on cats in boxes

Well, here's some more about my cat. It's a preview of what Kristin and I hope will be a successful and well-received art exhibit in the new house, called "Maxi sitting in boxes (and other tight spaces)". Because seriously, this cat is BANANAS for boxes.


Shoebox. Tight fit.




rest your weary head, little one.




Pizza box on my bed cuz I'm grody

so sneaky

Each time a new box enters the household, she has to break it in by sitting motionless in or on it for like 3 hours.

thinking about it....

Birthday Tribute

Maxi II,
on August 15, 2007 you came into this world along with your brother who later died and maybe some other cat siblings, born to a single mother in someone's laundry room or stairwell, and 8 weeks from that day when I got you off craigslist (for free) and some girl handed me a teeny version of you, with no accessories, in a parking lot off of Pine street, I knew my life would never be the same. I'm so glad to live in a small enclosed space with you, where we have grown together into a pair of fat lazy whiners. Thank you for the love and affection you've given me, and for never eating anything poisonous. Thank you for understanding that it makes me kind of uncomfortable when you try to snuggle up with me when I'm sleeping naked. Someday Mommy will get you a house with a backyard, princess. Someday.

FOUND

I found this sweet ring, which is of a screaming eagle face, while rummaging through my parents' giant coffee can full of loose change on a search for quarters that would allow me to do laundry and play skee-ball. Can't wait to shine 'er up. Jealous?

Welcome Back, Us.

Well hey there, summer!

We're trying to ease ourselves back into the creative, selfabsorbed mindspace that has generated the majority of SP posts and kept our loyal readership of 3 riveted. It might take us some time, but we just had a pretty serious gmail chat about reviving this precious piece of the internet.

Today I'd like to share a piece of poetry I wrote when I was 8. It's entirely possible I've written an entire post about this subject before, because I have like 4 stories that I interchange, but this time there's photographic evidence.

So I went to a "Gifted and Talented" school from 1st through 5th grade... ironic because I had already finished 1st grade in another state but was judged to be not quite mature enough for 2nd grade in my new school. The first appearance of a common theme in my life.

My mother became what you might call an academic stage mother, which is super bogus because if she had just invested the time and energy spent making me read books and quizzing me on Great Women In History flashcards (Seriously. Seriously, I had those) into something worthwhile, like infant beauty pageants or a desperate quest for child stardom complete with a U-Haul journey to a long-term stay motel in LA where I would go on audition after audition, smiling a wide gummy smile under fluorescent lighing (gives gifted children headaches, BTW) while reciting stale copy designed to convince an endless, indistinguishable calvalcade of balding disinterested producers that I loved Polly Pocket, I loved her SO BAD, while my mother chain smoked outside mentally calculating the number of extra shifts she'd have to pick up at Denny's in order to make the weekly rent, IF that had happened instead, we'd all have a lot more to show for it, but I guess that ship sailed as soon as I got my very first pair of thick plastic glasses at age 6, with an asexual bowl cut to match. So it looked like I would have to be smart.

(Please note that this was an excellent preview for what I would find are the 3 generic marginalizations that most extremely tall girls get .. "You must play basketball" "Wow you're tall. You should..... uh...model..."(said insincerely) or "Jesus, you're tall... like a dude.")

OK, so all that setup is just to explain that my mother decided she was going to force me to live up to the moniker Gifted and Talented and therefore made me enter any and all writing or art-based competitions within the great state of Indiana. And then it happened.... I won BIG.

See below:

let me transcribe, because a phone camera picture of a ditto sheet from 1992 is not the best way to preserve such a worth relic of my past. Unfortunately, there's no way to recreate the sheer awesomeness of the clip art used to illustrate.

Maria's poem "Rain" won first place in the 3rd and 4th grade Poetry Division in the Creative Writing Contest sponsored by the Indianapolis- Marion County Public Library Foundation.

Maria's poem was one of 1,162 entries received in her division. Congratulations to Maria for her outstanding wirting!

(Maria is a 3rd grade student in Mrs. Hyatt's class)

RAIN

Heavenly tears from the skies.

As it cries. As it cries.

Drizzling lakes, pouring seas

Puddles up to the knees

It is truly a wonderous time

When the rain will fall and the sun ceases to shine

Oh, Mother Nature!

You have given us a gift!

Noone else but you could creat rain

So soft, so swift.

Oh, what a thing you are. Rain!

Trickling down the window pane.

I could not have peace without you.

Rain.

Dang, move over Maya Angelou, am I right? Also, the fact that there were 1,161 poems deemed WORSE than this cloying verse that I probably plagiarized is depressing. I'm glad my lack of any kind of religious upbringing led me to call upon "Mother Nature" instead of "Jesus" or "Heavenly Father". I was basically destined to be an Orkila camp counselor and praise "Earth" before every meal.

The winning of this competition is, for real, the best thing I've ever done in my mother's eyes. Until the day at age like, 20 that I finally begged her to stop and never ever ever mention that goddamn fucking "Rain" poem again, she would bring this up as evidence of my creative genius and thusly my entitlement to success at some sort.

MARIA, AGE 17: I didn't get into NYU and I'm too fat for my prom dress and it looks like I have a hickey on my neck but really it's just a big zit because I've never even kissed a boy and I don't have cute shoes because my feet are too big and I hate everything, everything in the world.

MOM: Baby, look at all you've done in your life already. Remember "Rain"?

That's all I have for today. Welcome back, Stag Party!

Looks like we've gone on one of our depressive, melodramatic hiatuses, to be followed by a smattering of facebook messages when we are in need of atte

ntion again!

More of the saddest people

Those who call into commercial radio stations at peak rush hour traffic times and attempt to be sassy/cute/flirty/familiar with the DJ, who is, himself, one of the saddest people.  Sad if callers are aged fifteen or younger; tragic if they're older.

Wednesday Special

Since Maria's busy handing out tote bags and getting plowed on the company dime at Something Boring About Construction Software Annual Conference Ought-Nine, and I'm balls-deep in a high-stakes game of Minesweeper, Stag Party is going to do something it has not done before: encourage you to peek the work of our dear friend, Nicole Laverty, for no immediate ego-boosting/self-deprecating/monetary return-- basking in the delight of this naked buffalo lady, painted with whiskey and truffle oil, is reward enough:



And you should totes follow Nicole's blog, butterme, baby, 'cause shit's about to blow up quicker than these sweet, sweet pixelated mines I be sweepin.'

Product Review

In my never-ending quest to reduce the number of showers per week I feel pressured by society to take (as it is important in life to have goals) I recently invested $4.99 in a product named PSST! Dry Shampoo.  It's been around since the 70s, and I guess the original packaging is still working for them, because they haven't changed it, ever.

 

On the back of the can they helpfully list suggested scenarios that might require the use of dry shampoo.  This might be because dry shampoo is for lazy, filthy people like me who would rather sleep for an extra 20 minutes than perform expected routine tasks of personal hygiene, so it's good to have a few reasons that will excuse your ownership of the product, should someone come across it in your bathroom drawer and want answers.

The reasons they give:

Between Shampoos

On Camping Trips

After Sports

When You Are Ill

Really though, there are so many more reasons to use PSST! and I think that, should the makers ever decide to reintroduce the product to a market of 21st century consumers, they might want to take a look at a few of the myriad reasons I've already come up with:

When You Are Too Depressed To Get Out Of Bed.

In The Car On The Way To Work After A Weekday One Night Stand You Already Regret.

During A Visit To Your Grandma's House After She Catches On And Hides Her Valium, As A Temporary And Ruinous High.

To Cover Up The Dense Smell Of Weed At Your Boyfriend's Apartment So He Doesn't Get Another Note From The Landlord Because If He Gets Evicted He's Not Fucking Moving In With You.

In Between "Featured Dances" At Little Darlings When Your Hair Is All Matted From Sweat And You're Backstage And Your Kid Will Not Stop Crying And The Owner Is Yelling At You For Bringing Him To Work Again And God When Will All This End.

To Make A Simple Blowtorch. 

Feel free to add your own! 

This Gun's For Hire

In my business, we call this "consulting," but here's what it all boils down to: I need money, and you need shit done. Here's some shit I can do for you:

• Getting hospital drunk and heckling your ex-boyfriend's band, making the lead singer cry, etc.
• Coming up with thesis titles that both amaze and confuse. To wit: "From Boot-Hat to Bindle and Back Again: A Semiotic Analysis of the Plains State Hobo," and "BARRACUDA! Or is it? Animism and Gender Identity in Heart's Early Years."
• Crafting you the kind of Personal Budget that will always leave room for a pack of Pall Malls and some buffalo jerky, but neither pants nor cable.
• Telling pointless stories at your awkward party to keep the conversation flowing. These usually start with something innocuous enough, like "I was standing in the checkout line today…" but will inevitably turn into barelling steam engines of poor elocution and offense, ending somewhere in the region of: "…and that's how I paid for my English degree with Nazi gold."
• Rating your record collection from the perspective of a whiskey-guzzling burnout living in Puyallup in 1976.

Money orders, cashier's checks, and the afore-mentioned Pall Malls accepted.

Virtual Tour

I cleaned my apartment... like really, really cleaned it. It was an experience I would now like to share with you.

For context, a typical "before" picture, taken prior to a night out on the town during the summer.

CHALLENGE: can you find: takeout containers, a dead plant, a full box of fruit cups, my cat resting on a pile of trash, leg makeup, my crotch shot.

OK, now check it out. As a disclaimer i should mention that my building is kind of old and I have a lot of stuff, so what constitutes really clean for me is is not like, "khaki clad mom wielding Bounty paper towels in commercial aired during daytime TV" clean, it's more like "young freshman pledge attempting to keep his room in the frat house neat but not so neat he gets called queer" clean.

First up: the kitchen.

See, I know you're thinking... whatever, pretty standard, not that great. But look, I have a TEAPOT. Like an adult. And there aren't dishes on the sink, AND nothing is visibly rotting in the fruit bowl. Let's continue.

This is my cupboard, which is where my dishes are now, arranged with their like compatriots. Usually they are in the sink, or lying next to my bathtub covered with dried ketchup and stale bits of chicken patty. On one amazing occasion a gentleman friend found a dirty plate 'neath the pillow he was sleeping on. That won't happen again!

Moving on...


This is the top of my refrigerator which clearly adds to the theory that I am slowly morphing into the cartoon character "Cathy" as you will notice the contents are: Kahlua, Bloody Mary mix, Margarita mix, cheap and dusty red wine, cat treats, and about 12 different weight loss/slimfast powders. Below you can see other people's wedding/bridal shower/baby shower invitations affixed with my one magnet, which advertises a 24 hour cat emergency room. Yep.




This is really where I just kind of cram the stuff I don't have room for anywhere else, but since all my art supplies are in a box there I like to call it my studio. I have high hopes of summer days spent creating masterpieces while I gaze out the window at my foxy shirtless neighbor sunbathing on his balcony....until the day I muster up the courage to ask him if he'd like me to apply gentle strokes of sunscreen to his giant horse tattoo so it doesn't fade in the sun.

you might think the bed is where the magic happens. but you'd be surprised. Sometimes you can find curly fries in the cushions to enjoy as a delicious nightcap, but since J in the B on Broadway closed, it's been happening less and less. But, sometimes.


I like to turn all the lights off except the Christmas lights and pretend I'm sitting on a porch in Savannah with a sweet tea, watching the firefies dip and play. But then I spill Rainier all over the bed and have to turn the lights back on to change the sheets.

my closet is not so great or organized, but Maxi has not recently kicked cat shit on the floor so it's like a GRIP better than normal. Also, bonus points if you can figure out a good outfit I can wear that leopard print shrug with... I was going to return it but then I got part of a Shamrock shake on it and now the fake fur's a little matted, so...

I've wanted Tibetan prayer flags ever since the days of Camp Orkila when Trek proudly displayed them on Turnripple. I've wanted to continue collecting pictures of birds made entirely out of feathers ever since I realize they really creep my mom out. God, let's take a moment and watch that hardwood gleam.


Hey, have I somehow managed to go the last five minutes without trying to overcompensate for what I worry you may perceive as my life's current mediocrity by finding a way to bring up the fact that I've spent time in Southeast Asia in a conversation where it would not normally be considered relevant? Well then, why don't you look at my Buddha faces, or maybe my Vietnamese propaganda posters, and then try not to forget next time.

These are my washing products. MaybPublish Poste now that they are arranged so pleasingly I will venture into the shower more often. Just kidding, my hygiene is excellent.

The Saddest People

The only thing more depressing than the way I obsessively peruse Craigslist Missed Connections are the people who SO DESPERATELY want one to be about them that they reply to the vaguest listings (for example "Brunette in car on I-5") with postings like, "More info!?!?!? What was I wearing?????"

Milestone

Today, we had more than 7 people read this blog.


April Fools!

scenes from capitol hill

In the last 10 minutes, I had the pleasure of overhearing two separate altercations on the street right outside my apartment.

Scenario 1 involved a (clearly mentally unstable) man who felt that the car backing out of the driveway next door to my building came a little too close to him for his liking.  He challenged the driver to a  fight.  When the driver refused to throw down the gauntlet, the aggrieved party attempted to explain why he was upset by yelling various combinations of the words "fuck" "pussy" "twat" "bitch" and "motherfucker" before spitting onto the windshield.  Eventually, he meandered on and the car, wipers blazing, was able to fully depart the driveway.

Scenario 2 I sadly don't really know the background of, but what I saw was a burly man leaning over the balcony of his apartment (across the street from mine)  using impressive voice projection methods to tell another man, leaning out of a window a few buildings down, that he was going to fuck his ass up.  Man #2 loudly expressed his doubts that Man #1 was capable of this, and went so far as to offer the counterpoint that he, in fact, would be the one to fuck Man #1 up.  Big time.  Both men soon retreated into their respective domains, and from my observation, no further action has been taken. 

 All in all very exciting,  like what I imagine the mean streets of Brooklyn may have had to offer back in the 1930s, if there had been meth back then.

The Company I Keep

These are all actual contacts in my phone, noted while culling my address book.

(Alphabetical)

A (Likes Bacon)
Also Don't Answer
B Mom
Bum Phone
Bum Phone 2
Catalin Looks Like Gargamel
Don't Answer
Don't pick up
Ds WW
Hot Ira Glass
Jamer in us
Mane n Tail
New BFF (girl)
Probably don't answer

De Rien

My creativity has been at about the caliber of driftwood/a j. coug meinkampf album this week, so enjoy some xmas phots of tin tin and flossie instead:



They are both dead.

Excerpts from The Office Debate On "Blade Runner" I Have Had The Pleasure Of Listening To For The Last 20 Minutes

" So, the replicants were humans, they were just changed."

"No, they were androids"

"They were genetically produced"

"No, they were produced from organic and metallic materials"

"You have to understand, you're entering into one of the great debates of all time."

"the director has come forward to say he's a replicant"

(angry silence)

something that is dumb

Not to be all stand-up comedian "what's the deal with something mundane"-ish but you know what is really stupid? When you have to make a password to use a website that like, tracks your daily calorie consumption, or informs you about your vision insurance benefits, or basically like serves any other function dealing with non-sensitive information that noone in the entire world would care about besides you and they make you choose a password adhering to like 2983748932 different specifications... like you MUST have at least one uppercase letter, at least one number, and that number cannot be in your birthdate, etc etc

Which then totally fucks up everything because I have like one generic password I use for everything, and my bank seems to think it's fine, but apparently it's not safe enough for my online food diary, god forbid someone should hack it and find out how many grams of almonds I eat in a day.

AND I just registered to pay my J Crew credit card online, and I had to choose FIVE different security questions that I will have to answer the next time I log in because I've already forgotten my alphanumberic-special symbol-weirdly capitalized password I just made up and the options they give are all really hard because they like somehow make me feel bad about my nomadic childhood/ I'm convinced I will forget the answers and be forced to call a customer service person on the phone, my worst nightmare.

Stuff like:

• what is the street you grew up on?
• what was the name of your first grade teacher?
• what was the name of your first pet?
• what city was your mother born in?

I lived on about 15 different streets before I turned 18 so clearly don't remember any of their names, and I attended two different first grades in different states, and do my sea monkeys count as my first pet, or is it my guinea pig? My mom was born in new york city, do I put that or just "new york" or Manhattan? I just know I'm going to forget all of these things and then the credit card will go unpaid and both my bridesmaids dresses are going to be repossessed before the weddings.

so that's why online passwords are stupid... this reads like a sample routine I might perform during the daytime for an assistant manager at "Giggles" who, after I leave, turns to his colleague and says, "Bro, when will women learn that they just aren't funny?"

The Pony Car

This morning I was driving to work all bleary eyed and disoriented because i had my phone on silent so, obviously, didn't hear my alarm and I couldn't sleep all night and then when I did manage to drift off my cat would try to fall asleep directly on my neck which she can't do without first forcefully kneading her giant paws into my trachea which causes me to choke/stop breathing and, luckily, wake up. So I wake up and check my phone praying it's like, 5 AM but it is, in fact 8:50... so I get up and get ready in 3 seconds and run out the door only to get stuck in horrible I-5 traffic, but this is where it all gets note-worthy...

So I look to my left and there's a scratched up blue Ford tempo and the back window is totally crowded with toy ponies. Plush toys, plastic replicas, even models made of aged tin. seriously like, 10-14 toy ponies crowded together, staring out the back window with blind painted eyes. An assortment of overflow ponies lay limp in the backseat, which looked a lot like my backseat, in that the floor was covered with wrappers and bottles.

And then I see that there are ponies on the dashboard too! And we're like, stopping and starting so obviously someone has gone through the effort of styling/posing them and gluing them down. There were only like 3 on the dash, all medium sized and plastic.

In the passenger seat was a large stuffed horse.

The driver was an obese, grizzled man.

There was a rusty hitch on the back of the car which I guess you could use to drag a horse trailer or a body.

One thing I have always been interested in, is how many times in life I've actually been in real danger... or even, how many times in life have you been in close proximity with someone who is capable of committing a crime of unspeakable nature. Like, what if when you die you go through all your close calls... if you had taken a left turn here, you would have gotten T-boned and died. If you had gone home with that guy that night, he would have eaten your eyes. The guy you sat next to on the bus when you were 15 was totally a serial killer.

I am confident that this would be one of those times. This man was not just a pony fan. This man was evil. He took the 45th Street exit.

Beware the pony car.

please welcome to the family

My new baby ocelot.

We will be spending the rest of our days together until the time comes that I have to bite its face off because it's too cute to live.

"Hello!" says the baby ocelot.  

The Seattle PI Isn't The Only Thing I Mourn Today

RIP: Dreams of glamorous adulthood in an urban setting

I woke up this morning, makeup on and teeth unbrushed, feeling the effects of a pitcher and a half deep within my body. I felt like such a champ for representing my trashy Irish heritage on St Patty's day, until I realized I totally came home at like, 11 because I am old and can no longer stay up.

On the floor next to my bed, myriad ants swarmed a crumpled Jumbo Jack wrapper, slipping and sliding as they navigated the paper's greasy peaks. A group came together long enough to lift a piece of curly fry, but the directionless team quickly imploded and the fry toppled to the ground. Maxi cowered.

I checked my email to find a FWD: from my mom touting the benefits of eHarmony, and a "thanks but no thanks" response letting me know I am apparently not cute enough to stand around at Sounders games and try to get people to sample a product. Not even Mariners or Seahawks games, SOUNDERS games. Clearly, am hideous.

Killed all the ants with one fell swoop.

RIP: Last shred of hope for the existence of any indication of male decency in the world

"Pretty much every guy knows that big girls are the best to sleep with, because they know they have to work hard to keep you."

-young, Hobbitish man at bar last night.

Names That I Misinterpreted Over the Phone While Both Partially Deaf and Trying To Be Culturally Competent

Salisia!* (Alicia)
Ramon (John)
Rojille** (Willy)

* A genus of ornamental shrubbery.
** Declension of the Czech verb "to swarm."

confessions

Maria: do you use toilet seat covers?
Ingrid: hell no
Maria: me neither, but i hate it when i go in the bathroom at the same time as someone else and i just sit down and start peeing and they like rustle around setting one up, i always feel like they're judging me and thinking i'm dirty
i just never think to take one
Ingrid: i'm not interested in those bourgeois trappings
Maria: how else will we build up antibodies??
Ingrid: /will take any excuse not to be hygenic
Maria: me too
that makes me feel better
i picked up cat poop with my hand yesterday
:(
it was really dry though
Ingrid: i like how we use gmail chat as a de facto confessional
Maria: hahaha i know
omg also
so get this
Ingrid: god, the way that frowney face turns itself over
Maria: maxi like kicked some poop out of her litterbox
it should have audio
waaaamp waaaamp
Ingrid: hahaha sorry continue
Maria: so the poop is just out there
and it's a good amount
which makes me wonder if it was intentional
so i don't see it bc i'm negligent
and so she kept trying to cover it up as is a cat's nature
using like my clothes that were around
like my underwear and sweaters
so i'm cleaning yesterday and pick up a sweater and there is all this poop stuck to it
and then like poop eeeverywhere
it was sick
then i was like, oh god i wonder if that's how i got my kidney infection
Ingrid: hahahahahaha
ohhh shit.
Maria: LITERALLY
Ingrid: flossie pooped in my pocket before school picture day when i was in second grade.
still not sure how she managed to do it.
Maria: whoa yeah
that's amazing
you can't even be mad about that
Ingrid: nope.
Maria: did you find it before you were in line for pictures?
Ingrid: while.
Maria: eeeeeeeeeeeew
one time in australia a dog peed in my purse
and i was walking down the street dripping urine
and then realized what had happened and started crying on the street

Regression Analysis

(Click!)

I would like to be a writer, but my mind has been too consistently unfocused to formulate an entire plot since the day I completed my 15 (single spaced, illustrated) page opus, "Pepperoni the Alley Cat" in 5th grade.  I'm wondering if it would be possible to start a career that is centered around setting up a basic situation analysis that leads to inspiration for the creation of stories that are of the quality that might allow them to someday be adapted into critically acclaimed HBO or Showtime dramedies.   So I provide the bones, another provides the prose

This is the first:

The protagonist works at a dog kennel, where he/she/you is the overnight supervisor, which means he/she/you stay awake all night watching dogs sleep.  After finding a cell phone on the street, he/she/you begins to wile away the hours by texting anonymous unsolicited advice to the contacts in your his/her/your personal life. 

this story is not allowed to be called: Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie.   Too easy.

And you shall know him by his brand new sublime tshirt

No need to hang out at the Tacoma Mall waiting for your mom to pick you up any more: I found Spencer Gifts online for you. There are about 1023984029384 things I've had my sights on, so here are a few highlights:

Irony is dead. Long live irony.

Falling Down: A Rap

Hyundai parked on a hill that just felt the rain beat

Cheap shoes are no match for soaking concrete

HYPE MAN: SHE FALLING DOWN!

Cut my leg on the pavement when I eat shit 

Scabbing all up on my knee like a bacon bit

HYPE MAN: BACON BITS! NINETY PERCENT LESS FAT THAN PAN FRIED! 

Fucked up the knee 0f my new jeans but it won't get me beat

now i'll  cuff em and pair with flipflops in the heat

HYPE MAN: FUCK THE HATERS! A CASUAL LOOK FOR SUMMER!

Girl who live in my building, don't laugh-- I hear the sound. 

Unless you got a bandaid,  leave me on the ground 

HYPE MAN: BITCH IN APARTMENT 103! YOUR BOSTON TERRIER'S TAIL IS TOO LONG! IT LOOKS WEIRD!

How I Will Steal Your Friends Away

Hey, how are you. Good to see you again. Yes, we've met before. Oh yes, I'm sure. Many times.

Remember, you were wearing that shirt and I said I liked it and asked where it was from and what size it was? I liked that shirt. I thought about getting it. Maybe I can just borrow it from you sometime. I'll wash it and stuff. Unless you think that's weird.

I hear you do something in your life that I vaguely relate to. Let me tell you an anecdote that I just made up that briefly touches on that subject, and also frames me as an enjoyable, worthwhile person worthy of your time and friendship.

I think I could add something to your life.

Hey, I heard you went to college. I know of someone who I think went to that school at some point in the last 5 years. Maybe you know them? No? Well if nothing else I hope that my knowledge of your alma mater convinced you I am in your target demographic, friend wise.

So, I have this problem. I can't really tell our mutual aquaintance, but I just feel really comfortable around you. It's also about something really personal. Do you want to hear about it? I have a feeling you'll have some good advice.

Oops, hope that wasn't too intense. I cry like all the time anyway so don't feel uncomfortable. I saw that dog commercial with Sarah McLaughlin and cried for like an hour. Have you seen that? I can send you the YouTube link if you give me your email. In fact, why don't you give me your email right now before we forget. There are many funny things on YouTube I could share with you. Also, I have cable, so if you don't and there's ever anything you want to watch on TV, you can come to my place. I don't even have to be there, I can just leave a key. I like it when people are around to socialize my cat, because I'm gone a lot. Well, not that much.

Listen, I'm going to add you on facebook tonight when I get home. I think once we look at each other's profiles we'll realize how much we have in common and then our interactions are only going to get better and better. I'll comment on your pictures and tell you you look pretty. Also if you break up with your boyfriend and then meet someone else and have a date that you tell me about, I'll make sure to write "Have a GREAT TIME on your date!" on your wall so that your ex boyfriend knows you're going out with another guy. Then he'll be jealous. See, I got your back. You should do the same for me, maybe.

Well it was SO GOOD to see you again. I really had a good time. Let's make sure we all get together for a girl's night soon. Seriously, I don't know why we don't hang out more. You make me feel really good about myself and I like how your do your eye makeup. Maybe you can teach me sometime.

Remember, check your facebook. You text, right? I'll talk to you REALLY soon.

three haiku about getting older

Once, I thought I might
marry Corey Haim, or Feld-
man, if Haim was dead.

Remember when that
methhead stole Drive Like Jehu
and Pavement? I don't.

Mom doesn't even
ask about my kidney stones
anymore, demur.

Craigslist MC roundup

Sketchiest Missed Connection of the day:

Cassidy -m4w-20 (Snoqualmie)

You are SOOOO hot! Would love to see you sometime! By the way, if you are looking for something to do after you are done with school I could set you up making more money than you ever thought possible!


Douchiest Missed Connection of the day:

Me- A Silver BMW- You: a cute Laser Blue Mini Sport- m4w (Kirland [sic], on the way to Redmond)

There I was, waiting for the light to turn green. My owner had put me into sport mode, and my open exhaust was growling and ready to move. You pulled up in that beautiful laser blue and took my breath away. My engine raced. I know I missed a couple of cylinders when I saw you but I don't think you noticed. My owner looked at my instrument cluster worried, but I quickly recovered myself. I pulled forward slowly to get a better look at your curves, your oh-so-sweet lines. Alas, I have not seen another like you in all my 110,000 miles. You had the cutest pair of tail pipes. When you took off in the left lane, and left me in the traffic coughing your exhaust I was saddened. I had high hopes for us. We're both BMW's after all - but sadly, I wasn't good enough for you. I would love to take you out sometime - maybe we can get our oil changed somewhere? I know this great little place in Redmond. They use european filters. Oh, and my owner thought your driver was cute - so I'm sure they'll have something to talk about to. After all, they have us. -Sad Seven


Least Educated Missed Connection of the day:
Your one of my best friends girl- m4w- 18 (Tacoma)

Your blonde your hot, the connection i feel whenever im around you is isane. I hate it because your my best friends girl. Me I just got a motorcycle you will know who i am if you read this.


Missed Connection I Momentarily but Mistakenly Hope Might Be For Me of the day:
M- m4w

When I turned after some time in the meeting and saw your hair, I was stunned, when I got a glimpse of your face and body, no words, and when I heard you speak, I was humbled. The situation lends no possibility for this interaction. I know you will never see this, but, good Lord, you are all that!

Glum

when it all just fits

Liveblogging the Most Watched Video On YouTube.

Did you know that this is the most watched video on YouTube OF ALL TIME.  

I think this is disappointing,

I guess it's a safely nonoffensive high energy piece that could be forwarded from cubicle to cubicle.  It's low risk. Watching this in a group setting would be the most uncomfortable thing I could imagine. I don't actually laugh out loud at a lot of stuff I find funny but sometimes I'll force it a little around other people so I don't seem strange and humorless.  But something like this, which actually offers little entertainment and conjures no emotion beyond mild bemusement and a strange new insight in the psyche of the modern, technologically connected citizen, would be too difficult to fake a reaction to.

The audience loves him. Watch their reactions. I imagine they are sitting on metal folding chairs in a high school gym.  This man turned a few personality traits into an attempted CAREER.  He's the guy who knows the technical steps to all the briefly popular dance moves in recent pop culture, and he has realized that as long as he has that in his arsenal, he will always be able to generate some kind of attention for himself.  And has he ever! THEY LOVE HIM. Oh you should hear them react to favorites like The Robot and The Worm.  SQUEALS of delight.  Excited intakes of breath.  Clapping with childlike amusement.  Less popular dances are met with murmurings of applause.

What really doesn't make any sense is that he includes as part of "evolution of dance" stuff that shouldn't be in there at all... like the Oompa Loompa dance, which didn't evolve from a disco thrust as suggested, nor did it eventually morph into a Partridge family like variety show arm move, WHICH I am SURE, much LIKE the oompa loompa dance, was never actually a dance trend.

OK i hadn't watched the whole thing but now I admit I laughed when he did "jump on it"

mainly because that's my favorite dance ever and I wish more than anything I could see a video of my 12 year old self dancing so intently and concentrating on not falling out of step, fine beads of sweat beginning to form around my nose and fogging up my glasses,  strobe light illuminating the cat hairs that cover my Gap t-shirt.  

so, i laughed once.  But he hasn't gotten to the Macarena yet.  I also wonder if he's going to do "Vogue"  

He just did " I get knocked down" by that one band that used to be on VH1 a lot.  But the dance for that was just him falling down a couple of times.  That wasn't a dance, he's just acting out the lyrics.

I read that Janet Jackson loses like 5 pounds by the end of every performance.  This guy is jumping around a lot.  It's short but I bet he burns like 300 cals.  Maybe more like 175 though.

Macarena, check.  I think we're past the chance for Vogue.  I'm surprised. 

He spends a surprising and seemingly disproportionate amount of time on the boy band dance.

The last dance is "Dirt off your shoulders"

Thanks, internets.

I still get these emails from a website I joined when I tried to quit smoking, uhm, I guess exactly 2 years and 5 months ago. Today would be my Quit Anniversary. Here would be my stats:

Your Quit Date is: Tuesday, September 19, 2006 at 12:00:00 PM
Time Smoke-Free: 883 days, 18 hours, 21 minutes and 11 seconds
Cigarettes NOT smoked: 22094
Lifetime Saved: 5 months, 18 days, 18 hours
Money Saved: $3,867.50

If you've never lit a half-smoked Pall Mall off your stove's burner at 4 in the morning, I imagine you'll be unable to sympathize with me when I say this: those extra 5 months, 18 days, and 18 hours still don't seem worth it.

In '97

• "Push" by matchbox 20 is #21 on the Billboard HOT 100. Nation is later scandalized to learn it was Rob Thomas, not Monica Lewinsky, who went down on President Clinton in the Oval Office.


• "Mad About You" sweeps the Emmys, leaving the bloody entrails of "Frasier" and "3rd Rock From the Sun" in a wake of Inoffensive 90s Sitcom Awesomeness.


• Willem de Kooning and Biggie die, some dude makes a movie about some kind of boat, and Tweety Bird half-shirts account for one-third of Chinese exports.


• My mother starts a short-lived but vitriolic civil war with the September Hemming Debacle, wherein she accidently hems her daughter's already unflattering dress (purchased at that bastion of hip pre-teen fashion, the Sale Rack at Anne Taylor Loft) to a crooked and whorish length. Tears are shed, but the young lady finally agrees to attend the gala with the tasteful sartorial additions of black gym shorts and nude control-top panty hose.

The Worst Compliments From Lovers

seriously, your handwriting is as good as those girls who were obsessed with having neat handwriting in middle school.

you know, usually girls with bangs remind me of twelve year olds but you're big enough to pull it off.

I can't believe how much nicer it is to hold your hand when you don't bite your nails for a few days.

wow, you're really good about checking your blind spot.

Ode to the Hot Moms of 15th Ave

O! hot moms,
with your Chloe hobo bags,
and well-scrubbed children.
How your Paper Denims
bely
stretch marks, wine coolers,
and Baby Einstein videos,
stowed cargo
like so many
dreams of med school.

An Afternoon With Gmail Chat

how can you improve on this?:
An Afternoon With Danny Glover.

Maria: An Afternoon With Danny Glover and Weddings

Maria: An Afternoon with Danny Glover and Civil Unions Followed By Copulation

Ingrid: An Afternoon with Danny Glover and a Bad Eighties Cover Band Follwed by Vomiting in the Holiday Inn Bathroom

Maria: An Afternoon with Danny Glover That Won't Be As Ironically Cool As You Think It Might Be, And Will Leave You Feeling Slightly Depressed And Unwilling To Partake In Future Activities

Maria: An Afternoon With Danny Glover: The Room Will Be Chilly, So You'll Have To Wear A Sweater Which Will Ruin The Outfit You Planned

Ingrid: An Afternoon With Danny Glover: Prepare To Make Some Vaguely Racist Comments You Were Unaware You Were Capable of Making Because, You Know, He's Black

Maria: An Afternoon With Danny Glover: Those Lemon Bars Are Going To Go Fast, Better Grab Some While He's Speaking. He'll Understand.

Ingrid: An Afternoon With Danny Glover: Your Own Personal Jesus. Kind Of.

Maria: An Afternoon With Danny Glover: The Guy From Die Hard? No, Lethal Weapon. So Bruce Willis Was In Both Those, Right? No, I'm Thinking Of Mel Gibson

CrazySexyCool

Right before my 13th birthday I had the first of many existential crises. I was always a super self righteous and confident/ borderline obnoxious child until I hit puberty and conversations like this became a regular part of my life:

ME: yeah but why did [redacted] need to hide all the stuff in my locker?

FRIEND: well I asked him and he says it's because he doesn't like you.

ME: wait why doesn't he like me? I don't even know him.

FRIEND: well I asked him that too and he says he doesn't like you because you're ugly.

So since middle school was so awesome and I was clearly destined to score with the opposite sex, I applied to skip 8th grade and start high school early at an all girls Catholic school.  I got accepted, etc etc, and right around my birthday I realized I needed to get my shit together and at least try to not be such a weirdo.

At the time, my CD collection consisted of:

-93824738743928743897 original soundtracks to musicals

- Now And Then: The original motion picture soundtrack

- Ace of Base: The Rose

- Ace of Base: The Bridge

So for my birthday I asked for the following:

Space Jam soundtrack

Spice Girls

No Doubt: Tragic Kingdom

TLC: CrazySexyCool (I definitely asterisked this one on my list and provided the following explanation: I know this says "sex" in the title but there really aren't any bad words in it)

In a separate and private conversation to Jesus I also asked for:

large breasts

I got all of them including eventually the boobs and probably also some sweet JC Penney clothing and also contact lenses which was kind of a huge deal, and to be honest Space Jam was kind of a bust, but the other three were SO GOOD and are still in rotation in my itunes to this day.  

But obviously I would not be writing something unless it included a super embarrassing fact, so here it is:

I have a tendency to totally create in my head these situations that are incredibly implausible but like, potentially COULD happen... and then in my head I script out all my possible reactions and contributions to this made up event.  I still do this and it's really creepy but I've had other people tell me they do it too which makes me feel better even if they're just saying that.

So, the last track of CrazySexyCool opens with a rap.  I had this idea in my head that knowing this entire rap was crucial to me becoming socially acceptable.  As such, I listened to it until I had the whole thing memorized.  

This is the situation I imagined:

First day of high school, 1997.  I don't know ANYONE.  I am younger, taller, and dressed way worse than all classmates.  Yet if you were watching the movie that in my mind I am pretending to star in, you would say, "that girl has a quiet beauty." and maybe also describe me as "doe- like." I am sitting alone at lunch because I have no friends.... yet.  Behind me is a table of girls all decked out with butterfly clips and Abercrombie gear.  I long to be included in their fold.  Suddenly, my ears perk up when I hear one of them say:

"You know that last song on CrazySexyCool? The rap at the beginning?  How does it go?"

I choke down my mouthful of Cheetos and spin around. "Let me tell you how it goes" I say.

REMEMBER BACK IN THE TIME WHEN THE ONLY SIGN WE HAD WAS PICKET BUT NOW IN 94 IT BE THIS WAY SOMETHING COME WICKED SHE ???? KILLIN OTHERS FOR COLORS THINGS THAT WE WEAR FOR FASHION OTHER BROTHERS TAKE IT FOR A REASON TO BE BASHIN WHAT THE KCUF IS GOING ON? NOT SOFT LIKE BUTTERCUPS BUT HAD ENOUGH OF SINGIN THAT SAME SONG YOU SEE I STAYED ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE PROJECTS TOOK OUT YO MAMAS TRASH AND GROCERIES TO HER TRUNK TO KEEP MY POCKETS

out of nowhere, a beat begins.

FAT LIKE CELLULITE ONLY BEEN TO JAIL ONE WEEK FOR SOME SHULLBIT AND I PRAY TO GOD I WON'T REPEAT I SHOULD'VE PULLED IT WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE TO OH NO I SHOULDN'T HAVE DID THAT CUZ IF I DID THAT YALL WOULD NOT HEAR THAT PHAT SHIT THAT KEEPS YOU ON YOUR TIPPY TIPPY TOES LIKE THAT SELLOUT NOT CALLIN NO NAMES BUT REALLY WHO'S BAD? I GO THROUGH OBSTACLES LIKE A WHOLE BOX OF CONDOMS YOU CAN'T FORGET WHERE YOU COME FROM...(song begins)

"Come sit with us." they say.  

This never happened. 

But, I did just write out that rap from memory and I think it's at least 70% accurate.