Category Archives: MF Diary

If You’re So Very Entertaining, Why Are You On Your Own Tonight?

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So. It is established that Seattle cannot really handle anything above or below 65F. Winter brings OMFGBBQpocalypse if there is a half-inch of snow on the ground, causing school to be slammed shut and workplaces and bridges to close. (It should be noted that when I was working for barely above minimum this fall and winter, those workplaces did NOT close, not once.)

A couple of days ago it was over 100. Most houses have no air conditioning, which, fine, I can hang. I can make cereal for dinner and cheese and cracker and be cross and drink Mexican beer for a couple of days during the wave.

What cannot handle the heat is my stuffs. My router melted! I called Qwest to tell them and ask them if they would disown me if I used a non-Ma Bell model and they tried to troubleshoot me.

Them: Have you tried plugging it into another phone jack?
Me: It is melted!
Them: Have you tried cycling your modem by unplugging it and…
Me: IT HAS WAVES IN IT FROM MELTING AND IS TOTALLY WARPED!
Them: Oh.

Also, I had one of my favorite things, a big chunk of cocoa butter type moisturizer from Lush in my shower and it melted right down the side. It was not even in the sun.

Looks like I am offline this weekend. I might even have to GO OUTSIDE, UGH. Last night I spent about an hour trying to make dialup work, but no dice. It was kind of soothing hear the modem try to dial in though. NOSTALGIA. When I first started blogging, I used to click “connect” and then wander off and grow a beard and stuff. I also used to write all my posts in Word and copypasta them into the blogwindow, hit send, and get out again as if it was some kind of blogograph service. I almost pooped myself the first time I typed a post directly into the window, OMG.

Franny is off to her dad’s for two weeks, and she is hella pissed. I figure it’s good for her to have some not getting her way in her life. I think of myself as an advocate for her, generally–someone who can help her navigate the seas of WTF. Sometimes I say “Verily that sucks darling” about her traumas and sometimes I give her the little pep talk. She gets frustrated with SeaFed because he comes from the Jolly-but-dismissive school.

Lately she is having nightmares that I am dying and that she goes to an orphanage because her dad doesn’t want her. She has been worried about this lately because she knows she will be whisked away from our house and P. and Strudel if I died. I am the bridge.

I put on my gypsy lady rings and played Dream Interpreter.

I told her it’s normal to dream about losing the people we care about most. I told her about a dream I had about her where I lost her and panicked. Also I told her that last time her stepmom spawned she felt all left out and I wondered if her brain is worried about the new baby.

“See how it’s better to expose these things to light,” I said.

“What does that mean?” she said.

“Does it seem less scary now that we’ve talked about it?”

“Yes,” she said.

I have changes afoot–what else is new? I will fill you in in a few days. I am so feeling the Smiths today. HOBO LIKES SONGS ABOUT BEING BURIED ALIVE. Here’s to a new chapter.

OOH Bitch That Ain’t Fair Give That Horsie Back His Hair

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Hey. Heeeeey. Sexy man on my vending machine. Baby, I like the way you eat that potato chip. I can see all the way back there. Kind of wish I had a dick to cram in there, but I could probably find something else in a pinch. Man, do you still have your tonsils? That’s pretty hot. I have mine in a jar at MAH CRIB. Yes, for reals. Do I look like the type of person who would just say I have my tonsils in a jar at MAH CRIB if that was untrue? That hurts, baby.

Yes, I know snacking is an important personal decision, or at least that’s that the sign next to your sexy head says. I still don’t want to pay two bone for a bag of peanuts with a weird sweet coating. You know, when I squint my eyes, you look kind of like my geometry teacher. Sort of like that, or one of my aunts. I really like your ethnic ambiguity. Feeling included is making me want to eat potato chips. Also not feeling like anyone else is excluded. That is making me want salty snacks as well. You sort of look like the dude version of a Bratz doll. What kind of accent would you have? HEY, you’re not a digital composite, are you? I think you might be.

That’s okay, I’m open-minded.

IN OTHER NEWS: Could I Please Have a Look at the Lyrics?

On Saturday I went to the Symphony. I had heard the Seattle Symphony was like totes casual, like we just need to keep it real and hear some damn music, there’s no time for peacocking. FALSE. Seattleites are lazy as hell with disgusting personal habits. I dressed up, but MY BADS it was Final Fantasy, so there were people there in costumes. Can people not contain their appalling personal problems for one night? No, they cannot. Bonus: I discovered that not only are they still manufacturing tuxedo-print shirts, a wall of unholy neckbeards wearing them can sashay toward you as you are innocently on your way to the bathroom. The composer was there with a giant fish and there was a huge screen behind the musicians. It was still pretty cool though, when you closed your eyes.

I am going to a wedding this weekend (not mine FTW) and Hazel is coming and sleeping at my house. I am her date. I didn’t see her for months and now twice in a summer. It’s amazing what a difference having a little extra money and not working constantly and odd hours makes. Also I am getting close to fleeing the country with my shiny new passport for a weekend with Franny. How happy I am to be traveling with her again so soon. She is back from her dad’s now after a two-week sojourn so I will probably be writing more now. I was sort of at loose ends without the routine she makes for me.

The conversation recap from breakfast was Franny recounting sacking up and asking her stepmother why she is not allowed to say “butt” when she’s there. Of course the butt-deprivation resulted in an acapella duet to butts and vulvas, and how awesome they are. It would be an overstatement to say I enjoy this. Let’s say I feel benignly toward this. Strudel is struggling with this as well. She wants to use the proper names for her body parts, and in her summer program these words are known as “bathroom words.” On one hand, I don’t like to hear the proper names for things referred to this way, on the other hand, Feral Dwarf, do you have to talk about your VULVA constantly? Do we need to hear that it likes the quesadillas? Does it need 27 sonnets and an epic? Why can’t my children rebel by aspiring to get an MBA?

So what we are working on now is APPROPRIATENESS. Yes, yes, my very existence is ironical now. I think Strudel is probably going to grow up to be one of those menstrual blood artists or something. I will come to her openings.

Things I cannot stop with today: 1. Shakira’s new single, She-Wolf, GOD HELP ME. LOOK at this PREVIEW. She is a Hooters girl up to her NECK and is in a cage. SO MUCH AWESOME. 2. The last Girl Talk album. 3. Seattle has awesome hiphop, even if people are slobs. 4. Also Tony’s Bitch Track.

Hobo & Poodle & Asshole Go to Portland

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HEY FUCKERS For a week now I have been trying to think of a way to tell you what happened when I was in Portland in a way that is PG-13 or lower and will not be used against me in court. I cannot. You will have to look at the pictures in my set and try to piece it together yourself. Suffice it to say that THAT happened and Franny’s former teacher and my friend, Hazel, was a fabulous hostess.

I can tell you one thing: Franny was in fine form. I realized recently that I am going through a thing where I am in love with Franny right now. She is becoming so freaking hilarious at times I get disabled with laughter and cannot move. I am not saying I am some kind of comedic genius, but I have decided that I am going to teach her everything I know about being funny. That will be an awkward twenty minutes.

YES YOU DO want to hear something shallow about me and Franny, and that thing is that when she was a wee parasite my biggest fear was that she would turn out to be some fugly stick terror (keep it classy, twenty-one-year-old self), which is ridiculous because SeaFed was handsome and my genes get drunk sometimes but mostly sit quietly and get overwritten. And now that she is so pretty I feel like I need to give her more.

I act like I have one ounce of control over any of this, but I will not allow her to be The Pretty One. Franny and Strudel were playing Nancy Drool the other day (Caroline Keene I will drive a stake through your hateful undead heart) and Franny asked Strudel if she wanted to be “The Pretty One” or “The Funny One,” because you bet your fucksocks Franny was going to be Nancy.
Can girls be the pretty one AND the funny one? Unsurprisingly, I guess, encouraging this is my hobby now, since Franny shows such an aptitude for it. I prefer this to my mother’s program, which was a major in Disordered Eating (Breakout Session: There Is Nothing Worse Than Being Fat: T/T?) with a minor in “Good Luck With That One, Kid.” (Seminar: Walk It Off, Pussy).

So Franny has taken on a new personality all of her own doing, and that personality is Hobo. Hobo refers to (himself?) in the third person and is quite FYCL* vociferous on the subject of Cheetos, Doritos, beer, and public urination. [Sample Dialogue: “HOBO LIKES EATING CHEETOS, DORITOS, DRANKIN BEER AND PEEING INTO BOTTLES.” I dunno man.] When Hobo goes away and Franny is sweet again Poodle comes out. Poodle liek you. YOU LIEK POODLE?

Traveling alone with Franny made me remember how much I like traveling. P. and I and the girls used to all travel together in a clump just like a real family (guilt and fights over stupid inconsequential shit sold separately) and it was HELL. Traveling with P. is like traveling with a Jack Russell on meth. You could practically see his face pressed up against the window by the time we got to Sodo, clawing like an abandoned dog in a hot car. By the time we got to Tacoma? FORGET IT, it is not printable. If he was driving he would swear like Christmas Steve on a malt beverage bender. Who doesn’t like driving, I ask you? Oh. Now I know.

Plans for Fuck Off England Day? Yes, I have some. I bought some books at the OG Powell’s in Portland. I have been reading the “biography” of Betty Crocker, which is a funny thing, since she is a fabricated brand, of course. The book contains a selection of letters of the thousands that were written to “Betty” during wartime and beyond. On one hand it marries stuff I enjoy, American history, domestical history of Ladees, and insanely awesome marketing schemes. On the other, it is sad to read these desperate letters to a corporation: “How can I cook a meal to keep my husband?”

IN CONCLUSION, it is making me want to make an orange chiffon cake, the recipe for which was apparently kept under lock and key for twenty years until the originator sold it to General Mills. I also found a recipe I copied down for Any Fruit Cobbler from Fanny Farmer last summer when I was on vacation. I am remembering through the vacation haze of sangria and I FOUND THESE PILLS AND I EATED THEM that the cobbler was pretty dope. I’ll tell you what, Ima find some any fruit and bung it in.

I am reading other books right now…women and Islam (The Caged Virgin) and Victorian Era courtesans. I guess I am in new mode right now. I also have new music: new Mos Def, which is SO GROOD, and Kidz in the Hall. Mr. Lif and new K-Os did not rip over to my MP3 correctly, but I am getting there. There seems to be a stampede at Pirate Bay at the moment as it changes hands.

*

Bus Haiku for Jerks

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Hot ginger girl

I see your boob hickey

through your shirt gap

 

Tonight, I go running for the first time in a month. You probably didn’t know I broke my toe, which really put a damper on things. Funny story–I had a migraine and was stumbling around my bathroom looking for Advil when BAM! I hit my toe on the tub. Then it is the ecstatic FML feeling as you lay in bed with a sore head and sore toe.

I think this is all serendipitous timing as I called my friend who I am going with Franny to visit this weekend in Portland. She used to be a chain smoker but has quit, and just today was going out on her first run. This will keep me motivated. Monkey chow out.

Dear MF Diary: Father’s Day

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“Why is it Father’s Day, Dad?” Strudel said.

“Because your father’s a motherfucker,” I said, so only P. could hear.

“WHAT?” Strudel said. She hates being left out.

“Look, in the street, is that Xmas Steve?”

“NO MOM, he’s on his boat drinking sock beer in the summer!”

“UP TOP,” I said to P., and got my five.

I almost had to kill him this morning because I caught him RUNNING UP THE STAIRS with this bucket of dry ice from the grocery order and he ALMOST TRIPPED. I don’t know what would have happened, exactly, if he would have spilled it on himself, but if I had to take his ass to the emergency room I would have been HELLA PISSED.

FROOTY!

In Other News: Eggbags for Sale, Ten Cents a Pail

So, I am putting a little line out there now. The cute chooks I got when I was on hiatus yon these two months are now halfway grown and need new homes. This was my plan all along, to have some spring chicken raising funtimes and then move them up and out. Here we go! Write a blog! Tell a friend! Say it was horrible!

Fifteen per or all three for forty. You pick up and bring crates/boxes. Hatched March 29.

Saffron is a very elegant and sexy Easter Egger who will lay pink, blue, or green eggs. Dunno yet. She seems smart, like most EEs I have known.

Aloha is a Silver Wyandotte, and so named because the girls thought I was saying Hawaiiandotte. Of course. She will lay brown eggs and is VERY OMG PRITTY.

My favorite, who I will be sorry to let go, is Rose the Giant Blue Cochin. She is pretty mellow and has the cochin waddle and the fuzzy feet, so probably not ideal for a super wet run. She is extra sweet like Marty McFly was last year. I love this breed.

Anyway, drop me a line if you’re interested. If I don’t hear anything for a month or so I will move on to Backyard Chickens.

If I Told You Things I Did Before, Told You How I Used To Be

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Up betimes and out in the garden; peas and radishes coming along. The new batch of chickens is utterly indifferent to my presence and the old ones still cleave like burrs. It’s amazing what a difference handling a batch of chickens to the point of smothering makes. It’s fun to walk around with them. It’s like wearing a giant pair of fuzzy slippers that makes cross noises. Components break off and stop to eat bugs or peck at a spot before rejoining the ankle entourage, Voltron-style.

I am thinking the last days of new computer approaches already. I seem to be the 1337 Widow when it comes to computers since about November. I have that disoriented feeling where I don’t know where my files are or what’s on a box at any given time. I am constantly redownloading software, reformatting, rebooting, whatever needs to be done. I think I have lost years of photos and music files but I am unsure; they could be two machines ago on the laptop that just lost display capabilities. Half my novel is on there as well. I just don’t want to make time right now. I’m starting to think the lesson here is about halfassing things or looking for an easy fix, but that would imply the universe makes sense somehow and there’s a plan to it. HA.

I am being challenged because there is this part of me that loves starting over, releasing whatever I have made into the wild and forgetting about it. The challenging part is putting my money where my mouth is on this and being able to live in this advanced state of disorientation for however long it lasts and to still retain some kind of functioning. I think I am a different person than I was in November; it’s kind of sickening how symbolic all this computer mess is. Breakdown, restart, repeat. I need to decide now if I want to be more organized and have things like external hard drives and sensible filing systems. Destroying paintings and erasing writing is different than this, somehow–that feels discrete whereas somehow my hard drive feels like a more complete mirror of what’s in my mind.

Everything we create is an expression of what is happening internally, our past, and our thought processes; what does it say about me that parts of me, the reflection of me is a complete tangle right now? Once I was trying to figure out where the old stopping point is and where the new one starts, but I don’t believe it’s at all that simple anymore.

When I was in college I was obsessed with the Western mutilation of the idea of wabi-sabi. I think a tree that has a dead part is most beautiful. Things like perfect gardens or anything that implies there is nothing left to be done is completely uninteresting. I like people with an edge who have figured out how to be nice, to function. People who can take the dark parts and the good ones and put them together. At the same time I was surrounding myself with chipped pottery and domestic work with a repetitive nature I was squeezing onto myself so tightly I almost cracked. The asymmetry would be that I was perfect somehow and my external world was not. What a load of crap that was.

Now I guess I have to accept that I am wabi-sabi everywhere. The change now is not the shame of being brought to my knees several times, rendered mortal repeatedly. The change is balance and growth. I am taking it a little at a time.

Could I be any further up my own ass? No, I could not. I can tell this is one of those notes to myself for six months from now, when things have shifted again.

Tomorrow on I, Asshole: vengeance puking. Have a good day.

D.O.A.

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Important: I am looking for coffee work or some other part time works, since my retail hours have been cut to almost nil (it is not a hint–no one has hours). If you know of anything, email me sj at this domain, especially if you can nepotize me in somewhere. I would not look off professional work, either, but I have to be honest. Headhunters are not even calling me anymore, and everyone and your mom has a hiring freeze on. Trying to avoid sucking dick for drug money, but all else is fair game.

I am kind of at peace now, because after talking to some nerds, doing various works, etc, I have discovered that Hester Prynne is dead. Like, dead as snap crotch bodysuits (you heard me). You may recall that recently I replaced the hard drive. Apparently that caused the motherboard to get all shitty with me and fry.

I have to tell you honestly that I have this little feeling of panic along with the peace, because I have always played games. Always. I started with Atari in…I dunno…’83? My stepfather had a coin op business and for a while we had an arcade-sized Centipede down in our rumpus room. To this day, I still occasionally have dreams in Centipede colors (green and purple FTW). We moved on to Commodores and Segas. After that I had PCs or my own, or lived with boys with consoles. Now I have nothing. I know this is absolutely nothing in the face of any kind of real crisis, like a splinter or being out of mustard, but it makes me sad that I have come to have a hobby that is expensive up front. I was also hoping to start reviewing games more, as I did recently with World of Goo. Who wants to read a review of Minesweeper?

I also almost complete destroyed my AbacusTop with Trojans. I blame 2 a.m. porn. SO RONERY! But now all is well. If this keeps up, I may have to start playing Nationstates 2 or something. Into browser-based purgatory I go.

Hey! Who wants to cook up another generation of speshul snoflakes? What’s that? People with kids my age? Looks like.

A few folks have written to ask about gifts, and here’s what we’ve decided to do: we’re having a book exchange. The idea here is that each child arrives with a (wrapped) book, and each child gets to go home with a different (wrapped) book. This way everyone has a surprise and, with any luck, a book they don’t already own! Most of the party time will be spent jumping around in the gym, then at the end we’ll have a treat and exchange gifts. The “let’s-minimize-conflict” model has the presents remain wrapped during the party.

I was thinking about skipping prezzies at Strudel’s upcoming quatroceanara, because I don’t know half the kids or the parents who will be dropping said kids off, but Ruby snapped me out of it. “Kids need to watch someone else have the limelight,” she said. Then I got the above email and tabled it after putting a few more dents in my desk with my head. Now children’s parties have models. I guess I am a little burned out lately, because every single party we get invited to is at a large corporate partyspace. I know, I know, it’s winter. Still.

Rather than actually concluding this post, I will just catch you up pictorially. Recently Strudel’s dad invited me to his holiday party, which happens in late January. It was at the Museum of Flight. We were the only ones who danced practically, which made him a pariah at work, and this is among people who could not even be arsed to show up! BOOOO! You cannot play JT and expect me to hold still, ffs.

SUPER KAWAII OR SOMETHING!

Here I am in my robe of getting readyness. I am trying to make increasingly larger victory rolls. They went great with my ’50s style dress and digital watch.

WOW it’s Carl Sagan’s sweater. It had billyuns and billyuns of moth holes.

There goes my buttercuppy. Well, both of them. Bye jerks! Die jerks!

I will miss the eggs. We’ll always have omNOMNOMomlettes.

My grammar is atrosh today. Monkeychow OUT.

Dear MF Diary: Change Tastes Like Carrot Caek

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Dear Jankateria,

Freddie Reynolds was staring at me by the senior locker bay today! I found a dollar on the ground! And my camera cable came! It’s been what, a month ffs?

In November, we made an Obama cake to celebrate. Pardon my ghetto non-cake professional skills, but here we be:

Here are the girls helping me make it. If I let Strudel continue, assuming she never got bored, it would have taken her FIVE HOURS to shred carrots. No lies.

Here is Hester Prynne all asplodie:

:'(

She is put back together now, but still no hard drive. Soon, soon.

The tail end of the fall harvest happened. Garden vs. Storebought. FIGHT!

We have a new layer, El Bandito! She makes wee eggs. Currently she is broody. Probably a good time for that, as it is cold as fuck.

Today alternates between dance party and snow

Also, my moar fight shirt came in the mail. MOAR FIGHT! I made this. By the power of Photoshop!

Speaking of dorky internet shit, I applied to be a community manager for a gaming software company. There are so many interesting jobs out there. I’ve decided to think of my relentless applying to jobs and interviewing as my hobby. I may continue this after I get a real job, even. I can now write a cover letter in 41 seconds.

ETA: I was all scattered a little and forgot to post a couple:

Frozen Calliope:

And the top of the Xmas ficus this year. Sorry your arms got cropped, Michelle! Blame US Weekly!

Day 47: I Eated The Cameraman

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Dear Goddamned Diary,

Now my big kid is dragged down into the flu pit, and I am waiting for her little sister to follow. I was feeling guilty by the end of the weekend because I was so sick and out of it that I was just kind of waving the girls away or shrugging at them like I was Courtney Love mated with Edina Monsoon. Franny was acting like she was missing me but I could hardly stand to be touched, really. I always try to remember when I was six and my mom got food poisoning and I was convinced she was going to die and leave me with my stepfather forever. That felt pretty bad. I try to be somewhat present even when I am fucked up if I can.

Of course when Monday rolled around I was mostly back on duty. All the sudden I could see dirt again and the groceries that didn’t get quite put away and the mail piled by the door and it made me cry a little inside. And then by Tuesday Franny was running a 103. I slept with her on the futon last night, because she rocket-vomited up her “meltaway” Tylenol so fast it was like I had fed it to her on a boomerang or something. So it was me, her, and a bucket. I think she is feeling a little less neglected now. I am hovering in the 100-101 range with a sore throat that is making me want to drink paint.

This morning I took her out to la supermarche and I felt bad to do so, but I was out anyway because of course the cat ran out of pills this morning. Franny dragged around behind me making glib comments about whatever popped into her head. Everything was “Like, wow, there are purple streaks in my eyes and the grocery store is really funny the room is moving up and down” I thought, if this is what she would be like on drugs, then we should Just Say No for that reason among many.

Then this woman in a weird outfit came up behind me and asked me if I worked at Wendy’s. Because all Wendy’s employees have red braids, just like the girl on the sign. MOST hilarious joke EVER. I have not heard that four trillion times by people who think they are just as funny as you are. You know what I think is a funny joke? Me punching you in your jellybag. She got away though, and I just stood there, too stupid to go all howler monkey on her ass. It’s for the best, really. I can take my braids-of-hair-neglect out. Other people’s problems are not as easily fixable.

Also, I will stop breaking bad on Hulu because it saved us during the barferie in the dancerie stage that we went through last night. Seven-going-on-eight-year-olds really, really enjoy Alf still, as it turns out. Thirty-year-olds enjoy Alf less than when they were nine. Then I made her watch 90210 with me. Mwah ha, vengeance was mine. Naw, I think she liked that too. I have seen this kid spend several minutes staring at a paused video or show. Hell, I have seen her staring happily at televisions that were off and cold.

I have an update on my neighbor situation: on Sunday when I was still feverish-er and super out of it, I spent a couple of hours reading on my fainting couch in my front room, next to the picture window. This affords me an excellent view of the comings and goings of the neighborhood cats, that were coming like some kind of steady cat pottyin’ commuter train, next stop, the Poop Pit that is my neighbor’s yard. I think I saw four or five cats in an hour. I have been advised by a few wise people to video this, and boy, am I considering it.

Also, if you missed it, I wrote an article on the SecuROM fiasco over at Blogher on Friday, which is probably mostly of interest to gamers. I think more gamers read me here than over there (if I had to guess) so I thought someone might be interested.

Aaand the sex blog thing fell through, which had nothing to do with me. I feel funny when I don’t link stuff or have to say “nevermind.” A lot of times I wait to tell you til it’s a sure thing, because it’s more fun to write about sure things, which I thought this was. It sounds like I’m making things up sometimes, I swear. Hey! Someone just gave me a gold Camero, which I…have no way to take pictures of, yeah. Tune in next week when it gets repo’d!

Yar Har, Fiddle Dee Dee

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Sup dudes. Not much cooking over here, for serious. I am being submitted to two jobs for two of the largey corporations around here. One is a way junior position that pays about half of what I’m worth, and the other is a short term contract that will probably pay well but be over soon. Normally I’d say, Oh, I’m sure I’ll get the low-paying one, but with the way the economy is going, I am kind of guessing I will get neither. I know I shouldn’t be so half-empty right now, but it’s looking pretty sketch out there. If this goes on much longer, I am going to try to pick up coffee work or something, like in college.

Last night I watched this old video of Fred Rogers testifying before the Senate on behalf of PBS. It was nice to see Sen. Pastore actually affected by what Rogers was saying. I confess I had a tear.

Today I wrote about Talk Like a Pirate Day over on Blogher. Avast, and some junk. I was tempted to give my avatar over there a little eye patch, but then I would probably forget to change it, leading to, wtf is up with patch lady. Potential employers are looking at my Blogher writings now. One of the cavalcade of people who didn’t hire me enjoyed my bullet-proof bra article. Right on.

The only positive thing I can report is that I started a running program, which is probably the best thing I can do right now with this spare time. I wasn’t going to say anything until I got past the OH DEAR GOD soreness phase, and here I am. I am going to stick with it. I was running about 5k until I was about five months pregnant with Strudel and it got too painful. I have been spotty since then, but now that I have big kids, it’s not so bad. I definitely started on “couch.” Bleah.

SFW Pron. Yeaaah, not really SFW, but hilarious.

My friend Laurie is in town this week, and we are having dinner tonight! It appears she very devilishly brought her SF fog with her.