Ernest Hemingway:

As Ernest Hemingway once said...
'All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.'

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

kickapoo (or drop some pee)

When I was a young pup running cross country in high school, there was a race we'd travel to every year in Liberty, Kansas. We ran at the college there, I think. We'd take a bus there, stay overnight in some seedy hotel, then run the next day, then drive back home. It was a blast. We looked forward to it every year - and each year was full of strange, insane memories.

It's funny to look back. I didn't exactly know where Liberty was, and believe me, we weren't paying attention to directions while on the bus. I remember it took around four hours to get there, but it wasn't until later that I realized Liberty is a suburb of Kansas City. As far as I knew, it could have been anywhere in the state. Funny how things register.

I always roomed with Hammertime and the Hoffmeister (aka my twin sister), and we had a few different fourths throughout the years. We never slept, instead opting usually to run across the highway to some sort of grocery store and buy tons of crap. One year in particular we decided to dye our hair with kool-aid (it really works), so we mixed it up with water in the little motel plastic cups and dipped our hair in it. Someone came to the door during this process (we were loud and it was late), so we freaked out, thinking it was Coach Smith. A couple of us hid under the bed, and the Hoffmeister hid in the shower, with the curtain pulled. Turns out it was a false alarm as no one was there, but we knew before the Hoffmeister, so the funniest thing in the world at that time was opening the curtain and seeing her standing there holding her hair in a cup of kool-aid. Ah, good times. I think that time we poured the leftover sugar all over some cars. I broke into the bus another time. Oh to be a teenager again.

Anyway, there is a point to this story. We raced against girls from Kickapoo High School each year. Us being sheltered west county kids, we had no idea where Kickapoo was, or that it was even an Indian name, and never having heard it before (and being dumb teenagers) we thought it was hilarious. Kickapoo. One year, while lining up at the starting line at Liberty (trying to stay upright after a night of no sleep), we were put next to the Kickapoo girls. One of us looked over and the entire team, in their uniforms (short shorts and gross jersey tank tops - theirs were yellow and white), was peeing themselves. Literally. We were horrified. We later thought maybe it was to intimidate us (which worked) (which was dumb because none of us cared how we did in that race), but still. Letting go in your uniform? That's just wrong.

I thought about this when Q and I were driving back from the cabin. I've told him this story before, and every time Kickapoo comes up, so does the story. I think he just can't believe it. But we saw them do that more than once, so I'm completely sure that's what they did. Not only did they pee themselves, but then ran in those pee-soaked clothes for over 3 miles. It wasn't even some sort of a qualifying race, just some invitational. So not worth it, folks. I bet pee-induced chafing is a bitch.

Monday, February 27, 2006

leave it to a Catholic to get me drunk at Mardi Gras

Mardi Gras was a blast this year. We made sure to bring a lot of our own alcohol (thank you, flasks), so we didn't even have to spend that much money, which is a good thing, if you plan on drinking a lot. It can get very expensive down there.

The Metro Link and bus ride down there were horribly annoying. There were tons of annoying little frat and sorority types, cussing loudly on the bus. I'm all for cussing, but come on. There's a time and a place. I was needing a drink seriously by that point. I was also seriously shocked at the number of girls I saw in either stilettos or flip flops. I'm not even trying to get that one. The alcohol kicked in about a fourth of the way through the evening, and everything up until that point was just dumb and annoying. There's no point to go to Mardi Gras if you're not drunk. Sad, but true.

Let's start by pointing out a few simple facts. When I'm drunk, I:
-talk a lot. I mean A LOT. I'll tell you things you wish you'd never heard, and say things I would NEVER normally say. It's freakish. My friends at my old job were shocked by how different I am when I'm drinking. Hopefully I'm not horribly annoying, but I'm sure I am.
-become slightly violent. I'd never fight or anything like that, but if I push you in jest, you're bound to fall over. I'm pretty strong, and tend to forget that when drinking. I'll threaten a lot too. I remember throwing a door into a wall so hard in college it left a gaping hole from the knob. I wasn't even trying to do it.
-lose any and all inhibitions. CB & Chuck know this about me, and I believe took advantage. More below.

We went up with V & CB, our bestest friends in the world. We layered on the clothing and beads, which worked out great in the end. I wasn't cold much at all (wait, maybe that was the alcohol - whatever, it worked). We met up with Chuck halfway through, and some random couple that became our new best friends in the world once the girl showed Chuck her boobs - twice - right in front of her boyfriend. We were all impressed. Q and I don't get jealous much at all, but even I wouldn't try that in front of him (though I really, even through the drunkenness, didn't ever feel the urge to show the breasteses). I did kiss some random guy on the cheek for a long sleeved t-shirt (which Q lost, subsequently prompting me to steal Chuck's, which I don't believe he remembers at all) after threatening to kick some guy's ass because he had a whole box and wouldn't give me one. Come on. A whole box. Give it up. Luckily he had enough sense to walk away. It is a cool t-shirt, though.

While admiring Chuck's pics of boobs (and girls licking boobs - yep, you really do see it all), we ran into some random guy. We happened to mention we wanted more alcohol, and he told us to go to his booth, around the corner, where he wouldn't give us free booze (believe me, the last thing we needed at that point), but he'd hook us up with more than the standard shot of rum. We gave it a few minutes, then headed over. The guy did hook us up, and in the process, I asked him where he worked that he was at that booth. He said he was helping run it for a Catholic church in South City. I cracked up completely. I was not too drunk to appreciate the irony in that one. Catholics making money off drunk fools. Interesting... Needless to say, the rest of the alcohol we bought came from there, which in V's case was a very bad thing.

After dubbing V's football-shaped beer container the Catholic Football (they filled it with a variety of alcohols), we met the random couple. I ended up talking business and getting the guy's card (so he could come and meet my financial advisor), and kissing his wife (small peck, people) - twice. Evidence of CB & Chuck taking advantage, folks. By the way, I never talk business. I'm so bad at it, which is why I'm not an advisor - sales just aren't my cup o' tea in the least bit.

I also allowed CB to lick my face. Not too weird, but definitely a little bit. Take advantage much??? (CB, you know I love you - in fact I think I said that many a time that night). This was right before the Catholic Football kicked V's ass and he ended up on his back in the gutter outside the johnny-on-the-spots. I almost peed myself. It was hilarious. He fell bad enough that throngs of people rushed up to find out what the hubbub was. This was the first of such falls. I consider CB's licks the price of admission for that one. Well worth the show.

After bidding goodbye to our new friends, we made our way to the bus and Metro Link. Chuck got more pics of boobs, I was asked to show 'em by a couple of harley riders (which I politely declined), CB fell into a market booth, and we managed to wedge ourselves into the Metro Link car. I was smashed up in the middle, holding on to Chuck for dear life. With nothing to hold on to, I managed to fall all over the people around me. Luckily it was early enough that they were very nice about it and not pissy.

Chuck managed to topple CB while trying for a piggy back ride, and almost topple Q. This is when I swept in and yoinked his t-shirt. We made it home by 9:30, and promptly passed out on the couch while watching Beavis and Butthead (not my choice, folks) and eating toasted ravioli.

Good, clean fun. You know, other than the bare boobs everywhere and problems staying upright (which I proudly took no part in - I managed to stay on my feet the entire time). I swear, it's always something new at Mardi Gras. I will remember those Catholics forever. How wrong is that??? On second thought, I guess Mardi Gras is a Catholic thing, right? Maybe it's not so wrong after all. No, it's still wrong.

Friday, February 24, 2006

party weekend ahead

It's that time of year again. Mardi Gras in St. Louis. Unfortunately N8 & MT won't be here to celebrate (it's kind of a tradition), but we're going anyway, with V & CB. It's going to be cold, so I'm hoping it's not too miserable. Last year we didn't get near drunk enough, and ended up just wanting to leave. I'm hoping it won't come to that this year.

Too bad the stupid Metro Link station near our house isn't open yet (though it was supposed to be finished LAST FALL). Now we have to drive to CWE to park in Q's garage and take it from there. Last time we took the Metro Link from CWE there was a guy standing right next to the ticket machine basically showing you how to get tickets (as if it's difficult), whether you wanted his help or not. Then when your change came out, he asked for it. It was really annoying. He probably makes more than I do standing there.

At least it won't be raining. The first year we went it poured. We had to take refuge in a bar, after paying like $10 each to get in. It was crowded, wet, smelly, and would have been completely unbearable except we were really drunk. My shoes and pants got ruined. I learned a valuable lesson - always wear crap clothes to Mardi Gras. And for the love of all that's holy, don't wear heels. What is up with that? Why are girls so completely stupid? Is it worth it to be that miserable? I think not.

It's supposed to be super crazy this year because of all that's happened in New Orleans. I guess people don't want to go there, and since St. Louis has the second biggest celebration in the nation, people are going to come here instead. Should be interesting, to say the least.

And tonight we're going to see
Deadboy and the Elephantmen at Mississippi Nights. If you haven't heard this band, check them out. Rolling Stone, in the Kanye West issue, called it 'swampy blues'. It's just two people, a singer/guitar player and a drummer (aka the White Stripes but actually good), and the music is awesome. Some of the best lyrics I've ever heard. So, it's going to be a busy weekend, but I'm sure I'll survive, as always. Unless I get trampled or freeze to death at Mardi Gras. Then, I guess I'll see you all on the other side.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

oh hell yeah

The martini just makes it too perfect...

Lucille Bluth
You are Lucille. Your tough exterior makes you

seem uncaring at times but when your loved

ones need you, you're more than happy to make

their problems disappear. Have a drink, you

deserve it. (i DO deserve it!)

Arrested Development: Which Bluth Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

thoughts on funerals

On my way to Target for supplies during lunch, I passed a funeral procession on 170. Extremely depressing. I've been to enough funerals to have a good memory of what it's like to be in the procession. Going to funerals, for me, just seemed like another ugly part of life until I had to attend one where the death was completely and totally unexpected. It's one thing when an elderly person goes, but quite another when it's a young person. I guess the cause really doesn't matter when it's unexpected.

I've had two young friends die (non-relatives). One was killed by a drunk driver, but I was living in Texas at the time, and couldn't afford to fly home for the funeral - we were living on the gov't dole (good ol' AmeriCorps). The other, as many of you know, took her own life. It was a pretty awful funeral. I cried A LOT (I'm a crier anyway, but this was excessive). It's hard not to, imagining how her family must have felt.

The worst part though was finding out. My best friend Hammertime (the three of us were roommates in college) called me the night afterwards, saying she had gotten a message from Steph's brother on her cell asking her to call him about Steph. She's not exactly friends with the brother, so she knew something was up. She called me first to find out if I knew anything. The minute the words came out of her mouth about the phone call I knew she had killed herself. I waited while she called the brother, hoping for the best, but knowing in my heart what had happened. She called, and told me the news, and the first words out of my mouth were 'I knew it.' Probably not the best reaction, but I've never been too good with emotions. I hadn't talked to her in probably two years, yet I still knew it. I'm sure it probably has more to do with who she was as a person more than any sort of psychic ability. Still pretty creepy.

I have a tendency to internalize my feelings a lot, so the news really didn't hit me until the next day, driving home from work. I mean I had cried a little, but not much. It was more of a shock than anything. My sister Moo called to say she was sorry about the news, and I lost it. It was at the intersection of Oakland and Hampton - I remember it perfectly. So strange. Then, of course, the funeral drove it home, and the waterworks opened up. It's so odd how, though we hadn't talked for two years, it affected me so much. We were friends throughout high school, then best friends in college - all four years. I knew her so well. When friends saw us alone on campus, they always asked where the other two were. We were inseparable. Now every time I reminisce about college with Hammertime (we really had some good times, the three of us) there will be that shadow over everything. I won't be able to truly laugh and appreciate the good times knowing Steph isn't here anymore. More than anything though, it's the guilt that haunts me. The 'if onlys'.

Listening to Pale Divine over the weekend brought back all sorts of Steph memories, as she was the one who introduced me to them. With a 5 1/2 hour drive, there was plenty of time to think about her, which I do a lot of anyway. All I can say is that I hope none of my faithful readers ever has to attend the funeral of a friend who has taken her own life.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

snowed in

So, the weekend at the lake was...interesting. We got to the cabin at 6 or so on Friday, after driving 5 1/2 hours (the last 1/2 hour at least through the Ozark mountains - first on paved back country road, then on gravel back country road). We stopped first at the Flippin IGA (Flippin is the name of the town - good for many laughs) for some supplies, thinking we'd go get settled at the cabin then drive to town on Saturday morning for big shopping. It's a dry county (in Arkansas - odd, huh?), so we packed our own booze, and didn't have to stop at the Bayman liquors - Last Chance liquors had closed before our time at the cabin. Clever, huh?

We woke up Saturday morning to this:

Six inches of snow and ice. Not what we were expecting. Basically a prison sentence - we were stuck in the cabin until Tuesday afternoon. Q's two wheel drive truck wasn't exactly going to navigate the hilly roads with six inches of the white stuff. They don't salt the back country roads, and even if they did, the cabin is the second to last house on the road, so they surely wouldn't come as far back as us. We were planning on a long weekend away, and we got it. Stuck in the cabin in freezing cold weather.

We'd never seen the cabin or the lake in the wintertime, so it was kind of cool, once we ventured out of the cabin and down to the lake. If you haven't been to Bull Shoals, it's awesome. It's like a clear, calm, less populated Ozarks - spring fed, with crystal clear water. The Army Corps of Engineers owns all the land, so there are tons of restrictions regarding building on the shores, docks, etc. Which is really nice. You can take a boat out and not have to worry about being overturned from the six foot waves ON A LAKE. And you can swim without wondering what nasty creature will grab you from underneath the water because you can't see a single thing (obviously I watched too much X-Files this weekend).

Here are some pictures of the lake in the snow:

Once we ventured out, it was really gorgeous. There were actually some people out boating, which is so scary. The boat can be chilly on a hot summer day, with the wind and all - I can't even imagine being out there in 20 degree weather. It's just not worth it, folks.

Here's a shot of the laziest dog in the entire world:

That's right. My dog decided to lay down in the snow and ice. She did not lay down, realize it was cold, then get up - no, not the laziest dog in the world. She laid there for a while. Long enough for me to get the camera from inside, snap a couple of pictures, and then call her in so she wouldn't freeze to death. If you find a lazier dog, let me know. I'm pretty convinced she's the gold medal winner. Yes, dear reader, she is wearing a coat. A specially made greyhound coat. Normal ones don't fit, okay? And she has really thin hair. We're not freaks, I swear. She needs it. She doesn't seem to think so, but she really does.

Here's the outhouse we almost had to use because the toilet wouldn't flush properly because the pipes were mildly frozen:

That was fun, let me tell you. Fortunately it didn't come to that. Q remembered the de-icer.

Here's the best storage place in Arkansas. Maybe even in the whole country:

It's the Flippin Stash "N" Dash! It makes me laugh every time. The little dogs are the best - like they're dashing with their bones. So stupid. The Flippin Church of Christ is also a good one - the first time we were there with V and CB the sign out front said 'Prepare for school on your knees' - nice, huh?

Anyway, an eventful weekend. I'm glad to be back home, but to be honest, I liked being cooped up all day. I like having an excuse to be lazy and lay around all day long, watching DVDs, writing, listening to music, watching TV - it's fine with me.

This weekend is Mardi Gras - V and CB are coming in for a repeat performance of last year. Drunken debauchery. Good times. I haven't seen a weather forecast, but as long as it's not raining, it'll be fine. The first year we went with N8 & MT and it rained (I think four years ago - that's scary). The rain brought about all sorts of strange and infamous behavior from myself and MT. Girl, we'll never hear the end of that one. Silly boys.

Friday, February 17, 2006

new goods

Here's my new tattoo. It's on the upper part of my left arm. I decided to go with the color, which I'm pretty happy about. And it didn't hurt too bad at all. I got to watch a guy get a huge tattoo all over his chest - that might have helped lessen my pain. Ouch. I'm going to get the exact same thing on my other shoulder, too. I just realized that both of my tattoos are of birds, though not birds in the conventional sense. Interesting...

Me & Q are off to the lake for some much needed R&R, while the rest of you suckers are at work...adios!

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

hell in a hand basket

Now Wal-Marts are refusing to dispense (or even carry) the morning-after pill. What's next? Refusing to carry condoms, or birth control? Last time I checked, this was the twenty-first century. Why are we taking steps backwards in terms of freedom instead of forwards? It's like I've been transported to some parallel universe, stuck in the middle ages. Scary.

The ridiculous thing is that the morning-after pill DOES NOT EQUAL an abortion, as the crazy religious right would have you believe. It's only effective if taken before implantation. No one is killing a baby with it. There are pills to end a pregnancy. These are different.

I just don't get how a store or a pharmacist can decide what prescriptions to carry / give out. It's Wal-Mart, for god's sake. As if they're allowed to make judgment calls (sorry, V) when they're encouraging their employees to go on state funded medical programs instead of providing a decent health care plan. They're being sued for not allowing women to rise in the ranks as fast as men. How are they allowed to thumb their nose at women deciding they don't want a baby? I know, it's not just Wal-Mart. Unfortunately, they happen to be the ones in the news all the time - they happen to be a massively big retail chain. It comes with the territory.

The main issue - if a woman is so desperate to not get pregnant that they'll take a high dose of what is essentially birth control, then do we want them to be forced to have a baby? There are enough parents in the world who shouldn't have kids. Why create more? It's ridiculous.

Just pile this on top of all of the other rights infringements in this country right now (gay unions, stem cell research, the FCC, etc.). If only people would mind their own business. Who cares if a woman wants to ensure she doesn't get pregnant? Who cares if two gay people want to get married, or form a civil union? What difference does it make? How does it even affect anyone but the woman or the gay couple? It's ridiculous. It makes me sick, and scared, wondering what will come next. These people are playing with fire. Soon someone will tell them they can't do something, and then shit will hit the fan.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

cards are dumb

I was in kind of a pissy mood (again), all Valentine's Day sucks, blah, blah, blah, but now I'm very happy. I just went out for lunch, and it's gorgeous. 60 degrees, sunny, calm - amazing. I so cannot wait for spring. The only downfall is that it's going to get cold again this weekend, just in time for us to go to the lake. We were expecting it to be cold anyway, but it would have been nice to get some good weather instead. Oh well.

Valentine's Day still makes me want to puke, though. So over-commercialized, just a way for big business to make a buck. I'm not really a big flowers person (I do like to grow them, though - at least there's some satisfaction there), lucky for Q. I'd never want him to go and blow $50 to have them sent to work. Gag. And don't even get me started on cards. What is with them? Who wants a card? They're at least $2 nowadays. I'd rather someone spent the extra $2 on my present. Ugh. I despise cards. Who wants a whole pile of cards? No one writes anything in them.
They're just a stupid waste of money. Except for the pickle birthday cards at Schnucks. It's in the shape of a pickle, and says something stupid like 'Bet you didn't think you'd get a pickle for your birthday'. That's the only birthday card I get anymore, and only if it's totally necessary.

Now, if Q wanted to get me chocolate for V-Day, I guess I'd have to accept it and eat it. It'd be rude not to, right?. I'm a serious sugarholic. It's sad. We usually just ignore V-Day, unless we decide to go out to dinner or something like that. Or we use it as an excuse to blow money on something we've been wanting for a while, like a laptop, which we bought last night.

I'm pretty excited for it, though now there's no excuse not to write anymore. But, at least I can sit in front of the TV and write. I can't focus long enough to just sit and write, so this is the perfect solution. When I need a break, I can veg for a minute, then get back to writing. Wow, I'm lazy.

It will come in very handy this weekend, though. It's a six hour drive, so I can spend that time writing, or watching movies, or whatever. It's also a way for us to watch DVDs at the cabin. Since it's literally in the middle of nowhere (Flippin, Arkansas - makes for some good laughs - Flippin Church of God, Flippin Self-Storage, etc.), being able to write, and watch movies, will be a huge help. And time to read. I'm totally ready for that.

Monday, February 13, 2006

vietnam has yummy food

My sister Moo and I saw 'Capote' this weekend at the Chase. The movie was excellent, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman was great. I don't know anything about Truman Capote other than that he wrote 'In Cold Blood', so I don't know what type of person he was, but Phillip Seymour Hoffman sure was convincing. So far he's my favorite candidate for Best Actor, though not by much. There was a lot of great acting and great movies last year.

For those of you unfamiliar with St. Louis, the Chase is a big, old, fancy hotel in the Central West End. The movie theater is pretty fancy too, and caters to a higher end client (boy they hated me). I was shocked at the behavior of these rich folks. They couldn't shut the hell up! I usually frequent South County theaters, and this was at least five times worse. There was a woman sitting behind us who was obviously not interested in the movie, yet still continued to make comments, and laugh at VERY inappropriate moments. What a moron. For the love of god, people, shut the fuck up in a crowded theater. Don't even whisper. And don't comment on the movie DURING THE MOVIE, especially when your comments are horribly ignorant. Sheesh.

Afterwards, we ate at Pho Grand, one of my favorite restaurants. I love all kinds of asian food, and vietnamese is no exception. Pho Grand has a great selection, great quality, and is super cheap. My favorite things to eat are the Cha Gio (Vietnamese egg rolls), the Bun Dau Hu Chien (vermicelli noodles with deep fried tofu and vegetables with crushed peanut and cilantro) and a Tsigtao beer. Yum. I highly recommend.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

my little cootie

As of last night, my little sis Cootie is engaged! Congrats to Cootie and MC. To my future bro-in-law - some things to remember:

1. There are no returns. This sale is final.
2. There are no satisfaction guarantees.
3. You might wake up one day and find a your wife has turned into a stalk of wheat.
4. You've met the family - you know what you're getting into. Think on that one.
5. You've been shopping with Cootie - if one day you wake up broke, you had all the warning in the world, brother. Can't claim ignorance on that one.

Really, though, MC is the coolest. Cootie scared us for a while, with some of the guys she dated. MC is a breath of fresh air. Q and I had serious doubts about the man Cootie would snag into marrying her, and had prepared for the worst. I love hanging out with Cootie, but we figured the guy she eventually roped in wouldn't be like Q and I in the least, and that hanging out with them would be sometimes painful, especially for Q. But we really lucked out. MC is cool, funny, down to earth, sincere, and very good to Cootie. We hit the jackpot! In the year we've known him, we feel we've found a real friend, definitely not someone we have to pretend to like for Cootie's sake.

In summation, good job, Cootie. We're proud. We can't wait for the wedding (get ready for my speech - Q's going to help!), and all the fun times we're going to have together in the future! Just don't move too far away. Then you'll be in the snares of McSniffland.

Friday, February 10, 2006

new tattoo

So Q and I set appointments for our next tattoos - next Thursday. I'm pretty excited, and believe me, that takes a lot. I'm getting this:

on the ball of my shoulder. I'm guessing it'll be about as painful as the one on my lower back, which wasn't too bad, so I'm not really worried about it. I'm more worried about having to wear a tank top and being cold. Maybe it'll be nice outside. There's no telling round these parts. We'll have all weekend to recover, though - we're going to Bull Shoals from Friday to Tuesday. Ahhh, sweet isolation. Nice.

I need some opinions, though. I'm going to get the grey image in the middle, with the star. It's going to be in black. Should I make the entire star black, with an outline of flesh between the star and the figure? Or should I make the star all red, with a black image? It's a tough decision. I like both possibilities for different reasons.

I have to admit I'm addicted to them. Not because of the pain, or anything sick and twisted like that. I guess it took a lot of courage to get the first, so now that I've already got one, it's much easier to get more. I was afraid I wouldn't have any more ideas, since I'm big on getting unique things that mean a lot to me, but now I've got tons. It's good and bad, I guess. I just don't want to end up like the 'freaks' on fear factor. Did you see that guy? He had tattoos all over his face, head, neck, etc. Tattoos on the face are just weird. Once you've done that there's no going back. Plus, I would imagie that would hurt like hell.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

maybe if i twist my head just right it looks normal.

You know what I don't get? When a woman with a really short hairdo has it swooped to one side in the back. It's almost as though she slept on it funny, then woke up and left straight for work, except it's obviously been styled that way.

Why? What would possibly make you want to do that? The only explanation I can think of is that your hair just naturally lays that way. I had really short hair once, and never even considered swooping it to one side. In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind. I never even had to made the conscious decision to leave it straight.

It kind of looks like a duck, like the back end of Donald or Daffy. I wonder what look these women aim to have. It's interesting. It's not as though they're trying to be different, to create their own style - one look at their clothing drags that theory right into oblivion. I'm always fascinated by this phenomenon, by a person seemingly trying to fit in with the rest of the world suddenly deciding to take one aspect of their look and twist it around. Maybe it's their inner rebel struggling to break free. Or maybe the brush they use just won't reach around properly, and this shortfall equals oddly positioned hair. Maybe all they need is a decent brush or comb.

If anyone has insight into the wind-whipped hair phenomenon, please share. I really like for things to make sense, at least on some dimension.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

rest in peace, yummy chocolate reptile

So, I got some really great news yesterday, and some not so great news.

Good stuff first:
One of my best friends in the world is pregnant! That's exciting, though it's too bad she lives in Atlanta. Her parents are still in STL though, so at least I get to see her a few times a year. We've been friends since the fourth grade, so thinking of her with a kid is kind of weird. It wasn't too shocking since I knew she was trying, but it's still neat-o.

Bad stuff last:
I visited the Hostess outlet store near my house yesterday, craving Chocodiles. I look all over the store twice (it's small) and can't find them. Finally I settle on a box of cupcakes, knowing they'll at least satisfy the craving for horribly-bad-for-you baked goods with nasty-crisco-like creme centers. I asked the clerk about the Chocodiles, and she informed me they'd been discontinued over a year ago. First wave of shock - how can they discontinue something as wonderful and coveted as the Chocodile? Second wave of shock - has it really been over a year since I've been to the Hostess outlet store? I guess so.

It's a sad, sad time in the world of Norma Jean. Chocodiles were my favorite guilty pleasure (apparently I found enough things to take their place during the past year, though). And it's a great memory of my Granny I's house - she would buy them for us and keep them in the freezer with other goodies like drumsticks, peppermint ice cream, and snoballs. She spoiled the hell out of us. Now I'll never again bite into a frozen Chocodile and remember being with Granny I.

I surfed around on the internet (the magical thing that takes up so much of my workday) and found a website that somehow still has the ability to ship Chocodiles around the country. Unfortunately, they cost $9 a box, compared to the $2 I paid at the store, and that doesn't even include shipping. Maybe I can indulge once in a while, but definitely not too often. They don't explain where these mystery Chocodiles come from, either, which is suspect. Have they been hoarding boxes, knowing they were to be discontinued? How old are these things? Maybe that's not such a good idea after all.

Bye, delicious Chocodiles. You were my favorite lunchtime snack in junior high, though my friends would make fun of me. They were just jealous of your delicious cakey goodness, creamy center yumminess (that the kids used to say was the same substance used to embalm bodies - that didn't stop me, though), and wonderful chocolate outside. You will truly be missed.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

all about the poo

The funniest thing I've seen in a while is this from The Onion (which, sadly, I can't read at work because of our filter. I can go to the Demon Church's website, but not The Onion. Interesting...) Q tore it out of a friend's desk calendar, and it's hanging on our fridge.

It's not that I don't like cats. I do. I just don't have one (mostly because I think Chay might eat it). But now, whenever someone talks about a cat, I immediately think of this one teeny tiny page from a calendar, and think, 'hey, they must like boxes of shit in their house'. It's not right.

I even had a dream about this page, about telling someone how funny it is. Scary. I think I'm just fascinated with the simple humor of it all, and a bit envious. I wish I could have that kind of humor. The best part is that instead of having a small box of shit in my basement, I have a yard full of big dog shit. Much harder to clean up. Yet I still find this hilarious.

Speaking of poop, check out
this website. Guaranteed hours of entertainment.

lifetime scratch repair?

So I went to Circuit City today to pick up the new In Flames CD (which is pretty good, by the way). I found it easily, which is unusual at this particular store - they have a problem putting new releases in their little alphabatized sections. They're usually on the bottom of the rack in no particular order. Actually, I have a hard time finding anything in this store - their methods of organization seem to completely defy logic. I think they actually laugh right in its face.

I went up to the cash register to buy the CD, and after it's scanned the dorky boy asked me if, for an additional $1.99, I would like to purchase lifetime scratch repair. I thought for a moment, wondering if I had heard correctly (and also trying to figure out how to use the card scanner - why can't they all be alike???), then asked him to repeat himself. I did hear correctly. Why would anyone pay $1.99 for that? First of all, don't be a moron, and handle your discs correctly. Second, you can usually go to any record store and ask them to clean the disc for you. They're usually very nice about it.

Circuit City must be hard up for CD business, or business in general. I'd like stats on how many people actually take them up on that. I can't imagine many do. It's crazy! If you bought this for five CDs, you'd spend $9.95, which is the price of buying one of them all over again. What are the chances you'll horribly scratch five CDs? It just doesn't seem to make sense economically.

Monday, February 06, 2006

i can dig up the $666...

The Demon Church. Any church with this as its symbol is a-ok with me.

On a side note, they do curses. Maybe they can put a curse on this damn cold that just won't go away. It might just be worth the $666.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

'sista' night

Last Friday night I went out on the town with my three sisters, dubbed 'Sista Night' by my sister, McSniff. I have three sisters - two are older (Moo and McSniff, otherwise known as Pickles), and one is younger (Cootie). My family is big on nicknames. I can actually remember how Cootie and I came up with Moo and Pickles, but really, the end result is most important. We all live in St. Louis (well, McSniff in Wentzville, technically), which is really cool. Sistas are great.

The evening started off at the Macaroni Grill on Olive in Creve Coeur (hence Moo's comment 'You really need reservations at Macaroni Grill?'). Turns out you don't at 6:30. I usually eat later, so I really had no idea how things would be at that time. Oh well. Better safe than sorry. We filled our bellies with pasta and beer, then moved on to the Oberweis for ice cream. Yum. Chocolate milk from Oberweis is the bestest.

After this, we went to Olivette lanes for a good ol' fashioned game of bowling. I love to bowl, though I'm not that great at it. Cootie and I actually took lessons when we were younger. They were free at a new bowling alley by our house that had opened up. Anyway, drinks in hand, we made our way to the only open lane, thanks to some big Monsanto happy hour that was going on. We were stuck between three Monsanto guys (only one was even remotely cute) and a table full of hoosiers - one of the guys kept slapping one of the women on the ass. Not attractive at all. Two lanes away from us were two girls and two guys, I swear, high on crack. The girls wore their sunglasses to bowl, and literally lunged the ball from their chests. It was frightening. One of them caught Cootie looking in amazement and called her a bitch. Too funny. Cootie pulled off the win, but only by a few points.

After bowling, we retired to Moo's house for mimosas and Yahtzee. We are so the Golden Girls! We learned plenty of things about McSniff's sex life that could have remained unsaid, and had to use a calculator to add our points at Yahtzee. Geniuses, I tell ya. Hanging out with the girls is so much fun, though. And McSniff taught Moo and Cootie a new saying - 'Young, dumb, and full of cum'. How had they never heard that before? Leave it to McSniff, owner of such namecalling as Punjab, Mama Yenti, and other classics.

Thinking about those makes me think of the family trips we'd take every summer. My parents insisted on driving everywhere, which would have been fine in a van, but they had an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Dad drove, Mom sat shotgun, with three kids in the back and one in the middle up front. One trip I remember in particular was to New York and Canada (yes, from St. Louis). I was probably 9, Cootie 7, Moo 18, and McSniff 17. I preferred the front with Mom and Dad, attempting to miss out on the torture from the teenagers in the backseat. McSniff tore the head off of Cootie's Ken doll - a major catastrophe, since his head, once removed, did not go back on like the Barbie heads did. McSniff and Moo also managed to moon Cootie out the back window of the car, probably at a trucker. We saw Niagara falls, had our license plates stolen in Watertown, and I went on my first upside-down roller coaster in Quebec. Cootie earned the nickname 'Whistler's Mother' - the child would not quit whistling, even when we asked her to, nicely. It was a mild form of torture. I seriously don't know how Mom and Dad didn't kill us, but somehow, we survived. I'm so grateful I got to go on those trips. I have such great memories, and got to go to so many neat places.

As a side note, I've accepted my honorary Certificate of Business at the Sofa King Awesome School of Business. Please go here to read it, and celebrate the accomplishment my doctoral work in the field of Scratch Retention has earned.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

damn control freaks

It's completely hilarious to watch grown men try and fix a copier. Ours has been broken since morning, and I've heard at least five of the advisors over there trying to fix it. When I hear them struggling I tell them it's broken, but they try to fix it anyway. That's scary, too, because I can only imagine what kind of irreperable damage is being done.

What is it about men? Why, though they have no training whatsoever in fixing copiers, would they undertake such an operation? The copier here is huge, and complicated. I wouldn't even want to start to fix it, and I'm kind of a know-it-all. I just don't get it. Why not call our copier guru and go from there? Don't they have anything better to do? There are three copiers in the building - why not use another? I finally called her, and while she was looking at the copier, one of the above mentioned guys walked by and informed her he had tried all of those things, and that none of it worked, in a tone implying he knew everything about copiers and there was nothing she could do to fix it. It was hilarious. I can only imagine the words she called him in her head.

And why is it, when there's something either to fix or put together, that the man has to be the one to do it? There have been plenty of instances when Q and I have gotten new furniture, toys, etc., and he has to be the one to put it together. If I even start to get the instructions out it's all over, even if he's not going to do it right then. It's hilarious. Especially since I'm pretty good at that stuff and am more than able to do it myself.

I think most men are control freaks. At least when it comes to that kind of stuff. I find it's just easier to let it go than to get worked up over it. At least if something goes wrong I can blame him instead of myself. That's always a bonus.