Cocktails, with commentary or denouncing to follow.
My blog store. Between you and me, I like the way it sounds. I like working it into conversation.
“Christmas is coming. Have you seen my blog store? Let me send you the link.”
It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Am I selling blogs now, you ask, coyly? No. Are you new? I am selling blog merchandise. Or “blerch” as we say in the “biz.” Did you see what I did just then? You can use that casually, but if I find that word with your handle attached to it on the Urban Dictionary or worked into something on Metafilter, I am sending my readers after you. For reals. I don’t want to DoS attack your server, but I will.
ANYWAY. Nothing provides the kind of geek cred that you wish to attain like wearing the merchandise from some website that practically no one’s ever heard of. It will give you cachet at work, though frankly I don’t know why you’d need it, surrounded by WoWers as you are. They wouldn’t know REAL geek cred if a level 55 Druid came up to them and cast a cool buff on them, would they? I didn’t think so. You can feel smug wearing my blerch when you know they are just going to go home and fap to lizard women. On second thought, I guess I wouldn’t want them reading my musings anyway. Pearls before SWINE.
I suppose you would like to know what sets my blog store apart from other blog stores. Other blog stores throw some image file at a tee-shirt company that goes through a currency-fencing middleman service. Not here, at my blog, “What Fresh Blog is This?” You can be assured that my blerch is made by local artisans in my tri-state area who are paid a fair wage to screenprint my witticisms and my menstrual-experience art onto quality organic cotton tees. Well, to be fair, one shirt reads “Blogging is happy agony,” which is a twist on everyone’s favorite hottie be-piped dead French philosopher, but my readers are so clever I don’t have to pedantically attribute anything.
Further, as subscribers of my videoblogging experiments can attest to, I am a voluptuous woman, and frankly, the large “ladyfit” tee shirts sold by other companies are better suited as leg warmers on someone with mammerjammers like mine. And I know I’m not alone. So on the order form after the choices “organic” and “free range” you may also input your exact bust/waist/hip measurements, because I wish to exclude no one from the opportunity to wear my blerch with pride. No one should feel too scrawy or too voluptuous!
Finally, let’s talk about payment. It’s an uncomfortable subject, but the artisans need to eat, too. We must also be thankful for my wonderful nanny who makes all this possible. How else could I update WFBiT? six times a day? Face it, you think you could get by, but around three o’clock you would start wondering what I had for lunch and how the carpet-cleaning company responded to my angry yet professional-sounding letter to their corporate headquarters. Not everyone can make the soap opera of their lives fascinating, but I have the blog touch. The blouch.
So, please, as you are visiting my blog, check out my new blog store linked off my sidebar, entitled, “What Fresh Blurch Is This?” Says it all, and locks down that new word as my intellectual property (read my Creative Commons license if you don’t believe me). Isn’t it time to show the world your obscure and eclectically-geeky tastes? Remember, there are only a little over 40 shopping days till Christmas!
WOW! Wyoming Libraries are making an effort to reach out to men! Did you know? Apparently men in Wyoming don’t read or something. If you are male and from Wyoming and are reading this, you should probably go have a lie down. Unless you need something to stimulate your desire to read? Then perhaps you will enjoy Wyoming Libraries’ new advertising campaign!
O HAY it’s the mudflap girl. But it’s okay, because she’s reading a book! Ha ha! That’s right men, sexy nude silhouettes who live on mudflaps read, too! An offering from Wyoming, “the Equality State.” I sure would be super-thrilled if I was a librarian in this system. And by “thrilled,” I mean “disgusted and incredulous.” I would certainly want my name as a librarian associated with outdated sexist trash from the dregs of popular culture. Ha ha!
But since Wyoming’s state motto is “equal rights,” I humbly offer, free of charge, my design to add to their campaign. Just to keep things on the level. Because libraries have moar to offer than just TITTAYS.
UPFUCKINGDATE! 9/6: After I made this post, Blogpoll shit the bed on me. So I posted a new poll. You guys! So game. At first I was reading the comments and I thought you had all been sniffing paint fumes or something, which is enjoyable. And then I realized you were actually trying to guess what I wanted. So PLZ take the poll, below the pics!
Your opinionz, PLZ show me them. You can’t hurt my feelings. This is just a friendly wager. More explaining after I am done polling.
Please try to ignore the tawdry tights; they were all I could find. No, they don’t look better IRL. No, I don’t know why I was in love with them last fall.
Gratuitous commentary can be reposited in the usual repository.
As I mentioned yesterday, I bought plates and sherbet glasses when I was on the Peninsula. I saw a DIY petits fours server that was SO DARLING in Bust a couple of months ago. Of course, I would feel like a total choad if I invited people to my house and actually served them petits fours, so we will call this a multi-purpose server. The possibilities are endless and include fat blunts and jello shots. Your call.
This morning I was making some special cornmeal pancakes to give Franny a proper send off to Babydaddyport.
“I am really sad, I mean supersad that I have to go back to my dad’s today. I wish I could stay with you for one million years.”
“Yeah, honey, I’m really….”
“DID YOU KNOW, that astronauts in space have to DRINK their own PEE? I mean, they filter it, and they say it’s not yellow anymore, but you would KNOW you were drinking pee.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve….”
“I feel like I’m going to cry. And then I feel SO HAPPY again,” she said.
“Do you like making people laugh, Mom? You do, right? I can tell.”
“Yes. It’s my favorite thing.”
“Hmm,” she said.
“Oh, I was thinking something, but now I’m just watching Strudel fuck up the wall with her rocker.”
I love this fucking kid. If she was a snack, I would eat all of her without sharing.
So, yesterday I got cracking on a new Rancho Asshole tradition: homemade limoncello. It is bananas-easy to make. You should try it. I am using this recipe.
My first step was to go to the likka sto and get some rotgut. I was making inquires of a clerk and out of nowhere an extremely helpful manager-type materialized and commanded me to buy 100 proof vodka, so “it still has some kick to it when you’re done.” People at the Wallingford Liquor Store are always so flippin cheerful. I love it.
I brought it home and ran it through my hapless Brita five times, for maximum purity. Thus, I upgraded lowly “Prince Alexis” brand vodka to “Demi-God Alexis” brand.
Then you zest a schisse-load of lemons. I had Companion juice them after, because as it turns out, no lemon juice is used in this process. Then it all goes in the goofy jar that looks like a barrel. Because I said so and I will turn this blog around.
Apparently, I am supposed to agitate the jar for the next two weeks, add a bunch of simple syrup, and then, BAM, limoncello three weeks after that. Who wants to invite me to their party now? I thought so.
Yesterday I went to Bliss Soaps on Broadway with a blogfriend, who is now a IRL friend, Krumpy. Funny how that works. Anyway, the owner of Bliss Soap was in and I remembered him from when he was in a kiosk at Northgate. The owner made more off-color jokes in five minutes than I have heard in years. And he gave us sweet deals and was crazy-friendly to boot. I saw maximum deliciousness with minimum ingredients. There was an enigma of a bath bomb that was a tub tea bag wrapped in a bath bomb dipped in cocoa butter. Whoa.
Today I got asked permission to have one old story reprinted on an online literary journal. Four people this week told me I was too boring to be on television. And the number of poos my diaper-rebellious child deposited on the floor before naptime was two. Which is also the number of shots I just put into my Red Bull, which is preventing me from stabbing myself in the head. This rocktail is against all advice from those fuckers at Real Simple. Why would I listen to something that ungrammatically calls itself REAL Simple, anyway? Poopbubblers.
PS: My landlady called today and said she changed her mind about selling the place! She said she felt bad about pressuring us and will wait to sell for another year-plus. Oh, FNIF, down payment here we come! With God as my witness, I will never go without crenelation again. Thanks for concerned comments and emails. I think I love you all…but that might just be the Red Boo talking.
In Other News
Occasionally someone emails me and asks me something. I was on a tear last night, so I thought I’d share with the rest of the class. I wrote an email about how to dye a little kid’s hair crazy colors. Thanks for writing.
Over here we use Special Effects. I don’t know if you live in a large or small town, but often this can be purchased at a “punk rock barber shop” type place. You shouldn’t pay much more than ten dollars for it. A place like the punk mall store chain “Hot Topic” will absolutely gouge you for 15 dollars or more, which is okay if you just want one bottle one time. I do not recommend the “classic” brands Punky Color or Manic Panic, because in my experience Special Effects has at least four times the staying power, and this is with a normal shampoo regimen.
Maybe sometimes you have wondered to yourself what I was up to when I was on my court-ordered “blog hiatus” back in ’04 and ’05. You know, I tried to branch out. I got a lot of different offers. Mostly from places like boat shows, and the opening of the new Office Maxx in U-Village. It’s cool, I can cut a mean ceremonial ribbon.
The one project I got involved with that I’m sorry never took off was my album. It dropped in early ’05. Oh well. Maybe it’s not too late for it to become an underground hit.