Author Archives: iasshole
A.D.I.D.A.R.B.
1. All I can think about is, “Why am I not holding a Red Bull in my grasping claws right now?” Or as we say around here, “Red BOO!” My big kid’s a freaking literalist and she’s even worse now that she can bang a couple of letters together.
Me: Red BOO! What! What!
Franny, reading: Reeeed Booo-ul. MOM! That says “Red Bull!” Not “red boo.”
Me: Red boo.
Franny: Can I try some?
Me: No. You wouldn’t like it anyway.
Franny: What does it taste like?
Me: It tastes like sweet pee.
Franny: EW, MOM!
Me: Mmmm, sweet pee.
Franny: Can I try some? Please?
I love that stuff so much, and I know it’s eating my insides or tarnishing my soul or something. Don’t care. I could put my shoes on and go down to the store and buy one, but it’s much easier to sit here and finger yearn about it.
2. This weekend was an absolute blur, in part because I had plans on both Thursday and Friday, too. I am in a better mood than I was on Wednesday, or whenever it was that I posted that desperate post about drowning in urine. I don’t think I could work in any personal care type industries, because I am so tired of bodily fluids. Sometimes I don’t even want to go pee, so I won’t have to deal with my own. We have had less accidents for the past few days, but don’t think for a minute that there’s not going to be BACKSLIDING.
We took the kids to see Ratatouille, which went pretty well, other than the twelvedy visits to the lobby and the screaming and the fighting over the popcorn, and the running up and down our row, which was empty. Fortch, we were totally surrounded by breeders and they were all in their own personal hells as well. I love that environment, where parents can all suffer together. We nod at each other at parks and stuff as our kids are stripping off their clothes for the fortieth time that morning. I love that there are places for kids, and places that are not for kids. Hi-five, humans.
3. ANYWAYZ, oh hi, did I mention I am going to…
In part because of you people voting for me to get in for free. I probably won’t be able to go next year; I’ll be too busy sucking dick for drug money. I mean, “it will probably be out of my price range.” This shit is bananas expensive, especially Chicago. You could probably go and do that hostel thing, and get in for free due to volunteerism, and live on nothing but creamers and ketchup for three days, but I am using this as a vacation.
The best news, of course, is that I am bunking with Liz of Badgerbag fame (among others), and Shauny from WNP. Astute readers may recall that Shauny was my hostess with the mostest for a couple of years. I “met” her in ’01 but have not met her IRL. I bunked with Liz during one night of Blogher last year after meeting her for the first time after being blog friends for three years.
This internet thing, it’s kind of weird, yes? I still boggle sometimes.
One thing I am sad about is that I still don’t seem to have the internets embedded in my arm (I would give up fine motor coordination…my left arm is useless anyway) so I will be analog again this year.
Here’s a weird question: if you were going to meet someone famous, and you had a part for them in something, would you just bust up to them and tell them? Does anyone do this? This is relevant, I swear.
I have pictures to show you but my house is so messy that I can’t find my camera’s USB cable or my magic stick. SJ FTL.
It’s All Therapy Over Turntable Riffs
Sorry, taking the seat of the potty, the part that’s just a hole, placing it on the ground, and peeing through the potty seat onto the carpet does not actually count. EPIC FAIL.
Although, there were no negative consequences to this for her. I was the one who had to clean up the puddle.
By that logic I think I’m going to cut out a picture of a pina colada from a magazine and lick it until it becomes real. Perhaps someone else will clean up the mess when I go batshit crazy from ink poisoning. And then I will take a piece of chalk and draw a door and write “anywheres” on it.
A couple of nights ago I dreamt I cleaned up a puddle of urine, and then I turned around and there was another, and I couldn’t get her on the potty because I was afraid she would slip in her pee. The puddles were endless.
I am going to go put on my Friday underpants and cry softly.
Eight Things I Hate About John Travolta
“A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth your effort.”
–Herm Albright
Hey, sweet, my luggage came in the mail today. I have aspirations of becoming a famous world traveler, so I thought I should look the part. I almost bought some of this smurfy teen luggage, because I like the colors, but it wasn’t quite me. I couldn’t find any luggage with skulls on it, and I am too lazy to paint one on, so my compromise was giraffe print. Dat’s me.
As Halo said a couple of weeks ago, I am realizing my chav potential, or something.
1. When I was about ten, I was convinced my destiny was to become a circus freak. I spent hours trying to get rid of my gag reflex by using larger and longer objects. As I have mentioned, I was a latchkey kid, so I had the prime hours between three and five to practice. Eventually I worked my way up to a twelve-inch ruler, and worked on that for a couple of weeks.
Suddenly one afternoon, and with a terrible vengeance, my gag reflex came back and I spewed my after-school snack all over the kitchen–Frosted Mini-Wheats. I spent the forty-five minutes before my parents came home frantically cleaning bits of Mini-Wheats off the kitchen curtains. I don’t think they knew.
2. I met an adorable Canadian corn-on-the-cob peddler at Bumbershoot ’95. I hadn’t had sex in like, three whole weeks, so I chatted him up and got him to agree to meet me after his shift. He took me out in his Canadian hippie bus and we went to a park close to my house. I tried to get his pants off, but he got huffy and told me he wasn’t a slut, and kicked me out of his bus. Doh.
3. When I was eight I had a neighbor who I was friends with when our other neighbor wasn’t speaking to her. She was the craziest candy hoarder anyone could ever imagine. When Halloween rolled around, she still had chocolate Easter eggs. When Easter rolled around, foil-wrapped Santas were still staring at me from her place where she kept her stash, which was in the living room near the fireplace.
One August, I couldn’t take it anymore. She went to her bedroom for something and I STRUCK! I opened her box of Cadbury Eggs, oh dear god, what a waste to see them languishing there in August when they could be in my maw. I was restrained; I only took one. I told myself she wouldn’t notice it.
Of course she did, even though she had a stack of candy so high if it were gold it would make a dragon cream its pants. I ran home without saying goodbye and ate the whole thing in one bite in my bedroom. It was delicious!
4. My record for Barbie legs is six. WINK.
5. When I was in the tenth grade I had completely mentally checked out of school, so in my Chemistry for Fucking Morons class I used to develop elaborate plans for when (if) I would graduate and become a commercial sailor, moving goods to and fro on the high seas. I used to make drawings in my notebook of my cabin and where I would keep everything: my plants, my books, my fishbowl, my cat. I would sleep with hot bitches when I was in port, and then give them the slip, sailing on to the next port.
6. I have probably licked every surface in your bathroom. Yes, that surface too. But I’m not a snoop anymore, so I did not lick your Xanax or your fancy condoms in the gold foil wrapper.
7. If I didn’t get into library school, I was going to go to beauty school. They’re both good trades. Sometimes I wish I had gone to beauty school, because I probably would have gotten a job right away.
8. I went through a phase when I was about twelve where I would reset any clock I could get my hands on, between four minutes off and four hours off. If someone asked me if I did it, I decided that I would confess, but no one ever asked me if I did it. I even managed to get the clock off the wall of my US History classroom.
This is in response to this guy I like, Ed, who tagged me for the Eight Random Facts Meme. I am now to tag eight people, and leave them comments, but we’re all abusing technorati here, right?
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
My tag-ees:
What Ladder?
Halo
JT
JB
JP
Pen Pal
Shauny
Wakey Wakey
Now With 23% More Bulging Neck Veins
Homicidal Rage Part 1: Hester Prynne is menacing me with Extended Service Plans, like, every five minutes. Even though she is unpluggers from the interknutes still. Okay, people who make these programs: how’s about you make one little extra application thingie that notices when no internets is extant.
Extended service plan? Sure. Let me just plug you into…this potato I found. FECK OFF.
I got clever and went into the the Task Massager and found out where the little notification thangie was. I went to the file, and it told me I did not have the authority to delete it. I tried to change the files permissions and it said I did not have the authority to do that.
So…Friday night…Westlake Center…we are burning all of Hewlett Packard in effigy. And when Hester Prynne dies, this is it. No more computers. I will get a buxom assistant who can take dictation after this, for reals.
Homicidal Rage #2: I cannot figure out how to remove my cell borders in MF Works. Homicidal Rage 2.5 is that I am still using Works.
Problems with no internet. Problems with programs. If only I knew someone who was good with computers…hmm, let me think. Maybe someone with BLUE HAIR, who perhaps works with computers for a living. Yeah, that would be ideal.
Aaaand….scene. Aunt Flo is arriving on Thursday. Until then I am going to walk around with my eyes bugging out of my head. I have to assume that the extra blood flow is good for my arteries, amirite?
A one-off for a TBA side project.
Also, today Franny told me that my mother told Franny’s stepmother that she saw me coming out of a tanning salon and her stepmother had a major wtf moment. I’m sure my mom did too, if she felt the need to pass this on to That Poor Woman. No one knows me; I’m still a mystery to them. I think Seattle is designed in a special way so that you run into people when you least want to.
I also think I live for giving people wtf moments. Someday I am going to move to a new town and live as a middle aged man named Herbert Shaughnessy, and then a year later I am going to go into my workplace and rip my top and fake mustache off, and be all, “SURPRIZE! BUTTSECKS!” because at that point I’ll be fired anyway, but it’ll be worth it to see the wtf on their faces before security shows up.
Other than that I went to Seattle Center today and gawped at the tourists. The monorail clerk let me on for free when she found out I had no cash. A guy gave us a radio that smelled like Old Spice. The end!
PNW’ed 30
And just for fun…this took me an hour and forty-five minutes. Here’s the Strudel tally.
Are you Still Dizzy?
So it’s hot here, and what do those irritating people I want to punch say?
AH YES, “hot, for a given value of hot.” Go ahead, kick me in the nuts. So we’re having a little hot snap (ninety-five), and then my tomatoes will go back to being the Marvin the Robots of the tomato world. Too late for the dill; those ladies have stuck their heads in the oven already.
Anyway, I think I’m going to the mall today to escape the heat. I can’t take Naked Feral Dwarf to a movie, I’m not really in the mood to bother anyone else, so I am off to engage in some fulfilling air-conditioned capitalism.
I saw “Hairy Pooper and the Order of the Peens” yesterday. I liked it. I am a sucker. Plus, it was free and there was popcorn at ten AM and that’s pretty good, yeah? Whippet took me because she got free tickets from her bank, which is this marble-coated and be-palmed establishment where they let you park for free in their lot for eight hours so you can shop, just because you’re a member.
As we were driving over, Mr. Whippet was cursing all the rich people in Bellevue. He was cursing Bellevue in general, because we had to drive over there to see this free movie. Man, where else are you going to get a passel of people who can see a movie like that on a weekday morning? I ask you.
I like Hellvue. It’s got it’s own thing going on. Obviously, they’ve branded themselves and people know what they’re going to get. The public schools are probably pretty decent there, with a minimum of lead sprouting out of the drinking fountains, if I had to guess. In conclusion, (spoiler) you may be surprised to learn that Harry thwarted adult authority to save the damn world again.
What’s really getting up my butt right now is that I have so much stuff I want to be doing as far as writing and drawing, and I can only grab about two hours tops a day to do it, and those two hours are not usually continuous. It feels like going crazy I think. My fuse is short. I got words to put down. My neurons are firing like a CD in a microwave, and I am doing dishes and cleaning up puddles of pee. The conundrum of having kids. Companion said last night that “we have other options” which means that I can put her in daycare or something, but then I would have to march off to forty hours a week, plus unlimited kid needs outside of work, and then I don’t think I would be writing shit.
You know what’s really suffering right now? My house. Which I don’t really care about, because I keep the piles of broken glass in check, but I swear…I can hear the crumbs under the kitchen table conspiring against me. “We can take her, boys!”
I want more. More time. At least five hours a day in a room with a giant carton of cigarettes, a red bull spigot, and Hester Prynne. What you get is scatteredness and knee bruises from slipping in urine. GLAMOROUS.
UPFUCKINGDATE! 2:30 PM!
And now, after the jump, the results of my PMS-induced shopping. This harks back to the Gottschalk’s Ye Olde Toob Toppe Incident.
Speaking of, I am totally sad that they took the ghetto store out of the mall. Where am I going to get sunglasses like right myah now? Help! Need bling, will travel.
In Which We Learn Nothing
Final Part
I opened my eyes to see my mother standing over me, who decided until further notice to wake me up at the dawn-scraping hour that she and my baby sister woke up. From then on I would not be allowed to indolently sleep in like the other carefree kids on summer break. I was given a list of chores as long as my arm, and expected to do nothing off-list all day long, including my only escape, reading.
At night after I went to bed, I heard my stepfather considering removing my door from its hinges so I wouldn’t be able to “plan anything.” At the time, I truly thought this was because I was a horrible person. Later I learned it was because he was paranoid about people to such a degree that with his mother’s help, he convinced himself that when I was disowned as a teenager I would come back and literally burn the house down. Never mind the fact that my sister, the only family member I really loved and felt a bond with, was still living there.
I’m Jus Jellus
Looks like Britney’s dating one of her old bodyguards. It’s just like that horrible, horrible movie…what was that called again? The one with Robin Hood and Crackney Dallas or whatever?
Hmmp.
This is a request and dedication to Companion, who often sings the Divinyls in the boudoir. Imagine me saying that while grinding my toofs into little crumbly bits. And then he expects me to put out. FTL.
Props to Alaskadaisy, who made this.
Home, Honey, I’m High
In Which I Recount Part Two of My Harebrained Scheme To Run Away From Home. A Story In A Unpredictable Number of Parts.
Certainly, there was a part of me that was relieved at being pulled out of the river by the police, who interrupted my escape attempt. But there was a part of me, too, that was deeply disappointed that I had failed so utterly. The decision to leave home was entirely impulsive, brought about by my friend’s suggestion, but I was behind it all the way. Here was my chance to test my mettle. I was a big fan of mettles being tested, since I loved stories where people overcame great obstacles and emerged stronger, even if their transformation was completely internal.
“You kids are lucky we found you before sundown,” said one of the cops. I didn’t really know what this meant then. Now I suppose it meant that if they hadn’t found us, we’d be that much further away under the protection of the dark. As an adult I think I have read some statistics presented in a way to poke parents that say if a day goes by and your kid doesn’t turn up, that’s it, man, you better get a new hobby because you just lost your old one for good.