her name and got a nice selection of Edith, Pink Martini, Dinah Washington, and several artists i would never have discovered on my own. It was all well and good until my new 'station' took a turn for the worse, down a shady little street called 'Broadway' and into the musical territory. BLECH. i'm okay with the occasional musical, but i prefer my characters to be morally-challenged and to spontaneously break into gritty or interesting songs, a la RENT, Chicago, Sweeney Todd or to some extent, Moulin Rouge. What Pandora has been offering up for the last hour has hardly been thus. Carousel, Annie Get Your Gun, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang..... NO THANK YOU. i've given thumb downs (thumbs down? thumbs downs?) to each and every 'musical' song but it keeps pumping them into my queueue! Boo! i don't want anything from any character described as 'plucky' or 'charming' and i don't want to hear anything about the frontier. How did i go from a morphine-addled French diva to an obnoxious red-haired orphan dancing with a mop? The pedaling mice and button-pushing monkeys at the Pandora lab must have been fed fruit juice this afternoon instead of their usual musical-wisdom-inducing meal of wine and grilled cheese sandiches. (Get it? fruit juice? no? call me, i'll explain it. It's very clever.) i say again, BLECH. i don't welcome any song where the 'singer' hammily talk-shouts their way through a verse then tosses out a long note and Clay Aikens their way through the chorus. Yes, i am a snob with emo tendencies, thanks for asking.
But, as our bookwormy friend Lavar Burton used to say, "don't take my word for it." Other than this little hiccup, Pandora has been the best thing to happen to my long work day since i took the long tendrils of my Office Plant and hooked them around the nails in the wall to create a tacky, creepy 'Attack of the Garden Suite' look. i highly recommend this spiffy site. You can put in your favorite song or artist and let it play that music's kissing cousins all day, or you can explore new avenues of musicology. The mix it creates for you is stored as a 'station' so if you create an account (free. easy. (not in the skanky way.)) you can listen to the mix as often as you like, and you can create multiple stations. Marvelous. Now if you'll excuse me, i have to go punch Eva Peron in the face for assuming all of Argentina spends it days crying for her.

Sound and Fury Indeed

My boss is a classicist. i don't know if that's a word, but he believes in Beethoven and Aristotle and thinks everything modern is rubbish. i, as you know, disagree with that philosophy completely. He gamely offered to read any one book i gave him, so i brought forth a selection he could choose from. The selection included: One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Farewell Summer, The Princess Bride, and The Sound & The Fury. He chose the latter, which i thought was brave, or stupid, or both (as is often the case with such things). This literary gem takes place over 18 years and is told from 4 different perspectives, one of which is mentally handicapped. Oh, and it's stream of consciousness. So bye-bye traditional sentence structure, chronology and all those fun installments of language. It's a daunting read. The first experience i had with Faulkner and stream of conciousness literature was under the guidance of one Dr. Karl Martin, so it was safe environment and very educational. i highly recommend this approach. For a layman to approach this kind of writing inexperienced and unguided is risky. But i digress.

My boss started the book and is, unsurprisingly, quite frustrated with the writing. He has a hard time seeing my point that it may be better writing (in style, at least) than, say, Dickens. i see Faulkner like cummings: as transcending traditional English language using imagination and a mastery of said language. My boss sees it as laziness and insists that art must have some aboslutes, lest we slide into 'anything goes'. i see his point, but respectfully disagree.

So here are two excerpts (which is a fantastic word). The first is from The Sound and the Fury and the second is from Dickenseses The Pickwick Papers. i'd like to know which you think demonstrates 'better writing', whatever that is.

When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o' clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather's and when Father gave it to me he said I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it's rather excruciating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father's. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.

-----

As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did the four Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day of December, in the year of grace in which these, their faithfully-recorded adventures, were undertaken and accomplished. Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year was preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and calmly away. Gay and merry was the time; and right gay and merry were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming.

what the bell?

Seeking input for a super spiffy name for our bell choir. Can't be too punny, can't be too fem (it's difficult enough to get men in the ensemble). We have 39 bells over 3 octaves. Most of our members are middle-aged or senior adult church ladies who need gentle guidance in thinking outside the box (which probably explains their attraction to a musical instrument where you only ever play exactly when you're told to), so nothing too avant garde. (because, you know, nothing says 'avant garde' like handbells and burgundy felt) Have at it, internet.

jealous?

i have a soft, toasty pit bull sleeping in my office, under my desk right now. Of course, i went to all the effort to bring her dog bed in, but she has no need for that, because she NEEDS TO LAY BY MY FEET NO MATTER WHERE MY FEET ARE OR WHAT THEY'RE DOING SERIOUSLY KALLIE DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE THE SAFETY OF YOUR FEET BECAUSE THIS NICE OFFICE IS THE SCARIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN AND I WILL DIE I WILL DIE I WILL DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE.

(i took a picture with my cell phone but i can't post it here. It's a picture of a perfectly good dog bed which gets plenty of puppy love at home, lying unused about 11 inches from the dog who has wedged herself under my desk while simultaneously wrapping herself around the wheels of my chair. And occasionally she woofs at invisible and, if you ask me, nonexistant threats. Also, when the very nice HR rep came by with her very nice Aussie, Penny went ballistic, (and not in the ebullient 'oh i'm so happy to meet you!' way) because it's not like our HR person is the decision maker for office dog policies or anything.....So much for teamwork. )

8-word shoes

Good news, internet, i'm finally wearing my gold faux snakeskin peep-toe cork wedge mules. i've had them for ages and i've just today summoned the cojones (and accompanying outfit) to wear them.

Dogs Rule Day

An International Holiday for Dogs
Saturday, October 11th

Pedigree was kind enough to offer 101 ways to celebrate, including suggestions like:
"If your dog is a border collie, pretend to be a sheep"
"Bark at the postman with her"
and "Sing him a song. Maybe wear a costume."
Other less embarrassing suggestions for celebrating include:
"Donate a dog bed/bag of food/your time to a shelter"
and "Go to the pound and say 'hi' to all the dogs."
See? you don't even have to have a dog to celebrate!

let's just be honest: it's me talking about myself

Today on a David's Facebook page i saw a picture that was probably 4 years old and it was of the three of us lying on a blanket under a tree. i only scarcely remember the moment it captures, and didn't know the picture existed or that it was significant to David (hi David), so that was a little like a very mild out-of-body experience. i also found a notebook of my poems this evening, which happens more frequently than it should (you see, i was once prolific, and was once as improvisational as i was unorganized, and since i've moved 12049874 times in the last 10 years, it's not so strange to constantly be discovering handfuls of poems in boxes or old dresser drawers.) (i know what you're thinking 'wow, she has really come a long way from her unorganized past.') (And by the way, i know you were thinking it sarcastically, so, haha, very funny.) So i found poems, which is like finding a photo of yourself that you didn't know existed, and finding it in the online equivalent of a picture frame on someone's coffee table. i only remember writing some of the poems, and, as is usually the case, some cause me to smack my knee in delight over my genius, and others are completely laughable and make me cringe multiple times and then i have that debate you sometimes have regarding embarrassing parts of yourself where you try to decide whether to destroy it so no one will ever know how sappy/delusional/talentless you were, or keep it and tuck it away for them to find when you're long gone and then they can decide for themselves to consider you posthumously ridiculous or not. Hello, world's longest sentence, nice to meet you.

Anyway, almost all of the poems were written when i lived in Rome, in those crazy days immediately after 9/11 and when i didn't know if i was for reals dating Josh or if it was love or if alcohol was sinful or not or if i should get a bird tattooed on my foot or not. (seriously, there are bird tattoo sketches all. over. these poems) Evidently it was also the beginning of my affection for ee cummings because there are some verrrry experimental pieces here and i'm quite amused by them. There's also scribbled gems like: "Ideas are styles of nourishment that wash through perception like tsunamis" (no clue what that means but i'm sure i really preened over it at the time) and obvious sides of secret note conversations with Erin and/or Chrystal, like: "Magic Bubbles are always fun. Narcissictic? Ya. Cicero DIES hahaha!" (yes, that's all one conversation) and examples of what was the pinnacle of my learning the Italian language: "Ho Oreos a mia casa." (to this day the only Italian phrases i know are "i have Oreos at my house", "I'm twenty years old", and "How much does this cost?") So i found these poems. A few are about 9/11 and they're crap. Many, many, many are pining, whining and lovesick. One is about Victor Frankenstein and i have no idea why i was thinking that deeply about Frankenstein. The word 'tears' is used way too often and i want to travel back in time and punch 2001 Kallie in the face every time i read it. Out of all that there's only two i'm willing to share here, and i was thinking about whether doing so was audacious or not ("Everyone come see how good i look!") but since i didn't know these poems existed and feel so far removed from the me that wrote them, they hardly feels like they're mine, you know? So. First, an untitled haiku:

Do you ever hear

the pause of my footsteps on

the floor of your mind?

Second, one of those 9/11 poems, with obvious cummings derivations:

September 12 Newspaper

The thinpressed

pulp-and-grey Herald

of destructionD

straction

is silk

onabovehighonoveracrossagainston

the concrete street ,

reveling

inthe kiSSed metamorphosis

of Monday's only Answer

to mourning.

Research, schmesearch, i support cancer!!

(try saying schmesearch 5 times fast.)

It gives me the creeps when that all important little word, research, is left off of promotional materials, titles, headlines. I.e., 'DONATE TO SUPPORT BREAST CANCER!' or it's cousin 'ALL PROCEEDS TO SUPPORT MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY!'

i get that we're supposed to assume they mean breast cancer research and the fight against MD because no one actually supports that stuff, in and of itself, but can we please be more careful and not look like weird, terminal disease loving gonzos? Kind of like these people.

A Treatise on Etiquette, from a girl who cusses alot

When did we as a society decide to abandon basic etiquette? i'm sure a number of theses have been written on the subject, under titles like 'The American Moral Decline' and other such cultural-y sounding names. But seriously. i get that people don't 'call on' each other anymore, we don't sit around parlors in the evenings while someone's daughter recites a sonnet (gag. (and now you see more of why i don't read any damn Jane Austen books.)), we don't give out favors at parties, we don't send thank-you cards or gifts...we just seem to hang out. In college my friend Whitney was one of the only people i knew who still regularly and naturally practiced some of the things that, when the rest of us would do it, would be EXTRA special or out of the ordinary or even mildly eccentric (is there such a thing as mildly eccentric? i don't know) And you know what? Whitney's family was Southern. i maintain that her Georgia roots had very much to do with that. i liked it. We've been to a few weddings recently and received 'thank you' cards for our presence and our gifts, but they've been generic, pre-printed things. Now, i don't go to weddings specifically to eventually get a gushing tome to my social and financial generosity, but the generic 'thank you' falls short. i dunno, something about a picture postcard printed with 'thanks for sharing in our special day!' doesn't convince me that you'd even know i was at your wedding if i hadn't signed the guest book, and that you weren't touched by the gift i spent all afternoon looking for because i wanted something more special than a measuring cup set from off your registry. Oh and i wrapped it myself. (ya, i'm a little needy and arrogant. i also take great pride in being a good gift-giver, and that pride makes me prideful and when it isn't acknowledged it hurts my pride.) So i don't necessarily think we all need our own monogrammed stationary for 'correspondence', but when someone is throwing a party and serving dinner, and she says RSVP and even gives her guests a really easy, impersonal way to do it: EMAIL: then why is it too much to ask? One of my theories is that we Californians are so tied to our beachy, left coast identity that certain laws of etiquette appear to conflict with that and we refuse them. No one loves that identity more than me, but isn't it fun to tell someone 'thanks for inviting me to your party! i'd love to come!'? And isn't a party more fun when there's just enough food for everyone without a bunch going to waste and a stressed out hostess? We need to strike a balance. We need to say 'please' and 'thank you', we need to accept or decline invitations, we need to say 'nice to meet you' and 'how is your family?' These do not conflict with our identities as 'go with the flow' Californians or with our rugged American independence. i promise.

If i've offended you or your practices, i apologize. (see what i did there? etiquette.) i didn't set out to verbally chastise, but rather express concern. (you can always tell the ramblings by their total lack of paragraph breaks) It's partly because i'm eyeball deep in Season 1 of Mad Men, which is set in 1960, when everything was courtesy and appearance and pre-determined. This show is fantastic and terrifying and i've never appreciated women and the feminist movement more.

Also, i know Johnny Law doesn't want you talking on your celly while driving so your talk-time is getting seriously squeezed, but please pause your conversation and put your phone away when you're checking out at the grocery store / cafe' / adult bookstore / whatever. That person standing by the cash register is not, amazingly, a robot, but in fact is a person who was probably hired in part for his/her customer service and interpersonal skills and you treating them as a machine is simply rude. If you're not finished with your conversation, ask your caller if he/she wouldn't mind holding while you make your purchase, set the phone down, complete the 42 second transaction, and then continue your conversation. i guarandamntee that you will impress at least 3 people with your behavior: the checker, your caller, and the jaded 27 year old girl in the brown sweater standing behind you in line. Unless you're in line at the adult bookstore. In that case i'm not wearing a brown sweater, but rather dark glasses and a fake mustache and a t-shirt that reads 'HI, MY NAME IS ALAN AND I LOVE SHOPPING HERE AND THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME A PERV.' Your good example will inspire others and they'll pay it forward and this world will be a better place for all our nieces and nephews.

Also, be on time to your appointments and engagements.

Also, thanks for listening. i have to get these tirades out of the way before Josh fixes the comment feature on this bloggedry. Which he can't do because i'm always on the computer penning tirades.

Now if you'll excuse me, i've been putting off some much needed cleaning for an awesome party that, judging from the vacant RSVPs, no one is coming to.

...except for Pete, who just RSVP'd.

Ode to Michael Scott

Here's the thing about The Office: i love it, but not as much as i love Steve Carell in it. Yes, everyone knows he's a talented comedic actor, and yes, he did wonderful dramatic work in Little Miss Sunshine, but i think his Michael Scott is transcendantorist. (It's a word. Look it up.) Here is a character that can make you SO uncomfortable that you want to leave the room or turn off the television (my friend Mary Beth simply cannot watch this show because of the awkwardness created by this character), or make you so angry that you want to hurl your mircowave at the screen, but you root for him. Everytime. You want him to find the right woman and have kids even though he'll be a terrible father. You want him to be loved by his employees even though he's a disaster of a boss. You want people to laugh at his jokes even though he's excrutiatingly out of touch. And yeah, much of the success that is Michael Scott is due the writers and the British version that came before it, but i'm ignoring the British version right now because this is my blog and you can't post comments to argue with me. Besides, in long-running television situations like these, the evolution of a character is a collaboration between actor and writer. For me, watching Steve Carell on The Office is as fascinating as watching any critically acclaimed method-actor type in an Oscar-bait film. i'm rapt. The nuance is is impressive, the timing is impeccable, and i think it takes courage to commit so thoroughly to such a character. i love it. It's beyond 'appointment television' to me because it's like going to the theater or a museum and observing the excellence of an art form.

When it becomes Fall ('it' being the season), as it is wont to do, i resist work and desire only to stay inside and read on my couch in a blanket while my dog lies as close to me as possible and snores and snorts the day away.

Mostly, the point of this post was so that i could use the phrase 'as it is wont to do'.

love letter to Bremerseattleton

Dear Greater Seattle Area Including Kitsap County,

You're kind of a filthy liar, you know that? But i love you. i do. They say love is blind but 'they' are also an anonymous congregation of folk who give their opinion without being asked for it. i don't trust those kinds of factions. And love is not blind, at least, not in this case. i know that you are not warm-ish and sunny-ish all the time, like you pretended to be this weekend, except for when you were drizzly, which i think is probably more accurate but that you only enacted that one day this weekend to emphasize the warmish sunnyishness of the other days. Liar. If you wore pants, Greater Seattle Area Including Kitsap County, they would be aflame. i hope they wouldn't be leather pants, because .....ew. Stinky. In any case, i am in love with you. i love that when we walked through your airport it smelled like coffee and that the fruity-brained barmaid at The Red Door listed the dozen other bars she thought we'd enjoy. i've never had a server at McDonald's tell me i should really try out Burger King, whilst giving me hummus, so that was impressive. i loved that it felt like camping, even while driving through through the citiest parts. i did not love your troll, however. At all. It scared me. It scared the love of Christ right out of me, to be more precise and i've been taking pains to forget all about it. Shame on you.

Anyway, here are other things that make me love you: brown dogs named Sadie and Rud, a decently comfortable airbed in John's impressively clean house, reminding Jim that the husband does not always have a bigger office than the wife, Top Pot, getting to wear the black velvet jacket that i so thoroughly love, Kahlua the 200lb lap dog, realizing that i love dried mango slices and eating hundreds as a result of that realization, kitty cats that go bump in the night, waterproof bottle rockets, cute eskimo babies, winning at Settlers of Catan, and mountains of good food. Thanks to you, Greater Seattle Area Including Kitsap County, i remembered that not all of the earth is 90 degrees all of the time, and when i got back home it was the first day of Autumn! (in theory only, of course) i got to walk on the seashore and ferry around with a Coast Guard escort and now my purse smells like ocean. i got to hug Katie and John and Winter and Jason and i got to wear Mitchell Lumber sweatshirts and eat spicy chocolate. Your Farmer's Flea Market Oktoberfest was marvelous and the chainsaw pumpkin carving was messily awesome. Hooray for goony liberals in unitards!

Should i bid adieu to sun and move up to live with you forever, Greater Seattle Area Including Kitsap County? i don't know if we belong to each other like that. i think we might, but i don't know if i'm ready to be a city kid again. You're so nice and hip and snuggly and pretty. i'm deeply attracted to you, but as we all know by now, i'm rather loose with my urban affections. Please save a spot for me, if i decide i'm ready to commit. i promise it will be worth it.

Kallie

sunday night

Mentally, physically, and emotionally fried, evaporated and scrambled, respectively, i read A Thousand Splendid Suns by the dim yellow glow of my book light while Josh drove and scanned radio stations. There was a lightning storm in the distance, made eerier by the cloudless sky. The protagonist in my book was given a burka to wear. She went 27 years without signing her name to a piece of paper. We stopped for gas for Rex and food for me. It was too late for a dinner, not late enough to not eat, and my guts and blood still contained 2 donuts, a vanilla latte, a raspberry beer, 4 slices of margherita pizza and half a ream of saltine crackers. i made at least five circuits through the Chevron food store, marveling that i could wear jeans and a fitted shirt, that my husband could not tell me to not leave the car, that i had cash in my pocket to spend how i wanted, that i had makeup on and a man's haircut. Nothing looked edible, everything was accessible. Milk looked delicious, so i grabbed some. Made another circuit, and saw the Cup-Of-Noodles. i realized the universe was confused. There was lightning without rain and i had won a match of Settlers but lost at Nerts. i didn't know what to do in this vortex of exhaustion. i hoped Chevron had a way of giving me hot water for the noodles, but wouldn't pick them up until i knew for sure. i circled some more. Josh had long since finished pumping gas and was waiting for me in the parking spots. Microwave. i could get water from the bathroom and heat it. i knew there was a fork underneath the passenger seat of my car. The fork belongs to my employer. i retreived the noodles and went to pay. The blonde lady was amiable and told me there were utensils around the corner and hot water out of the cappucino machine. i wanted to tell her that i was glad we could both have jobs and not stay at home making daal all day, but i didn't. i found the cappucino machine and in a minute the digital screen read 'brewing'. Seconds later, dark Colombian coffee was dribbling into my chicken flavored dehydrated noodles, so i removed them and let it fill the tray underneath the metal grate. It almost overflowed, and i didn't want to have to impose on the nice lady, so i rationalized that i could always take off my long sleeved shirt, mop up the coffee and exit if necessary. i pressed the 'hot water' button and pressed start. Nothing happened. Repeat. Same results. i realized one more effort would quantify me as insane, so i gathered my last two wits and rubbed them together. Pressed 'hot water' and realized the digital screen said to press and hold. Marvelous. i looked for utensils and didn't see them. Completely without trust for my powers of perception, i determined my seat fork would be just fine and slowly walked out, holding my cold milk and hot coffee noodles. i managed to eat the complicated, piping hot tangle without spilling, but dribbled milk down my front. We passed the scene of an accident where a big rig was in such a torn and tangled state that it was impossible to determine how it had come to be in that position. i silently determined that the bewildered universe and out-of-place lightning was the cause. 14 hours later, i can't tell if the vortex has lifted or not.

Odds and Ends

i love the new Microsoft commercials with Bill Gates and Jerry Seinfeld. i know i'm alone in this but i don't care. They're obscure and long and Bill Gates is odd in a different way that most oddballs are odd, but i love them. i would watch a Gates and Seinfeld movie, even if- NO! especially if was just a very long version of these ads.

This morning Cosmo desperately wanted to be in the bathroom, so i made sure he would live to regret that and i pulled him into the shower with me and gave him a good scrubbing. We used Dove shampoo because he has real beauty, not like those fake airbrushed cats in all the ads. i'd forgotten how awesome he looks when he's dripping wet and how miraculous it is that i always make it out of those situations with all my main arteries in tact.

This evening we're flying to Washington on Alaska Airlines. (i hope the pilot doesn't get confused.) i checked in online and printed out our boarding passes on yellow paper so i'd be able to find them in my giant purple purse. i put a box of saltine crackers in my suitcase because flying gives me the barfs. This is why i don't have room for tennis shoes, Winter. We're staying with John and Kahlua tonight, and i wonder if she'll remember me and if she'll still be pretty. i'll probably come back with black dog hair all over me, and it'll mix with the omnipresent white dog hair and i'll look like a zebra.

i dreamt about credit union data last night. This is not a good sign.

This movie looks amazing. ->

A friend of a friend is going to be a contestant on a reality dating show on a major network. She had to tell the cameras what she loved about the guy, even though she has yet to meet him. Is anything about reality tv real anymore?

On Friday i'm going to do yoga for the first time. All signs point to it also being the last time, but don't place your bets just yet. i'm attracted to a fitness regiment that you can perform in bare feet and that doesn't involve being in water.

i'm kind of regretting putting that Meryl Streep picture up because it's scaring the bejesus out of me.

If you know someone who is not a U.S. Citizen or is otherwise denied voting rights, but would like to vote in this election, let me know, because i'm thinking of loaning my vote out. If you're upset, blame my friend Charlie for giving me the idea. i want my vote to go to someone who believes in the decision they're going to make. At this point, i'm not there, but we'll see. And not to underrate the democratic process, because i truly appreciate that my country is a democracy and that i can participate, but voting in presidential elections is just about the laziest way of using one's voice. One 5 minute action every four years does not make us involved citizens. Don't get me wrong, every time i've voted i've worn the 'I voted!' sticker proudly until it just won't stay on my shirt anymore, but if we want to see our country reach its potential then we have to do more than watch pundits gripe all day, vote, then gripe for 4 more years. There are elected officials who are paid to represent us and cannot do so if they don't know what we stand for. i'm using the first person plural because i'm about the laziest citizen there is, so if you're feeling defensive, it's only because you're a self-absorbed martyr and not because i'm attacking you. (Except for the part where i called you a self-absorbed martyr.) i'm done now. Just had to get this sticky stuff out of the way before Josh fixed the comments and people could argue with me.

texts without contexts

you take that back. i'm going to pretend you never said that.

"I made a Ralphwich - it tastes hurty."

SHUT UP! Oooooh-that said in a deep vibrato.

That was embarrassingly entertaining! Do it in 3D!

Ken LEEEE! A dibo de debowchu!

You know who else is weird? Republicans.

Help us Jeebus.

Do you guys have the gaZlbo?

Be joe is YUCK.

My brain engets both. i'm f&*%$d

never take antibiotics on an empty stomach and then try going to yoga. bad news bears.

Your hearts will clubbed and buried in the ground with a spade for a diamond? Or something witty?

i want to punch suede in his vagina.

How many hiphipsters does is take to screw in a lightbulb?

Uh. I'm definitely NOT watching the season finale of one tree hill. Why?

Earlier I was listening to a game warden and a man covered in pigeons talk about Vietnam.

I'm walking through a movie set in the West Village and a goth midget just ran into me.

What's a hold bikini? But that sounds awesome hommie!!

Overheard on the streets of NYC: "Ya, I'm surprised I didn't hit a drunk guy last night."

minus the part about babies, i agree with you.

you do realize that cannibalistic declaration will end up on my blog right?

but still come prepared for wine, doggies, giggling, yoga and very fancy cupcakes.

Juan on Juan.

Txt me back! You lima bean licker!

then iwill put this on list for when oyu are herew 111 oh man im drunk

I just say a woman on the back of a motorcycle with NO PANTS ON!

You just want andy & his elmo laugh anyway.

that last text better not end up on your blog.

i just accidentally spent $225 on a haircut and highlights.

i wish to jesus on high i could say corkskrew.

i just found a box in the basement that says "old time machine."

Hopping.

"Exploding Deer Population Causing Billions in Damage."

This weather makes me wish we were prancing outside of Lost Coast Brewery again.

Her name is Visitation Brochure.

Cibophobia (fear of food)

For about 25 years of my life i was terrified of bell peppers. i thought they'd be spicy (call me crazy, but i know from whence species of plant the mighty Jabanero comes from) so i didn't eat them. Ever. Not in my burritos, not in stir fry, never. Then one day The World's Most Patient Man (3 guesses as to who THAT is) convinced me to try a miniscule bite of a tiny piece of bell pepper, and i realized with great astonishment and profound sadness that they are not at all spicy and are downright delightful and that i've missed out on 25 years of marvelous bell pepperosity.

Another item kept far away from my tongue all my life has been avocado and its smushy cousin, guacamole. Yesterday at lunch i ordered a BLTA (since when did restraunts determine it was a crime to make a BLT without smearing green stuff all over it? Seriously. Every BLT and now just about every sandwich made in California is drowned in avocado.). Instead of telling them to leave the 'A' off entirely, Lyn convinced me to get it on the side and try it to make absolutely sure i didn't actually LIKE avocado. i complied and tried. Still hate avocado. IT'S GROSS!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?? Ugh. At least i can tell those Chipotle guys with 100% confidence that 'no, i do NOT want any of your dirty guac on my burrito!!' i'm a little sad, there's a lot of sushi i'm missing out on because of this aversion, but The Tongue has decided, and so shall it be. Long live The Tongue.

These occurances have convinced me that i need to re-test many other foods i've been avoiding for years and years or am utterly unclear as to my feelings. Here are the things left to tackle, let me know if you have an awesome recipe for any of them, i'll make Josh cook it up.:::
artichoke
almond
walnut
cashew
hummus
mango
papaya
kiwi
rye bread
coconut (i'm only doing this for you, Winter)
Mountain Dew
pastrami
whiskey
oriental chicken salad
oyster
rhubarb
bbq chicken pizza
stuffing (yeah, as in 'Thanksgiving')