Schrodinger's Kitten

Cindy

2011-03-09T15:13:00.001-08:00

As a child, I always used to pretend I was Cinderella. Not because I had an evil stepmother or sisters, but because I was blond, and that limits you to Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping Beauty was a bit too flighty. I mean, come on, she danced with animals in the forest. Cinderella at least just SUNG with the animals. And birds make kick-ass dresses.

Once upon a 2 months ago, I became Cinderella again.

I had a sweet sweet prince Charming. He was perfect in every way. And I had a gown I ordered off the internet with my Fairy God-Visa, and I was ready for the Ball (read: Oscars.) It was a dream come true.

Then my prince dumped me. Happily ever after wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to see other scullery maids.

My ballgown was useless, as I was no longer going to the ball (even though he offered – yeah, like I want to go to the Oscars and watch you put the slipper on some other maid in front of COLIN FIRTH.) And my fairy god-visa needed to be used for more important dreams that I wished. Like wishing to pay the electric bill.

Alas, magical fairy tale returns take 4-8 weeks to process. 4-8 non-magical weeks of prince-less nights, and the smells of rotting pumpkins.

Now it’s 8 weeks to the day, and I just got my dreams returned to me. Instead of my magical and slimming ballgown, I have water and power.

And instead of a prince, I have 2 cats. They don’t sing or make dresses, but you can’t have everything.

You've Got Mail

2011-02-18T17:07:00.000-08:00

The wildly waving palm tree taunting me outside my window reminds me of a night long ago on Saint Thomas. I was alone, something that seemed natural and expected at the time. Alone in a foreign place, with no ability to save myself, defend myself, or identify with the world. No ability and no need. I was there, and I felt fully and wholly comfortable with my aloneness.

It was crazy weather. Shops shut down at the end of day, cruise ships lit up and disembarked the tiny bay, and one by one all the little sparkling streetlights turned off and the city became purple and maroon with the oncoming storm. Sudden rain overwhelmed the main streets, wind tossing palm fronds about, and thunder and lightning lit up the moon shaped curve of the shore and city.

I stood out on the balcony overlooking the bay, watching the storm approach, live, and pass. I remembered where I had just been. Solo on the open ocean, sailing to distant places with only maps and strange digital readouts to keep me safe. With strangers on strange boats, on strange islands where the native men asked me why I wouldn’t dance with them in the darkness. I laughed and danced, not scared in the least.

The palm tree outside waved at me wildly doing its own little island dance. I was by myself in a frightening place and time but not frightened in the least. It struck me then, that I should be afraid to be a single girl alone in a foreign place. I should have been.

Today I am alone again. It’s something that seems foreign and unsure. It seems unnatural every second, every breath. How could it change so much, that the dangerous comfort of being a solo world traveler morphed into the skittish jumping of a recluse scared by incoming mail in the mail slot.

The danger of being alone is magnified. It’s ridiculous in size, and in capacity to send me into paralyzing moments of self-doubt.

I shall ball into a knot with the blanket set to 7.

I’ll be back to tell you more once that dangerous man with my mail goes away.

She likes me, she really likes me!

2010-04-22T14:15:00.001-07:00

You know those ‘petition your senator – sign here’ e-mails that you get all the time? Well, maybe you don’t get them because you don’t have a father that sends you every hemp farming or legalization bill on the planet, but at least you know what I’m talking about. Those auto-forms that sign your name, and are sent to your local senator, representative, president, whomever who can actually vote on an issue.

Well, today I received a response.

U.S. Senator Dianne Feinstein ’replied’ to me with a directly addressed email, addressing the hemp farming bill I had ‘written’ to her about. I use writing and replying loosely, since they are not written or replied in the same context as a normal email, but at least in the same context with relation to each other.

However, this letter was not only pleasant and social, but it reminded me that a bill similar to this was passed twice already in California state legislature, only to be vetoed by Governor Schwarzenegger. It detailed information, thanked me for writing, and told me she would seriously consider my opinion. She gave me her email, phone number, and invited me to give her a call.

Not only did this seem different from the average reply mail, but it felt as if someone on her staff at least took the time to write a pleasant well informed form letter and sent them out with the intention of CARING about what people say. It also detailed some of the obstacles to this bill, that are unrelated to her office…ways to get something done that might actually help her. It got my attention, and it worked.

I voted for her. But now, I LIKE her.

It doesn’t really matter if she votes a certain way, or she supports or does not support this issue. What’s happened is that now I feel that someone listens, and cares for my opinion…even if they disagree. Isn’t that what we all want in government? I think if more politicians at least feigned interest in their consistuents, we’d be a happier nation.

I’m going to email Dianne and ask her for coffee. You never know…she might reply.

Most Genius Invention EVER...

2009-09-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

You know how biscuits in those cardboard tubes only come in packs of 12. Like GRANDS or CINNABON ROLLS or some such thing? Well, we all know as single people that we can’t just get a roll and cook them all, since then you’ll have to eat biscuits or cinnamon rolls or orange rolls for the next week and a half. And as much as you really want a nice buttermilk biscuit, you don’t want 12 of them stuffed in your gullet.

The solution? Frozen Grands. Like the 12 rolls only individually frozen. You can cook ONE. Yes, you heard me ONE NICE BIG FLAKY BISCUIT. Just one.

I’m in love.

Smartly Trim

2009-09-16T09:12:00.000-07:00

Jaunty
Show Spelled Pronunciation [jawn-tee, jahn-] Show IPA
–adjective, -ti⋅er, -ti⋅est.
1. easy and sprightly in manner or bearing: to walk with a jaunty step.
2. smartly trim, as clothing: a jaunty hat.

I have a jaunty new hat.

Yes, it’s really jaunty.

Of course, when I stated ‘I want a jaunty hat’ and finally got it, my boyfriend loudly proclaimed it ‘THE JAUNTY HAT’ and now whenever I wear it, I will get teased for being so jaunty.

There are worse things to be teased about. ;)

It's not Trivial

2009-09-11T08:56:00.000-07:00

I love Trivial Pursuit.

I hate people that don’t love Trivial Pursuit. You know…those people who grew up under rocks, and have never heard of anything. Those people who don’t have a clue about any Geography, Entertainment, History, Arts & Literature, Science & Nature, or Sports & Leisure. Those people who look blandly at me after I ask the question, and make some silly comment about 'I'm so stupid!' and laugh while taking a drink. You know who you are. And yes, you are stupid.

And honestly, Trivial Pursuit is SO EASY. The first thought that pops into your head is USUALLY RIGHT. Somewhere, in some deep recess of what you learned in High School –is that answer! Who can't guess "Who invaded Spain in the 8th century?"

Duh. "The Moops."

Forced Blogging: This Blood's For You...

2009-09-03T08:59:00.000-07:00

I don’t know if you watch True Blood, the somewhat-new TV series based off Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse novels, but I started it recently due to numerous pals saying “You will love it!” And, I did love the books. And I do love vampire stories in general.

Now that I’m watching it, I wonder why my friends think I love over-acting horribly-southern-accented uneducated fools who repeatedly engage in retarded brooding matches with cute, yet also-overacting vampires. Not one actor listens to anyone else, and the lines are so cliché and boring, I just am waiting for the punch line. Everything is a straight up (pun intended) commentary on the gay community acceptance in the guise of vampire community. And all this from Alan Ball! The creator of the best-written show on television IMHO, Six Feet Under. I can already see the episodes that he’s written stand out as at least tolerable. That’s a bad thing.

When Alan Ball pitched this show he said he pitched it as ‘Popcorn TV for Smart People’. I highly disagree. This is popcorn TV for people who like watching dumb people do stupid things. This is the reality TV of vampire shows.

And everyone has bad hair. Even the emo-brooding civil war vampire.

Ok, I will admit, I love me some vampires. But the rest of the show sucks. This show isn't even worth a pun about sucking.

I am tempted to continue the show in the hopes that other educated characters appear, and cajole Alan Ball off-screen into writing more episodes regarding the relationships. RELATIONSHIPS I said, not just brooding. I do realize that EVERYTHING put on television is dumbed down and sexed up to some extent. But can’t century-old vampires do anything else other than brood in Louisiana? And just being hot, brooding and sexy isn’t enough. Despite what you’ve heard.

At least I enjoy my boyfriend practicing the sexy brooding whenever the vampire is on screen. He’s getting good. If he gets good enough, maybe we can stop watching the show and just do the rest ourselves.

Jeff, We Hardly Knew Ye...

2009-09-02T14:49:00.000-07:00

Prior to 2007, my knowledge of pro-wrestling consisted of this: Hulk Hogan.

That’s it. His name. I was aware of him, and what he looked like, nothing more.

Flash forward 2 years later, and courtesy of my WWE obsessed boyfriend, I am self-consciously calling myself ‘a wrestling fan’. It’s not something I ever would have assumed I’d like, let alone gotten into. But now on the eve of losing my favorite wrestler, Jeff Hardy, I feel the tables, ladders and chairs have turned.

WWE and Wrestling Entertainment conjures up images of shameless roided and oiled up hunks tossing each other around a ring while yelling. And possibly a few catchphrases. But now that I’m seeing it through the eyes of someone who loves it, I see that WWE has storylines. It has heroes and villains. And it has heart.

In the wrestling entertainment world, you can’t just wrestle – you have to tell a story as well. In WWE, there are those who can act, and those who can wrestle. Jeff Hardy was one of the latter. His acting ability left much to be desired, and is often parodied in conversations I have with other fans. However, I think I became a fan of Jeff because he was different. He was not HUGE. He was not exceptionally talented. He did one signature move that I didn’t see anyone else attempt much – a rotating flip off the turnbuckle. It was almost gymnastic. He looked different, he acted different, and it seemed like not only was his character an outsider, but he personally might have been one as well.

His moments usually consisted of bad promos, followed by astonishing flipping falls from incredible heights. He threw his body around like a rag doll.

But I wanted to see him win. The underdog, the smaller man, the outsider needed to win. And thus, WWE had me hooked.

He has risen to the top, and personal demons saw him fall again. His personal life really did echo his character, and thus…he has to confront his life, and rectify what he’s become. He is taking time off the WWE to recuperate, and unfortunately…now he’s gone. He may return – who knows how long he’ll take off. He may see fit to not return to wrestling.

I’m not sure that the reason I watch WWE is the same reason everyone else does. I’m not sure that I get out of the show what I’m supposed to get. But I know I at least call myself ‘fan’ partially due to the gigantic flipping leaps of Jeff Hardy. So I guess, he accomplished what he set out to do.

Hulk Hogan who?

Forced Blogging: These Crazy Kids

2009-09-01T11:37:00.001-07:00

So, I decided I need to exercise my writing muscles. I can hardly get myself to exercise ANY muscles at all, even though I set my elliptical between my bed and my bathroom. I have 6 partially finished scripts, 4 specs, and a book. All of which are languishing on my nice mac, that is only used for surfing cute overload and facebook. Poor mac. Thought it would get rich being a ‘writer’ when instead it houses bed jumping photos and lots and lots of Muse songs.

The topic given to me for today is “these crazy kids with their hair and their clothes and their loud music.”

And this is a pretty easy topic, considering I LOVE these crazy kids with their hair and their clothes and their loud music! Ok, not love…I appreciate. Only when they are in a gaggle at the mall blocking my entrance to Hot Topic to buy a Gryffindor shirt, only then do I dislike them. When they mock my fashion choice of old-lady jeans and said Gryffindor shirt, I really dislike them. And when they’re under age 15, then I REALLY REALLY dislike them.

Maybe it’s less the fads, than the age. I love pink and green hair, and tutu skirts, and crazy Japanese bondage outfits. I love them blasting alternative and rap. But when it comes from a child – I do appreciate less, and wonder more. What is their rationale? What is the point of their rebellion?

I don’t recall rebelling as a child. I mostly read books. My parents thought I was a great kid, save for that one time I helped my best friend host a beer party at age 15. Of course I didn’t have any beer – yuck. So, clearly…a great kid.

I rebelled in my late 20s early 30s – pink hair, rockabilly jeans, and lusting over boys with tattoos. I rebelled by going to film school instead of becoming a science teacher. I rebelled by choosing to not have children, and by being extremely liberal.

So, what is it about the 12 year olds in grunge pants, tutus and punk tops that bothers me? It’s that they are doing it for no reason. They do it because it’s a fad. It’s that they don’t know what grunge, punk or being a rebel really means.

Not that I know either. I’m an old fuddy-duddy in a Hot Topic Gryffindor shirt that listens to Muse. What do I know? Maybe a pink stripe in my hair would get me some respect.

Probably not.

At least the LA canyon fires are crackling...

2009-09-01T10:44:00.000-07:00

Ah, Fall…

When the leaves turn, the crisp scent of yellow aspen and crackling fireplaces and cool nights… and when Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Lattes return.

Say what? September 1 is officially fall? Since when?

Come to think of it, I did see Halloween costumes in the drug store the other day. And Thanksgiving cards were on display. I should start Christmas shopping now!

Too bad I’m still going to the beach and wearing tank tops in this ridiculous 100 degree heat. I’ll take my Pumpkin Spice Latte ICED, please.

I love me some sandwiches...

2009-08-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

But I REALLY love me some Vespa sandwiches.

MMMM?

2009-07-29T09:34:00.001-07:00

What is up with McGriddles?

I have had them before, and every time I see them, I think “people must like these…they must taste ok, I should try it again” and every time I take one bite and regret my decision. And here I am again today, with a McGriddle on my desk, and just starting at it while I chew, thinking…

“Sausage should not be wrapped in pancakes.”

It’s a gastrotastrophy. Yes, I just made that up, and it means good food gone bad. Something that may SEEM like a culinary creation and avant-garde, but just comes off as sausage wrapped in maple flavored bread. And that’s not a good thing.

I’m all for pancake flavored cupcakes with bacon sprinkles…so you ask me, “why the bias toward McDonalds fare? It’s the same thing!”…and I reply with the one simple rule for food combinations.

1. Food should be either sweet OR savory with a sprinkling of its opposite. Sweet cupcakes with sweet frosting with a bacon chip – OK. Savory sausage with savory bread with a hint of maple – OK. Sweet pancakes with maple sugar chips wrapping savory sausage- NOT OK.

This rule can probably be applied to many aspects of life. I will leave it up to the reader to do so, and advise me on the outcome.

And apparently McGriddles can be used as a weapon. There is McGriddle FanFiction. McGriddles are already being copied in Dunkin Donuts ‘Waffle Breakfast Sandwich.’ And they have a Facebook page. And although all these things imply that McGriddles are a pop phenomenon, and I should respect it as such…the bottom line is…it just doesn’t taste right.

But I still ate the whole thing.

Online Dating EXPOSED!

2009-07-21T12:31:00.000-07:00

This article makes me furious.

I take offront to someone who professes to write about how the online dating community is a waste of time when he cant even fill out a profile about himself. Clearly, this fellow has no abiliy to define who he is, what he wants, and shouldn’t be dating anyone at all until he figures that out. If trying to list your favorite movies puts you in paralysis of double-thinking, perhaps you should double-think yourself right out the door. What real woman wants to date someone that can’t decide what level of dishonesty he’s going with for today’s profile?

I think finding anyone in this crazy world that you like is winning the lottery. I think falling in love with that person and them falling in love with you back is like winning the lottery 3 times in a row and then Ed McMahon showing up at your door when you get home with a humongous Publisher’s clearing house check. And Ed McMahon is alive. That’s the kind of miracle I think finding your soulmate is. SO believe me when I say that finding MY soulmate on match.com was a miracle, one that was brought about by some very important things this man is clearly forgetting:

1. Know who you are. If you can’t define yourself, then take some time to get to know yourself. How can you become ½ of a whole if you aren’t sure what you have to offer?

2. Know what you want. Don’t be that loser who thinks the scatter-gun effect is real. If your only criteria in a mate is ‘breathing’ then get off the internet.

3. Be real. Don’t lie. Don’t write what you think the opposite gender wants to hear. Write from your heart. It ensures that the other heart reading your profile is the right one. If your heart has nothing to say...see suggestion #1.

And as my boyfriend and soulmate of 2 years (whom I met on match.com) added: "So we have a person who writes for CNN.com, what is presumably supposed to be a reputable news/analysis website, admitting that he gave up doing research for the article after what I can only assume was 10 minutes worth of work, yet still wrote the article anyway and tried to pass it off as some sort of cute insightful analysis of the entire industry of online dating. Come to think of it, there are plenty of things I have given up on after 10 minutes. Hey CNN! I need a job!"

If you want to, as this CNN.com writer says find "...a play land of false romantic promises and deferred risk” then by all means, follow his advice. Because not participating in life and not even bothering to try and look for that diamond in the rough is a sure way to REALLY make it a huge waste of time.

Mid-Century

2009-07-08T16:00:00.000-07:00

I really like mid-century modern furniture. But clearly not as much as this person.

Been too long...

2009-07-01T19:15:00.001-07:00

You know it's been too long in between blogs, when google asks you to re-sign in every time.

I only have one excuse. I punctured my eardrum. Granted, that was yesterday, but I think pre-pain was seeping in through parallel universes in the space-time continuum to give me phantom ear pain way in advance. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Some more random thoughts, because I'm too lazy to actually write a post with a coherent theme and meaning like Cheryl does EVERY FREAKING TIME. No, I'm not bitter. Just because she's a published writer, and awesome, and supercool...doesn't mean I secretly want to write a New York Times Bestseller just to show her up. Ok, maybe I do.

However, said best seller isn't more than 5 words long at the moment...so here are thoughts to ponder:

1. Michael Jackson's dead body. I mean, he was icky enough alive. Why would I want to see him dead?

2. Wood-fired Pizza. I would not think pizza could be better, but apparently firing it over wood does the trick. I would like to see Wood-fired Mac&Cheese, Wood-fired Bacon, and Wood-fired Cupcakes.

3. Cupcakes. Need I say more?

4. Paper. How is it that I seem to only have photo paper, or three hole punched paper in my house when I need to print something on regular paper. And when I need three holed paper, I only have regular paper. Or when I need to print on photo paper...you get the point.

5. Buffy. Sigh.

6. Who are these people that win the lottery? Has anyone ever known them? I have a suspicion they really don't exist, and the money is funneled in to government Black Ops programs. Not that I'm against Black Ops. I just would prefer to have the 39 million myself. Note to Black Ops people: I LOVE BLACK OPS! Do not show up at my door.

7. Why does an email to me, from me, always go into my spam folder? Jesus.

8. Does anyone want to get together and put really awesome neon puffy paint on our Keds?

9. Do kids still go to summer camp? I never hear about it anymore. Maybe it's because I don't have kids or befriend people with kids. Mainly because I hate kids, and wish they'd all go to camp.

10. Ebay higher volume purchased x discounted prices = the same freaking amount of money i would have spent on fewer things in better condition. Is having lots of crap better than having only some nice things?

My ear hurts. Enjoy yourselves, nasty readers who guilt me into writing blogs. Even though you don't email me, I know you're there.

Right?

Celebrating people you don't know!

2009-06-04T16:13:00.001-07:00

Ah...the sweet sweet smell of office birthday cake.

NOT.

Why does it seem that every office birthday party has the same funky cake? Really stale super-sweet white cake with pudding between the layers, or, on a good day…mildly almost chocolate mousse. And it’s always topped with GIGANTIC purple flowers that not only stain your teeth, but taste like waxed paper. And it’s not like they come from the same store – I’ve seen the boxes. I’ve even been a member of the ‘let’s go somewhere new for cake’ committee, and gotten something that LOOKS way better. Something with berries on the top, say…but deep down, all cakes are the same.

The one exception cake was a wonderful tiny marzipan fondant almond cake from Sweet Lady Jane’s that I got from my ex-boss. And I didn’t like her. And she got me the best cake ever.

I’m sure there’s some MORAL there. I’m just too sugar-high to figure it out.

You know you're spending too much time on ebay when...

2009-05-10T18:21:00.001-07:00

...you seriously consider buying a Hippo Planter.

I'm back!

2009-03-27T17:10:00.000-07:00

So, I haven’t blogged in a while. Yes, I know what you’re thinking.

You: “I have been on the verge of slitting my wrists and you just keep mocking me with blank pages!”
Me: Wow, I didn’t know it affected you that…
You: “Yeah, well it does! And you keep on doing it! That’s it, we’re breaking up!”
Me: I don’t think we were dat…
You: “Don’t try to talk me out of it – we’re through! I SAID THROUGH!”
Me: um…ok.

You: "...and I want my Joni Mitchell records back."
Me: I don’t have any…
You: "SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!"

Ok, not that you’d say 'shut your pie hole'. Only bad villains in bad 80’s movies say that. And you do sometimes. Admit it.

That being said, I thought I’d jot some thoughts down today on life, the universe and things. Just to keep you from your suicidal thoughts.

1. Thongs are stupid. Just like any other item designed to LOOK good, but not be useful, they really miss the point of underwear. Which I think is to guard your sensitive privates from scratchy jeans and sand and crap. Yes, I said sand.

2. When did we become so fearful of what people think? In times where jobs are tough, why can you just walk up to a person who you want to work with and say ‘hey- I’m a hard worker, and I like your style and I’d like you to pay me a small salary to assist you in any way I can.” Regardless if this is say… Steven Spielberg…we should be able to say that and not feel moronic. I guess it’s like the high school nerd who asks out the prom queen. There’s that latent fear of complete cafeteria ridicule and food throwing the next day if you get turned down. It’s not like Steven is going to throw his mystery meat at you. We should be able to just ask!

3. I love email. Love it. I prefer it above all other modes of communication. I can be on the webcam and the phone with my boyfriend at the same time, and then send him an email as well. I love it that much.

4. I hate texts. Hate them. I hate people who send me texts. They need to die.

5. I’m still confused about Facebook. Admit it – you are too. We’re on there, just milling around like some big sausage fest, and we don’t get it. Oh, we SAY we do…but we don’t.

6. I miss old school communication with perfume. Like poems, and letters, and calling cards. I wish I could pick up a calling card that smells like roses and know my secret lover was here to see me.

7. Sylvia Plath’s son committed suicide and there’s a ton of news about it. I want to feel sympathetic, but really, I feel like digging up his grave and shouting at his corpse. “You should have known better! – you knew first hand all about it and how it can affect people and you still did it!” Then maybe I’d stab him – to teach him a lesson.

8. I don’t understand the pirate pants look. You know, the knee high boots, and the high-water short gaucho pants. It’s a trend at my work – I just think of them as the ‘pirate wenches’ but really, the bottom line is it’s SUPER UNFLATTERING. It makes you look SUPER FAT girls. Stop it.

9. After years of drinking Arnold Palmers, I have decided that I actually do not like them. I just thought they were a cool idea. Good on paper, bad in the mouth.

10. Lastly, I am wondering how I can become a florist. Can I intern? Can I just create an album and send it around to places and see if they’ll hire me? I’m serious people. Help me out.

SO, there you have it…a list of fun things to ponder and pontificate on. Much like wondering if Bert and Ernie are gay…my thoughts are simultaneously useless and non-consequential.

And I want to reiterate that I do not have any Joni Mitchell records…

“SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!”

this is BLASPHEMY!!!!

2009-02-07T11:30:00.001-08:00

2009-01-26T17:57:00.001-08:00

I love French fries. And I love bacon. But I don’t know if I love this.

2009-01-16T19:35:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that I love this? Because I do.

And this.

And this.

An Ode to IKEA Meatballs

2008-12-23T15:44:00.001-08:00

Your meaty goodness abounds

Lumps of flavor and nutrition

Shall I 6, 8 or 12…or shall I bag downstairs later?

All is desired, and wanted

Balls of lovelyness

Gravy covered o’er your mounds of greatness

Ikea meatballs how I love you so.

This amuses me immensely.

2008-12-08T18:11:00.001-08:00

Update

2008-11-23T12:23:00.000-08:00

Hmmm. I realize I haven't been around in a while, and I don't really have a firm reason why. I think I've just become obsessed with a variety of things, and then they end up sucking in all my time. There was a 4 week period where I was thinking about Paninis every spare second, and yes, there was an amazing proscuitto and brie panini that resulted in that focus, but I probably could have unraveled the space-time continuum if I was broadening my focus in other ways.

So here is a list of some of the things that are circulating in my brain as my next potential obsession.

1. Wrapping paper. It's so much more than a present covering. It's an actual present itself. I am obsessed as to why amazon.com does not have a large selection. And I am loving the container store selection. Also, Ribbon should be in it's own category, but I'm putting it here due to this corollary to the wrapping obsession... RIBBON is not plastic bows that you stick on a present with adhesive tabbies. It's long thin pretty ribbon you tie in a shoestring bow yourself. THAT is what makes a present.

2. Chinese Democracy. Not the album itself, but these fans who insist on proving they own something. Like that makes them a part of something bigger than just listening to music. It makes them cool...or does it? And since my boyfriend is on there as one of those GNR lovers, the answer is yes, baby...you are cool.

3. Pumpkin cheesecake ice cream. It just seems wrong. And yet, oh so right.

4. Dry skin. Which moisturizer is the best, and why? Is there a way to drink some cocktail of vitamins that will go straight to your skin and make it smooth? Why do I care? Why is my forearm totally moisturized, and my upper arm totally dry? Isnt all the skin connected? Or is there some rhyme and reason to my patchiness?

5. Obama's fireside chats. No, I haven't seen it, but it seems like a topic I COULD obsess on, that's why I seem to be avoiding watching it.

6. Facebook. It's just so....useless. And yet, there I am on it all the time.

7. These Burlesque costumes on ebay. They are awesome. I mean...awesome.

8. Ugg boots. I am getting to this concept about 4 years too late, but I LOVE my stupid little Target Ugg ripoffs.

9. Cheesecake Factory Louisiana Chicken Pasta.

10. Paninis. I don't think I'm done with this yet. I bought a panini maker, and now my obsession is expanding into crudites, and miniature sandwiches. This is a problem. Help me! At least help me eat what I make...

I predict...

2008-11-04T19:02:00.001-08:00

2008-11-04T15:08:00.000-08:00

NO ON 8!

Now back to your regularly scheduled silence...

Bucky

2008-09-04T22:32:00.000-07:00

I could live in Starbucks.

They serve my ‘I must be specific about the amount of sugar pumps in my pumpkin spice latte without a grimace from you’ coffee needs, my lunchtime ‘I’m pretending I’m in paris eating a ham baguette with cherries’ sandwich needs, my ‘ I am attempting to be healthy so I’ll eat vegetables in dip which actually equals the calories in a sandwich’ needs, and now, they meet my ‘something which seems like a breakfast food that doesn’t come from mcdonalds’ needs.

They now serve oatmeal.

Sure, it’s the same instant kind I could get a the grocery store, and make at home. But it comes with dried fruit, and brown sugar packets, and nuts. And it’s just so darned cute.

And the calories are all marked! So I can see that when I’m trying to keep my breakfast at 200 calories, the brown sugar mix and dried fruit and nuts actually makes it 400 calories.

But what a perfect 400 calories it is.

If only they had fold-out beds.

What Rap has been missing...

2008-09-01T19:38:00.001-07:00

omg. wow. um...

2008-08-25T18:23:00.001-07:00

Why Norway Will Never be a Superpower...

2008-08-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

Speaks for itself.

Why?

2008-08-02T12:59:00.001-07:00

A good question, my friend. A very good question.

Like sands through the hourglass...

2008-07-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

Santino passionately kissed Beth Phoenix. Beth Phoenix grabbed Santino's hair, and kissed him right back.

These are my stories.

Are Santino and Beth going to get together?
Is Cena dating Mickie? Or just friends? Why were her panties at his house?
What's going to happen to Edge and Vickie now that they're married and he's cheating on her?

Will Tom romance his younger sister accidentally? Will John steal Marlena from Roman? DId someone curse Luke & Laura's marraige? Is John really Stephano's half brother? were Stefan and Laura lovers and is Stefann possibly Nikolas' father? Did Laura kill Rick Webber? Is it all just a daydream by an autistic child looking at a snowglobe? Ooops....getting ahead of myself.

Yes, I am a WWE Opera fan.

Witness the moment between Santino and Beth. Wrestling, Kissing. Strange emotions in the air. It's got it all.

Don't judge me or I'll swanton bomb you.

Chekov had it easy

2008-07-26T13:03:00.001-07:00

There's a moment when you're sick...a moment wherein you finally think 'enough is enough' and 'this is ridiculous' and 'I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore' and that moment for me happened last night when suddenly blood poured out of my ears.

I'm not talking Exorcist here - it wasn't some crazy horror-movie bleeding. And it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. But when you're realizing blood is coming out from a location it usually doesn't , you have to take pause and think 'well, that can't be good.'

There are things that should not go in or out of your ears. Wrath of Khan Chekov Bugs (yes, that's their official name) should never go in your ear. Blood should never come out of your ear.

SO that being said... it gave me pause, and it made me realize that now is the time to see a doctor. Blood out of ear = Doctor.

I have bad experiences with Doctors. They think I'm faking it. They say 'oh, you've been sick as a dog for 3 weeks, and throwing up? It's just a cold. Hang tight little soldier' and shuffle me off home to die alone desperately clutching my nyquil. They say things like 'The worst has passed, it's not worth medicating now.' and 'that flu can be a killer - just keep up with the tylenol.' Needless to say, Tylenol does nothing for the flu. And really, neither does any other medication. It takes you from ' I'm dying!' to 'I'm dying while sitting up!'

And so with this new physical proof of my illness (aka bleeding out of your ears can't be good) I went in and amazingly enough got a perscription for some actual medication to make me better. Miracle of miracles. A Doctor that helps you when you're sick. It's almost an oxymoron.

Although I shouldn't get my hopes up for it happening again. But I'll keep an awl by my bedside just in case I need to poke myself in the ear again to get some actual medical attention.

Movie...THE Movie.

2008-06-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

I was privy to a conversation yesterday between my bf(boyfriend) and his bf(best friend) about how they really didn't like the last Bond movie. And the first thought that came into my mind was... 'slit his throat'...and then my second thought was...'they don't get it.'

I really think, if you didn't grow up reading Ian Fleming, then you don't know Bond. And those people won't care for these movies, since they're not the fluff of yesteryear.

So...watch this with that in mind. And if you don't get a tingle of 'oh YEAH!' from this... watch your throat.

2008-06-26T06:52:00.001-07:00

Dammit!

2008-06-23T17:40:00.000-07:00

I missed THIS. How is that possible?

Sigh.

I Must Go Here.

2008-06-16T20:25:00.000-07:00

Mullets might come back. They might. Don't mock my love.

But they're ORGANIC

2008-06-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find yourself buying things that are the same as other things, just with different labels, and the label made the difference?

Like..I bought 'organic fruity bears' at whole foods. They would appear to be healthy based on the title, yes? Organic = good. Fruit = good. Bears = awesome.

BUT, in reality, these are sugar coated gel pectin candy, and are no better than something you'd get in a bright shiny package at a candy store. But I bought them due to the pretty vegan wholesome advertising label.

AND - I feel no guilt in eating one. It's an Organic Fruity Bear! It's like I biked to work and recycled everything and wear vegan shoes. Organic Fruity Bears!

I think that's all advertising is...making us feel better about ourselves through mass trickery. There's no big moral here, really...I just wanted to admit that I understand I'm being tricked. I'm on to you people. And I will point at you menacingly as I eat my healthy and delicious organic fruity bears. Yum!

Peas and Gravy

2008-06-11T20:05:00.000-07:00

I just realized - I don't like MIXED flavors. I'm not a mixer.

Take gummy bears. I feel deep down that you should eat only one color at a time. Put 6 red ones in your mouth - YUM. But put a red and green in there? CACOPHONY!!! TRAITOROUS!!! BLASPHEMOUS!!!!

I feel the same about citrus candy - like those ones that are shaped like oranges and grapefruit slices. Oranges go with Oranges. Grapefruit goes with Grapefruit. Oranges do NOT go with Grapefruit and we will NOT have that type of fraternization in THIS SCHOOL.

I am a flavor racist. NO Orange will drink out of the same water-fountain as MY grapefruit!

Plus, I really don't like gravy getting all over everything at Thanksgiving. But thats a whole different topic.

My God I Love Japanese Game Shows.

2008-06-09T20:50:00.000-07:00

Ohhhhhhhhh no

2008-05-23T18:24:00.001-07:00

Now that I've found a wonderful, smart, cute, loving boyfriend on match.com...I thought I should share with you one of the first e-mails I got from someone on the site. I think it speaks for itself.

subject : hi
ohhhhhhhhhhh beuty

Wow. Who knew?

2008-05-12T19:44:00.000-07:00

Somehow Sesame Street is plugged into my 'secret needs'. Wink wink.

Things my boyfriend said:

2008-05-07T18:20:00.000-07:00

“Hey look it’s you! No wait…that’s Hitler” upon seeing a Wii character he created in the sidelines of Mario Kart 3.

SCHMOOPY!

2008-05-01T06:27:00.000-07:00

In case you're wondering why I've been relatively silent for the last 6 months - I just celebrated a 6 month anniversary with a BOY. Meaning a person of the male gender. A MAN. A human with a penis.

That's right...I haven't been blogging, because I got a life. I heard my brain, in an oh so subtle William Shatner-esque way, imply that I needed one. And I went out to find it, and there he was, innocently calling himself the Gonzo of the world...complete with car, job, and cute little face.

I could of course, start blogging about how adorable he is, and how much we're in love, and how he's my schmoopy, and I'm his schmoopy...oh wait..was that the sound of you vomiting? I thought so.

So, basically what I'm saying is that you should THANK me for being silent. That's right...you owe me.

I like chocolate. I'm just sayin...

The most awesome video game I've ever seen

2008-04-06T10:01:00.001-07:00

Human Tetris

2008-03-14T15:49:00.000-07:00

I recently cancelled my cable. There was nothing on. Except Dexter. Everything else sucked.

So I watched re-runs of the Japanese Game Show Human Tetris on You Tube. They are genius. Possibly more genius than Dexter, but in a totally different way. Less serial-killing, more yellow water.

Then I got this e-mail from a casting agency:
"The TV phenomenon sweeping the world is making its way to American soil! This project is the most downloaded Japanese Game ever on the net. Now FremantleMedia, the company behind American Idol, America's Got Talent, and The Price Is Right along with a major American television network are looking for trios (friends, co-workers, spouses, etc) to take part in an airable pilot for one of the most outrageous, funny, and challenging game shows ever seen on Television. Go to Youtube and search "HUMAN TETRIS" to watch how the game is played on the original Japanese gameshow!"

Holy CRAP! That's right! HUMAN TETRIS IS GOING TO BE MADE IN THE US!!!!!!!!!!

I almost peed my pants. Does anyone want to be on my team? Seriously. I'm totally serious.

Call me. I'm practicing the splits right now. Seriously.

Seriously.

Crazy

2008-03-05T19:36:00.000-08:00

I'm a little behind the times, but I've been listening to THIS SONG non-stop.

Call me crazy.

...so are the days of our lives.

2008-02-22T21:49:00.001-08:00

John Cena WWE Superwrestler, my boyfriend Dave, and me.
No, I'm not sleeping. I swear.

Like sands through the hourglass...

2008-02-18T09:18:00.001-08:00

I'm heading off to see WWE Raw tonight LIVE! Yes, I know in all the years you've been religiously reading this blog you've never heard me ONCE mention pro-wrestling. That's because it's a recently acquired taste due to the influence of D, who has been educating me on the allure of soap-operas er...I mean pro-wrestling. They're interesting! Things happen! Feuds, proposals, midgets wrestling their father...it's all part of the daily fun of soap-operas er...I mean pro-wrestling.

My point in bringing this up is that on the ticket for tonight it says 'no lasers/videocameras'.

So, I'll be leaving this at home.

It would have made for great drama, tho, when Stefano whips out the death ray to kill Marlena, who then fakes her death and then they both fall off a cliff while wrestling their fathers.

No Hyperion, this is NOT my boyfriend

2008-02-02T13:53:00.001-08:00

New Marketing Geniuses

2008-02-01T06:40:00.001-08:00

I think this covers all the important plot points, don't you?

Disgustingly cute.

2008-01-22T16:22:00.000-08:00

Boyfriend D sent me this in response to my previous post:

I know. We're so pathetically cute it makes you want to vomit. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Match update

2008-01-20T10:08:00.001-08:00

My boyfriend D announced to me that he was changing his myspace profile to read 'in a relationship'. And although all I said was 'awwww!', it made me feel like this:

I can't stop...watching...

2008-01-13T20:43:00.000-08:00

In case you're wondering, Tarako is a Japanese company that sells spaghetti with cod roe. Bags of which is what's apparently on their heads. And no, I dont know what the babies mean. Don't question, just let the cupies and their hypnotic commercial rut into your brain.

Schrodinger's LOLCAT

2008-01-10T06:36:00.000-08:00

Fine. I used to work in Porn.

2008-01-09T20:22:00.001-08:00

Hyperion sent me an email with the note..."As usual, when I see porno and physics, I think of you....."
and the link to this comic

He hit it on the head. Sigh. You got me.

So, since it's out there...here is a pic from my porno where I derive Schrodinger's equation while in stockings.

Gotta love the comic-dorks.

2008-01-02T18:37:00.000-08:00

I e-mailed my boyfriend D, a huge comic book fan, and I told him that I was not sleeping well...

The following is his response.

"basically superman was in this battle with braniac once where braniac fried his brain, and as a result of the injuries, over the next several issues superman noticed he was sleeping less and feeling less & less energized at work. he'd be at his desk at the daily planet with stubble on his face and someone would be like, "jeez clark are you feeling ok?" meanwhile this new superhero shows up on the streets of metropolis named "Gangbuster" who only patrolled the streets & night and was super-violent with all the criminals. superman kept trying to track him down but was never able to find him.

then one day Gangbuster gets into a fight with another superhero called The Guardian, and at one point Guardian swipes at Gangbuster's armor & tears his shirt. Gangbuster looks down at his torn shirt and sees the superman logo underneath! that shocks him and suddenly he realizes that he IS Superman, and Superman IS Gangbuster--he had been parading around in his schizophrenic state as this phony made-up superhero who was acting out all the stuff that Superman never let himself do in his waking life! Basically all the stuff Batman does but Superman says he would never do. So this totally shocked Superman so much that he exiled himself to space for a while because he didnt trust himself around humans anymore. he later returned to earth of course once he was sure he had been cured. so even Superman has trouble sleeping sometimes!"

You gotta give him props for the effort.

Have a Rockin' New Year

2007-12-31T20:30:00.000-08:00

Merry Tennis Balls!

2007-12-24T09:51:00.000-08:00

I must be one of those people. Those people that other people like to talk to.

A strange woman started talking to me in line at Starbucks. She asked me what to get a pedicurist for Christmas. After a 5 minute discussion (entirely on her end), 'we' decided that since you never get the same girl twice, and they are tipped already for their service, the Christmas present should be for the entire group of girls, and my new friend would make them a batch of cookies.

She then told me about her son, who really wanted a down vest and they went to Banana Republic, but you know how they’re preppy, and her son is preppy, but not THAT preppy, plus they cost about 80 dollars, so she went online to Land’s End, and they have these great jackets that are rated for 15 below, and they actually say that on the website with the ratings and the temperatures, so if it's rated for 15 below it must be good enough for L.A., so she ordered it, and it came yesterday…

And it was about then that I tuned out. I’m glad I was wearing sunglasses, otherwise she might have seen that glazed donut look in my eyes.

As she continued to tell me about this down jacket, and it’s miracle-ness…I realized that I must have a certain look. The look of a ‘listener’. I nod, I smile…so maybe I have that ‘therapist’ look to me. "And what do you think about that?" should be my common retort.

Or maybe I'm kindly. Like Santa Claus. I'm Miss Claus - tell me what you want, tell me about your son's down jacket. Talk to me.

Or maybe, the world is just so full of crappy people that when someone even appears remotely nice, friendly and 'there', you latch onto them like they are the only remaining vestige of a real human connection out there for you. I, the random starbucks patron, am the only woman who will listen to the tale of the pedicurist and the down jacket like it’s an Aesop fable, and nod knowingly at the end. I'll be kind, and allow the connection.

And that's a pretty sad state of humanity. When, even in the holiday season, you have to turn to strangers for a human moment. Tis the season to be cold and distant. Tis the season to be with your family, and ignore the beggar on the corner. Tis the season to say Bah Humbug. Well...not for me. I welcome being Miss Claus, and I welcome giving whatever I can.

As she wrapped up her story, grabbed her latte, she reached the moral to the fable – "You know how you keep a down jacket fluffy when you wash it?" I answered ‘no idea’ politely, and she looked knowingly at me, and said "tennis balls in the dryer".

She giggled, and slyly said "now the only problem is keeping them away from the dog!" - and we shared a moment of strange absurd laughter at the absurd story, the absurd moral, and the absurd Santa Claus/child on my knee relationship developed.

She left smiling, after my pat on the head. Miss Claus will be sure to deliver your cheer and whatever your hearts desire...even if it's only a latte and a kind ear.

Ho Ho Ho...Merry Christmas everyone!

Porn For Women

2007-12-22T11:50:00.000-08:00

Tuesday Blues

2007-12-18T20:20:00.000-08:00

Why?

2007-12-09T16:43:00.000-08:00

I don't know. Just because.

Hot Damn

2007-12-01T12:05:00.000-08:00

What amazing novelty is this?

Self-heating hot cocoa?

The light in the grocery store seemed to narrow and focus on the shelving with this glorious invention. Angels sung a symphony of praise and wonderment. Trumpets blared Vivaldi, and pimpley-faced clerks in red aprons bowed in humble worship.

Are you seriously telling me that without access to a microwave, without a stove, and even without the cave-man ability to make fire, milk a cow and shell cocoa beans, I am able to enjoy a lovely hot chocolately beverage?

With marshmallows?

My god, it’s a christmas miracle.

2007-11-17T15:39:00.000-08:00

She Said Guacamole...(giggle)

2007-11-10T15:15:00.000-08:00

My friend V and I had the following discussion about food:

V: It's so psychological, all this eating and starving. Food is the great love of my life.

me: I know - but I'd prefer it be a person!

V: Yeah, just think if food was a person!!!

me: I'd be having a passionate addictive affair...

V: I would never be bored. Especially if my man was Mexican food incarnate. Come get in bed with the spicy creamy guacamole man. No strings attached. Just nonstop melted cheese and crunchy chips.

I'm heading to Don Cucos...anyone care to join me? Wink wink.

Green Arrow & Black Canary

2007-11-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or is this a darn sexy comic book frame?

Because Hyperion Said So

2007-10-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

Hyperion threatened my husband (Richard Dean Anderson aka MacGyver) with death if I did not post today. Far be it from me to mention that I am CONFINED TO BED by doctors orders due to back spasms. In fact, it hardly hurts. Not even noticeable if you don't count the hot searing pain and writhing followed by bouts of falling to the floor.

However, I shall post on...

Last month, the results of a poll commissioned by the McCormick Tribune Foundation (designed to urge people to become better prepared for disasters) asked Americans whom among seven fictional heroes they would choose to ask for help in the event of an emergency.

MacGyver (27%)
Indiana Jones (16%)
John McClane (14%)
James Bond (8%)
Jason Bourne (8%)
Jack Bauer (7%)
Lara Croft (7%)

When Richard Dean Anderson was approached for a comment about the survey results, he sent this response:

"My initial reaction was: Aw, shucks...But then I'm thinking, well, yeah, he could handle it. In fact, truth be known, I'd want to be with Mac in any dire strait, too. I am flattered by the vote of confidence. And if any of the 27% need anything, let me know.
'Mac'"

I really need you to come over and rub my back, Rick.

Seriously.

Call me?

Match.me

2007-10-02T20:08:00.000-07:00

I did it. I officially became one of the lovelorn throng.

I joined match.com.

I shilled out my 40 dollars. (holy jesus!) 40 bucks for 1 month of potential torturous flipping through pictures and profiles and finally realizing that I don't like anyone, and it's not worth it.

As soon as my credit card cleared with a mighty ka-CHING, Match sent me the following email:

"Hold on to your heart, schrodingerskitten, you just got a subscription for LOVE"

No, I am not joking.

James Always Loved You Best

2007-09-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

Lois Maxwell (a.k.a. Moneypenny) 1927-2007

Bond: Moneypenny, what gives?
Moneypenny: Me, given an ounce of encouragement! You never take me to dinner looking like this James. You never take me to dinner period.
Bond: I would you know, only M would have me court-marshalled for "illegal use of government property".
Moneypenny: Flattery will get you nowhere, but don't stop trying!

2007-09-29T14:59:00.000-07:00

If only

2007-09-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

Only in my dreams do I get my foot broken while riding on George Clooney.....'s motorcycle.

Size DOES Matter

2007-09-22T17:19:00.000-07:00

My toes are happy. Not since the great foot massage of '02 have my toes been so happy.

I have discovered the miracle that is sock-sizing.

Yes, you heard me. Sock-sizing. Most socks come in one size - women's. Alas, some of us have feet...say...the size of men...and women's socks are tight. They stifle. They stretch. The heels hit my arch. The ribbing leaves permanent scarring on my ankles.

So I was amazed to discover that there are some companies (thank you Hanes) that make socks for women with up to size 12 feet! Glory be!

I bought a package, and slipped a pair on...my god. They fit. My feet can bend without the sock flipping off a la Cinderella.

And my feet look normal, not like big giganto feet squeezing into baby socks. Which makes me feel good about my feet. And sexy.

Because you know what they say about women with big feet. *wink*

Saved by the WTF?!

2007-09-20T19:19:00.000-07:00

My friend P is watching the DVD's of 'Saved By the Bell' - the entire series.

Now don't go grabbing your hair screaming 'Why god, why?' just yet. He says he wants to relive his childhood. However, references to Screech and Slater are going to get him shot sooner or later. By me.

So I got to thinking about what DVD's would help me relive my childhood...

Here's what I came up with.

'Simon and Simon' to relive my insane crush on Parker Stevenson.

'A-Team' to relive my laugh EVERY FRIKKIN TIME the cylon walked past Dirk Benedict in the opening credits.

'Magnum PI' to relive the time when I finally figured out who Robin Masters was.

'MacGyver' to relive my eternal love for defusing atomic weapons with gum and paperclips.

'GI Joe' to relive my screaming '...and knowing is half the battle!'

'Smurfs' to relive my belief that Handy and Smurfette were meant to be together.

'Ducktales' to relive my screaming 'D-d-d-danger!"

'Silver Spoons', because really, didn't we all want that train?

Guess Where I'm Going Tomorrow?

2007-09-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

1 in 5

2007-09-03T14:19:00.000-07:00

I guess it makes me feel less incompetent that I can't find someone either.

From e-harmony..." Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time. "

When Switches Attack!!

2007-08-31T19:26:00.000-07:00

Holy Sweet Jesus, Ow.

All from a light switch.

Who would have thought that my light switch could do so much damage? I mean, short of opening it up and wiring my genitals to it, of course. (BTW, that's not good. Don't try it. Screw peer pressure. If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you? No wiring genitals.)

To clarify...I fell into my light switch yesterday.

It was a cat's fault. I stepped, cat was present underfoot, I tried to shift weight, and fell into the wall. BUT (here's the important part)...the part of the wall where the little flicker light switch was. A tiny 1/2 inch moveable piece of plastic.

And it ripped the crap out of my arm.

Literally, the skin just caught on the switch, and it was RIPPED off as I fell down.

And then the lights went out.

Sigh.

I am shoe, hear me step.

2007-08-29T21:35:00.000-07:00

Stuck in a 3 hour useless endless meeting this morning, I began to study people's shoes.

My boss, the tiny pointed blonde, wore tiny pointed pumps.

My co-worker, the laid-back rough surfer, wore laid-back rough loafers.

Me...I wore grey suede 40's style pumps with bows. Analyzing this, I decided I am smooth & touchable, retro, middle-of-the-road, and girly.

Freud, eat your heart out.

How I became the badass I am today.

2007-08-26T19:08:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 1976, Mom and Pops were having a tough time. The entire valley had dried up. The crops were dying, and the bank was ready to forclose on the farm. Barely able to speak, I nonetheless muttered 'Oh Crap' when suddenly Dad got gout. With bankers looming, I had to do something. I had to bring in the crops. Mom cut down a pair of Dad's work overalls, and with my trusty Keds, I set out for 'Bertha' our main tractor to save the family. There was only one problem...how to reach the pedals?

At least 4 year olds love me.

2007-08-25T20:29:00.000-07:00

Leaving work last night, a father and his 4 year old son were sitting on a bench by the elevator. I smiled, passed, and while waiting for the elevator to come, the 4 year old kid says in his not-too-sotto voice...'She's hot'.

And the father nearly choked on his soda.

He looked to me, to make sure I was not offended by his little lethario. I smiled back, and said 'I heard that'...and winked at the kid.

My elevator came, I got inside. As the doors closed, the kid says to his Dad...

'She'll be back'.

In 14 years, he's all mine, ladies.

2007-08-23T20:28:00.001-07:00

Gordon, Stewart & Andy

2007-08-18T15:45:00.001-07:00

Oh yeah, in case I forgot to mention it... 56 year olds ROCK.
They have a certain...synchronicity.

Sephora is my stalker.

2007-08-18T09:54:00.000-07:00

Sephora continues to creep me out.

I mean, yeah...they're awesome and all that. But...creepy.

I went into the store to get something, and while purchasing, the sales lady says 'Happy Birthday!' and hands me a free lotion with a bow on it. I stammered 'Thanks?' and got flustered. How did they know it was my birthday? And how did they just happen to have my gift pre-wrapped under the counter?

It's almost as if they KNEW I was coming in, and they KNEW all pertinent information about me. I wouldn't be surprised if they started stocking all the things I liked in a 'Sara' section and rang a bell and showered me with confetti when I came in the store. It feels like something out of 'Brazil'.

Disneyland does the same thing. When I enter the park at the main gate, the cast members always say 'Hi Sara! It's good to have you back - it's been months!'...and the people I'm with always go slack-jawed and stammer. They think I'm a disney freak, when in reality...yes, I'm a disney freak, but it also shows my name, and my last date of attendance on the computer screen when they scan my pass. It's Magic!

Sure, I know at some point I voluntarily provided my birthday to Sephora. And sure, they had to scan my card to know it was me...but it just seems more magical to think they KNOW me, and what I like.

Magical...and creepy.

Taco! Taco!

2007-08-16T18:44:00.000-07:00

You know what surprises me? The fact that vegan tacos taste good.

I really have no idea what they're made of. Clearly not meat or dairy.

And yet, taking a bite, they tasted almost BETTER than the regular tacos I eat. Obviously more healthy.

But somehow they still do feel artificial - like there are things in there I wouldn't normally eat in lieu of the beef and cheese. Cashew cheddar? Sure...still sounds good. It's cashews. I like cashews. But spelt? Flax? I havent heard that since that old card trader game where I used to yell out 'FLAX, FLAX!' and I tried to pass off the 'WHEAT, WHEAT!' to my little brother. What the heck was that game called? And honestly, what crazy person thought trading in grains would make a great card game?

Yet, I gamely tried the tacos - to accept the vegan status of a new friend. I got them because he got them, and if he could eat them, then so could I.

I ate, I enjoyed and I resisted screaming out 'TACO, TACO!'. I muttered it under my breath, though.

Hardly Workin'

2007-08-14T22:17:00.000-07:00

I dont get friends' e-mails at work. And I'm not too upset, as it's fair - they're not work-related.

Yes, (gasp) - sometimes I'm not really working at work. I'm e-mailing people videos of scubadiving cats. Sometimes I'm trying hard to figure out how to get my IM to work with addresses outside the company. I'm watching powerpoints of resorts in Bali, or sending on that classic 'crazy things to do at work'. I did page myself and didn't disguise my voice. Nobody got it.

But mostly it's the scubadiving cat thing that gets my panties in a bunch. Who DOESN'T want to see that video?

I do work at the US's 4th largest financial institution and they're pretty paranoid about stuff like that. Scubadiving cats may just bring them to their knees. In fact, I'm certain it would.

However, it ticks me off to get censored in any way - be it blog, email, art, tv, film etc....any sort of expression. so, here is a little presentation on some censorship in TV - my favorite medium. It's called that because it's neither rare, nor well done.

I crack myself up. Too bad I couldn't have emailed you that joke.

1942 -- Tweety Bird first appears in "A Tale of Two Kitties." Animator Bob Clampett originally draws him without feathers, but the Hays Office censorship bureau thinks the plucked bird is just a little too naked. So Clampett covers Tweety's titillating flesh with yellow plumage. Clampett doesn't let this pass quietly, though. In the episode, a cat yells to his partner, "Give me the bird!" To which the other cat responds, "If the Hays Office would only let me, I'd give him the bird, all right!"

1959 -- On the dramatic anthology series "Playhouse 90," an episode titled "Judgment at Nuremberg" has all references to gas chambers eliminated from its re-enactment of the Nazi trials. This is done at the behest of the show's slightly sensitive sponsor, the American Gas Association.

1964 -- Mary Ann from "Gilligan's Island," Jeannie from "I Dream of Jeannie," and "Gidget" are all barred from baring their navels. Actress Mariette Hartley receives the same treatment in a 1966 episode of "Star Trek," but the show's director, Gene Roddenberry, gets his revenge in 1973. He recasts Ms. Hartley in the pilot for his new show, "Genesis II," and gives her two belly buttons.

1979 -- "The Muppet Show" is banned from TV in Saudi Arabia, due to Miss Piggy's, well, pig-ness. (The Prophet Muhammad declared the flesh of swine "an abomination.") Merchandise bearing her likeness is confiscated from shops and destroyed.

HIIII - YAH!

Mamma Mia that's a spicy Sara!

2007-08-04T18:25:00.001-07:00

I heartily recommend this slogan generator.

It makes me feel a tad kinky. See which ones you recognize...

Hungry? Why wait? Grab a Sara..
Nothing comes between me and my Sara.
Good to the last Sara.
Whatever you're into...get into Sara.
Little. Yellow. Different. Sara.
Just for the taste of Sara.
I am stuck on Sara, cuz Sara's stuck on me.
Break me off a piece of that Sara.
Bet you can't eat Sara.
You deserve a Sara today.
Come see the softer side of Sara.
8 out of 10 owners who expressed a preference said their cats preferred Sara.
Wow! I coulda had a Sara!
How do you eat YOUR Sara?
It's DIFFERENT in a Sara.
Built Sara tough.
Nothing sucks like a Sara.
Sara keeps going and going...
You're in good hands with Sara.
I can't believe I ate the whole Sara.
When it absolutely positively has to be Sara overnight.
Because so much is riding on your Sara.

And my favorite...

We do Sara right.

Simple Truths

2007-08-02T18:37:00.000-07:00

I got a fortune from 'Estrella' last night at the Santa Monica Pier- she said, amongst other things, that 'you are fond of gay music'.

Ok, I admit, I do like Disco. Jeez...

First Blood at the Apple Store

2007-07-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

I have apple-shaped bite marks on my hand.

It happened when I went to the Apple store yesterday. I was taking in my old tired G4 tower to get memory-transferred into my new spiffy MacMini...

I lugged that G4 tower on my hip, MacMini in my bag. But, as I entered the door to the Apple store, my G4 turned on me. Put both it's feet out. Braced against the door. It decided it wasn't going back - wasn't getting it's memory put into the young body. It wanted to LIVE!!!

3 black-shirted Apple geeks bounded toward me, and wrestled it to the floor. He screamed, his fan whizzed and he spit resistors at us. While we dodged and weaved, he bit my hand, blood oozing over the Apple store tile.

With me distracted by my blood, he made a dash for the door. A passer-by screamed 'First Blood!'

But the way out for G4 was blocked by a big red-headed 18-year-old Apple kid who looked the G4 in the eye. He quickly made a DOS prompt symbol with his hands. The G4 stopped in it's tracks. Red-headed Apple kid began speaking dulcet tones - I couldn't understand, maybe it was BASIC or C.

Lulled by the BASIC, the three other Apple boys wrangled G4 to the ground. He was still whirring and beeping as they carried him to a nearby door labeled 'repairs'. The red-headed tech, calmly explained to my G4 that he would take care of him, and patted him on the head. He told him it wouldn't hurt.

As the G4 walked off reluctantly, hand in hand with the red-head Apple guy, it turned back and gave me a look - a look of sadness, broken-hearted - he was a goner. I yelled at him to have hope - he'd be retrofitted as an external drive for my edited film clips - a far more important and dignified job! He smiled, but he wasn't convinced.

My new MacMini slept through the whole thing, but as I yelled to my G4 to be strong, MacMini woke up suddenly - stuck his tongue out at my disappearing G4, and pooped in his diaper

Amazon Recommends...

2007-07-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

So, I ordered some hair conditioner on amazon.com, and when opening it today, I got a bonus gift.

A coupon for bagels.

Now, far be it from me to determine the logic that went into that decision. Amazon.com has recommended some pretty crazy stuff for me. I know somehow there is a method to their madness...but really.

Let's re-live the SATs for a moment:

"Conditioner is to Bagels as _______ is to _________."

a. pengiun ; non sequitor
b. Hart ; Hart
c. the shape of a bucket of water ; the shape of an eagle
d. Depeche Mode ; Flock of Seagulls
e. none of the above

Here's a lovely short list of the strange items Amazon has recommended for me recently:

Goji Tibetan Berries - I must seem the 'fruity' type.

Freddie Mercury Action Figure - Don't we all want one?

How to Mend Your Broken Heart (Paperback) - There's something you assume AMAZON shouldn't be aware of. Maybe I'm sharing too much?

The Edible Woman (Paperback) - Ahem.

What's New Scooby-Doo, Vol. 4 (DVD) - Who WOULDN'T want this? Rooby Racks!

Why Men Marry Bitches (Paperback) - Yeah, just tattoo the word ' hidden agenda' on my forehead.

Naked Chocolate (Paperback) - A girl's got to eat.

As I later washed my hair and used my amazon conditioner, I thought...'you know what would be really good right now?'

A bagel.

The 5 Most Important Questions in the World

2007-07-20T21:42:00.001-07:00

The five great questions - (and my predictions)

1. Is Dumbledore really dead? (not really)
2. Who else dies? (Snape & Neville (both helping Harry))
3. Is Snape really evil? (no)
4. Do Ron & Hermione survive & get together? (yes)
5. Harry vs Voldy - who wins and how? (Harry, barely (or he dies and comes back) With a little help from his friends.)

I shall be sitting curbside on Saturday wating for my amazon.com box in a gryffindor scarf and wand in hand.

Oh, and don't call me all weekend. I'm busy.

Palm Springs

2007-07-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

Only in Palm Springs does the radio station play 'Theme from A Summer Place.' Not ironically. It does so in all seriousness.

It's a world in itself.

Full of fantastical creatures that only appear here, and only a few times a year.

From the flaming spa owner who professed the benefits of a dry finnish sauna and his mineral pools...to the wealthy socialite wearing her layered heavy gold chains into the pool, complaining about the pressures of a vacation in Tuscany or Venice. 'Which spa to go to next week?', she wondered aloud as we floated on our water noodles with indecision. We couldn't advise her, so she retreated to her aromatherapy massage to ponder in tension-releasing silence.

Here in Palm Springs, the passing of centuries seems only no longer than one night. Or more precisely, the mid-20th century stands still.

There were our new friends, two men so in love. They referred to their own community as 'the gays' and suggested softball might be a good way for me to meet quality guys. They informed me that Palm Springs' is 47% gay. It was proved when we took our evening stroll on Palm Canyon, every second car waved at them, and every second passersby was a neighbor or friend. That makes it more like 50%.

The enchantment of Palm Springs is limited... no-one may leave, otherwise the one-night enchantment spell will be broken.

We walked in vain, searching for the elusive restaurant Melvyn's, Frank Sinatra's wedding spot, only to decide it was the Brigadoon within the Brigadoon. We walked past the hoochie mammas in skirts smaller than their heads, all tan and slicked up for free margaritas bought for them by balding divorcees in tropical shirts. There were the locals at the pinkberry rip-off 'cactusberry' ordering 'the usual' frozen passion-fruit yogurt with kiwi and tropical fruit.

And yet you fall in love. With the city. With the people. With the yogurt. You want to stay.

'Caution Blowing Sands' signs frame the highway, and the cliffside of a mountain rises up, blocking Palm Springs from the infrared vision of the desert. It hides itself away underneath the palms, each street named Palm Drive, Palm Canyon Drive, Palm Tree Drive...evoking images of Cary Grant lounging with Randolph Scott pool-side, their secrets hidden from the world.

But you cant stay, otherwise you'd get sucked in, forced to live in Palm Springs forever...you must leave, and those with you disappear.

Late that night, after discussing love, Palm Springs, and the elusive search for a place to call your own...my friend V tore me out a magazine photo of a Palm Springs Boy in sympathy naming him 'Henry'. I was allowed Palm Springs Henry for only that night. He would comfort me. She placed him next to my pillow for company. But in the morning when I awoke, Henry was gone, disappearing in the night. Only there for the moment, before vanishing from view.

Such is Palm Springs.

Not-So Real Genius

2007-07-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

My dream is finally coming true! I'm starting at M.I.T. in the Fall!

Ok - not really. I'm getting my geek on by taking the online courses M.I.T. offers. Nearly its entire undergraduate and graduate curriculum is represented in free online courses. What's the catch you ask? I can't legally enroll, take classes on campus, or earn my long-missing Ph.D. in Physics. But I can at least tell people I'm attending M.I.T.

You won't tell anyone, will you?

I'm sure you're asking, 'Who in their right mind would take Graduate Quantum Physics if they don't have to?'

Um...that would be me.

And who told you I was in my right mind? I handled radioactive Uranium with my bare hands. If that doesn't bode badly for my mental state, I don't know what does.

He had to look...

2007-07-07T14:34:00.000-07:00

Tracy sent me this - I just have to say, she ROCKS.

No soup for you!

2007-07-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

Not that I'm the champion of everything Disney (ok, shucks...I am), but I've become distressed with the lack of knowledge regarding the recent movie Ratatouille. Not that people don't know about this movie in general. I am not a marketing person for Disney films (ok...I am). It's more about the amazing slew of people that don't know...

A. How to pronounce this word.
B. What it is.

I got tired of hearing 'Want to see Rataroo?' 'How about Rattan?' 'Or Rat-a-tat-tat?' The Rat Movie?

So, for the edification of everyone...here you go:

Ratatouille ("ra-ta-TOO-ee", IPA:[rætəˈtui, -ˈtwi]; French pronunciation: [ʁataˈtuj]) is a traditional French Provençal stewed vegetable dish.

Tomatoes are a key ingredient, with garlic, onions, zucchini, eggplant, bell peppers, some herbes de Provence, and sometimes basil. All the ingredients are sautéed in olive oil.

The name of the dish appears to derive from the French touiller, "to stir", although the root of the first element "rata" is slang from the French Army meaning "chunky stew".

There you have it! From now on, I expect you all to at least call it 'The Soup Movie.'

There will be a quiz on this tomorrow. Bring your scantrons.

Your tail bone's connected to...well...nothing.

2007-06-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

Did you know we all have a tail bone?

Of course you did.

But did you know this?... When you slam that tail bone directly into hard pointy plastic at the speed of 1g, it really FUCKING HURTS.

It hurts in that 'funny bone' ringing way. That rings up and down your spine. It makes your entire torso ring with incessant pain.

And really, there's nothing more disturbing than your ass ringing. Really.

Especially when you do it the very second you sit down on Space Mountain at Disneyland.

When you drop into your seat, and mis-judge the distance in the darkness, landing straight on your tail bone on the pointy seat divider. And suddenly you're ringing with pain just as you're strapped in to a flat-as-a-pancake rocket seat that will jostle you with drops and about 50 right turns slamming down on said tail bone for the next 3 and a half excruciating minutes.

This wasn't me. I'm just saying I IMAGINE it's painful in that ridiculously funny way.

Go Long

2007-06-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you're all now well aware of my schoolgirl crush on little seems-like-jail-bait Justin Long. He is however, a manly 29, which makes me just a regular stalker instead of a child molester.

That being said...here's a nice photo of him in the new Die Hard movie - in theaters tomorrow. He's the one on the right. Nothing against the guy on the left.

Yippie Ki Yay Moth....

Spiders Documentary

2007-06-24T17:00:00.000-07:00

Just can't get enough...

2007-06-22T00:05:00.001-07:00

Snot what you think...

2007-06-17T15:32:00.000-07:00

I don't know what the hell happened to me last week - but I am insanely sick this week.
Flu/Cold/Virus-who knows. Doctors pretty unsympathetic, and I should buy stock in Dayquil.

As a jolly reminder of what fun it is to be phlem-y...here's a re-post on the origins of Snot.

200 or bust!

2007-06-07T18:20:00.000-07:00

Dwight D. Eisenhower was President of the United States for eight years after serving as Supreme Commander of the
Allied forces in Europe during World War II. Early in his career, however, he didn't win many accolades. Referring to his mediocre stint as an undergraduate at the U.S. Military Academy, he said, "If anybody saw signs of greatness in me while at West Point, they kept it to themselves."

I mention this only because I found it in remarkable parallel to Hyperion's announcement regarding my 'bedpost notch tally" - only a sad 118!

Clearly having schtooped only 118 men, I have much to do. This is only mediocre. Much as Dwight D. Eisenhower did, I shall push towards my goal despite a lack of recognition or applause. The Presidency of under-appreciated whoring awaits!

Clooneyfied

2007-06-06T18:27:00.000-07:00

George Clooney needs to leave me alone.

Seriously.

I can only say 'I'm not interested' SO many times before I have to get a restraining order.

I went out with my friend B last night to Hollywood to see a movie. As we approached Hollywood Blvd, suddenly we were accosted by bright lights and the streets were blocked, traffic insane. Possibly construction, I thought. But I knew of a secret little parking spot behind the theater that I only shared with my closest of friends. So pulling in, I was SHOCKED to see a gigantic tent over the entire parking lot blasting Sinatra, with palm trees.

I began to smell something was up, so we parked far away, walked to the theater, where I was confronted with the realization that something was amiss.

Paparazzi were EVERYWHERE. Red carpet, movie lights hanging from the sky brighter than the sun.

This type of hype can only be attributed to the presence of Brad Pitt. Or George Clooney. Holy Sweet Jesus it was Brad Pitt AND George Clooney! It was the premiere of Ocean's 13.

I knew Clooney was behind this. I KNEW IT! I elbowed my way thorough the throngs of photographers, gawking bystanders, and gaggles of screaming girls. I crossed in front of supermodels in evening wear grubmling at the flashing lights and cameras. I literally had to cross the red carpet the wrong way to GET to the theater. I could almost sense Clooney smirking from the shadows.

Only Clooney knew my favorite parking spot. Only Clooney would have dared set up something THIS elaborate and THIS dramatic to ruin my evening. I rebuffed him, and this is how he repays me. That evil grey-haired bastard orchestrated this whole thing!

I stomped across the red carpet screaming 'LEAVE ME ALONE GEORGE CLOONEY - I HATE YOU...YOU...STALKER!'.

I just hope he heard me over the Sinatra and screaming girls.