Saturday, December 26, 2009
THEN, at a Sustainability Task Force meeting (which is where a bunch of us from different departments all over the county government get together to try and get us to a zero waste organization,) we got off on a side conversation about feeding wildlife. I was so stunned. I mean, who doesn't know not to feed wildlife? Apparently, one woman showed up to do a home inspection, only to find bag upon bag of dog food in the garage. She asked the homeowners about their dogs, to which they looked confused and then explained that they leave the food out for the foxes and coyotes. Don't worry, I'm sure the bears know its not for them. Jesus, idiots. There were tons of stories like this.
So without further ado, A Public Service Announcement from Smokey the Bear.
Stop Wearing Shit that makes you smell like food.
Seriously. Its fall. I'm hungry. I'm trying to store up for hibernating so please, stop wearing that ridiculous mixture of mountain boison berry soap and java pumpkin seed lotion.
You think I don't eat you because you have semi automatic weapons and big trucks, but that's not it. I feel sorry for you. For you and all your stupid weird-patterned-hair brethren. Seriously, what's with that tuft of hair on the back of your head? And the occasionally spotty patches elsewhere? No other animal looks so pathetic.
I watch you on the bike path with your dog Sparky. "No Sparky, get down. Don't stick your nose in that poor gentleman's crotch. No!" Don't you get it you dumb bald animals? Sparky is trying desperately to figure out where you DON'T smell like food. He sniffing around going, "Where's the animal? Why does this bald thing smell like a roast? What the fuck?"
Sparky will eat you if he can't figure out that you're NOT a roast duck or a berry desert. And he's excited about this. That's why he's wagging his tail. Sparky's not real bright. That's why an animal stupid enough to need fire advice from a fucking bear who sleeps several months of the year, is able to own him.
So stop washing and conditioning your pathetic patch of hair with Olive Oil and Soy
and washing your hands with black raspberry vanilla
And putting lemon parsley lotion on afterwards
Remember only you can keep me from hitting you over the head before making you my dinner.
Unless you want me to think you're marinating on your way to being burried for a luau. Because, if it smells like dinner, and runs like prey, it must be...that I'm gonna eat you.
Then I'm going to bed for a few months.
Friday, December 25, 2009
"College, are you there? Its me, Karin."
"Don't give my dog drugs. I mean it!"
"I'm trading A-basin in my crotch for Beaver Creek."
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
At a party no less. He runs the cheapest, creepiest place in town. He's nice enough, gives out vouchers to help stranded people and victims of domestic violence. But the place is infamous.
And he was exactly what I would have pictured.
As in... missing teeth.
As in... corners you to tell stories about the dead people he's found in hotel rooms.
As in... corners you and does not stop talking to you for 45 solid minutes about said dead people.
As in... not even all the way in the door to the party, corners you and does not stop talking to you for 45 solid minutes about dead people.
It was awkward. And uncomfortable. But worse yet, I was invovled in a finding-a-dead-guy-situation and I totally wanted to tell people about it.
But I won't. Except, now I've put it out there so I have to.
The story is really just sad. I got a referral about a man who had been neglecting himself and was dying after years and years of abusing alcohol. I was unable to go out and check on him, so I sent police. Who found him. Dead.
That's all I know. But it was upsetting. And I wasn't even there. Thank god. But it was still upsetting anyway.
So yeah, I get why the guy told us about the dead people he'd found in hotel rooms. But he was still missing teeth and telling strangers about dead people while sitting on a staircase. So, I'm making him a weirdo anyway.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Toddler: this is how Chinese ladies fight dragons (holding the umbrella above his head and making jabby motions with the sword) "
"I should have blown him kisses. There really aren't that many opportunities to blow Demian kisses."
"Hopefully I'll be back if the judge doesn't chew my ass too bad."
"top or bottom?"
"I'm hoping it'll be the whole thing so I can get disability. It doesn't sound quite as bad when you just got half your ass chewed."
"I don't think they make a donut for that."
"That's a funny mental image."
"Ha! Every effort you made would be halfassed!"
"Wow, that was Rob-level of bad joke. I love it!"
"You look like a parapalegic trying to do pushups."
"Interview today with a girl. On her application, question: What restaurant/office equipment are you able to operate? Answer: Sink. I want to hire her just to torment her. Leave the water running, grab her in a wild-eyed panic, saying "Only you can help!""
Friday, December 11, 2009
"The fairyest of drag queens and 3 year olds have the same taste in music."
"Michelle's brow furrow turned into a brow spasm at age 13."
"You spit something up on my boob and made me pick it off and put it in my drink."
"The fruit is getting good and sucked."
"If you ever want to fuck again, I'm gonna buy you an iPhone cuz there's an app for that."
"Karin is a whore. Yeah, your wife is a whore and it is quite a video."
"He got nomigranite"
"Innapropriate comments? That's what little girls are made of."
"Girls are made of Adderall."
"We thought WE were having a normal conversation. We were just talking about animal sex."
"I've been hit with 14 hoola hoops and slapped in the face with hippie smell and I don't even know."
"I'm just glad you don't have a fucking rainbow, you bilingual elf."
"It has been brought to my attention that I may owe you an apology. Something about a slipping incident, then holding you down with my foot, and a camera. Yup, consider me sorry."
"I know you told me something you wanted for Christmas but now I can't remember what it was."
"No wonder I couldn't remember. That's the boringest shit I've ever heard."
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
So yesterday I started physical therapy. I told the PT about how if I do a Kegel, I can pop my lower back. Fucked up right? Sounds like I have an unstable and tempestuous pelvis. Like it can roar. She actually said its not all that uncommon. So there's apparently a bunch of roaring, snapping, moody lady hips out there. Be aware.
So later in the appointment she's going over the exercises she wants me to do to help keep my hips aligned (one hip was an inch and a half higher than the other until she yanked it into place.) She's explaining how I need to tighten my lower abs, and "lock your key hole."
"Where exactly is my keyhole?" I say, with a furrowed brow.
Which sends her into fits of giggles.
She composes herself and says "Kegel. Kegel. You know where you can pop your back."
"I'm so calling it my keyhole from now on."
Which gets me thinking of all the things I like to call it. Vagina sounds so clinical and like its no fun at all. It sounds like a medicine or a punishment. Now funpouch, that's a name a girl can get behind. Or in front of or whatever. I'm a fan of nanny and yoni and javina and party pita now I have KEYHOLE! What do you call it?
In other vaj-sounding news, I have a friend who invented the insult "clam pouch." It sounds AWEFUL, right? But her contention is that it doesn't mean anything? Eh, maybe. But it definetely brings to mind the not-so-fresh-party-pita. Her work has banned her from saying the word.
I told some other friends about this, who don't know her. And it kept us entertained all night. The apex of it all was when Molly got up to go to the bathroom and said all nonchalantlike "I have to go empty my clam pouch." And when she returned, she was welcomed back by 8 people making a certain two handed gesture that looked much like a clam.
Friday, December 4, 2009
"My current proof against intelligent design: A pig's clitoris is INSIDE her vagina. If there was an intelligent design ALL females would be designed this way."
"Watching news about Tiger Woods and my kid asked "Is that Obama's brother?""
"Ever notice that dudes always call it a "penis cake." They never say "cock cake." Which is too bad cuz its fun to say."
"My list isn’t long, but I have a lot to be thankful for and topping that list is: I GOT A MOTHERFUCKING KIDNEY! Sorry, I’m a selfish bitch and living makes me happier than anything/anyone else. "
"I'm going to empty my clam pouch."
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Code for What Would White Trash Mexican American Jesus Do?
Becuase in St. Louis last week, I was driving behind this guy who had a truck that looked a little like this:
But with an eagle, flag combo decal on the back window
And stickers and sayings all over the place about Jesus. There was the fish, and angel figurines were built into the wooden truck bed, and there were stickers of White-Jesus's face, and I could. Not. Look. Away.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
In other news, I just finished reading the book Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex and have to tell you: fascinating. There's info on a study of spinal cord injured patients and their orgasms... yeah, they can have orgasms. There's also a study of rats wearing polyester pants to see what it does to their sex experience (wear cotton- just friendly advice.) Every page has something that makes my eyes pop.
So yeah, sorry again about the comments change. Please comment anyway. Or don't. Whatever. I appreciate readers either way.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
You can just throw regular, or shot put style or OR you can use the catapult. Yup, I said catapult.
First reaction: AWESOME. I want to do this. How fun would it be to catapult a pumpkin and watch it smash against a target or a building or a truck with a fucking Palin/Eagle decal on the back window!
Second reaction: There are people starving in the world and we THROW. OUR. FOOD. In your face, starving children!
That said, I'd want a slingshot. But not like this guy. He seems like if he lets go, he'll be eating humble (pumpkin) pie.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Every year on Thanksgiving I go for a run. Always by myself, and always a wonderful introspective full lunged run. I love it. So I'll start there.
My nephew, Collin and really my entire family of in-laws. A girl just can't get luckier. They let me cuss and be obnoxious and weird and have my wedding my weird way and be a ski bum or a writer or a delinquent or a teacher or a social worker and not only accept me but seem to like and be proud of my quirks. But back to my nephew. My family's all girls. And I'm a busy girl. I like to run and play and rough house. He does too. We went to the City Museum yesterday and played and chased and ran ragged. I'm glad I get to have a relationship with him where we do that. Get each other. His dad and my husband stood around holding coats and meeting up when and where we were supposed to. I'm thankful for them doing that.
I'm thankful the City Museum exists. I remember when it first opened and it was just about 4,000 square feet. I'm thankful enough artists with enough good ideas and love of fun and play got together and keep getting together to make it bigger and better and more and prettier. Now there's a 10 foot slide and a rooftop with a bus you can get into that leans out over the edge of the 12 story building. I'm thankful that the architects and artists and welders and employees took their jobs and not something more practical with better hours or better pay or better exposure. I'm thankful those people got educations that encouraged art and allowed creative minds to flourish.
I'm thankful for my body and all I can still do with it. That surgery and time and falls and injuries have allowed me to continue to ski, and cross country ski, and run, and play at the City Museum, and play soccer, and hike, and ride a bike, and swim, and do yoga.
I'm thankful for all the girls in my family. Their long beautiful legs, their blue eyes, their smiles, their fierce intelligence, their many and varried talens, their selfdeprecating humor, their unending support, the way we all appreciate and enjoy each other and all keep in touch.
My brother. Who brings out the devious ideas that are mostly whimsy with one small part shitdistuber. His love of music, cooking, and all things family. Him reproducing turned out pretty good for me too. I'm crazy about his girls and can't even remember what it was like before them anymore. I'm thankful that he and his wife make him being home with them a big enough priority that he stays home with them. Thank goodness for stay-at-home moms and dads. Its not a life cut out for all of us and not everyone can do it, but everyone benefits from the mom or dad who keeps an eye out in the neighborhood and who could be called on to help when you're stuck in traffic or volunteers regularly in the classrooms or bakes things themselves or does little things I don't notice because I'm a hurried gal who just won't always notice. Just cuz someone doesn't notice doesn't mean its not important or valuable.
For my mama. Did I mention she's moving across the street from me. She closed on her house this week. Wild! We'll be developing a system of flag signals for when its safe to just stop on by and when one should call first. How sweet is that!
I'm thankful for my job. I'm glad I get the chance to work with families who need help and try and offer that help in a dignified way that respects the fact that they love their kids.
My many, many friends. They're all the colors of my rainbow from the slutty reds, to the funny oranges to the thinking greens and the bright yellow fuckups and the black elegant dinnerwear and the bluebird ski days. I'm a whore for making people laugh and you make me feel funny and clever and beautiful and smart. You are there to ski with and to bitch about work and drink beers and dance like hos in rap videos and make dinners together and write poetry and discuss our newest ideas and hike and cry about my broken places and read this shitty blog and I really really appreciate you.
And for my husband. Who fits in every category up here. I'm thankful for him playing his banjo along to Michael Jackson songs and laughing when I put on my halloween costume and spend all day dragging a microphone around the house singing songs at the top of my lungs cuz I think I'm funny. For being quiet when I cry and letting me do it. For holding my hand through the miscarriage all the way up to today. For the fact that he always turns the last lights off, locks the door, and lets the dog out before bed because he knows I'm tired and don't want to. For listening when there's something really wrong and trying to fix it. For working his ass off for all the people who can't pay their rent or utilities or medical bills and for doing it while still respecting them and making the community I LOVE a better place by doing it. For earning my respect.
Ok fine, I liked it a little. Thanks ya'll. Have a Happy Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
It makes a really loud noise. And the guy who owns the bar and is PPP's friend's jaw drops. (He's never met me before and I like to make an *impression*)
I apologize to a laughing PPP, and he says "No I think that's exactly the strength of hit that comment warranted."
"Yeah, I know just how hard you're supposed to hit. I work for Social Services."
Like I said, I like to make and *impression*
She kicked his ass out onto the couch and cleaned things up. So as I'm telling this story I finally figure out who this guy is that I got a friend request from on Facebook and am all "Holy shit, that's who he is."
So I sent him this message:
"Are you the one who slept in Christine's bed and I found you sleeping naked on my couch like 10 years ago? Cuz if so I'm definitely going to have to accept your friend request. That shit was funny."
Friday, November 20, 2009
"Next time I want a lawyer, not an attorney. I may be dyslexic but I'm not stupid."
"Lately, I have been worried that I may have a rare form of "Clothing Loss". Happy to hear that I am not blacking out and leaving my clothing around town"
A- "I like that afghan looking thing. Shawl? Wrap? Sherwrap?"
B- "You're looking elderly this morning."
C- "Shut up. You *wish* you could wear a blanket over your clothes all day!"
A- "Yes, I do."
B- "Ooo, I could hide a gun under it and be like Poncho Villa!"
"Does she have H1N1? Is she gonna die?"
"Yeah, she's gonna die. She was just waiting to get her internet installed first."
"so one of my fb friends (who I don't like in real life, but whatever) is all like "I can't believe I'm going to be 23 in a week... I wanna be like, I can't believe you look 35, you taneroxic alcoholic whore... but I restrained myself. I'm becoming a grown up :)"
"K-doesn't understand why anyone would be a cutter. I have three separate cuts on two fingers and I can't stand it."
FB Pic of the Week
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Which is also why when we did the "wind eliminator" posture pictured above, I felt justified lettin it all go and hoping his was heightened as well.
Friday, November 13, 2009
"G supposes you think it's funny that she had hot sauce on her finger and then picked her nose."
"If you wear tights all day and have a date that night, for the love of god, WASH YOUR FUCKING VAGINA."
"It's hard to write about sex when your daughter is reading an Archie McPhee catalog & prattling on about zombies & yodeling pickles"
"Happy Anniversary Sesame Street! Cheers to 40 years of having a hand up your ass."
"Happy 40th Sesame Street! Hope the cops don't getcha for drinking a 40 on your 40th. Maybe you could pay that green homeless guy to be your lookout."
""...happy 40th birthday Sesame St! That bird isn't getting any bigger. I say we eat him now!"
"A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence."
"I’m sorry. I’d reply in more detail, but I’m masturbating to Bea Arthur…"
"The only way to replace awesomeness is with more awesomeness."
"I got 2 days of work done this morning. I got paid for 20 hours all before going skiing at noon! How sweet is that?"
"Ah, its good bein' white, huh?"
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Multiple people had brought items to contribute to the serve yourself, margarita bar. Now, I should mention that I don't normally drink margaritas and I don't have much of an alcohol tolerance. Also, I don't know how to make a margarita. That will become evident shortly.
So, I stand in front of this bar, shrug and start throwing shit in a glass. I plopped a couple of ice cubes in, dump in some margarita mix and then some tequila. Seems harmless enough, right? I look around for lime or anything else fancy I'm supposed to do, shrug and start drinking it. "Wow its strong." I think. So I try to drink it fast to make it go away. Well, apparently the mix already had tequila in it.
So next thing you know, I'm talking to the Speaker of the Colorado House, Andrew Romanoff. I recognize him but through the tequila, I don't recall from where.
So I tell him about how I think when you vote on constitutional amendments, in addition to the yes and the no, there should be a FUCK NO. I told him exactly which amendments you should be able to vote FUCK NO on as he looked awkwardly surprised.
"What did you say your name was again?"
A few minutes later, it sunk into my horrified brain.
Rob brought this story up the other day because he's now running for US Senator and will be coming to events in our area more regularly. I can't wait.
Friday, November 6, 2009
In Sweden, I went to high school. Their high school system runs about a year longer than ours does and at the end you come out with more like an Associates Degree. All my high school friends in the mean time though had gone to college. We had a fantastic summer catching up. One girl had joined a sororiety, someone else had traveled the country in her car, another joined the military. And we came together for a summer of crazy adventures and reaquainting ourselves.
One weekend we went out of town together for a weekend to a girlfriend's college town. We somehow managed to get into a bar and were quickly surrounded by men panting over us like steaks. And of course, they were wasted. We probably were too but I was worldly and I talk a pretty mean game when I'm wasted so off we went to the races.
I hadn't spoken yet, (I often hold back in crowds and watch for some time before contributing anything- this creeps some people out but fuck 'em, I gotta size things up.) So all of a sudden my girlfriend starts telling the guys at the table that I don't speak English. This explains my bug-eyed watching and they're immediately intrigued. (swedish bikini team is clearly swimming through their drunken minds.)
My friend pretends to translate as I say what dipshits they are in Swedish and make other nonsensical conversation.
"My aren't the skies purple? I bet it means you don't shave your chest."
"She said she likes Illinois."
"This guy's prolly got a wang like a fruit fly."
Suddenly, as though my friend has begun understanding a few words in Swedish she says, "She says she's never seen an uncircumsized penis."
We've been playing this game for a while now so I try to supress my shocked look and continue to pretend not to speak English. Keep in mind the whole premis of me not speaking English is stupid because EVERYONE in Sweden speaks English. They start learning it in nursery school.
"Really?" He says.
She continues goading him. "No she says she's never seen an uncircumsized penis and she wants to. She asked if you're circumsized."
"I'M JEWISH!" The guy says, thrilled at his good fortune.
She whispers her translation in my ear.
By now, all my girlfriends are leaning in to see what'll happen.
My friend continues, "She's asking if this means you're circumsized."
He laughs, "Yeah, all Jewish guys are circumsized."
She whispers in my ear again. She's now gone from just making little pshhhhpsst pssss noises to saying "don't laugh, just keep playing along."
"She says she wants to see it."
"She wants me to show her, my circumsized penis? right here? In the bar?"
She whispers in my ear a little more and I nod, attempting to will my face into not blushing deeply.
There's some discussion back and forth about whether the guy'll get kicked out and who could see. My friends, eager to "help," crowd around him, promising to shield him from anyone seeing but us.
The bar is too crowded anyway, they croon.
And. He. Pulls. It. Out.
And it is the grossest, most discolored, unsexy, wrinkly thing I've ever seen!
We all hoop and holler and yell and he quickly replaces his pants.
After this everyone needs and gets a shot or in my case more like three. We party some more, chat up more attractive boys and then get ready to leave. By now, 3 shots deep, I go up to the guy, tap him on the shoulder, and say good bye and good luck to him in Swedish.
"HUH?" He says repeatedly until I finally turn around and say "HAVE A GOOD ONE!" I see the shocked as I walk out looking behind me and follow up with "YEAH, I SPEAK ENGLISH."
"Never follow a hippie to a second location."
"His pants were a spandex trainwreck."
"I used to play bass for Spandex Trainwreck."
Friday, October 30, 2009
"So that's what we're calling dwarves who walk Pomeranians now? Carnivals? I expected more from you, Gina."
"Just stood on my front porch with my tiara on my head, without realizing it. I really AM a pretty, pretty princess! And a nerd."
"Your face says no, but your purr says yes."
"I felt really bad washing my hair with hand soap in front of my hair dresser. Like, I'd brushed my teeth with a chocolate bar in front of the dentist."
"If an 18 year old compliments your outfit is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I'll be Kanye West for Halloween & just before kids say Trick or Treat, I'll jump out of the bushes and yell Christmas is better!"
"Thank God they found balloon boy, I was afraid that Michael Jackson was ordering take-out from heaven."
"I think its now standard issue for the Defense Attorney's office: If you're a woman its 'Hellow Miss, here's your thong,' if youre a man its 'Here's your bong.'"
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I know this happens to me every fall. And its so stupid because ski season is just kickin' into gear which is by far the best thing in this whole world. There is nothing I love more. Nothing.
And I know ski season is coming, yet every fall, after the leaves are done, when the days are getting shorter and grayer, I just get Funky. For anywhere from 2-8 weeks I become my own personal pitty party event planner. I can spend hours in my head convincing myself that: I don't have friends, I'm fat, I'm getting old and ugly, I've failed in every professional endeavor I've ever pursued. And on and on.
I'm an awesome mindfucker.
But last week the fog started clearing from my brain. And the way I knew this was that I started dreaming of skiing. I dreamt about skiing Every. Single. Night.
I can't ski yet. So I shopped instead. I bought cute trendy clothes that look great on me.
And then yesterday we went to Glenwood Springs and I remembered why I love my body. Because of all the cool things I can do with it. I repeated every awesome mistake I made last time I went to Glenwood and I'm not sorry at all. I like flipping around off a diving board. I especially like it at 30 when half the moms that are watching with their kids are older than I am and won't even go off a diving board because they forgot to remember to use their bodies.
I can swim really well. Like fast and properly and gracefully and I just love the feel of the glide underwater. I like flipping and spinning and just gliding through the water. I like to feel its heat slip along my curves.
I thought about all the tricks I'd like to learn to do on skis and how if I spent more time going off a diving board, maybe I could get inversions down. Maybe I could flip around and around (with short so I stop bruising the SHIT out of my legs) all day long at Glenwood hot springs and then head out to ski on a powder day and throw a front roll.
And then it occurred to me: This is what I have that I can't have with kids. And its good. And I'm going to enjoy it until, well until something else.
And that's the beginning of the exit from my pitty party.
We drove back to Summit County after our fun day in the water and met up with friends at a bar. Yes, I do have friends, asshole. And Rob and I made love and talked and and and
Life is ok, headed toward good.
In other news, my car shit the bed on Friday so I was driving an Impala back over Vail pass all white-knuckled in a snow storm with "Impala" by Lil' Troy in my head, instead of my safe, sturdy Subaru. Didn't want you to think things to too rosy. Life's still go plenty of bullshit. But thankfully, some bullshit comes with a warranty and a weird soundtrack.
Friday, October 23, 2009
"Shut up, you douche canoe. She's crying because her vagina hurts from GIVING BIRTH!"
"Watching my dog chasing his tail's one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life."
"Does your dog have a tail."
"No. He just has that little stubbin. That's why its so funny. He leaps and turns and its like watching a doggy tiltawhirl."
"You went to Swedish camp?"
"Yeah. They had other camps too. Like, German and French and Japanese camp. But not like internment camp. That'd be fucked up."
"What I would like for my birthday: That the Red Hot Chili Peppers bring back the funk and stop singing songs about California. Can anybody help me with that?"
"You know, I really only think drinking is a problem if you're not good at it."
"Found a phone last night. Hope "daddy" gets picture messages"
"You're paying $300 to have Amy sit on you."
"Pretty sure I'm staring in the shit show without even realizing it. Maybe someone will take candid photos of me at the grocery store with my mismatched gloves and pj pants on- Oh the Horror!"
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
So Wednesday Weirdos started out as being strange people but now it may have morphed into me just telling you fucked up stories I hear.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
So, Rob's holding the dog's head in his hands and calling him names like "Retardopolis" and "Captain Nutsack" which is mean cuz he just got neutered. In my best imitation ChompSki voice I say "Rob, you're my world."
"Oh my god, I don't want to be anybody's world."
"Not even mine?" I ask in a sickeningly sweet voice, batting my lashes.
He rolls his eyes and gets comfy and lays his head on my lap.
I, of course, am not done with this so I start singing the theme from The Little Mermaid in my best retardopolis voice.
Whisper "Wish I could be..." I stand and open my arms wide "PART OF THAT WORLD!!!!"
Rob shakes his head, gets up, and starts making breakfast. I follow him because I'm a pest like that, and see that he put oil in the pan with the sausage.
Puzzled, I say, "Um you don't need oil. Sausage makes its own oil."
"You make your own oil."
Which sends me into giggles and all I can think is "LUBE!"
So then I started saying it over and over and laughing hysterically. I can tell by everything about him that he finds this word gross. Cuz the word "LUBE" is gross. Don't worry, it doesn't stop me.
So then a few minutes later we're eating said sausage and sure enough its made its own oil ALL over his lips. I hold back my laugh but its silently creeping out in the form of my shoulders shaking and air escaping and I'm gesturing at him to wipe his lips.
"What?" He asks, coily, knowing I might lose my shit any minute.
Finally I loose it and practically pee myself pointing and saying, "Lube! Lube!!! ahahahaha LUBE! Lube. Lubelubelube lube! LUBE!!! I Llllube you, honey! YOU'RE MY WORLD!!!"
Friday, October 16, 2009
"Why you got to pry like that, Facebook? What's on MY mind you always want to know? Why do you care? Huh? Ass."
"Well, I'm an old gold toof and I'll tell you the troof. I live in the mouth of a homie!"
"White House says Nobel money goes to charity. ... So basically a socialist redistribution of wealth? Typical."
"I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of rights." ~Bishop Desmond Tutu
"I think when I come up and grab you and kiss you when you're topless, we've moved beyond flirting."
""Ain'tthat America" highlight of the day: Major news networks interruptcoverage of a presidential town hall meeting to show footage of anempty weather balloon floating over Colorado. For two hours."
"new favorite insult = "douche canoe""
"what exactly would something like that do?"
"It would douche a giant you-know and sing Row, Row, Row your boat as it came out.Glad you asked? I didn't think so."
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
when feelings are ethereal beings that seem to wrap themselves around certain organs and regions of my tongue or ribs or uterus
sometimes they itch and burn and squeeze and if I wrap my arms around Rob and bury my head in his shoulder and kiss his cheeks I just know its all ok
that's with the good things
The bad things I can write about. They're good to put into the shapes of things we know and hate in order to chew them up and let saliva and stomach acid take them apart and make them useful to something.
I'm supposed to be 8 months pregnant.
Instead, I started my period again. I was so sure I might be pregnant again. I even allowed myself to be happy about it. I felt like I'd be able to be patient this time, wait and see. You know, a calm happy. An I-can-wait-for-something-this-good happy.
My new next door neighbor is 8 months pregnant. I can't speak to her. I hate her too much. Over the weekend she and her husband had a horrible fight. Rob and I came home just as she stormed out of the house swearing at him. Rob didn't hear. He was talking to the dog. So he mistakenly said "How's it going?" and smiled. She turned on him for a moment, said, "NOT GOOD" and went back to calling her husband an asshole. Thing is, it made it easier for me. I hated her less.
Then today happened. And I'm just not sure I can do this. I thought it would be easier by now. And it has been. But as my due date gets closer and closer I am more and more furious at this timing that is not my own. I was so sure of when I'd ovulated. But my watch just seems to be broken, because I think its time. Time to ovulate, time to copulate, time to conceive, time for my turn.
The other night we went to a friend's for dinner and there was this power outage I forgot about that made the clock reset and it was at about 11 which set the clock an hour fast. So we arrived to dinner and I thought we were late but it turns out we were a 1/2 hour early. Maybe this will be like that. Maybe if I just pop a valium and let go my tears, I'll figure out it was just that I forgot to set spring forward or fall back.
I hope so. Cuz I've been cheering myself up for 5 months. And I think I've done pretty good. But I'm running out of ideas.
Just as I was finishing this Rob came home and told me my new pants that I just bought from Old Navy are called "Harem Pants" and asked me to go to sushi.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
When I was 14, days before beginning my freshman year of high school, my dad came out. We were all sitting in the basement of our house in St. Louis having a family discussion. You see, my dad was moving out. He was moving to Chicago and what my brother and I knew, was that my parents were divorcing. Things just weren't working out. We thought my mom was acting crazy. She frequently flew into rages which seemed unreasonable given the circumstances we were aware of. So my mom finally said "You have to talk to them." And to the basement we went.
"A few years ago, when you're mother and I split up, I had an affair."
"And it wasn't with a woman."
It was the most unexpected thing he could have said. We were utterly stunned. No one said anything for an interminable series of moments. Tears streamed down my father's cheeks. Finally, he couldn't take the fear of us hating him anymore.
"SAY SOMETHING. Tell me you love me, tell me you hate me, but say something!"
"Of course we still love you. But really, you cheated on MOM?!!!??"
In this moment, my attitudes and understanding of relationships was forever changed or shaped.
I realize now, that even at 14, I knew that it isn't about who you have a relationship with, its about how you treat the person you're with. I didn't care that my father wanted to be with men. Well, ok, I cared. It was unexpected. He was a football watching dad who made fun of gay men mocking their lispy stereotypes. (Mind you, he still does both of those things from time to time.) But not as much as I cared about the promises he'd broken to my mother. What I saw to be important was that he'd broken the sanctity of his marriage.
My parents marriage was a religious one. They are both very christian people who believe that the way to live is to follow in Jesus path. Which for them, does NOT mean deciding how other's should behave. It simply means to care for the least of us. It means, if you're car breaks down and you have no money, it is likely that my mother would have you over for dinner, even if its the first time you've ever met. It means, if you're in jail and drugs and alcohol got you there, there's a good chance my dad will talk to you about working an AA program and share his story with you.
They were married in a church and my mom had a recognition of her divorce in a church.
But they don't expect everyone to be them. They didn't care when Rob and I got married in front of a Cherokee priestess in a secular ceremony. Mine is not a religious marriage.
And I don't expect everyone's marriage to be mine.
What I do expect is that everyone have the right to commit to whomever they wish. In whatever format.
I remember going to get our marriage license at the state courthouse. It was anticlimactic if you really want to know. They search you to see if you're already married, you pay your $22, sign a paper and that's that. It takes less time than renewing your license plates. Its less intense than suing in small claims court.
And yet, its up for all this judgment. As though we could hold religious court with our marriages. And we can, AT CHURCH!
At court though, we are equal. And how this is even a discussion is beyond me. How our leadership could have failed us for so long on standing up for this issue is asinine. Its simple. Everyone. Should. Have. Equal. Rights. Period.
We don't question whether a rapist gets to marry. Or murderers for that matter. We don't ask if we should revoke the rights of KKK members to marry. Though both these groups have violated BOTH religious and state law. No, if you've killed someone driving your car while drunk, you're husband will still be notified that you're in the hospital. His insurance will cover your treatment. And your estate will go to him if you don't make it out of that hospital.
Yet, if you are a law abiding, gay citizen, the same right is not afforded you.
My parents are in their 60s. I'd like to pretend they're not, but its true. My mom's husband died just over two years ago. It was awful. He withered away from cancer. He's ex military, as is my father. His insurance covered hospice and my mother cared for him until the end. His children are vermin. They'd eat through your walls if they could. But my mom was protected. Why? Because they were married.
If the same issues of death and aging strike my father, heaven forbid, why should my father have any less? He has no legal history. He served his country in the air force translating Russian for years. Why should he not be allowed to marry and have who he chooses care for him in his aging?
Legal marriage is an issue of property and of rights. It is not a place for religion. And whether you belong to the KKK or to LGBT, you should be able to get a license to marry whom you chose regardless of gender or affiliation.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
There are so many places where there just isn't sense. A senator that doesn't get reelected because he's labelled unpatriotic. Did I mention he was in Vietnam and lost 3 of 4 limbs to a granade? And the guy he lost to? He avoided the draft. It was all very proper, deferrments and a trick knee. What is going on that this is what happens because of spin and media and pictures and sounds? But maybe its a lesson. There must be other ways to be patriotic. Whatever that word even means.
Maybe patriotic isn't all its cracked up to be. Maybe we should think about community-minded people. You know, the people who volunteer for the PTA and work on the boards of nonprofits. Or who volunteer their time and tears to bring TB vaccines to remote areas. Or the person volunteers to teach an adult to read at the library every Tuesday and takes Mr. Robertson to the grocery store since his wife died last spring and she did all the driving. Maybe these are the heroes we should celebrate and we should let go of "patriotic"?
Because these people make us strong in all our broken places.
Friday, October 2, 2009
"thought my lesbian neighbor wanted to jump my bones in the laundry room. Turns out lesbians just really like pajama pants."
"You're like a tornado of bullshit right now. We'll talk again after your bullshit dies out over someone else's house."
"The little engine that tried to do it but couldn’t and then later he found out that when he was born they weren’t sure if he was a train or a tractor so the doctor just made him into a train because that was easier but turns out? Totally a tractor."
"The bible is the world's longest game of telephone."
"I always try to see if I can get people to hold their breath through a tunnel. No one ever makes it through the Eisenhower Tunnel."
"I wanna see if Michael Phelps can hold it through the Eisenhower Tunnel."
"I wanna see if Michael Phelps can take a bong rip and hold it through th Eisenhower Tunnel."
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
This was in my fortune cookie last night:
"You will win success in whatever you adopt."
At first I thought it translated to:
"Online translators give poor, literal translations."
But now I know my destiny is to adopt a gorilla named Humphrey and that one day I will teach Humphrey to play "Man, Gun, Gorilla" (like rock paper scissors but physical. You stand back to back, count to three and turn around holding up your arms for gorilla, making a gun for duh, gun, and standing with your arms down for man. Gorilla kills man, man holds the gun, gun shoots the gorilla.) And I will win at this game because Humphrey will have to be the gorilla every time.
Booo, ah ah ah!!!!
Do not be confused, Humphrey, by the gorilla holding the gun. It is a ruse, like paper beating rock (which has always been illogical and stupid, unlike Man, Gun, Gorilla.)
Sorry about your name, Humphrey. I tried to name you Hosiah, but Rob didn't like it. Blame him.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Firstly, he's named after Noam Chomsky but with a more dog-appropriate spelling. I talked Rob into getting a dog the same way I talked him into getting a cat: I cried and told him he could name it. Actually, this time I went one step further and agreed to buy a house to put it in.
That's him. Wouldn't you cry too?
Check him out here:
He looks so astute, doesn't he? Well, don't be deceived. Wait till you hear this.
This weekend I was in the backyard painting boards for shelving in the living room. Exciting, I know. I let ChompSki hang out in the back yard with me.
Our yard is not fenced. We'd like to fence it, but we're sorta out of money from buying the damned house in the first place. So far, it hasn't mattered. So far, the dog (who spent the last who-knows-how-long living in someone's backyard getting basically no attention) has been so excited to have people of his very own, that he hasn't let us out of his sight. Seriously, he whines if you're trying to pee where he can't see you. Its like living with a very slobbery toddler. Which really is like living with a toddler, I guess. I digress.
So I'm in the backyard where ChompSki normally runs the fence with the neighbor dog or just lays in the grass content to be within armslength, when I look up and notice: He's gone.
I call. I yell "CHOMPSKI!!!" I clap. I whistle. And normally if he's out of line of sight this brings him bounding forth, smiling, and FAST. I mean, really fast. This dog is FAST.
But he doesn't come.
So I gather my crutches. Yes, crutches. And go looking for him.
I walk into the front to the driveway and look. Again, I call. I yell "CHOMPSKI!!!" I clap. I whistle.
Now, I live on a busy street. Not like interstate-busy or four-lane busy, but busy. So, when I see the dog, down the road, bounding toward me, I quickly change my tune.
Now, from my crutches, I'm waving my arms and yelling "Nooo! NOOO. no."
I see the series of cars coming, and the dog, face aflapping, coming my way full-speed.
And there is nothing I can do but watch.
The car slams on its breaks. But the dog doesn't. He has eyes for only whoever yells his name. Which by the way he is smart enough to have learned in these mere 3 1/2 weeks. He's also learned "go to the bathroom" and "lie down" and to stay the fuck away from Meowmix.
He has not, however, learned not to run into a car with his FACE.
So the car slams on its breaks and ChompSki slams face first into the driverside door. He makes a yelplike noise, changes directions, (does not slow down an iota,) runs around the front of the car and straight to me. He then excitedly continues on to the back door and I speedily hobble after him.
The guy gets out of his car, yelling "IS YOUR DOG OK?"
"I think so," I say over my shoulder hobbling after him, "I have to check."
I chase the dog into the house, and feel him all over: shoulders, elbows, legs, face, paws, everywhere. He smiles and happily soaks up the attention. Not a scratch.
I look up to see the guy at my sliding glass door looking pale faced.
"Is he ok?"
"Yes. Stupid. But ok. Miraculously. I'm so sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry." I begin apologizing.
But the guy is somehow convinced this is all his fault. I keep telling him it couldn't have been his fault and that he didn't do anything wrong. I ask about his car. ChompSki's face dented his car. But he's not concerned about this. I ask if he needs anything from me. But he won't hear of it. He just keeps saying he's sorry he hurt my dog.
He's pathetic, but he's not hurt. (See above)
So after a few more awkward moments of me apologizing, the guy apologizing and us getting no where, I finally say, "I really appreciate you stopping to make sure he was ok. Not everyone would have done that."
To which the guy responds "Of course I stopped! Another Mexican might not have, but I'm not like that."
Um, ok? I didn't have a stereotype for that. Vietnamese and a dog, maybe, but Mexican?
So yeah, Mexicans DO stop when your dog hits THEM. And they're very nice about it. And you're welcome for the lesson on Mexican stereotypes.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I was talking to Rob last night about my annoyance with my foot. (I just had a minor foot surgery that has made walking a right pain in the ass.) We'd been running errands in order to attempt to put up shelving in our living room and Target had been particularly grueling. Target is huge, especially so when you limp. I was passed on the way out by an ancient, white-haired woman with a cane. I'm not even making this up. She was all bent over and under 5 feet and everything. AND PASSED ME!
Sometimes I cheer myself up mid-bitch. So as I was complaining, I started problem solving.
"I think it'd be easier to bike than walk right now. I bet I could do it. Ooooh, maybe I could get a little tricycle and carry it around at work and everywhere and wouldn't that be fun?!"
My husband just gave me a look and made some comment about how only I would think of using a tricycle for transportation. Not a wheelchair, or crutches, but a trike.
Friday, September 11, 2009
I'm a hyper kid.
So instead, I want to talk about a story I heard bits and pieces of on NPR the other day. There was a dad who had a little girl with Down's Syndrome (or something- like I said bits and pieces.) He had written letters to politicians and the FCC and everyone he could think of to try and get "retard" put on the bad list in order to get the word bleeped.
He feels the word is offensive. Yup. We all do.
That's part of why its said to begin with.
The story also talked about the word "gay"and how its used to mean all things lame and stupid. As in, "that guy's chinos are so gay."
They didn't use the word "faggot" in this story but they could have. Or in my opinion an even more valid concern would be the word "girl." As in "Throw like a girl, cry like a girl, act like a girl."
I got in an argument with a friend about these phrases not long ago. His point was that when he says things like "She's acting like such a girl," that its ok because it doesn't really mean anything bad about girls. But I argued that's exactly what it means.
Girls = Bad
Bad at throwing, bad at emotions, bad at being.
And told him if I ever have girls and he says it around them, I'll knock the shit out of him.
Because the thing is, there are so many of those phrases. And the message in them is, girls are shit and you should try not to be what you fundamentally are which is shit.
The girl he was talking about was acting like a spoiled brat. Which has nothing to do with being a girl. It has everything to do with acting like a self-centered snot.
I initially started this post thinking I was going to talk about the futility of getting all in a huff about those words. I was going to say that if you stop calling people mentally retarded and call them intellectually handicapped that eventually the insult will be "IH," or something instead of retard. Language adapts like that. That some of the insult is based in the meaning. And that the other part is based in the word being fun to pronounce.
Like "fuck," and "fat," and "faggot." Or "Douchebag" or "twatwaffle" or "retard." Its about some words sitting in a particular place in your mouth where their exit is imminent and they can be spit particularly far.
But then maybe these folks who get offended about this word or that word have just as much right to their soap box as I do to mine.
Even if they're arguments are gay.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Cuz while watching Eddie Murphy's Delirious for the first time in like 20 years, I practically licked the screen. What the hell? In case you've forgotten Delirious, its standup with Eddie Murphy from 1983. This is what he's wearing
Tight. Red. Leather.
Gross, right? I thought so too. At a minimum, its tacky and silly and should NOT make any straight woman my age think of sex. Then he turned around and I totally wanted to maow on his butt. Did I mention he's 22 in this video? Not only am I gross, but I'm also a perv aparently.
And that's how you know: Sexual Peak. Welcome to 30.
P.S. You should netflix it if you haven't seen Delirious in a while, cuz its funny. Really, really.
Friday, September 4, 2009
"I have a friend who was born with an old school IUD sticking out of her head. I kid you not."
"J completed the quiz "Which movie romance do you fit into?" with the result Jack + Ennix." "Seriously??? Everyone else ends up as hot teenage vampires and I end up two gay cowboys??? I blame this on Texas!"
"I'd rather be a treehugger than a mean mugger"
"I always want a pile of cake. Although anything that sounded healthy... I left that off the plate. Tres Leches (three milks??) - waste of time (although, I tried it later and it was pretty good)."
"Its like having a surprise party but forgetting to invite the people."
"I'd like a cuckoo clock over my desk with a button I could push to make the little birdies come out and they'd twirp "Crack rock, Crack rock" real loud while people were talking to certain clients."
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Each Wednesday I post an example of a strange person, or group of people that I've encountered, been told about, or read about. Guest submissions are welcome and can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org
There was a woman in the airport that had the most ridiculous outfit I've ever seen. She was built like Humpty Dumpty and had a sequined orange tent on with leggings and spray painted cinemon red hair. She was middle aged and I looked on anxiously awaiting her turning around. I expected full clown makeup because I was genuinely convinced she must've been a clown. But then she had a sullen annoyed face on with NO make up and that fucking crazy outfit. Unfortunately, my camera is still packed somewhere from moving so I got no picture. Its actually tragic. Cuz I wanted you all to see it.
Friday, August 21, 2009
"I can spell haz anyway I want, you hear? I haz a master's degree!"
"What’s your space suit for?"
"Protecting me from space, Daddy!"
"Ah, yes. That’s why I have a pressurized loin cloth."
"Daddy, I don’t want to go to space for lunch any more."
"ever get a sleep hangover? like you slept so much you need to sleep it off? That's what afternoons are like with the hum of air conditioning and dull monitors."
"hey at least it does not involve vomit"
"Oh my god, gross. Thanks for the reminder. Really, thanks Donlon. Hey, wanna play cornhole? I promise I'll even let you have a couple points."
"Why do regulars at the 'brary feel the need/think they have the right to call me 'Blondie'? I don't call them 'Baldy' tho maybe I should."
"call them blumpkin. It sounds like a childish term of endearment but its not. Really NOT"
"who's everyone's new favorite racist friend now? This girl."
"oh, my darling Aryan. You jes need a big hug."
"nor do I hold it against you. You can't help being a Theravada Buddhist. Is that yoga for racist?"
"I don't know what it is about accents that make me want to get undressed and high-five myself."
"Please. I fall allthe time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer."
"I used to work with a guy who used to say, out loud, "fat old lady fat old lady" whenever a hotchick would get close to him. He told a guy who told a girl who told me that he has "a boner problem like an eighth grader" and he says that so he doesn't get one."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Each Wednesday I post an example of a strange person, or group of people that I've encountered, been told about, or read about. Guest submissions are welcome and can be sent to email@example.com
Its a little weird in generally, pissing in a cup, for any reason. But its especially weird to begin to associate non-yellow colors with pissing and furthermore with drug testing. But whatever, that's how the system works.
Weirder still is the ways drug addicts come up with to get around these tests. I'm not talking potheads with their "cleanses." That shit's for amateurs with relatively in tact reasoning skills.
I'm talking making up stories of how you bummed a cigarette off a stranger and it was laced with coke so now you're coming up hot. I'm talking saying how cocaine is stored in the fat cells of IV drug users so you'll continue to test positive months and months even though of course you're not using.
I'm talking making up a story about how the urinals at the testing facility are dirty and so you must've gotten someone else's urine in your urine sample and that's why you tested positive. Cuz of course when I'm in a dirty bathroom I stick my fingers right in other folks urine. BLUuuuuuck!
I'm talking not having your kid wear a diaper so that you can catch their urine. Further so you can take that urine and store it in a balloon in your yoni so when you sit to pee it come out of a hole in that general vacintity.
Now THAT's weird.
For the record drug users, we do not buy your recockulous stories. Just admit you're still using. It would really save us all a lot of time and redunkulous energy. Seriously, you all don't have a lot of focused mental energy as is, please save it for actual survival purposes. Oh and for your KIDS who need you to stop using drugs and TAKE THE FUCK CARE OF THEM!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A- I saw a movie @ the Halls Ferry Cine...holy shut up!
Me- Ahhh that's my kinda folks. With them my comments would be received with an "I know that's right." Oh, and I miss stretched out ummm hms too.
More me-I'm bothered by the fact that I worry that I posted this. Oh my god, this is too far outside of my politically correct comfort zone!!!! And I'm not too politically correct. But whew! Have I offended anyone? Seriously, this is kinda freakin me out.
B- post a politically correct version next
A-Delete it now !! I'm comfortable with being offensive to just about anyone ...
Me- (get your whitey voice out for this one) "Certain members of urban African American communities like to 'speak out' during movies with comments like "go on with your bad self" and "rock on sistergirl." These groups talk more during horror and suspense movies and say things like "I know she did not just do that." I would enjoy it if I had acceptance for this type of behavior as when I 'speak out' during a movie, my husband tells me "SSSSSHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Dude from high school I totally forgot was black (swear to god) like even when I tried to take mental inventory of all the black people I know to think if they do or don't fit stereotypes and if they would stop talking to me over this- Karin u crack me up
C-Imagine my white girl voice when I say you all need to shut yer holes during the moobies. You're the reason I don't go often! There. I feel better.
Me-R, would you like to be my "ask a black dude?" Seriously I need a racist barometer. It could be you! Well, prolly I need a panel but you could be a start. Cuz I'm kinda scared to talk about race, and I have self control issues which means as soon as I think "I shouldn't talk about that." I immediately HAVE to talk about it. I've decided to post about this. Blogwards!
So thanks a lot R. If all my black friends I can't remember are black now hate me I'm blaming you. Because now I MUST talk about this even though my current gut-situation is that I'm pretty sure my stomach is earning a knot-tying badge at the Eagle Scout level.
I'm terrified to say anything about race. I'm scared to say 'black people.' Which is stupid, and I know its stupid and I gather my gumption up before I say anything related to race. Even though when I say "black people" what I mean is, stereotypical things I associate with African Americans. And when I say stereotypical, I mean the stereotypes I love and envy. Or maybe all I mean is dark skinned and nothing else. But even when I describe someone as 'black' my blood pressure goes up. That's ridiculous. Some people are blonde, some have green eyes, some are tall, some are black.
AHH! And my anxiety level is back up.
When it comes right down to it, I hold onto the positive black stereotypes. Or the ones I think of as positive. My first love of literature was Toni Morrison. Until I began reading African American literature, I didn't know I loved words. But poetic license with writing is not a strictly African American trait anymore than hollering in a movie theater.
I'm sure there's some skinny ebony woman in St. Louis who bitches every time she goes to the theater and someone like me is sitting next to her. She doesn't jut out an elbow and wink and think "right!" when I say "Don't go there!"
She and I should really switch places. She should watch movies with my closed lipped husband and I should find her loudest relative to cause a ruckus with.
But my racism or just talking about race and I'm not sure which is where, does not stop there!
I'm a tall, slenderish, blonde girl. And I hate it, but I totally assume that most black women when they look at me think "Skinny white bitch." And this may come from having had many a fucked up student (I used to work with kids with severe emotional problems) call me that. Or it could be that I can feel it in my blonde roots.
And it bothers me because I'm thinking, "I love your skin and want to feel, feel, feel its delicious color splashed across a page." Its not a sexual thing, (except with men and there I have to admit there are very few black men that upon first meeting, I haven't thought about sleeping with at least for a moment. Hello, positive stereotype!)
Its this thing of stereotypes. I love hip hop and jazz and always have. I couldn't lose a beat in a crowd. I breathe hyperbole. I holler at the television and at the movie screen. And I. Love. Black. Culture.
And skin. I love the richness of caramel and the light brown eyes that sometimes contrast dark skin. And chocolate pours with hair so thick you could pick it out to wrap the world around. I love African skin like the Mauritanians that live in the mountains here. Skin so dark you could dip your toe in to try to find the bottom. (Yes, though you'd think I live in the whitest place on earth since its a skiing, resort community, somehow someone along the way thought this was a GOOD place to send Western African refugees. And I feel bad for them because dang its cold if you don't ski. Its beautiful, but freezing.) And really I want to kiss the cheeks of these beautiful people and thank them for all that a culture of rhymes has taught a girl.
But that's racist, right?
Or maybe its like how I talked about having a miscarriage when no one else would. Maybe I need to get over myself and my fears and just let it out. Cuz when it comes to the folks I know in real life, I start to forget about what color they are and just think of them as them. I could even pretend I was at the movies back in St. Louis.
or would you say "SSSSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhh!!!"
Friday, August 14, 2009
"Zombies are the bacon of pop culture. Whatever you put them in becomes better."
"Sgt. L receives a call about a naked guy walking into a restaurant and putting ice in his butt."
"article on the back of the Summit Daily today- 500 lbs man hid a 9mm in his flab. He made it through city and county jail searches without it being found. Since I had to experience that image just before lunch, I though you should have to too."
"Fatty's be packin."
"Your panties are like a unicorn to me. Put that in Friday Quotes."
"Karin eating kitten heads. Does anyone even read this/check this site anymore? "
"Do kitten heads have a lot of protein? lmao Im sure your mom's proud"
"Sometimes its about the flavor, Nik"
Poudre River(pronounced Pooter) Quotes
"You can't complain about spending a hot day in a big wet spot on the Poudre."
"You gotta be careful when the Poudre gets backed up. It can get pretty stinky."
Cornhole (I always thought it was called 'bean bag toss') Game Quotes
"I can't quite see. Did I get a rim job or a corn hole on that?"
"You're supposed to get it IN the cornhole Donlon."
"Nothin' but cornhole! Just right in there!"
The Poudre jokes never got old for me. Feel free to make up your own. Same story for the Cornhole jokes. I'm mature like that.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One morning while camping over my birthday weekend I awoke to strange noises.
"BANG! Clang, clang, clang!" as what sounded like aluminum bowls fell to the ground.
Awake, cold, and with sore hips, I attempted to roll over and ignore it.
Grunt, grunt, grunt, CLANG!
You remember when you were a kid trying to go to sleep hearing your parents have a conversation outside your door. There was ONE volume of voice tone that made it impossible not to listen? It was just quiet enough that you had to stay quiet. And this made you stay quiet and listen no matter how boring the story of what mom was bringing to Sunday's church buffet was. Remember that? It was like that.
So I'm listening to this and the train of shit that I don't want to think about it zooming through my brain. "I wonder if its a racoon oh shit, I bet no one put the food away last night, I totally have to pee, I wonder if Rob would want to have sex right now, did I remember enough pair of underwear, I should buy some more smores for whoevers I ate, I should read since I'm awake, that book's fucking terrible, what was the author 19 when she wrote it?" And on and on when
"Oh fuck, its a BEAR!" crosses my mind.
More rhythmic grunting ensues followed by "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
"Did the bear just say fuck?" turns over in my mind.
I strain to hear more; and hear more I do.
More rhythmic grunting, followed by a slew of "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FFFfffuuuuck!" "Oh fuck me, GOD!"
Dude, I think the sound is coming from the next campsite over. That can't be the suburban dad and family that seemed so square. I think that dad had khaki shorts on. You can't rock khaki shorts and bring no lighter for camping and fuck like that, can you? "Is he really fucking like that?" I think. "Kudos, for correcting my judgment."
But then it just keeps going on. And on. AND ON.
I realize there's no woman noises. And the grunting, growling noises do not sound human. Is the suburban dad fucking a bear?
NO way! Maybe he's masturbating. Maybe he's a masturbating bear fucker.
It continues. On and on and on and on and on. And my brain has a German shepherd strength hold on it.
It cannot take this long for anyone to come masturbating.
"YOU ARE FUCKING GOD!"
Wow, did he just call himself god? Jesus, dude, shut the fuck up. Your kids have GOT to be embarrassed. Especially because you're fucking either yourself, or the quietest woman on earth. Oh my god, "I'm so culturally insensitive," I think. "He must be fucking another dude." But wait, one of them must be a bear. You know gaybear stare. No that was carebears.
So eventually it stops and I go back to my tossing and turning, and turn off my brain a little.
I stumble out of my tent a couple of hours later to find a balled up blanket by the fire. Which I suddenly notice moving.
ITS THE BEAR! Nope. But it is the dude who made all the noise. Turns out he was PUKING, from drinking so much Beam.
Making him this week's Wednesday Weirdo: Beam Bater
By the by, Is that the cutest new Wednesday Weirdos logo you ever did see? Gina designed for me and I lurve it!
She also gave me a really dope award
Which was outstanding since it fully came on one of those days when my skin just wasn't fitting quite right and everything felt a little lame. Poof! And a unicorn from Gina fixed it all!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Like most of my big journeys, I went to Chile by myself. I was there for 2 months. People are always shocked at how much I travel by myself. Or that anyone would travel alone. Especially for extended periods of time. Especially to places where I don't speak the language. Especially being a cute blond. Especially when you're the person whose been known to travel without plans, reservations, a map, or knowing the language.
But for me its the best way to go. You're the most open to meeting new people so you meet lots. You get plenty of alone thinking and writing time. You get to internalize your experience better. You get to do whatever YOU want. And mainly, the craziest and weirdest shit happens this way.
My first two weeks in Chile were to be spent at a resort called Portillo. My profile picture on this blog comes from Portillo. Its stunning.
My friend Foss had given me a pair of skis not too long before this trip. I had them mounted and borrowed a bag to transport them in. They were light and a midrange width. I was beyond excited. New skis. New mountain. Foreign country. I thought I might jump out of my skin.
I dropped my things off in a dorm room, changed, and immediately headed out to ski. I rode the lift with a guy from Belgium who was also alone for the day and so we paired up for a couple of runs.
The view was beautiful. All the skiing was above treeline so it was fun to ride the lift and scope out the different areas and lines you might ski.
One of my favorite things about skiing is seeing the mountain and picking out an interesting and creative line and sticking that line. There's little more satisfying than having eyed a tricky line through rock outcroppings and then being able to say "I stuck it!"
After a time or two down a more technical slope which was sparsely covered, I saw the line that I wanted. The Belgian and I headed there. He was a little reluctant to go down the way I wanted to, but I'm a girl and even the most gender neutral dude has trouble watching a girl do something and admitting he can't.
I headed into my line confidently. I slowed a the beginning of a rock outcropping where the line I'd chosen narrowed to just the width of my two skis. I dropped in, thrilled with my choice.
Then felt my ski catch.
And went flying. Head over foot. Head over foot. I heard my helmet hit a cliff. Head over foot. For about 150 yards. I'd ejected from both my skis.
I sat momentarily collecting myself. Then reluctantly turned to see how far I'd have to hike up to get my skis.
I saw the Belgian shaking as he screamed, "ARE YOU OK?"
I pulled my mitten off, held up my bleeding thumb nail and yelled back "I HURT MY FINGER!"
He skied down and handed me my broken in half ski as well as the in tact one. I skied to the bottom on the in tact ski with the broken ski cradled in my arms with my poles.
He told me I was one crazy lucky Swedish girl. And I said, "I know."
Turns out he was the Belgian ambassador to Chile.
The next evening, I was in the hot tub eavesdropping on people's conversations when I heard a guy tell the story of having seen my fall. He was telling his friends "The girl actually looked like the better skier so I was watching the dude worrying about him, when I saw this chick go flipping over the cliff." He dramatically told the whole story to a rapt audience as I listened smugly.
"That was me." I piped up. "And thanks."
"Wow!" he said. "If you hadn't been wearing a helmet you pretty much would've died. Trust me, I'm an orthopedic surgeon."
"Well, then. You've seen me fall. I'd better introduce myself."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Friday, August 7, 2009
"I mean fucking business, Dean."
"Straight skis! Its so much better than gaper."
"I love it that when I drunk-dial my parents, they don't know the difference."
"Dude, you put your ovaries on TWITTER!?! Ah, if Heather's ovaries could tweet, they'd say "Get some!" Mine too really."
"If you fuck a baby up, there's no amount of salt and butter that will fix it."
"Anything having to do with using the corpse as a ventriloquist's dummy."
"Is your daughter easier to get into than community college?"
"moving on up, to the east side (karin...this is constantly in my head thanks to your cell phone ring)"
On the sign out board at work:
"Having a breakdown. Will be in Friday by noon after I clean up all the drool and foam."
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
"3. 2. 1.. ACTION!!!"
or go on and on about how the person probably won't call you back.
"Leaving a message may or may not have any effect and cause me to actually call you back."
or refer to themselves in the third person
"You've reached the Prince of Darkness...."
I might have to start leaving cryptic messages like this one Judith mentioned:
"Hi, it's me again. I have nothing to say to you. I think I have...a wrong number, but if I just hung up you might see my number on your ID and call me and then I'd forget that I called you and not answer the phone because I wouldn't recognize the number. And then you might try me again and I would call you back wondering why you called me several times. So I hope you have a good day whoever you are and don't call me. Unless you are Carol or she's there or something. God bless. Carol call your mother!"
Just to get this weeks Wednesday's Weirdo back: Shoot the Messenger.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I had a lot of time to think today. We hiked up a mountain only to get slightly ditched by our homies who had to go to work and two of us took turns carrying a Husky over our shoulders down the mountain. I'd have stolen that horn out of someone's car if they'd had it. Cuz it really kinda summed up the day. Did I mention the dog was wet? And dirty? And that a beer exploded in my backpack so I had beer dripping down my back?
On the plus side, the hike looked like this:
This is Teshen, the sweet tired dog.
We caught a ride back pretty easily with a series of nice folks. Oh, and I got to glissade (its like how you barefoot waterski, only its sliding down a pitch of snow in your shoes.) So yeah, all in all, it sorta worked out pretty good.