Author Archives: iasshole

Pushing Water Uphill

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I had to ask Franny’s stepmother again this morning to notify me when they take her out of the state. Their reaction always makes me feel like such a spaz. I actually resorted to that incredibly lame, “Imagine if your kid was gone half the month, and you didn’t know where she was, etc.” She kind of yeah yeah yeahed me. She said that her notification was having Franny call me last week. Franny still can’t quite communicate on that level, and told me they had already gone on their trip, which was surprising.

At least she asked what the conditions of the agreement are this time. And then she turned on me, because we are going out of town next week, “Well, are you going to notify us?” Of course. I always do. Damn.

I feel like I can’t bring stuff up, but I do anyway. Perseverance in the face of…blaseness, I guess.

Really, the Best Part of a Boring Day

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[15:21] * Foregone goes looking for some good buttsex porn.
[15:28] Foregone: … and once again my sanity returns.
[15:29] Foregone: So, what’re you up to?
[15:30] SJ: yikes.
[15:30] SJ: Just talking to Ro.
[15:30] Foregone: Yikes?
[15:31] SJ: Did you just go punch the bishop?
[15:31] Foregone: Don’t be frightened by the clock. Wanking so you can stop thinking about sex is a lot different from actual fucking.
[15:31] Foregone: Rest assured that I have plenty of stamina.
[15:31] SJ: I’m not. I just think it’s funny yhat y lol
[15:31] SJ: tears

Other than that I’ve just been eating Honeycomb all day. Dammit PMS, you are a cruel mistress. Also, I have been rethinking my choice of chat companions.

Got Britney Down My Pants and My Gin and Sprite

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I have that old meme in my head today. That is really old, too. If that meme had a vagina, there would be mummy dust and Dead Sea Scrolls coming out of it.

DEAD to the C-Z scrollies REPRAZENT.

Ahem. The thing I really have is basil. Loads of it.

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I went out and denuded a couple of bushes. I decided to go for the variety this year, so I have regular (unleaded), this wee kind that’s called fino verde or something, and Thai basil. Strudel jumped in and helped me pick, and she went for the Thai basil, which I was avoiding. She started plucking the purple flowers off the top. I suspect my pesto will have a slight licorice flavor as a result. I managed to fend off the helpful handfuls of mint and parsley that were also trying to befriend the basil.

Last month I found a pesto recipe for “lighter” pesto. Usually I find lighter irritating, but in this case it’s nice to have a creamier and less-oily pesto.

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I also found a mongo zucchini from hell. Time for zukeyloaf!

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Asshole in the City

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So I just signed a contract for my first regular, paid freelance writing job. I am living the dream, here, people. Now I need about twenty more of these so I can pay the rent. Ho ho ho. I promise I’ll link it when it’s up, which should be next Friday.

I told my duplex neighbor, who I ran into at the park. She is moving back to Korea at the end of the month, which is giving me a bad case of the Mondays.

“It’s a regular column?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be just like Carrie on Sex in the City!”

And I had to ask myself, is that what women like me want? Do they want to have columns like Carrie on Sex in the City? I have to find out.

Death to Hotlinkers!

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I have replaced one of my favorite images of that handsome devil David Lee Roth, which has been hotlinked by a less-scrupulous blogger, with that of the perennial favorite, goatse. BEHOLD the power of technorati, and also the power of twelveness.

I would have politely asked him to save the image to Blogger’s server, but he doesn’t take anon comments. Oh wells.This is why I usually name my images some gibberish thing that won’t come up on goog images.

What is hotlinking?
Here is a boring article on wikipedia about hotlinking. Moar hotlinks. And even moar on grimthing.

WARNING: Goatse image after jump.

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Kicked in the Hatha

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So, after a month’s absence, I got back on the yoga stick yesterday morning. A studio opened up down the street from my house a few months ago, and I kept promising myself I’d try it. I don’t really like driving to exercise; it feels weird somehow.

I hauled myself out of bed at a quarter to six and walked down the street. The birds were tweetling and the traffic fumes weren’t too nasty yet. “Ah, this could be good,” I thought to myself. I was the first one there and signed in, and positioned my mat in the back, so as not to wave my noob butt in everyone’s face.

First, the class started with some chanting, and with some heart-ball visualization. “Picture your heart, or your heart chakra, in a ball that you hold in your hands outside of your chest.” With all the external organ talk, all I could picture was Mortal Kombat. “FINISH HIM!” As it turns out, this is not appropriate to shout in six a.m. yoga.

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Back By “Popular” “Demand”: Dear MF Diary!

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Okay, so the demand was from one person. But I knew he wouldn’t let me rest until I made one.

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This weekend was highly domestical with a chance of naps. Last night we unleashed the naked feral dwarf by taking the bars off her little prison-home, turning it into a “junior” bed. Result: she was up at four and bouncing on our heads. We kept booting her back to her room, urging her to turn her lamp on and read a book. It’s going to take some training. A lot of training. And possibly a cattle prod or some kind of fence.

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