Yeah, I Wouldn’t Want To Be Associated With Me, Either

Posted on July 11, 2003 by iasshole

Blogathon 2003 current total: $93!! Goal: $100!!!!

Today! $45! You guys really spanked that llama! Thanks, you anonymous fools!

Real Entry

Sweeeeet! I founf my old Amazon.com Wishlist! I totally forgot about it!

Today I went off to the neighborhood wading pool with Frannie, her sweet little boyfriend from down the street, his mom, and her eight-month-old. She and I frowned at the young mothers smoking while holding their babies and the trashy moms yelling at their kids from across the pool. We also frowned at the unsupervised children who were being managed by the lone pool supervisor.

“We could go to Volunteer Park instead,” I said, “but then we would have to listen to moms pushing fifty talking about their fabbo Egyptian vacations.”

“Pass,” my friend said. “We should go to Bitter Lake wading pool next time.”

“Okay,” I said. We drank our granitas and watched Frannie and her friend nail each other in the face with water.

“I am the poorest snob I know,” I said.

“Me too.”

We are both over-educated and underfunded.

In Other News, I Suck Major Ass

I got a nice friendly comment today from someone who stumbled upon the site by accident. I meet many cool readers this way, who often have blogs of their own. But most of the time it’s just bozos Googling around.

Most of the time when I get flamed, people are smart enough not to leave their email address. Not this time. Heh heh heh.

This comment refers to this entry.

“IP Address: 65.128.144.76
Name: shantel
Email Address: shantel_da48@hotmail.com

Comments:

your site is horrible.me and my friend made up the word fuckbag its a
old person or a person who looks like they should scream out
fuckbag!!!!u suck major ass!!!”

I am a very devilish person, generally, so I started thinking: what can I do with this email address? I sent a test email to it, to see if it was fake and would bounce back. My subject line was “Testing” and so was the body of the text. I wonder if Shantel will respond. It hasn’t bounced yet.

My next reaction, as always, was to Google. “Give email address spammers,” I typed, leaving out stop words.

This is what came up: a site about how spammers get your email address. I knew about spiders and all that, so I figure the easiest way to spread the love around is to make the email address available via a browser.

shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com
shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com
shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com
shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com
shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com
shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com, shantel_da48@hotmail.com

Normally I delete comments like this, if they don’t include an email address; this one I will leave up and I will ban her IP number.

My favorite way to type my real email address is like this: resvj@ATyahoo.com. Or I switch the letters around a bit: revsj@yHAoo.com. Or revsj@ATNOSPAMyahoo.com. Most people figure it out, I think. Stupid web spiders!

Shantel_da48@hotmail.com is now my faux email address of choice. I will now take this moment to apologize to “fricky@yahoo.com.” Sorry, Fricky!

The Party Never Stops

Posted on July 10, 2003 by iasshole

Today! $5! Now I can proudly boast that I am about half-way there.

REAL ENTRY:

Okay, so remember that end-of-year party I threw at school a few weeks ago? I have now been razzed for my typical over-planning. What follows is a little conversation on the i-chat school thread:

On Wed, Jul 09, 2003 at 11:58:14AM -0700, aliss@u.washington.edu wrote:
>
> Re-live those magical Spring Fling memories……Spring Fling snapshots, the
> iSchool Song lyrics and recordings of Mike E and Harry B’s band.
>

The reply, from a classmate:

Four snapshots? What kinda documentarians are we? Errol Morris should
come here and kick our asses…

But I didn’t come here to criticise. Spring Fling was positively infundibular. The beer was flowing, the deans were rocking, and the cheese was plenty. Much
thanks to The Organizers for a great fling.

I would also like to publicly acknowledge the fantastic work of SJ Alexander,
ALISS’ El Vice-Presidente. Normally at receptions and functions such as this
one, all of the hors d’ouvres are picked over and decimated. This is quite normal; however, hailing as I do from the Midwest, I am always a little sad to see only the bottom-of-the-bag, some-settling-may-occur-during-shipping,
broken crackers left behind while all of the beautiful, glamorous, and
ritzy crackers as well as — ESPECIALLY — the delicious cheese have been
long consumed.

Not this time, though!

There was more cheese at this event than modesty and even Papal dispensation would allow. There was enough cheese to bind small nations…more
cheese than the combined dairy output of Lithuania, Latvia, AND Estonia. We had enough cheese to kill every vegan within a 100 yard radius. (Fortunately for the vegans, there was enough glorious beer…what with its B-complex
vitamins to provide strength.)

Throughout the evening, as both the snack supply and sobriety dwindled,
there was a constant influx of fresh, beautiful cheese until cheese was the
only thing left when the party broke up. There it sat, resplendently projecting
strength and ruling over the affair. And as I was leaving, I noticed members of
Das Organizing Kommittee — coincidentally they were the same as the ALISS
oligarchy…how does that coincide with your post-war commie conspiracy,
Mandrake — lifting up the table cloth only to reveal STILL MORE CHEESE!

I would like to send out a big note of thanks to El Vice-Presidente who not
only secured obscene quantities of this bite-sized gold to add to the I-School’s
vast stores of cheese and other perishable goods but who also personally cut it
up into tasty, polite, party-sized morsels the night before.

I salute you, SJ and the Beneficent ALISS Regime!

I remain, humbly,
/the reverend

PENIS SPANKY TIME; I was Never Safe For Work, Svarit! PENIS WILL GO AWAY SOON.

Posted on July 9, 2003 by iasshole

Today! $13 more! I cannot seem to stop SHOUTING EVERYTHING LATELY! Too much Diet Rockstar, I believe. Did I just confess that I drink Diet Rockstar? Ooh, I am now below Kathy Lee on the Hip Scale. God, I’m sorry, but it’s good.

Anyway, I want to give a special shout to my sponsoring mofos, who deserve your love, via a Hallmark Greeting or a tonguebath:

Weirdsmobile!

Squirrelmagnet!

2 Anonymouses!

Neverdrop11! This person just started reading my blog yesterday, I think, and has no idea who I am. I am also wondering about this name, Neverdrop11. I’m thinking it must be Serbian or something.

A REAL ENTRY, titled, “We Like the Cars, the Cars That Go Boom”:

SO, now we live across the street from a boom-boom house. The last renters were so quiet…all but invisible really. Now there are pooey teenage boys, and some preteen boys, too. The little one hasn’t had his voice change yet, so when his older brother displeases him, he screeches, “BIIIITCH!” so the whole street can hear. Funny and sad at the same time.

They spend all kinds of time out on the patio

We interrupt this blog session to tell you that the office cat Hank is puking in the kitchen. By my scientific calculations, the out-of-doors is fucking one million percent larger than my house. What are the odds he must hurl in here? VERY BLOODY HIGH. Never hire a bulemic cat. Back to our story in progress, and I will wipe that up after I hit save.

They spend all kinds of time out on the patio with the door wide open and modern “rap” music oozes and throbs out of their house. They all wear backward baseball caps and some of them were hooting at my sister and I when we were getting ready for the barbecue I had a couple of weekends ago. Well, okay, mostly at my sister.

It seems that their father works the evening shift, because the boom-boom music only starts when he vacates around 5 or so. Mr. Husband and I were heading out for a jog yesterday and we discussed the sitch.

“I’ll bet their dad doesn’t even know he lives in a boom-boom house,” I said.

“Probably not. Part of me wants to go knock on the door and have a talk with them. I’ll bet I could convince them to turn it down.” Proof positive he is getting old. I couldn’t let that one lay there.

“Yes, I can see you now. ‘Hey kids, I think your music’s the BOMB and all, but if you could turn it down that would be super-off-the-hook!”

“Oh, shove it. Do you think we should tell him?”

“No. I think that living with a vibrating sternum for two hours a day is better than making enemies of teenaged boys.”

I was picturing them egging beautiful Jerome, who is almost paid off, or teepeeing, or even breaking in, for heaven’s sakes! I mean, if an infant decided to to roll over in the direction of the front door, I’m sure it would swing open, that’s how secure our house is. We don’t have anything to steal, but I don’t want anyone sniffing my panties except for ME.

And my fretfulness is proof of my advanced age.

P.S.

Please read yesterday’s comments. Joshua always drops great mini-entires on me.

Suburban Hooliganism, and I Realize Some of My Hard Work Has Paid Off

Posted on July 8, 2003 by iasshole

Blogathon 2003 current total: $30!! Goal: $100!!!!

Today: Yow! Thank you, Anonymous donor, for donating $10! You rock! Almost one-third there!

An Actual Entry:

I got desparate today and did some cleaning. I can tell it’s summer when I’m cleaning. Because I couldn’t actually go outdoors or anything. That would be “sporty.” I might accidentally get a tan.

I had some happy times outside during summer vacation–out in the street vandalizing things and playing kickball–but my best times were indoors, mutilating Barbies and mixing every beauty product in the house together in a big bucket. What would it be? A super-cleaning elixir? An explosion? Something that turned grey and smelled like old-lady perfume? Yes, the last one.

I also liked to rifle through my stepfather’s giant stack-o-porn. He had all the classic titles: Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler. They stopped around 1985, I believe, which was two years before I got to them. I got caught with one of his mags about a year later, and he yelled at me for looking through his stuff. How did he find it? Yes, he was looking through my stuff.

Nothing says “trust” and “family” like regular room searches. Another thing to put on my list of things not to do to Frannie.

In Other News

We went to the zoo yesterday with one of Mr. Husband’s friends who is visting from out of town. He brought his six-month-old and we had a stroller-fabulous time. Frannie hopped out of hers and pushed the baby around for a while.

The baby was sleeping and the friend wanted to go into the Nocturnal House, which doesn’t allow strollers. I volunteered to sit with his baby while he went in. I think I got the better deal, since I got to watch the wildilfe (fat Pacifc Northwesterners) in their natural environment.

It was about four-thirty, which is a rough time for little ones who have missed their naps because of a long day at the zoo. Frannie was getting whiny and “I-don’t-want-to-walk-y” so I bribed her by tucking a handful of Reese’s Pieces into her overall pockets (oooh, bad mom) and she went happily into the Nocturnal House. Sometimes a little sugar at the end of the day can get you home safely.

As I was sitting there, this family walked by who had been following us all over the zoo. There was a dumpy, haggard mom with that cute bob and giant khaki shorts that they all have. She had a little boy who looked about five, and the twenty-seventh incarnation of Satan, who was a little boy of about three.

The little Satan-boy was sreaming and hollering at his mom, and the older brother was staring off into space with the classic “I’m in a sunny meadow” look. I could tell he’d lived through this scene a million times before. Poor older brother; he looked like he deserved better.

“I DON’T WANT TO! I DON’T WANT TO!” Repeat times a million. I was waiting for the mom to lose her shit, but she kept talking to him quietly and I couldn’t her what she was saying until they inched closer. He was hanging off of his mother’s legs and stroller so their progress was very slow. I found out his name was “Chance.”

“Now, Chance, I really don’t like the way you’re behaving right now. Can you please get into the stroller for Mommy? Pretty please?”

Chance would scream back at her and if she tried to move faster than inching, he would throw himself on the ground and she would stop again, and start boo-boo babytalking him again. “C’mon, honey, we can’t go in to the Nocturnal House today if you’re going to scream like that. Please get into the stroller.”

She kept explaining things to him over and over and the kid just wasn’t hearing her. I’ve seen it; they get to that point where they are just feral and you have to make a decision. You can be that kind of hardass mom who walks away, and expects her kids to keep up. Or, if they are really nuts, you can just pick them up and strap them in. It helps to say something (loudly and firmly) like, “We can talk after you have cooled off.”

There is never a reason to sock a kid, though I admit I find myself involuntarily forming choke-o hands now and then. That is when I must sit in my office and stare at the wall. Frannie knows to be quiet when I start doing my breathing exercises.

Yelling doesn’t really help either, although my loud ass usually yells once a day and then feels stupid. I get tired of saying things twelve times, you know?

But what is perfectly okay is waiting to have that quiet, rational conversation with all of the explanations until after little Chance has had a nap. It’s okay to be the leader. Frannie screams for a minute, but knows she has a bad cop mom who will follow through. Most of the time she follows me around the house lately and hugs my legs and tells me she loves me. She askes permission to do things and argues and I stand firm. She is a secure kid and it will never take me motherfucking forty-five minutes to reach the gate of the zoo from the Nocturnal House, thank god.

THE PENIS-O-METER OF DOOM COMPELS YOU

Posted on July 7, 2003 by iasshole

Today: HOORAY! As you can see, the Penis-O-Meter has inched even higher, with a new total of $20!!! That’s already one-fifth of the way there!

Thank you, B-Squared, for the kick-off pledge. I will get you back for that, because I dig your charity as well.

Thank you also to Squirrelmagnet! You rock the drunken llama!

I am soliciting questions to be answered and/or turned into stories during the Blogathon. Feel free to leave me a comment or send me an email with any question/comment you have for my boring ass, and I will save them for the big day. Oooh.

I will make a real entry tomorrow, I promise!

A New All-Time Low, For a Good Cause

Posted on July 6, 2003 by iasshole

Okay, peeps, this is it. I am Blogathon 2003-ing. I was inspired by another greatly-admired local peep, B-Squared, who rocks the Kasbah every day of the week. Fuckety Asked Questions Will Follow….

Like him, I think this endeavor will only be worthwhile if I set a certain goal–something to shoot for, if you will. I am going for $100, and am accepting donations in any amount, up to the day of (and during) the Blogathon.

F.A.Q.:

Whazza Blogathon?

It’s a charity thing. Basically, on July 26 I drag my banana peel-smoking ass out of bed at 6am and blog for 24 hours straight, updating every thirty minutes. Oh man, Mr. Husband is going to hate this. Here is more info, from the Blogathon website.

Why are the good people at the offices of I, Asshole doing this?

1. I have a blog; I am a show-off. Duh.

2. It is summer and I want to do something “wacky.”

3. I can raise money for a good cause.

What charity are you blogging for?

I am blogging for Bookaid. As a future librarian and big-time reader, I feel it is my duty to get as many people reading as possible.

What makes you think you can do this?

Again, it is summer, so I don’t have many other obligations. Mr. Husband will watch the girlie. Also, I like coffee. A lot.

I also hope to drag my sister and a digital camera into this to increase the shenanigans. Because I know you want to see three a.m. pics of my stretch marks, avec commentary.

Other Blogathon Bloggers have a theme. What’s yours, jerkface?

I am going to start by chronicling every single one of my freaky tales, in chronological order. That will only get me through the first twenty-three hours or so, and then I regale you all with other Asshole Tales of Yore. Sleep dep+freaky tales=not to be missed.

There will probably be pictures, badly-rendered in MS Paint and photos as well. Perhaps I will even borrow a scanner. It will be performance art gone terribly wrong.

Wow! How can I donate?

My blog is here. Donate now, before a blogger you like better signs up!

I am hankering for a hunk of cheese.

I cannot help you with that.

Finally, is it just me, or is your fund-raising meter totally phallic?

Yep. I just had to bam it up a notch. It goes with the theme, after all.

Give Me Privacy…Or Give Me Death

Posted on July 4, 2003 by iasshole

In honor of Patrick Henry, I recount a story from a few days ago.

I was in the bathroom, minding my own goddam business, when Frannie busted in, banging the closed door wide open without knocking.

Frannie: “Hi, Momma! What are you doing?”

Me: *sigh*

Frannie, wrinkling her nose: “I don’t want to SMELL YOUR POOP, Mom!”

Me: “Then GET OUT! Sheesh.”

In Which I Sound Like a Crank

Posted on July 4, 2003 by iasshole

I went with a friend to see Calvin Johnson and the Sons of Soil, Calvin’s new group. I guess it was supposed to be a Calvin tribute band, but Calvin ended up being in it. So there he was, covering a Beat Happening song from twenty years ago, while the band played surf music.

The real show was in the crowd, however; there were gutter punks and guys dressed up like little old ladies (?), dancing around like several joints were dislocated. Some people were just humping the air. I have never seen so many varieties of inappropriate dancing at one venue.

The bass player from Yume Bitsu is in S.O.S. and he ripped off his shirt like he is some kind of rock god. He stared at the crowd as if he was trying to compel every member to have greasy rock sex with him; I averted my gaze. He reminds me so much of my ex-boyfriend it freaks me out. But I have to say my ex would not stand up there like such an assmonkey at the front of the stage (obscuring the LEAD SINGER). I believe he would just play his guitar.

I wanted to buy a tee shirt, but they were old thrift store shirts that had been re-printed. I hate that. I know it’s all d-i-y and chic, but I like my tee shirts to last.

It was okay, and I kept wishing my sister was there. I said “hi” to Calvin before the show.

“My sister wanted to come,” I said, “but she’s out of town.”

“That’s bullcrap,” Calvin said. What do you say to that?

Later he announced that he was looking for high-school aged interns to work at K Records for the rest of the summer, as long as they were 16 by July 30. Too bad Morgan wasn’t there; he wouldn’t let me sign her up.

The best part of the night is when my friend and I nicked off to Shorty’s for some soy dogs and a pint of PBR. Mmm…soy burps.

Morgan: We have got to start that Beat Happening tribute band. Black Candy!

Report From NorthEnd Taxi: ?Let’s Kiss”

Posted on July 3, 2003 by iasshole

“Anything interesting happen today?” We were walking around the cemetary like we always do. It is the closest park.

“Actually, yes. I was standing in front of this mental health services place, and this girl walked up to me. She looked like she was in her early teens. Younger than Morgan.”

“Uh-huh.” We stopped because Frannie had stopped and was lobbing gravel at a large oak next to the cemetary path.

“She had all of this bright red lipstick on and no bra and a really low-cut shirt. She looked kind of goofy, too, like her teeth were all fucked up and it looked like one arm was shorter than the other.”

“Did she want a ride?”

He laughed. “No, she walked up and said, ‘Can I kiss you?”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘NO.”

“Jesus!”

“I know, all that lipstick, too. She started to walk away and turned around and said, ‘Are you gay?’ and I said, ‘No, I’m married!’ That seemed to satisfy her.”

“Like if you weren’t married you would have done it? Would you?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” He thought for a minute. “No, I guess not.”

“I bet she found someone to kiss later,” I said.

“I’ll bet she’s found lots of people to kiss.”

Happy Pretty Girl is Really a Dude Day

Posted on June 30, 2003 by iasshole

You love GIRLS ARE PRETTY. You don’t go there every day to be told what to do, but you like to look at it a couple of times a month. It was exciting to read another caustic woman on the Internet!

One night, you even geeked out and sent Pretty Girl fan mail! “You rock, Pretty Girl!” Little did you know this meant you got put on a mailing list.

“See Bob Powers read for $5!” read the subject line. You read the email, because if it was spam, it was clever enough to peek at. You read further: “Bob Powers, author of GIRLSAREPRETTY.COM….”

What the fuck? Now you are sad!

Happy Pretty Girl is Really a Dude Day!