Who doesn’t love a stomach virus?
Reading the Iron Chef companion book. Big Mistake. More nausea.
Reading Bret Easton Ellis’ Glamorama. Big Mistake. More nausea.
Watching TV. The Learning Channel. Benign fluff. Okay. Out of nowhere they join a new program already in progress that I can only guess was (or at least should have been) called World’s Bloodiest Cesarean Sections.
Big, Big, Big Mistake.
Know those things that sit just at the back of your mind and pop up to bug you at random times? This is one of them. I hadn’t gotten around to mentioning it here because frankly I kept waiting for someone to yell “Just kidding. We were only kidding.” Sadly, it hasn’t happened yet.
What is this world coming to that a man named Skunk (that’s Jeff “Skunk” Baxter to you), a man who played back-up guitar for The Doobie Brothers is not only some sort of self-styled missile defense expert but has convinced THE PENTAGON that he is some sort of missile defense expert. I can’t even comment anymore, it weirds me out to much. I swear I’m not making it up, but maybe FOXnews is. I can hang on to that small shred of hope, can’t I?
(ed note: there used to be a whole category called “things i lie awake at night thinking about” but now it’s all filed under “what the hell”)
I want these people in their Ford Excursions with the tastefully applied Greenpeace sticker on the rear bumper to subsidize what they are doing to our planet in a tangible way. I’m very tired of the sense of entitlement that accompanies SUV-drivers.
I saw whiney yuppies on the news the other night complaining that they should have to pay less at the pumps because they feel like they are being penalized for needing a larger vehicle. A few of them also complained about how hard it is to park in the close-in spaces at the grocery store because the spaces are designed for, you know, normal sized cars. All I can really say to that is: Penalize this, baby.
It’s probably a good thing I don’t run the world because I could see things getting a little arbitrary over time, but I think for starters I have some okay ideas.
I’m at a club last night. I’m there with the DJ (Husband). I’m trying to reconnect the speaker that the promoter keeps disconnecting because he keeps stepping on the cable. The promoter hands me some cardboard-origami-bullshit that he needs to fold into a raffle box of some kind. He says “Here. You do this. Girls are good at this kind of thing.” Girls are good at hooking up sound systems, too, but only when the promoter isn’t walking in the cables.
The very best product name we’ve seen in a while: Liquid Stupid. It’s a hot sauce. Brilliant. Well and truly brilliant.
(note: link dead/removed)
“When I sold 100,000 records, I got chicks that were maybe 130, 140 pounds. Now that we’ve sold 10 million records, they’re supermodels, Playmates.”
– rock musician KID ROCK, in Gear magazine.
(as noted on yahoo news)
Whoever put the word lifestyle into general usage should be shot, or at minimum punished severely.
We willfully packed ourselves in amongst the other sardines at the uber-fashionable bar while we waited for a table at the adjoining uber-fashionable restaurant. We didn’t know all this time we were being hip, we just like being able to walk home from places where we drink a lot, but it turns out we have been engaging in fashionable behavior for at least a year. Forgive us, we knew not what we were doing. I also had a moment of pause when we did get our table and I finally realized who our usual waiter reminds me of. Tyler Durden. Fight Club fans understand it is not a good thing for your waiter to remind you of Tyler Durden.
Anyway, our favorite bit of shouted conversation while we were still at the bar consisted of an overstuffed yuppie explaining something to his companions. He kept saying “we’re trying to duplicate our lifestyle here.” What exactly did that mean? And did he mean right there at the bar? He said it numerous times, each time more fervently than the last. I was slightly disappointed when the hostess came from next door to get us, but only slightly. The whole situation was getting ominous to me. Or maybe I was simply getting tipsy.
National Iguana Awareness Day isn’t until September 8, but the caller informed me that it was never too early to start preparing.
“I don’t have an iguana. Will that be a problem?” I asked, because I was intrigued. And bored. And I don’t have an iguana. Luckily, not owning an iguana does not make me ineligible for the festivities, so i stayed on the line to hear more.
Eventually, the caller realized she had the wrong number, apologized for taking up my time, and went on her merry way. Early on in the conversation I suspected she wasn’t one of my garden variety crackpots and might actually be on the up-and-up so I did more research. Not only is National Iguana Awareness Day a real thing, there’s a really good website for it. Live and Learn.
That was cheap, manipulative television at it’s very worst. I heard rumors about this weeks ago but chose to give you the benefit of the doubt. I am shocked and appalled that you would do such a thing. No, I’m not talking about your drug problems, I’m talking about what you did to a beloved character last night. Shame on you. I just gave Sarah the tape so I can’t say anything further yet or I’ll spoil it.
[they killed mrs. landingham]