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')

my office is going to the dogs

Victory!! i campaigned for it and now my employer is inviting pooches to the office on October 10. In the words of our VP, "Take Your Dog to Work Day calls attention to the wonderful companions dogs make and encourages pet adoptions from animal shelters, humane societies and rescue groups." (it helped my cause that she's on the board of directors at Haven Humane Society) i hope it will go very well, have an overwhelmingly positive response, and result in more frequent doggie allowances. Monthly dog days!! DAILY dog days!!

If you'd like your employer to consider dog allowances, direct the big cheeses to any number of articles about the positive effects of dog-friendly work environs. Por ejemplo: "Two-thirds of dog owners would work longer hours and a third would take a pay cut if they could bring their pet to the office, according to a survey carried out by website Dogster.com and Simply Hired, an U.S. jobs website. [...] "Companies with dog-friendly policies just get it," said Ted Rheingold, CEO of Dogster. "They're breeding a class of happy and loyal employees. After all, who wouldn't be happy working with their best friend?"
Dogs help lower stress levels and build camaraderie among workers, Rheingold argued. [...]Companies that welcome dogs tend to be tech giants such as Apple, Amazon, and Google. But in general, small firms with fewer than 50 employees emerged as the most pet-friendly, with California having the lion's share of such companies."

The articles cite several reasons for the advantages, including employees not having to run home to care for dogs, not having to pay for dog sitters or walkers, and the calming presence of a furry friend sleeping under the desk. Some suggestions for keeping sanity in the office include a '3 strikes' rule for dogs with bathroom or behavior issues, providing antihistamines for allergic employees and visitors, zero tolerance flea policies, and baby or pet gates to keep critters out of the way of coworkers.

(Yup, that's a really cheesy picture. Deal with it.)

confession

i ate about 11 gummy worms on the way to work this morning. i feel kinda gross now.