It Is Important For You to Know

That someone is uploading Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather. You know, somehow I’m down with the giant space turtle and the four elephants, but I don’t understand how trillions of gallons of ocean can dump off the edge of the disc and be regenerated somewhere in the mountains. It’s a damn mystery! If you are not reading Terry Pratchett, I recommend you start with Going Postal. It’s not my favorite ever, but you can get a feel for his style and Discworld without feeling like you’re missing out on a bunch of backstory, because it’s kind of a stand-alone. I just read the entire Tiffany Aching series in opposite order, because these things happen sometimes. SO good! I can’t want until Franny is a year or so older, so she can pick them up. Squid, if you’re out there, Iz would love them. I know you’re busy.

Shatner remembers his legendary “Rock-it Man” performance in 1746. Why? Because I’m a completist, that’s WHY. Thanks Supa!

ANTM withdrawl? (Tits?) Try Cycle 7.5. It’s a little flash atrocity that, if it continues, with be equal parts parodic and moronic. Gaffled from fourfour.

Update! SCRANTON, WHAT? Lazy Scranton. So wrong. I pray that that Steve Carell becomes my next babydaddy. After Tucker Max, of course.

In Which iJerks Are iJerks

SO! And AHA! My internet is still talking to me. Every day I put the baby in her Skinner Box and expect to see my connection dead again. Well met, web of the world.

There were some crazy amounts of librarians in Seattle over the weekend. Apparently the ALA conference was overbooked by something like 7,000 iPerps. This is critical to understand when I tell you the next part.

My old friend, Bean, came into town. She was a year behind me in school and followed me as Vice President of all things Awesome. Bean emailed me before she came but she’s a super-busy academic librarian so we didn’t finalize any plans, but I knew she wanted me to save Thursday for her.

Bean came and had lunch, and we caught up and gabbled about the time before I was an unemployed layabout. She told me a classmate from her cohort, Crimson, who I am slightly acquainted with, offered to put her up in her house for four days. Bean attempted to call Crimson to firm up their meeting time that evening, so Bean could settle in and spend the first night. Crimson said she was terribly, terribly ill, and not much else, and Bean hung up, looking a little puzzled.

Bean attempted to call Crimson back about an hour-and-a-half later, and was unable to reach her. I offered to put Bean up, because I was starting to get a little worried about her sick disappeared host, and I warned her that we’re up pretty early and the girls are on eleven as soon as they wake up. “Well, it’s okay, I have to get going to an early meeting anyway,” Bean said, and thanked me. Bean called a couple of hotels in neighborhoods near downtown, but they were booked solid.

Companion came home and we took Bean and the girls out to dinner. On the way to the superb Taste of India, Crimson called. At this point it’s almost 6:30, which is getting late to head downtown to catch the ferry to the island she lives on. Crimson claimed she went to the doctor and was feeling better, and that was about all she said, from the sound of it. Bean said she was going to take the offer to spend the night with us, since it was getting so late.

The next morning before she left I asked Bean what her plans were. She said she was going to see if she could crash with a colleague from her school who was coming in for one night. “You can come back here, too,” I said. “Keep me in the loop, because I don’t want you wandering around downtown with your luggage.”

Finally, I couldn’t resist and had to ask Bean something that had been nagging me. “Bean, did Crimson apologize for flaking on you last night, and did you guys make plans for your last two nights?” Bean said the answer to both of those questions was no. I told her I was sorry for being nosy, but I was really curious. Bean seemed unflapped, but being the person I am I was pretty irritated on her behalf. We were happy to put up Bean, but we were a little, “Who DOES that?”

On Sunday night, we went to an iJerk alumni reunion. As I threatened, I wore a nametag that read “Nick Belkin.” Almost immediately, a woman came up to me, waggling her finger, and told me she went to school with a Nick Belkin in 1974. I think she was trying to bust a rogue impostor. “He’s quite famous now,” one of my old professors (who I was talking with) said. “Oh reeeally,” the woman said. I had forgotten that he was alumni.

I ran into Bean later who had come down with a nasty cold since I had seen her on Friday morning. “I checked into a hotel in Queen Anne,” she said. “I gave up on Crimson.”

Halo was at the reunion as well, and she and I made plans for Monday night. While we were out on Monday, Halo gave me some scoop. “Friday night was a clusterfuck of Librarians on Capital Hill. You could not get away from them,” she said. “Oh, and check this out. We went into the Six Arms, and guess who was at a table with a bunch of other UW librarians?”

“Who?” I said.

“Crimson. She was sitting there having a beer,” Halo said.

“Oh HELL NO. Did you tell Bean?” I said.

“Well, no, because Bean was really sick. We didn’t want to make her feel worse.”

So there was Crimson, at a bar yucking it up, the very next night after disappearing on Bean, after being the one who extended the invite in the first place. Nice. But hey, Bean and I had more time to catch up this way. Next time I will invite Bean to stay with us again.

I think today is a good day to review the Rules of Being a Grownup, don’t you?

I Do This and Then I’m Sorry Later When I Get The Pile of Blog Spam and the Squirrelly Search Terms, But I Have To Do This

So I’m all going to yoga and all, and feeling really good about things, generally. I kicked caffeine while I had the flu so now I’m all Zenned out and some junk and not having big crashes during the day. I also had a cup of yerba mate at my studio the other day when I showed up a little early, and you know, that stuff is absolutely hippie crank. My glue huffing days are over, so I have to take my thrills where I can get them. (Nipple pinching, buttsecks, waiting for Xmas Steve, etc.) AND Whippet came over and gave me a Pilates mat class today, and I am all what the hooey is up with my super exercising self, but then I remember that LO I have JANUARY LIGHT-DEP MANIA. AS USUAL. Fear for my nervous system.

You know, that was absolutely the best part of public school–the shit you could get away with. I could sit in my studio art class and literally huff glue out of a soda can and no one noticed. I had a friend who did acid every day for a month and no one noticed that either. Probably I could have also lit a ceremonial bonfire and picked up a Coke bottle with my chocha and this would have gone on without remark as well. Except for the stoners sitting back in Stoner’s Corner with me, and they would have put some singles in my coconut-shell bra. Later I would discover that it wasn’t actually singles at all, but rolling papers with a smudgy white guy drawn on with pen who looked sort of like George Washington, but sort of like Abe Vigoda.

But I digress.

Anyway, things are well. How are you? Still nursing that nasal spray habit? I thought so, because you will always be that little nasal spray bitch.

But come closer…I will spin plates while I tell you about my pubes. I used this hip-hop-happening new stuff called Betty Beauty, which is specifically for “The Hair Down There, Tee Em.” They ask the intriguing mindbender, “Is Your Betty Ready? Tee Em?” Well played, Betty Beauty, or as I shall call you, Beaucephalis Beauty. You are a grown-up product. You deserve a grown-up name: Beaucephalis.

Also, I get around a fair bit, and I am a nosy Assmitten, and I did not know this Lady Beauter Secret, did you??? I need more anecdotal information in this regard.

So, you take the little kit, which costs twenty bone. Let us keep in mind Thee Cadillac of Drug Store Hair Dye, Feria, costs only ten bone a box. BUT, Beaucephalis assures us, there are ONE to THREE applications in each bottle. Hmm, lottery style, I wondered? But no, the directions assure me, I can get three servings by consorting with my treacherous yet handsome nemesis, Math Matherson.

I did some, like, one-to-two (1:2) mixing jive so I could eke out more servings of product and put the bleach on my poor lady parts, but only on the Safe Zone (tee em, for realla). I did not follow all the rules, and went down to my skin, because who wants pube roots, really? It will be a cold day in Hell before someone refers to my ladyparts by the moniker Tiny Emily Valentine.

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I left it on for the recommended half hour for medium blonding. Beaucephalis Beauty recommends another twenty minutes for platinum, but I thought it was light enough. Plus, the bleach hurt like hell and left my skin…matching my hair. WOW! If I want that kind of itching and burning in my crotchoidal region, I’ll hang out at the plasma donation clinic, honestly.

I hopped in the shower and rinsed, dried, and applied the pink dye. The box had me thinking it was going to be crazy eye-blistering pink like the box or like Special Effects Atomic Pink. Instead, it was sort of that sad thing you get when you’re fifteen and you’re totally desperate, and you heard somewhere that Kool-Aid can totally dye your hair, man! So it’s a kind of sad, faded, slumber party pink.

But I do give them props–it does not come off on towels or clothing, as they say. Points there for Team Beaucephalis. Now if only they can marry the brightness of Special Effects with the non-rub-offness…I don’t think it’s possible.

That’s it in a nutshell. I don’t think the hour and the burning sensation is worth it, unless you’re really eager-beaver (hur hur) to cover some greys.

I AEIN’T DED

Hi, my internets shit the bed again. Oh Qwest, you are so my nemesis. They came today and fixed it though, after no-showing twice and showing up randomly without being scheduled (of course I was out). I have a super slammed day today, involving seeing some Ye Olde iJerks down at Benaroya Hall tonight, followed by a date with my babydaddy (new one, not the broken one).

I have so much to tell you! I ran into my ex-in-laws (DUN DUN DUNNN)! I dyed my pubes to match my hair! I thought about this one time at band camp!

Say “hi” if you’re an iJerk and you’re there tonight. I’ll be wearing the nametag that says “HELLOOO MY NAME IS Nick Belkin!”

PNW’ed 20: Terrorflu Edition

I started writing this after taking a giant dose of Theraflu. I was having weird dreams when I got sick. I realize this is horrible quality…so it will fit in with all the others. *rimshot*

And no, there’s no punchline. I got bored and went into a Theracoma shortly after.

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Two Stories About OPP

Around nine o’clock this morning my phone rang and the caller ID said it was my friend Whippet, who had been in Boston on family business. I haven’t seen her in a week and I was looking forward to speaking with her, plus I wanted to tell her about something that had happened yesterday. I left her a message yesterday because Mr. Whippet waved at me on his way home from dropping off their kiddos, so I knew they were back.

I snapped my phone open.

“Hi! I was just thinking of you!” I said as I answered.

“Oh. This is Mr. Whippet. HAHAHAHA!”

“Okay, I was NOT thinking of you. I was thinking of your WIFE,” I said. I could feel my face going red. Whippet’s husband very rarely calls us.

“I just wanted you to know that Whippet is staying in Boston another week, since you called yesterday. Hee hee hee hee!” he said.

“Okay, thanks. I wasn’t expecting to hear from her right away anyway,” I said.

“Well, I’ll tell her you called, and that you’re thinking of me!” he said and rang off.

Dammit!

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Sing HO! for the Glorious Apple

This is what Strudels do when they have mostly recovered from the flu: A paean to the apple.

This is what Strudels do when they’re not screaming or throwing shit at your head, anyhow.

SOOO, it started snowing, which in Seattle means OMFGBBQ Apocalypse. So my babydaddy is stuck on that devil-device the 520, and will be for hours. His bus is broken and someone gave him a ride. I texted him and said, “Are they nice?” and he hasn’t replied, so maybe they’ve scooped out his innards and are using him like a little bitch Tonton right now.

I’d rather have him home than go out to dinner. Yurgh. I’ve got a pot pie in the oven, a glass of Knob Creek in front of me, a naked feral dwarf running around, and Bush is saying something dumb on the radio, which I am too lazy to snap off.

Be nice to my babydaddy, universe. He’s still got to change the porchlight.

I, Yardhole

Today there is a hole in my yard! There’s a nice man here making the most perfect trench I have ever seen. He says he’s uncertain whether or not he’ll have the water back on by dinnertime, which means we may have to go out to dinner. OH NOES! Not out to dinner. I hate that when they make the delcious fattening food for you and then take the dirty dishes away after.

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He showed me the old pipe from when this duplex was a house, and the current leaky-ass pipe. He offered to fill the trench with water so that my neighbor and I could get the babies out for a playdate. I like him!

I thought this might be a good opportunity to move out the “evidence” in my freezer chest, but that’ll have to wait until after the new pipe’s put in. The man outside said he’d take small bills and “no heads.” That’s okay! I want to keep the head, because it reminds me when we’re almost out of Fudgesicles!

I thought maybe someday I’d grow out of the urge to follow people around and watch them doing things like dig holes and take pictures while they’re doing it…but I’m almost 30, so maybe not.

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This is the only time it’s good to be a renter.

Ahoy Hoy What Are You Doing On Christmas Steve?

LO! Gather around, Libertines, and behold the tale of Christmas Steve! You have to be particularly naughty or Christmas Steve won’t come! So hit the bricks now, or else you won’t get your flipflapperies codswalloped (and I know you would be sad if you missed out).

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So a new tradition is born: the Tale of Christmas Steve. He’s just a fledgling legend now–I imagine this will be expanded next year.

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