Category Archives: BlogHer

Oh BAYBEE I Like It RAAW

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Here lies an asshole too impatient for Post Secret!

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Like twice a year I update my MP3 player in a major way, scraping off the stuff I never listen to or am sick of, and add new stuff that is hella dope. Here is my soundtrack for the next few days:

K-Os “Atlantis: Hymns for Disco”
Jaylib (still)
ODB “Return to the 36 Chambers”
MC Chris
New Atmosphere
Mos Def, I am still loving on “True Magic” because I lost it for a few months
Eric Dolphy “Out to Lunch”

Life is good.

Additionally, here is the photo essay part:

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GET IT? IT’S A DJ ASSAULT JOKE AGAIN. I don’t have to explain that to you, you clever haberdashers.

This is the fotie that I pour out for my homie Shauna who cannot make it this year. FNIF. In your honor I wear a ghetto pin that I made myself. Underneath is a Happy Bunny pin that says “Kiss me in the pooper.” I think this is appropriate, somehow.

charkentack.jpgCalliope has discovered there are Interesting Kitchen Doings. I am trying to get her to come in and say something clever a la PeeWee’s Playhouse and I keep getting shouted at since there are steep stairs below. “SHE’S GOING TO BREAK A DRUM.” Oh ffs, that’s what the wings are for. Flappin.

Uncle $crooge Comeerks

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Can You See Me? Can You Hear Me? Then You’re In Our Delivery Area.

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Today I went to see The Wackness, preceded by a nice glass of scotch and some phad thai. Nothing is better than that, really. Well, toss in some satanic cheerleaders and I would be all set. There were minimal amounts of Mary-Kate Trollsen, and the soundtrack gave me crazy nostalgia for when Biggie Small’s first album came out. It was set in 1994, which did nothing but give me sad sack nostalgia from the music and knowing small time drug dealers who used pagers and shit.

And now, a nice glass of homemade raspberry cordial. I added half-and-half and now it is looking kind of curdled. NOM. Doesn’t that sound SO delicious, curdled? Sadly, it is.

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I repotted some thyme this weekend in this hideous faux barrel thing made of plastic with gold plastic trim. Gorgeous.

Also, Operation I Cannot Make Up My Fucking Mind was a success.

Narsty Roots of Narsitness

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dotsprittyernge.jpgERNGE in-between stage. I decided to do the roots orange instead of crazy bleach out so I can settle back to “natural” redheadedness when summer ends. This color was pretty nice, but the top half was ORANGE and the bottom half is still hanging onto the red.

After:

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Everyone loves a HAPPY psycho. No? NO? I keel you.

The funniest thing happened, if by “funny” I mean “incompetence on everyone’s part.” I reserved a hotel room for Blogher and then I went to look it up in my email a few weeks later. It was nowhere. Was I have an junior senior moment? Did I just imagine that I made the reservation? The older I get the more credulous I get, I think. I called the hotel, hello, hello, where the fuck is my room? “We have never heaaared of you.” “Okay, bye, cocks.” Hmm, it is looking more and more like I was partaking of the crack. Hotel was now full. I made a hostel reservation.

Hmm, this could be good, I told myself. I won’t run into crazy drunken bitches in the hallway (which will actually just be me, making out with a mirror), I can saves the moneys, etc. BUT LO, in my inbox yesterday was a confirmation from the HOTEL. Wut. I am hotel bound now, because if I could marry one inanimate object, it would be a hotel room.

Also, here is an info begzor: can I hav sum n-fo PLZ? I have use of a craptop for the conf but the internal wireless card is borkenated. Can anyone briefly tell me about their experiences with wireless USB? Is good? Is no good? Pay no more than X? Avoid X brand?

I am coming from the Internets to axe murder you!

Call 398-C-O-L-D, 398-…cold.

How Do You Say “I am hella banging your sister” In Spanish?

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I walked about five miles this morning and now I am totally out of it. Woo! There was a street fair in Wallingford full of hippie swag and sad fail ponies going in a circle. They had the crazy pony with the blinders and shit, and sure enough, the tiniest kid was on it. That sounds like a plan, doesn’t it? There was five old mellow ponies and one shithouse blindersed one. I am going to put my baby on the shithouse one.

I got cardstock for my business cards today, and now I can design them. Here is last year’s:

card.jpg Cooler heads prevailed and talked me out of going with a goatse theme for this year. I will keep it PG-13 and save goatse for ROFLcon, if I ever make it there. So I am going to print them off and sneak into Office Max and cut them up, Ghetto Ninja! I will come up with something “cool” though.

As far as some housekeeping stuffs, I got a comment that you have to sign in to leave a comment, which blows, because we should all have the right to flame at will so I can laugh at you. My friend made a really apt comment the other day about the fact that all these new social networking mediums like Twitter and Plurk actually win because they give people more chances to shoot themselves in the foot, creating trainwrecky lulz for all. Anyway, I think right now my comments should give you a choice to sign in or be anon. If you have preferences, will you tell me or email me? I am going to get a lot of this ugly fail shit moved off and try to get a banner up before I go out of town.

Also, I am trying to get my blogher badge back up. Yesterday I wrote about how some choads are asking ladybloggers to get their kits off. We appreciate you so much we want to see your gibgobs: I Love Your Blog. Now Take Off Your Clothes.

Also, I found out via Squiddy that Frida is at SFMOMA. I am so there on Thursday. I will be the one having an ARTGASM.

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Thanks for the postcard, Squid!

PS, lulz! Scoboobles! Don’t worry about the words, it’s just some fappery. Wait, what am I saying? I love digital fappery.

Bulletin from Frannyport

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I got an email from my big kid’s teacher.

So… your daughter has been holding onto her card from Grandma (?) ever since I gave it to her yesterday. It’s been hanging out of her back pocket, pretty cute. It made her day(s) ;)

Last week I sent Franny a letter and stupidly wrote my zip code on it, so it bounced back. When I was dropping Strudel off a couple of days ago, I asked the admin if she could slip it to Franny without it being disruptive. When I talked to Franny on the phone she sounded pretty sad that her letter had not come yet, and it was my fault. Boo, me.

Looks like her teacher passed it off, and now Franny is hanging onto it. I wonder if she is reading it when she has breaks? I get to pick her up this afternoon and ask her.

ALSO, I have written a special holiday guide for Blogher. Shop, capitalists! SHOP LIKE THE WIND!

I Walked Five Miles Today and Now Me Bum Hurts

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But I am here to tell you I wrote about zombies today. AND, this is the last time I will bother you about this, because I have discovered you can RSS my posts at Blogher. I don’t personally know how to do that, but I reckon you clever jerks do. So RSS me, or not! I think you get the idea that I’m over there now!

Thank you Cleveland!

Also, there was an article on “suicide food” in my weekly alt rag. There is a blogger at blobspot who is writing a blog on the topic now. I don’t want to direct link him, because he scares me.

Oh, hell, on further reflection I should just link him. The internet is not that srs of bizniz.

Anyway, he writes about “suicidal food,” which he defines as depictions of animals on food packaging or restaurant signs that “want” to be eaten. Such as a pig licking his chops on the sign for a BBQ joint. “Mmm-MMM! I am sooo tasty!”

I can see the argument that this is a little creepy or whatever, I guess, but a sign like that says “good food ahoy” to me.

From his manifesto:

What is Suicide Food? Suicide Food is any depiction of animals that act as though they wish to be consumed. Suicide Food actively participates in or celebrates its own demise. Suicide Food identifies with the oppressor. Suicide Food is a bellwether of our decadent society. Suicide Food says, “Hey! Come on! Eating meat is without any ethical ramifications! See, Mr. Greenjeans? The animals aren’t complaining! So what’s your problem?’ Suicide Food is not funny.

The problem with this argument, of course, is that the food is not actively participating in these displays at all, or “identifying with the oppressor,” because they are drawings made by humans.

Anyway, he says in the paper article that the site is supposed to be funny, though he says in the manifesto that “suicide food is not funny.”

But, if given the chance and enough societal conditioning, I would probably eat people too, so I probably don’t have a dog in this fight. I mean, I just stopped eating crap off the ground like three years ago. Omnivores FTW.

Mmm, dog.

Update! 7:51 PM.

The owners of Epilogue Books in Ballard emailed me today, because they discovered that last year I was cranking in an entry about some bad customer service there. They said the crummy clerks had been let go and would I come back? They even offered a gift certificate. I like to get my complain on, but I felt bad. And the truth is, I stayed away for quite a while, but then I came back after the remodel. It is all warm and fuzzy there again, and it has been for a while. Epilogue Books ftw!

Finish Line

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I am blabbing about The Darjeeling Limited at Blogher today. Last week it was about Halloween. Tonight we are having a pizza and renting Nightmare Before Xmas and we will decompose like indolent slugs. And how’s your Friday going?

UPDATE! VIEWER MAIL!

File this one under “HOLY FUCKING CRIPES.”


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Crying velvet bigeye painting. Oh the huge manatees! Thank you, S.

Now It Can Be Told

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Soooo, I’m posting over at BlogHer now on a weekly basis (Fridays). After this, I’ll just slip it into other Friday posts, but I felt like I should Say Something today. I am very pleased; I like those people a lot. Shockingly, my beat is Pop Culture/Entertainment, and today’s post is on strong women leads in graphic novels. I will probably Be Moar Serious there (i.e. fewer pictures of Abe Vigoda?), but I am still me. Let me know if thur’s type-os.

Carry on with what you call your Special Ladyness in the previous post, kthx.

A.D.I.D.A.R.B.

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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.