Hotel Overshare

2007-11-12T10:47:00.000-05:00

Dear All The People That Take My Order At Starbucks,

No, I *didn't* say 'non-fat'. But thanks for implying that I should have.

And thanks SO MUCH for asking me a SECOND time because you just COULD NOT believe that I didn't say 'non-fat'.

Thankseversomuch.

Love,
Twicksie

2007-07-09T18:18:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I'd like to go right ahead and apologize for that whole tagging thing.

I have alienated all of my blogging friends and am nothing but a dirty spammer.

A bad bad bad lady.

Don't hate me.

But one good thing that came of it is that you all got to see that FURRY BEAST! doing it's hopping fluffy goodtimes.

So, good comes from evil.

May the circle be unbroken.

I like cats.

2007-07-06T14:17:00.000-05:00

Oh my god I AM SO FUCKING PSYCHED!

I somehow actually FOUND the clip that has the big fluffy cat leaping around at the end.

You have to watch the whole thing, but at the very end they show this beasty doing it's thing (they cut it off tho.. BOO!).

Please to be enjoying... I will be squealing and rocking back in forth with happiness:

2007-07-06T10:20:00.000-05:00

Ok so, I have no idea if this is some sort of thing that's SWEEPING the internet, but I'm guessing the folks that think this is super duper fun are not frequenting MySpace that much. Or doing alot of online dating. One has to do this sort of thing alot when one takes those types of exits off the information superhighway. I'm just saying.

But! It is out of love for the Tracer that I too will comply and piss off other people. It is all because of love people. All because of love. Don't hate me because of the love. Not because of that. Oh no. (I feel a song brewing, don't you?)

Let's begin!

Here are the rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.

2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Ok, so here's my eight:

1. I have to pee really badly right now and am too lazy to drag my ass (literally ha!) to the bathroom, which is less than 100 yards away. That's pretty lazy.

2. I think I have a candida overgrowth which has made my ears itchy and clogged for several years now. I have stopped eating sugar and am taking weird herbs to make it go away. So far so good. (it's Hotel Overshare, folks, it could be way grosser).

3. I just saw a special on PBS about a cat show and used the DVR to rewind and watch over and over again an ENORMOUS FLUFFY CAT BEAST hopping and scampering around on a table after a shiny object on a string. OH MY GOD was that thing funny. It was so cute, I might pass out if I think about it too much.

4. During this viewing, I was literally squealing with joy. Fluffy things make me squeal with joy. I am not proud of this, but it is the truth.

5. I have one blue eye and one green eye. But am not a witch. Sorry everyone in my new 6th grade class in my new WONDERFUL (note sarcasm) state of Massachussetts where everyone that was even slightly different *might* be a witch. Ah progress. Don't you just love the 168... oh I'm sorry, I mean *19*80s?

6. My brother and I have a tendancy to break into song and pretend that everything we are saying to each other is us singing in a musical (and people LOVE IT! Really!). A dark, tragic, strangely comic, musical, with really bad music and lyrics. I'm pretty sure it all started with a song entitled "Let's Go to Friendly's" inspired by our desperate need for ice cream and our even more desperate need for our mother to drive us there. I can't remember if it wore her down or not. But alas that particular Friendly's n'exist pas. Alors!

7. I cannot live without soda water and tweezers.

8. As a little girl, I most definitely did not dream of my wedding day. (although I liked the idea of being a princess, mostly because of the clothes and the sparkley tiara stuff) Now that I might actually have one, I have no idea what the hell I should do.

Ok, so now I have to tell 8 people that they have to do this. Boo.

1. Mr. Jjohn at Taskboy.com (sorry sweetie)
2. Ms. Ladyfriend - verbavolent
3. Mr. JFCC (sorry buddy, I'm running out of people I know with blogs) - http://www.biggerboat.net/
4. Steggles - who almost certaintly won't do this
5. ThatGirl!
6. AV - www.playdate.typepad.com
7. YewMalibu
8. The Strelly Blog

That pretty much covers everyone I know that writes a blog. Unless there are blogs out there, I don't know about. Or can remember.

Anyway, I tag you kiddos. Let the healing begin.

2007-06-24T00:49:00.000-05:00

So, there's a reason I can't sleep, and it's not a very happy one.

My grandfather died unexpectedly very early Friday morning. And I'm very sad about it.

This comes at a time where I am more and more terrified of loosing the people that I love and care about, which, I suppose is directly correlated to the fact that I actually *have* someone (FINALLY) in my life that I don't want to loose just yet. (Or ever, frankly).

It is also directly correlated with the fact that alot of people I have known tangentially have been dying this spring or getting sick. And hearing everyday on the radio about how more and more people are killed in war and in fighting all around the world. I guess it just figures sooner or later, the tangent isn't a very long one, and the person that's died is mine to mourn this time.

Makes you think about things. Not that I didn't before. But somehow the fact that EVERYBODY DIES, and I mean really everybody (and that includes everyone I know, me, the people I see on the street - if they really exist, I'm still working on that - everyone you know, you, everyone) gets born and then at some point they die, didn't really sink in before.

It also has made me think about how *easy* it is to die. And how crazy it is that it people don't do it even more often then they already do. And how hard it is to die too. And how we have NO FUCKING CONTROL over any of it. And how that makes me want to wear a bear suit more and more.

This is also all happening as I have been reading a book called: Eat, Pray, Love by a woman who went through a really shitty time and went travelling to start getting her shit back together.

She leaves for Italy, then goes to an Ashram in India and ends up in Bali before heading home to the States after a year away. And she pretty much gets her shit together. Which is handy, considering she'd already sold the book idea to her publisher and was using the advance to fund her trip. Talk about pressure.

Anyway, I just finished reading the book earlier tonight after plowing through it, hoping it could provide me with all sorts of inspirational wisdom that would stop me from being so damn afraid of the shit hitting the fan.

-- Ok, at this point I'd like to discuss something else that I have been realizing that is SO seemingly tangential and random, but I feel is interesting and perhaps someone else can relate to this too. I have realized that I get this impending sense of doom whenever I am feeling happy and like things are going my way.

Like if I relax into the happy goodtimes feeling, BOOM, suddenly death and destruction and, you're fucked. So, I better stay vigilant and aware of the danger at all times because otherwise, the shit is hitting the fan and you really really won't be able to wash the smell off.

This little fear is complete with idea of me being locked into a padded cell and medicated into a vegetable state for the rest of my life because of the trauma the shit hitting the fan has caused.

Now, I have done A LOT of thinking about this and why I have this fear. I can trace it back to my moving a lot when I was young (although, I was no army brat, heaven forbid you do that to your children - it fucks them up - I don't care what you may tell yourself - and this goes for you too Angelina and Brad - kids need stability and consistency and ripping them away from that constantly fucks them up -- so there.) and being torn up from the roots every time I felt comfortable until I just gave up trying to feel comfortable. So now, feeling comfortable, is uncomfortable. Get it?

But I've realized, I don't think that's it, entirely. My reiki dude (what? you don't have a reiki dude?) said to me once that most people's anxiety stems from the fact that they feel like they won't be able to handle the horrible things they imagine happening in the future. And that is surely a contributing factor to my own anxious musings. However, if I really think about it, I can handle it. I handled it when I was fucking 4 years old, when I was 8, when I was 11, I've handled all sorts of rejection and heartache and loneliness. It's sucked, but I have and I guess some of it stems from hoping REALLY HARD that I won't have to endure that sort of crap again. And maybe I haven't finished being sad about it. How can you ever finish feeling sad about that kind of loss? I don't know. But it's tolerable.

So, what? what might it be that fills me with such dread? You know what? Everytime I imagine this great tragedy that occurs when I finally relax into happiness scene after scene from movie after movie flashes through my head. I swear to god a cheap Hollywood plot device has given me Post Traumatic Stress Disorder about being happy. I mean don't you remember when Demi Moore's character was coming back from that fabulous happy event with Patrick Swayze's character in the dark alleyways of Soho and he got shot and died? Don't you remember that?

Well, I fucking do. And I also remember I saw that movie (Ghost for you kids in the audience that missed it) the first time I loved someone this much and I was having the same intensely mortal fears. And I cried so much, I thought I was going to throw up at the end of that movie.

I apparently wasn't affected by the happy ever after stories. I, *apparently*, have been scarred by the dramatic plot arch. That, and add in a medium psychic character that can let you know that everyone is ok on the other side and I'm a goner. Whoopie Goldberg TOTALLY deserved that Oscar.

So, yes, the last time I went through this crazy fear of death, don't want to get into cars or airplanes, or eat anything that might have a high choking hazard, was 1990 and I was in love with my first boyfriend and I was graduating from high school and I was freaking out.

And so, reading this book, I hoped I would glean some wisdom that would calm my mind down (once again, it's all about meditating - BO-RING - can't someone just invent enlightenment lite? Is so much to ask?) But I realized, I *had* an experience way back when much like the author of the book I have just finished (although I was 18, not 34 when it all began). I too decided to haul my ass halfway across the world to smack some sense into myself. On some levels it really didn't work (for instance, I have had to wait until I was 34 to stop being so self conscious and to not give a shit whether or not I'm pretty or not - and for the record, I really don't give a shit anymore, as one of my ex-boyfriends used to say when I told him he was cute: IRRELEVANT!) but in another way, it made me really really really *get* that we are not in control of the world, of nature, or of our destinies in a way that was incredibly valuable to me.

I would find myself walking across an EXTREMELY rickity bridge made of literally, rope and planks stretched across a deep ravine with an angry river below literally yelling to anyone that would listen "I WOULD *SO* NOT DO THIS AT HOME".

But I was in Nepal. And I had to cross this bridge, because I had to keep moving forward and make it over the mountain. I guess I could have refused and gone back all by myself. But that would have been sort of humiliating and potentially even more dangerous. And so I did it. I stopped being scared shitless and just did it. And when I came back to the States, I really had a sense of understanding that I was not the pilot, or the co-pilot, but that whomever controls these things was doing their job, and it wasn't me.

But almost 20 years later, I seem to have lost that feeling. It's been beaten out of me by living amoungst the cities and the machines. I'm not sure how but I want very much to get that feeling back, because I am loving deeply again and want to feel joy without dread clamping down on me everytime the joy wells up.

Lately I've been wanting to do yoga and hug trees. I actually did it the other day, I hugged a tree so hard, like it was my child and I loved it like it came from me. I dunno, maybe that will bring the feeling back.

Amusingly, in this book I just read, the auther also hugs a tree. Well, actually, I think she might have tried to make out with the tree. I read that right after I had just hugged one. But I'd been having the urge to do it for months now, glad to know I'm not the only one.

So, why am I writing all this rambling nonsense anyway? Because it's almost three in the morning and I'm exhausted. Because it's feels better to me than crying until I throw up. Because my dear dear sweet grandpa just died and I need to remind myself of the lessons I've already learned.

Must we always need the same lesson over and over again? Doesn't getting older take care of that at some point?

I need to remember that I don't need book to tell me what's what, because I *know* it. I've learned it for myself. Don't you remember? Don't *I* remember? Hello? Wake up in there!

I need to remember again the feeling I had. The feeling of being above the tree line, high in the mountains, working my way to the summit, breathing the thin air with intention, willing my one foot to in front of the other just for a little further, and being as close to heaven as I've ever been.

It's the least I can do while I'm here. The least and the most.

I love you Grandpa.

2007-06-24T00:18:00.000-05:00

It's late and I can't sleep, and I've got a big honkin' post a' brewin' to make up for not posting for a month (for the three people that might actually read this thing, I know you're waiting with bated breath!) but first a couple of things:

1. That rabbit I was talking about earlier? That "running like a bat out of hell" rabbit? Remember him/her? Right, well, he/she (sounds like perhaps the rabbit is transgendered which would continue the 'gay rabbit' theme I've had going lo' these many posts, so I kind of like it) DOES NOT belong to the lovely muslim family down the block. Oh noooo... that rabbit is a fucking free agent. A rogue rabbit, if you will. He/she belongs to no one and lives only by his wits (and some occasional snacking at the community garden plot at the end of the street) on the hard and fast streets of North Cambridge. GO BUNNY GO! YOU FURRY DISCO INFERNO OF A HE/SHE RABBIT!

I found this out whilst I was trying to get a little petty-poo out of the damn thing, because in case you didn't know, I am obsessed with furry things and any chance I get to touch something furry, I will take it. As I was cooing at the he/she rabbit, through a chain link fence of a random neighbor, I was so entranced with the idea of getting to ruffle his fur, I didn't notice the owner of that yard and fence was up on his ladder clearing his gutters.

"He won't let you go near him"

Damn. Furry delight DENIED. (And how does he know what gender the rabbit is, anyway? feh!)

We then proceeded to discuss the origin of this wee rabbit and how he had set up a little lean-to for him/her out of his canoe in the backyard and had been feeding it for a year and how it most definitely didn't belong to the Muslims.

I stand corrected. Let it be known. And I feel a *little* like an asshole for assuming that the Muslims were running a "Bunnies Gone Wild" racket because of their *other* escaping livestock issues, but in my defense, my neighbor that I originally discussed the rabbit with was SURE he/she was the Muslim's.

In the meantime, the last time I saw the little bugger, he/she was non-chalantly lounging in the shade of the rear half of a parked car and looking like if he/she could give me the finger whilst toking on a bone, he/she just might. He/she is getting quite cocky with the warm weather.

May this bad ass bunny keep on keepin' on and live to be a hundred. This is my wish for him/her.

2. Totally different topic, however I must discuss.

Ok, so, say, FOR SOME REASON THAT SHALL NOT BE REVEALED, a person gets some shit on their hand.

Ok? I mean things HAPPEN. In fact, SHIT happens, no goddamn pun intended, right? Don't just sit there all high and mighty and pretend that not ONCE in your life, you haven't had any shit get on one or both of your hands. Don't do that, because, I cannot IMAGINE that being true. I'm not saying it's *your* shit, and I'm not saying that it's not. But one way or another, you've most probably found yourself in the situation where there's shit on your hands (or hand) and you have to wash that shit off.

Am I wrong?

Right, I didn't think so.

So, here's my question for 'you' whomever 'you' may be:

How much washing does that hand or hands need to really be clean?

I mean like REALLY clean. Like clean enough to then put that hand or hands in your mouth or in the mouth of someone else without feeling slightly weird about it. Or perhaps to then serve yourself or someone else food. How much soap does that take?

I'm not EVEN being metaphorical here, folks. I'm SERIOUSLY wondering.

Like what if you have gone to the sink, you have washed VIGOROUSLY and rinsed and washed again and then you sniff the area that the shit has been on and you can still sort of smell a faint shit smell?

Does that mean there is still shit in there somewhere? Deep in the crevices and cracks of your hand and skin, there are still little tiny bits of shit, having a stinky shitfest? Should you keep washing it until that smell is gone?

Can that smell get "caught" in your nose so really your hand doesn't smell anymore and you are really just having residual ghost shit smells? From your olefactory muscle memory? In your nose? The shit smell? Anyone?

Who can I ask this question that will know the answer? Who?

My doctor? Should I make an appointment to go into my doctors office and ask them to smell my hand and say, "Is there still shit on there if it smells like this?"

Or should I just call the BlueNurse BlueCrossBlueShield hotline and ask them? Will they even take my call?

It's not an emergency after all.

I just really really would like to know.

2007-05-22T14:58:00.001-05:00

I just saw this and I have to say it's pretty brilliant.

Have a lookee...

2007-05-22T10:39:00.000-05:00

Good day.

Today's report on my ass sweat is as follows:

I got up from the bus seat and my ENTIRE ASS was damp and potentially obviously leaving a dark 'area' on the 'seat' of my pants. Or should I say trousers?

I feel PRETTY! oh so PRETTY!

I admit it, I'm a sweaty person. OK?

Which brings me to the following items of interest:

1. In my quest not to smear poisonus chemicals all over the largest organ on my body (my skin, NOT my ass - which by the way isn't really an 'organ' - my ass, I mean, but it IS *covered* by the organ I speak of which does give is quite of bit of 'organ real estate' if you will.. but I digress!) I have found some pretty good brands in ye olde health food stores near and far. These are as follows:

1. I have stopped wearing anti-persperant and am wearing that natural shit. Right now I'm going with 'the crystal' and although I've heard you eventually smell like a skunk, it's working pretty well for the odor control. Mamma likey. But yes, my pits sweat. And if 'sweating out the toxins' is something people really do, then I'm fucking healthy as hell. Feh.

2. I'm digging on the Suki brand for my face care: http://www.sukisnaturals.com/ They've got versions for dry and oily skins which I enjoy because in the summer I'm all about sweating (as referenced above) and in the winter now that I'm OLDer (ahem) I get really dry. They also have this list of shit to avoid in products, but it's a little extensive and can make you feel like never leaving the house. It's sort of lists stuff and just says CANCER after each thing, so you might want to check their resources before deciding it's bad. It also conveniently lists things that are in competitor's products on the list so that if you used anything but their products you'll be sure to get CANCER. But fuck it! It worked on me!

3. Burts Bees stuff just kicks ass but often is a tad on the strong smelly side. Proceed with caution unless you want to smell like honey. Like REALLY smell like honey. Or REALLY smell like green tea. But their Ginger and Grapefruit bodywash is DELIGHTFUL.

4. Giovanni Organic Cosmetics (which is a misnomer because they don't make cosmetics, but whatever). They have great modern sleek packaging that makes you feel like a big kid that isn't taking a time travel machine back to the 70's when you buy your hair care products (Aubrey Organics any one? I mean could you GET an uglier logo? feh).

Love their hair care stuff. Bought the pomade for my new short shag and it not only smells good and inoffensive, it isn't all waxy and rinses out immediatement! in zee shower. Also down with the mint salt scrub shit they make. It's MINTY. Would be lovely for a hot summer, you are all covered in mint oil afterwards, so don't use it on a cold day. Also the best Tea Tree oil shampoo hands down.

Be warned, their website has a GODDAMN FLASH INTRO! The BANE OF MY EXISTENCE IS A FLASH INTRO. NO BODY CARES ABOUT YOUR ANIMATED 4 MINUTE BRANDING VISION. UGH! Skipintroskipintroskipintroskipintroskipintro. barf. Oh my god, I just realized their whole fucking site is in Flash. So bad. Has no one learned anything from the late 90's? Anyone? Anyway, despite their bad web marketing skills, their stuff is nice.

5. Ok, where were we? Perhaps the most difficult thing about this whole no nasties in my skincare is finding make up that doesn't suck. Most natural brands you can find in the grocery store have very limited colors which means they are usually very yellow based because that's what most people are. Except if you're me. I am VERY blue. Smurf-like. Actually. Go ahead! laugh! I'm blue! Are you happy? Reminds me of the line in the movie Slacker where the dude at the cafe says to the other dude at the cafe: "Smurfs are just getting people used to seeing blue people" and then goes on to say it's cuz' Krishna is coming etc, etc. (Krishna is also blue). That movie is so goddamn brilliant. GO GET IT NOW. Watch it sober, drunk and stoned. You'll be quoting it forever.

I digress YET AGAIN. Ok, so, I need blue coooool tones for my facey face and the best shit I've found for that are the following two brands:

Jane Iredale - it's hard to find her stuff in stores cuz' it's only sold through salons, but it's worth it. I don't use any of the mineral foundation stuff, but apparently it's the BOMB. Or 'off the hook' as the kids say. I do however enjoy her eyeshadows, lipsticks, lipliners, and concealers. Oh and eyeliners. Kick ass stuff. And no parabens or other junky things in them. Plus the packaging makes you feel like a big girl buying big girl stuff. And for someone who used to make regular trips to the Chanel counter at Bloomingdale's, it's nice to have something somewhat elegant. I'm a big fan of the Babe lip color. Sheer but good pigment. It would look great on anyone.

Sante Naturkosmetik - These Germans are also BLUE LIKE ME! They have colors for yellow based folks, but they have stuff for blue people too. This site is from the UK, dunno if they have a US site, but they definitely sell their stuff in healthfood stores about (Cambridge Naturals and Wholefoods in the Boston area). Plus they have really good nailpolish colors. Hooray for Krishna (in Germany)!

6. These are the coolest bags ever and as soon as I'm not poor from having to buy all new makeup and shampoo, I am going to buy some of these puppies:

http://www.thegreenloop.com/SearchResults.asp?RefineBy_Manufacturer=Vy+%26+Elle&RefineBy_Price=&Search=

Made from recycled billboards, no two are the same. Seriously, they are so cool. SERIOUSLY!

And finally, I just went to Greendimes and cancelled all the catalogs I could think of from coming to my house. Which, I have to admit to you was painful. One of my favorite things to do in the world is to flip through catalogs and watch Tabloid TV after work. But I can just look at em online. Right???? Sigh.. I didn't cancel my Boden catalog tho. Couldn't do it.

And so, hopefully all this shit will help someone out there. I spent a shit load of cash figuring it all out, so now you won't have to!

I promise to be funnier soon. But this shit gets me jazzed. JAZZED!

Over and out.

2007-05-17T14:56:00.000-05:00

Ah Spring has sprung and I know this because now, when I get up from the T and/0r bus seat I am sitting on, I leave a little bit of glistening ass sweat for all to enjoy!

I just LOVE the warmer weather. Sigh...

Here's something funny:

http://www.someecards.com/

Much like My Filing Technique is Unstoppable, but Hallmark style.

Funny tymes.

2007-05-02T12:09:00.000-05:00

The other Saturday, I had two things that made me feel very very old.

One was when the quite OBVIOUSLY older lady in the Whole Foods (or Angry Store, as we like to call it) thought I was the same age as her whilst I was sniffing au-natural shampoos.

"You around my age, right? 49? 50?"

"Um.. no, 34"

"Oh SORRY"

Yah.

I felt pretty.

SECONDLY, I was working in the Library on Saturday and as I was leaving with the student worker that was in that day, the following conversation took place:

Me: Ooh I hope I don't have a parking ticket... Let's all hope I don't have a parking ticket, NO WHAMMIES, FOLKS, NO WHAMMIES!

Student: Oh yeah, hah... is that what you call parking tickets? Whammies?

And scene.

Wow. The day has come that people that are old enough to drink don't know what it means when someone says 'No Whammies'. I never imagined. So... old...

Anyway, I then proceeded to explain to him that No, there was a game show called Press Your Luck in the 80's where there was this screen thing and if you got whammies that looked like gremlins (and again with the blank look - all the kids can dress like Pat Benetar, it seems, but no one KNOWS what ACTUALLY happened in the 80's because they weren't BORN yet, man...) and if you hit them you lost money, ETC, ETC, ETC.

Needless to say, he was FASCINATED. (not) --> now that's an early 90's reference for all you kids out there. Watch Borat, there's a scene that explains it.

Whilst relaying this story to a friend of mine, she too knew of the pain of making pop culture references to the youngsters and no one knowing what the hell she was talking about. She then said, YouTube could solve all of my problems when this happens because pretty much EVERYTHING from television in the 80's was on there.

And so, without further delay, I bring you "Press Your Luck"*

Here's a little Wikipedia entry on the subject of Whammies for you kids as well.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whammy_%28Press_Your_Luck%29

*Please note, watching this clip, may cause flashbacks to being home from school delirious with fever. If a flashback *does* occur, stay seated, drink some "new" Coke, and tie a bandana around your thigh (over your jeans of course).

2007-04-20T16:06:00.000-05:00

Ok, here's another cool thing I've been meaning to tell people about...

It's called ListPic and it's a mashup that turns any Craigslist posting that has a picture associated with it into an image browser.

So, if you're like me and REALLY like to surf for cock pictures in the casual encounters section, all you have to do is go here:

http://boston.listpic.com/

(or the version for your city) and click on the casual encounters link and it will be a vitual cock buffet!

(I really use it for furniture, but cocks are funnier.)

Enjoy!

2007-04-20T15:30:00.000-05:00

Ok, I just heard about the coolest thing and I am pretty sure there is no catch it's called:

Ebates (www.ebates.com) and if you shop through it you get all this money back and they send you a check. No shit.

Like I buy tons of stuff from Sephora and just bought some great furniture from Target.com and if I had gone through Ebates, I would have received 5% back of my purchase.

I swear to god.

It also has all the latest online promotions and coupons. It's freaking me out I'm so excited.

Jazzy!

2007-04-19T19:17:00.000-05:00

And this is cool too!

IdealBite.com

Great ideas!

2007-04-19T18:21:00.000-05:00

Hi Everybody!

Lately, I've been riddled with fear and the need to never leave my house due to my working in a school with lots of disturbed type people (aka, please don't shoot me whilst I sit at my desk in the library), and the fact that the weather in New England has been totally f'ed and we're all going to drown in the upswill of water from the polar ice caps. Or perhaps that meteor will just fuck us all and we won't have to worry.

Not leaving my house actually doesn't seem to help, cuz' then I'll just end up choking to death or something horribly ironic (I've seen Six Feet Under, I KNOW HOW IT GOES) and/or die of boredom. Although cable T.V. sure is helpful in that regard. A vacant souless form of entertainment that leaves me empty, but at least I'm not bored!

IRREEEEEGAAAAAAAAHHHHDLESSS... I tell you this story because today, whilst at home from work, sleeping all day (taking a comp day early, IT'S NOT WRONG), and lounging on my bed with a feline (who by the way IS the sweetest most adorable creature known to the earth) I was reading the enviromental issue of the VERY VERY intellectual periodical known as Elle Magazine. I read it for the articles. Seriously.

As someone who has never watched an Inconvenient Truth because, I KNOW we're fucked and I don't need to feel more panicky about it (see above paragraph concerning not leaving the house) I found out about some stuff that makes me feel a little less hopeless and unable to help make change. I do all the good stuff, I recycle like EVERYTHING, I have those compact flourescent (sp?) bulbs, turn off power strips, wash clothes in cold water, take the T to work (usually) ETC, ETC. However, I don't have a hybrid car, cuz' my car was FREE and will last forever if I have anything to say about it and my place needs new windows. It's true.

So, I went to this place (terrapass.com) and paid them some money and they are going to offset my emissions. It helps make me feel less like an asshole. And is surprisingly inexpensive. So, if you are an asshole with an SUV (perhaps you neeeeeeed it to haul all your booty from Bloomingdales home) or even an asshole with a smaller car, at least you can do this and put a sticker on it, to show folks maybe you aren't as MUCH of an asshole. Although if you own a Hummer, pretty much everyone is going to think you're an asshole. With a small dick. It's a given. At least in Massachusetts. That should be part of their marketing campaign! "Worried the world knows about your huge cock? Is having people stare at your package instead of into your eyes getting you down? Buy a Hummer, and the excited chatter about your "dick stick" will suddenly stop! Stop those rumors, let them know you're tiny!" Anyway, I digress...

Also a cool place to go is here: http://www.greendimes.com/ if you pay them a fee a year (which isn't alot) they will stop a ton of your junk mail. I LOVE this idea, because junk mail sucks and I sure as shit don't need another Chadwicks of Boston catalog. No, I sure don't.

So, now I just need to get me a kevlar (sp?) suit and I'll be allllll set. Or a bear suit.

2007-04-10T10:16:00.000-05:00

It's time to play "Today in the Library's Bathroom!" also known as "What the Fuck is That? Should I Be Worried?".

So, today in the library's bathroom, inside the one stall (it's a one size fits all stall for the able bodied and not so able bodied alike) on the beige tile floor, is a small puddle of liquid with one unfolded paper towel placed *sort of* but not really next to it.

The paper towel placement brings the following questions to my mind: Is the placement random and coincidental? Was there MORE liquid and it was wiped up and this little puddle is all that remains from a hasty clean up job where this final paper towel was left, because MY GOD was there ALOT of liquid and this little puddle is NOTHING compared to the ENORMOUS DELUGE that preceeded it? Was the paper towel thrown down to soak it up and missed? So many many questions?

And then you might want to know that this little puddle is next to a drain in the floor, as it is one of those bathrooms that is tiled and has a slight tilt to the floor towards a drain in the stall. And once you know that, you might start to think (or *I* might) that perhaps there was quite a good deal MORE of this liquid originally and that *most* of it has gone down the drain but there is a leeeetle bit left hangin' around. And then you (or I) might think, from whence (?) did this LARGE amount of liquid come from this grand Tuesday morning? I see no bucket from whence it could come. Only a toilet. From whence. It could come. Ew.

The puddle MAY or MAY NOT be made of clear liquid, IT IS UNCLEAR (huh huh, get it, 'unclear'? I'M A GENIOUS!). Also, the stall is very big and it is NO WHERE near the actual toilet.

And as far as I can tell, it doesn't smell.

Yet.

UPDATE! The paper towel is still there, but the puddle has evaporated. (I think, or been 'wiped up' by an unknown party). I don't think regular water evaporates that fast. Does it?

Now for the second part of our game! "What the Fuck is (Was) That? Should I Be Worried?"

2007-04-04T11:15:00.000-05:00

Good day. Although I managed to brush my teeth today, I seem to have been unable to select a shirt without several grease stains on it. Nothing says 'class' like a grease stain.

I'm lovin' it!

Oh how I miss those McDonald's ads.

Today, today I have a little stooooory for you. A wee story from my wee neighborhood. A little story involving a fuzzy bunny out in the big bad world. Happy Easter! It's a bunny story! Hooray for rabbits!

And so it begins.

(Actually, ideally, I'd have a video of my father's rabbits - or really his wife's rabbits bought long ago for her nieces and nephews - having gay sex, because, apparently, that's what they were doing when last I gazed upon them NOT A PG SHOW! But I don't have a video camera. Otherwise, we'd have some hot man rabbit on man rabbit action here for you today and we could make it a bunny 'themed' post, but tough shit for me, and transitorily, tough shit for you.)

Now, on to the story!

In my wee neighborhood, once lived some very old skool Cambridgian types. Perhaps you've met them. Still in the same house they grew up in. Living with their mother. Unmarried. House and back yard full of so much crap, you wonder if they have a "hoarding problem". Bumper stickers on their SUV that say things like:

or:

Real charming-like. (these are the exact bumper stickers they had, btw, I just spent like an hour finding them).

Needless to say, they didn't leave their house much.

And then one day, one fine day, there was a "For Sale" sign in front of their house. Lord knows they were willing to take the HUGE profit they probably received after the neighborhood went to the liberals and the faggots and the liberal faggots oh and the communists. Not so libertarian about that, now were they? Although, I am sure paying taxes on the sale probably irked them to no end.

I'm assuming they are now in Florida, where after spending their life's fortune on a seaside home, they can reap the benefits of the global warming they caused with their stupid fucking SUV and be wiped away by a hurricaine in the coming storm season. Ah, may the circle be unbroken.

Anyway, after the sign went up and after the piles and piles of trash that came out of their house like clowns from a clown car each trash pickup day were cleared away, they finally sold their modest home.

I was curious about the new tenants. What would they be like? Would they have the same bumper stickers? Would they redo the house to make it pretty and uncondemned? Oh the many questions!

Then the new neighbors pulled their car in. Or I guess, their short bus, and a limo, and another town car, and another short bus, and another town car. Hmm.. me thinks I smell a livery service provider in the neighborhood.

And then, much to my delight and glee, with irony in full effect, out poured from one of the short buses an immigrant orthodox muslim family. Head scarves, long robes, not a whole lot of English, *a lot* of relatives, the works.

How the old skool Cambridgeans were able to give up their homestead to a family, they *probably* would consider in league with Satan AND the terrorists, I'll never know. But I would have paid GOOD MONEY to be at the closing. Wow.

As it turns out, this new family did a great job re-habbing the old house (although they never took down the drop ceilings - why???? ugh...) and have become a much more pleasant neighbor than the old skool Cambridgeans.

However, this particular family is also old skool but in a different way. I am *pretty sure* they have a sizable amount of livestock in their backyard. When they moved in they put up a very opaque and tall fence, supposedly so the women-folk could relax in the backyard sans elaborate coverings (not naked, of course, but just without the head to toe scarves and whatnot) in keeping with their religious and cultural beliefs. But they also have some serious farm animals back there.

They have enough farm animals back there that one of them escapes from time to time. If you'll recall from Jjohn's post about the Chicken Gone Wild in the neighborhood, this family was the owner of said chicken.

If you'll recall, I first encountered this chicken in my front yard, next to our porch and thought I had lost my mind. "Are there wild turkeys in Cambridge?" I asked myself... And soon I had my answer. No, no there aren't. But apparently there are renegade chickens. Just waiting for their big chance to fly the coop. Literally. Ha.

One day, in the very same place I first encountered Clucky, our not-so-friendly neighborhood chicken, I saw a rabbit. Just hangin' out, chillin' in the shade. Now, wild rabbits are one thing, and those DO exist in Cambridge, but no, this one was white and brown and most definitely domesticated.

WE HAVE A RABBIT ON THE LOOSE!

I was concerned and quickly enlisted my neighbor for help in grabbing the bunny and finding it's owners. But when I found her, she just sighed and said that this rabbit belonged to the livery chicken owning muslim neighbors and they apparently insisted that the rabbit enjoyed hopping free in the neighbhorhood.

So, just so you get it, much like you would let a cat outside to do their thing, these folks felt that the rabbit needed to also be out and about in the neighborhood because 'he liked it'.

And so, here and there, during all seasons, I will see the rabbit sitting in different places in the neighborhood, chewing on something or sleeping, or sort of idly hopping along (not 'walking' really, just sort of lamely hopping) the sidewalk and it always seems to be Ok.

I drive extra slow because if I hit the damn thing, I'd feel like the biggest asshole in the world and would be traumatized beyond repair. But our neighborhood is used as a cut through for some big roads that surround us and people whip down our little street like they are drag racing and I worry for the furry little prey animal.

Recently, not long ago, I saw something that made me slightly less worried about the bunny.

He was hanging out at the edge of the sidewalk around the corner from his abode whilst I was crossing the street. As I crossed, I saw a big loud car coming towards me and also towards where the bunny was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. I lamely called to the bunny saying "Get away from the street, there's a big scary car coming!" but my warnings were apparently not needed because that rabbit knew what to do, boy howdy!

What happens next, by the way, is the ENTIRE POINT of this story.

What happened next is:

THAT RABBIT FUCKING KICKED INTO FIFTH GEAR AND TORE OUT OF THERE LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL.

My GOD could that little fucker run! I have never in my life seen such a fast animal! It was like witnessing a cheetah on the plains of Africa, a blur of brown and white, fat back feet and tiny front paws moving as one well-oiled fleeing machine!

One minute he was by the road and the next he was under a car halfway down the block.

I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants and had to go home and change.

And that, dear reader, is the point of the story, which I shall wrap up for you in the following statement:

Watching normally docile meekly hopping domesticated rabbits KICK OUT THE JAMS and run like the wind in an urban environment is really really really funny.

Good day.

2007-04-03T10:49:00.000-05:00

oh hi.

I'm back. I didn't "go" anywhere, I just didn't have the "urge" to "share". I guess that's what happens when you get a life. ha! Who knew?

So there's that.

On that note, I just wanted to say that I'm *pretty sure* I forgot to brush my teeth today.

And this is really really friggin' hilarious:

Happy "Spring". (in quotes because I live in Massatwoshits, where Spring doesn't really exist. sigh.)

2007-01-17T14:53:00.000-05:00

This is ridiculous

I like me a big boy! WHO'S A BIG BOY?!?!

Oh and here he is in action (before his daddy was discovered):

Notice how NICE all the ASPCA folks seem. Definitely not from good ol' massatwoshits where they'd be like 'come 'er ya fat fuckah!' and 'look at thah fat fuckah chow on 'is chow, fuckah.' Nice.

Here's an article that explains it all

Here's the video about the reunion with his daddy

And here is something that is very ridiculous involving fluffy cats and swimming also from the West Coast:

I am not a crazy cat lady. Really.

2007-01-11T13:43:00.000-05:00

Oh hello.

I know I haven't been posting much lately... I haven't been much in the mood. Not sure why..

Maybe because I've been focused on actually DOING MY JOB for a change.. ha!

But I just saw this and really felt that I needed to share it with you:

http://www.boston.com/yourlife/gallery/nightlife/nightlife_gallery_4/

Don't get me wrong. I'm really happy with my life in Boston, I have great friends and a lovely manfriend and great job, but sometimes I feel that it's despite all the jackasses that live here.

I mean take a look at these pictures and know how so very frat-tastic and provencial much of Boston is.

Dude, I'M COMING TO YOU LIVE FROM BRAINTREE! YAHOOOOOO!

Wow. Don't know where Braintree is? Yeah, I don't really either.

Oh, and some of those girls in those pictures didn't even WEAR THEIR PEARLS OR BLOWDRY THEIR HAIR! SO WACKY AND SHOCKING!

Folks, college is over now. Time to stop with the sports and the beer and get a fucking life.

I'm not saying I *WANT* Boston to compete with New York or LA or San Francisco for a vibrant nightlife. I *like* that Boston is sort of the little brother of these other cities trying on their big brother assless leather pants and trying to make a go for it even though they are way too big and baggy in the front (you know, "where it counts").

I *like* that not everyone is vying to be the next discovered big thing and that clubs aren't filled with ACTUAL models and famous actors and actresses. I don't miss going to the gym during the day and realizing EVERYONE else there doesn't have a day job and has 0% body fat. I *like* that I can go to a "hotspot" early and instead of it being full of eurotrashteensluts, it's full of MIT professors and students. I like this. Why can't we celebrate this, oh Boston Globe, oh why?

So, not only are the pictures provencial and milquetoast (is that how you spell that?), so is the fact that our major metropolitan newspaper decided to run this type of item on their website.

I swear, Boston is more B and T (that's Bridge and Tunnel for you folks that have never lived in NYC) than Staten Island sometimes.

Ugh.

2006-12-20T12:32:00.000-05:00

Ok, this is the month of short posts (and not very many) and for this I have many excuses/explanations none of which are worth going into and are boring like "Oooh I'm so in LOVE I need not share my thoughts with anyone but my LOVAH", and shit like "yes I am Christmas shopping" (not a one trip to the mall though - I win!), and "Yes, I am exhausted due to adrenal exhaustion stemming from me being so stressed out I was going to die and not sleeping for a year straight." Yes, you know boring.

But I do have a thought or two that I'd like to share.

Now, I don't know if this is solely because I live in the fine city of BAHSTAN (Boston) and this is what our local PBS stations choose to show, but has anyone noticed the INSANE amounts of weird adult contemporary light rock shows they keep playing? Especially during fundraising times?

I mean who the fuck is that guy with the trumpet? Didn't he work for Rosie or something? How is he at all something I want to pay for with my contribution dollars and why do they play him over and over and over again like people give a shit?

Oh and those Irish bitches? Leaping around in their drapey outfits lip synching and sounding like they've just did a HUGE hit of helium? What the fuck!?! It's *this close* to LARPing (look it up).

Since when did PBS become VH1 Geriatric? What's going on?

Am I the only one that remembers when PBS had really fascinating cutting edge shows about contemporary art and dance and music? And I guess they still show Frontline and Nova but BARELY compared to the Irish lassies.

Or is that when I lived in New York? Is this a Boston thing? Isn't WGBH like all old school PBS and cutting edge with producing stuff?

It's either cheesy snoozefest John Tesh bullshit or informercials for books and CDs.

Is it me or does ANYONE KNOW WHO THE FUCK DR. WAYNE DYER IS and has ANYONE BEEN ABLE TO ACTUALLY WATCH ONE OF THOSE FUCKING SHOWS ALL THE WAY THROUGH?

I swear to god it's like *this close* to Dianetics.

How the hell did he get an open invitation to PBS? Perhaps he willed it to happen with his magikal brain parts.

Sigh.... I miss the 70's.

2006-12-15T13:07:00.000-05:00

Folks, during this holiday season, we need some goddamn good cheer.

Here's some seriously funny shit that will make you 'LOL' as the kids say.

http://www.liamshow.com/videos.htm

Check out "Shoes" and "Text Message Breakup"

The others are probably funny too, I just ain't seen 'em yet.

Enjoy!

2006-12-06T17:08:00.000-05:00

Oh and yes, that is all I've been thinking about for the past month or so.

Seriously.

2006-12-06T16:11:00.000-05:00

I may have said this before, but I want to reiterate that I am REALLY really REALLY glad that most if not all bodily excretions are water soluble.

I'm just really glad.

2006-11-14T15:48:00.000-05:00

Ok, it's NOT FUCKING GODDAMN CHRISTMAS YET!

Deck youR MOM with boughs of BULLSHIT!

FUCK!

2006-11-13T12:52:00.000-05:00

So last night, out to dinner with Jjohn, I 'scored' a free entree AND free desserts for both of us.

Nice! *Arm pump*! *High five*!

"Really, Twicksie?" You may be thinking, "I wonder how you did that? Because as you know there are only a very few circumstances that would provide for such an amazing and rich bounty of free goodness."

Yes, dear reader, you are correct.

Let's go over some of those circumstances and see if we can't get to the bottom of why I received such freebies, yes?

1. I knew the waiter/owner/bartender of the restaurant we were at. -- NO!

2. I had a gift certificate that I got for a holiday and/or birthday type of situation. -- SO COLD!

3. I had put my business card into the fishbowl and been the lucky winner of a free entree and dessert. -- EVEN COLDER!

4. I found a coupon for a free entree and dessert online somewhere and actually was cheezy enough to bring it to the restaurant. -- MAIS NON!

5. The waitress spilled a beverage all over me and/or my dining companion or some version of that scenario. -- WAAARMER..

6. The waitress, before actually presenting us with our food does something to it that makes it inedible and so let's us know that they will have to remake it. -- VERY WARM (this *did* actually happen, but I think that would have only provided us with the free desserts)

7. We finally DO get our meals, and whilst stuffing my linguine with meat sauce into my desperately hungry gullet, I spy with my little eye wee curly antennae. NO, not of a tiny radio, in my sauce, not THAT type of antennae.. no, no, and oh look! Little COCKROACH LEGS (attached to an actual cockroach - which was cooked, so hey! extra protein, right?) ALL CURLED UP AND DEAD IN MY GODDAMN FOOD. --- DING DING DING! HOTTER THAN HADES! WE HAVE A WINNER!

So, yes, dear readers, I was on my own 'very special' episode of Fear Factor last night, unbeknownst to me until it was almost too late.

Yes, I like to think it was ALMOST too late and that I did not actually EAT any cockroaches. I like to believe this and I think you'll grant me this denial out of the kindness of your hearts.

And so, I drank an EXTRA big helping of wine - to disinfect my stomach and mouthparts - and carefully ate my free tiramisu, checking for bugs the whole time and trying not to puke at the table.

It was, truly yucky.

However, the plus side is that I am no longer having flashbacks to the final day of the stool sampling - which was VERY rough... oooh so rough - and now I am having flashbacks to the roach in my food.

Slightly less disgusting, so I'll take it.

Enjoy your food!

2006-11-08T12:04:00.000-05:00

Look closely at this image and tell me what you *might* think is, well, amiss...

Can you see? Off to the right there? It's a little blurry but apparently you can "shop and compare great deals on Partial Birth Abortions" at monstermarketplace.com.

Sweet! Gotta bookmark THAT site.

Ahh technology, will you ever grow a brain?

2006-11-08T11:13:00.000-05:00

Ah to wake up today to several miraculous discoveries...

1. A black man is governor of Massachusetts.

2. The Democrats are THIS close to taking over Congress.

3. South Dakota didn't ban abortion.

AND!

4. Britney Spears finally dumped K-Fed.

NICE!

It is, in fact, a day of glorious happenings.

2006-11-06T13:33:00.000-05:00

I'm very sure this topic has been covered ad nauseum in other forums and/or blogs and/or personal conversations allllll over the woooooorld.

But I don't care.

I STILL want to discuss WHY PEOPLE WRITE EMAILS AND COMMENTS AND DIGITAL COMMUNICATIONS OF ALL SORTS IN ALL CAPS.

It hurts me.

Why do they do it? Most often, these people are not yelling in their writings. They do not mean to sound like they are yelling. They are not *meaning* to day "FUCK YOU!" at the top of their lungs when they are writing things like "THANKS FOR THE BIRTHDAY CAKE, YOU'RE SUCH A GOOD COOK, I'LL GET YOU BACK WHEN YOUR BIRTHDAY COMES AROUND. LOVE YA! TWICKSIE"

However, it sorta seems like they ARE saying "FUCK YOU!" at the top of their lungs and it hurts me. It hurts my eyes and my head and my heart.

Do they not realize they have hit their All Caps button and just keep typing away blissfully? Are these the same people that keep their turn signal on for MILES and MILES no knowing it is on? Is it those people? Like my grandparents? Or your grandparents? Or people that have no business being near a keyboard, let alone a computer, at all?

Or do they have some sort of text editor that automatically converts things into ALL CAPS?

Does AOL dialup make things into all caps? (Does AOL dialup even exist anymore?) That would combine both of my theories TOGETHER.

These people irk me. As do their writings in the all capital land.

Now I must nap to get past the pain.

Oh and day three of the stool sampling was rough. Very rough. LOT'S OF SAMPLING TO BE DONE ON DAY THREE. SO MANY MANY TUBES AND SAMPLES. (AND YES I'M WRITING IN ALL CAPS NOW BECAUSE I SORT OF CAN'T STOP MYSELF AFTER HAVING THOUGHT ABOUT IT ALOT AND HOW WEIRD AND ANNOYING IT IS. BUT I'M DOING IT IRONICALLY, SO THAT MAKES ME DOING IT OK. SEE HOW THAT WORKS? HAVE I MENTIONED STOOL SAMPLE? OH RIGHT, YES, I HAVE.)

But it's all done now.

and so's this post.

2006-11-03T14:40:00.000-05:00

Ok, more friend blog plugging.

My dear oldest friend a one Miss T-Bird, has a blog and I likey it alot.

It lives here: http://www.twilightspy.blogspot.com/

And it's OK that you went as a zombie.. Full face makeup counts as a real costume.

I also have been forgetting alot. But I blame my HORRENDOUS thyroid problem (the non-exisistent one, but not if my stool sample has anything to say about it! Dammit!).

Ok, end rambling.

tah.

2006-11-01T13:09:00.000-05:00

Oh and!

Check out Jjohn and his friend's podcast:

http://pseudocertainty.com/

Listen to the dulcet tones of Jjohn's voice and know why I love him.

Oh and he's wicked smaht. Wicked.

2006-11-01T13:05:00.000-05:00

Fuck the supplements!

I'm getting it the old fashioned way!

Yeehaw!

2006-11-01T11:58:00.000-05:00

Well, hello.

I meant to write this yesterday but I was TOO JAZZED UP ON SUGAR to concentrate. Now I'm only *slightly* jazzed up on sugar, so it's a little easier to settle down. A little.

So, I know it's November 1st which is SO not Halloween anymore, but I have some things to say about the festivities of yesteryore.

Ok, as you may know, I work at an ART SCHOOL. Now, you might think, GREAT! all the kiddies are going to really bust out the jams for some SWEET COSTUMES, I mean they ALEADY *almost* wear costumes EVERY DAY, why not jack it up to 11 and call it Halloween, right?

WRONG.

I swear to God (oh yes, I SWORE TO GOD! But wait Jesus freaks, there's more to offend you later in this post, stay tuned and clutch your bible to your scandalized needing-to-get-a-life-close-minded-uptight hearts, don't let go!) the faculty and staff dressed up WAY more than the students.

I was SORELY disappointed. I mean, the ones that DID dress up, were GOOD. One kid wore a 'french maid' outfit and he is a 6'2'' guy and wow, I was impressed and wondered where he got the platform shoes in that size (mostly cuz' I would want to know for my own Sasquatch feet, sigh..). So, good.

But folks, simply wearing 'ears' or 'horns' or a 'wacky colored wig' or 'dressing slutty'. DOES NOT MAKE A COSTUME. Plu-eeez. Grow some balls and wear the whole damn thing. Feh. ESPECIALLY if you are ALREADY an art fag that people stare at all the time anyway.

Why do you think I don't care? I grew up being stared at for my stupid outfits, so no big whoop!

Kids these days! They have no idea the work us older punkrock/artfags did for them. None!

So, just for the record, the entire library staff (minus one who had his own thing going on) dressed as nuns (could we have a defibulator 'up in here' for the Jesus freaks please. Oh and don't bother letting me know I'm going to hell, there's PLENTY of other stuff -- legal stuff, not "Jesus-freak" "legal" -- I've done, not chronicled in this here blog that has made me qualified for that) And we looked DAMN GOOD.

I stayed up until 12 am the night before putting together the wimples (look it up) and I gotta say, we were convincing. My coworker and I actually had someone ask if we were real nuns when we were out to lunch. Because UNLIKE ALL YOU PUSSIES OUT THERE we wore our costumes ALL DAY LONG. Damn!

Now, here's a costume that I love:

http://www.tmz.com/photos/hollywood-halloween-2006/80632/

Some dude in Hollywood. Brilliant.

Oh AND driving through the town I work in going home last night, there were throngs of little kids in their costumes. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. So fucking cute, I COULD DIE.

These two little kids were being held by their parents and they BOTH had on Yoda outfits. Two little Yodas!

If I have kids, I am going to buy up every last cute kiddie costume I can find and just dress my baby as different shit everyday. All year long. Today you are a pea in a pod! Tomorrow a little bear! The next day an elephant!

Oh yeah.. can't wait.

Ok, I have no good dismount for this post, so remember, next year, don't be a pussy, put on an outfit, and let's all gird our loins for the pie eating (tee hee that sounds VERY DIRTY) later this month.

Oh and I found out I have to collect stool samples (of my own) for a test I'm having done. The holiday fun is already beginning!

There. There's my dismount.

2006-10-24T10:20:00.000-05:00

Guess what?

(noooo, not 'chicken butt')

Being really smelly isn't 'cool'.

Nope!

2006-10-21T11:06:00.000-05:00

Wow wow and wow.

Apparently this shit is totally real. I realize I'm probably the last to hear about it, but if not, do enjoy.

http://gonzorangers.com/?page_id=147

I have stories, but nothing *quite* this bad, *almost* this bad, but not *quite* this bad.

And although I *everevereversoslightly* feel bad for Mr. Darren because he's obviously INCREDIBLY socially retarded, delusional, hates his mother and whatnot, and probably had had many many first dates and no second ones and as we all know that's tiresome, MY GOODNESS IS HE A CRAZYPANTS. Sadly he is such a crazypants that he won't learn any lesson from this other than the world really IS out to get him, but maybe he'll at least get some therapy to deal with the stress of it all.

Besides that, I have to say that Joanne has done what I have dreamed of doing and it actually worked.

It's SO brilliant of her. Truly.

People often don't have much of a defense when others get all crazypants on them, but now, thanks to the Interweb, we can shout "NO MEANS NO, JACKASS" so all corners of the world can hear it.

Nothing says "fuck off" like a worldwide humiliation campaign.

2006-10-18T12:18:00.000-05:00

Upon Jjohn's request, I shall now bestow upon you photos of the offending types of shoe styles that SO irritate me.

As some of you know, I have been OBSESSED with finding cute and yet comfortable shoes for my day to day walkabouts (basically to and from my car each day to work... but I park far on purpose! I do!). It even had made a dent in the frequency of my posting here. I don't use the word 'obsessed' lightly, people.

I had thought I had found them in the realm of sporty but funky Merrells, but alas they had weird insoles that made me feel all wobbly and strange that they claimed matched a 'woman's insole'. So, not only am I not a woman (according to Merrell's at least) women apparently have arches WAY in the back of their feet. Not I. Perhaps there is a place for me in the sideshows of our great country. Me and my sideshow 'non-woman' feet. Perhaps, pray for me that I find a place for my side-show feet. Oh pray.

Ahem.

Now. I am a researcher by trade and by nature, and therefore could not LET IT GO. So, I have DAY AFTER GODDAMN DAY (I even went all the way to CANADA) been trolling the stores and the internet for shoes to purchase that aren't so goddamn ugly my grandmother wouldn't wear them, but won't make my back go out and send me limping to the hospital with various foot and joint maladies, oh AND that don't cost $5,000.oo per pair.

IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT?

I'm beginning to think it is.

I have noticed in my 'research' that to most shoe designers in order for a shoe to be labeled or branded 'comfortable' they must be made with weird UGLY HIPPY BULLSHIT all over them.

I don't need to feel that my shoes were 'hand sewn' by HIPPY ARTISANS. I do not. MOTHERFUCKING HIPPY ARTISANS do not guarantee a comfortable shoe. But apparently, in the collective unconscious of our society (and in Cananda's too, btw) bestowing shoes with yucky HIPPY BULLSHIT ARTISAN CRAPFUCKSHIT says 'comfort'.

Barf.

In my trollings for my new comfortable shoes, I have noticed two 'details' in particular that apparently just SCREAM comfort. I think that they just scream UN-SOPHISTICATED AND FRUMPY and POTENTIALLY MADE BY HIPPY ARTISANS (the little ones, in another country of course. You know, children! So small and so cheap is their labor! Hooray!).

These details are as follows (and perhaps this explains more my previous posting):

1. Pebble grained leather

2. Contrast stitching

YUCK AND YUCK.

Here are some examples of what I speak:

Ok, so, have a look. This shoe, although *slightly* orthopedic in style, is really pretty cute, even the stitching isn't TOO offensive. But look closely.... Does the shoe have a dermatological condition? Well, DOES IT? It's all fucking bumpy and shit. I chose this color because it's the easiest to see (I would not be caught dead in a off-brown shoe, thankyouverymuch) but like what the fuck? Is that supposed be considered a FEATURE of this shoe? NO! I REFUSE THIS FEATURE. Ugly and bumpy and HIPPY.

NEXT!

Ew. And. Ew. Again, a PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE SHOE without the FUCKING UGLY ASS HIPPY ARTISAN STITCHING. I mean WHAT THE FUCK? Maybe a little on the top is warranted, but I check out the contrast stitching on contrast stitching action on the shoe and sole... I THINK WE'VE GOT ENOUGH GODDAMN STITCHING FOLKS.

What? You can't see it? Well perhaps this will help (if you can't stand contrast stitching, you may want to hide you eyes at this point):

I mean, for CHRISTSAKES PEOPLE, do you think there's enough stitching? I mean DO YOU?

I can just see the GODDAMN HIPPY ARTISAN now, thinking to him/herself, "Hmm... I dunno, I don't think these look COMFORTABLE enough... I know! MORE FUCKING STITCHING."

Ugh.

Oh but wait!

SWEET JESUS AND GOD ALMIGHTY, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HERE?

You might be thinking, "Oh those are kind of cute.."

Really? Are they? I mean really? No, look close... Look close and you will see shoes that a FUCKING HIPPY ARTISAN BASICALLY SHAT OUT OF THEIR ASS.

Fucking Hippy Artisan: Ooh, I think I need to make a 'dress-up' shoe, what shall it be?? Ooh, I KNOW! I'll make it from "distressed" puke-ass ugly leather and ADORN it with little like crocheted button dingleberries (because nothing says 'dress up' like crochet) and some MOCASSAN CONTRAST STITCHING. Perfect! And for the finishing TOUCHE of CLASS I will put a weird broken up thick rubber sole on the bottom. Like driving mocs! So classy!!! Just like Ralph Lauren would do!

Ugh.

Next on my list is a cool but functional backpack purse that doesn't look like a wallet strapped to my gi-normous back and isn't ALSO beSMIRCHED by contrast stitching and yucky leather.

God help me.

A girl's work is never done.

2006-10-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I NEED you to know something.

I HATE contrast stitching.

I really and truly hate it.

Oh and 'pebble grained' leather.

Hate it.

Good evening.

2006-10-04T10:11:00.000-05:00

Mmm... rice balls.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20061004/ap_on_fe_st/memorizing_pi

*Cough* getalife *cough*...

And scene.

2006-10-02T14:28:00.000-05:00

Ok, so, WHO are the terrorists again?

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/15105984/

Right, right, because I see SO MANY incidents with the 'evil doers' from Iraq, going into schools and shooting everyone.

Dude, they should just leave us alone. Give us enough time and the crazy people will just shoot us all before we hit breeding age.

Jesus f'ing Christ.

I get so disgusted sometimes I can barely get out of bed.

What a goddamn mess.

Feh.

2006-09-27T13:00:00.000-05:00

A Nagging Open Letter to the Art Fags and Punk Rockers of This Latest Generation from an Art Fag and Punk Rocker From an Earlier Generation:

Dear Art Fags and Punk Rockers of This Latest Generation,

Please note the following list of sage wisdom I, an ex- Art Fag and Punk Rocker, would like to give to you. Know that I nag because I care. I hate the idea that all of the cool, artsy, politically radical, creative, all around more interesting youngsters of this day and age are doing things that will jeapardize their future on this planet. If you all die young and stay pretty, we're going to have to all watch all those frat boy jock assholes ruin everything. Stay around out of spite for them, if nothing else.

Ok, now...

1. Jam bands do suck. If you stopped smoking pot for like 10 minutes, you'd realize that.

2. In approximately 5 years you're going to feel like a TOTAL asshole for becoming addicted to cigarettes (or anything for that matter). No one is going to think you look cool anymore and people are going to not want to make out with you because you stink, you look about 20 years older than you really are, and your teeth look like shit (Crest White Strips anyone?).

Later, when you have to roll around an oxygen tank behind you (because you aren't really going to die when you're 25 like you imagined, you'll *actually* live *just* long enough to experience all the joyous nasty health problems that come along with smoking) even painting it black and putting sweet rims on it, won't make you look cool.

3. Don't even get me started about drugs. Experimentation, recreation, whatever, fine, I'm no square. Being 35 and having to chain smoke pot everyday to get through it all, NOT HOT. If you have to self medicate to deal, think about why and do something about it.

4. The eighties weren't cool at all. Things sucked just as much then as they do now. Although now it's just slightly more obvious. If you think Britney Spears is bad, have a listen to some Samantha Fox, she was on HEAVY rotation on MTV. Seriously. Not like, ironically. At all.

5. Earplugs (the stretching kind) need SURGERY to get fixed. Has no one seen Extreme Makeover? No one?? And that ain't covered by insurance.

6. Speaking of earplugs, please wear them. Please, the real ones. There is no laser surgery for fucking up your ears with those CRAP-ASS Ipod headphones and seeing shows with no plugs in. Again, when you are like 5 years older, you'll feel like an asshole for not being able to hear anything and having to scream "WHAT?????" all the time. Or like having to have your friends repeat everything everyone says to you again because you can't hear them. Like my grandfather. Who worked in a loud factory. And now can't hear shit. He didn't have a choice, but I'm guessing you do.

7. Take a vitamin pill every day. Even if you are shooting smack and smoking horse, just take a vitamin pill. It's the least you can do. You won't feel as much like ass.

8. Nobody really gives a shit about what you look like. Or how you act (unless you're like robbing them or committing a violent offense against them - which I super don't recommend for all sorts of reasons). Most people, almost always are WAY WAY WAY WAY more worried about worrying about what everyone thinks about THEM. And yes, that includes the people that seem like all normal and like they have their shit together. Those people are usually the worst of all because they are the ones that are worrying about conforming. At least you have an outlet of expression in your Artfaggy Punkrockness. Imagine if you had to be normal all the time. Fuck that.

9. Closed head injuries are REALLY not sexy. Wear a fucking helmet. Put a goddamn sticker on the fucker if it makes you feel cooler (and those skate helmets ARE cool, you lucky bastards, all we had were those big nasty white ones). And your fucking seatbelt. Safety IS SEXY. And so is having all your brain function. Remember that.

10. Things are almost NEVER as bad as you think they are. Even when they are that bad. I had a guidance councilor in 7th grade tell me that I was going to look back on all of the girls of my class gathering around me and taunting me everyday at lunch and laugh. He was full of shit. I ain't laughin', but I'm super glad I didn't off myself. In fact, even like 4 months later I was glad I didn't off myself. Sometimes, all it takes is a minute or a second and the feeling passes. Wait for it, it'll come.

11. If it that next moment doesn't come, go see a goddamn therapist. It's not a big deal. Fuck it, you're a goddamn art fag, what do you care what people think anyway?

It works. If you want it to work, it will work, it might take awhile, but it does.

12. If people are shitty to you, take out your red pen and edit them out of your life. Done and done. You'll find more friends. If you're like me at all, you're probably plenty mean to yourself, you don't need extra help. And you don't deserve it. Nobody does.

13. Leggings are just one step away from stirrup pants. And that's some scary shit.

14. Do it your goddamn self. Stop whining and do it. There's a little something called DIY that was born in the punk rock movement. Pay tribute to your elders and figure it out yourself cuz' sooner or later, you'll have to and so why not sooner.

15. Don't fuck up your credit rating. Seriously. You might think it doesn't matter because you're so young and whatever give me that goddamn credit card cuz' I'm GOING to buy those boots they are so FUCKING "RAD" (or whatever you kids are saying these days) and I'm never going to want to have a mortgage or like buy a new car or whatever anyway.

Well, kids, you'd be wrong. More likely than not, you're going to be a real live adult in like TEN MINUTES. It will actually be a couple of years but you'll look back on it and be like DAMN, WAS THAT LIKE TEN MINUTES AGO OR AM I STILL ON THE DRUGS? And then you'll be like DAMN I DON'T QUALIFY FOR ANYTHING BECAUSE MY CREDIT RATING SUCKS BALLS. I *never* thought I would want to own a house or a car or even be able to. Even though I made REALLY good money for awhile there (oh yes those days are over..) with a bad credit rating nobody gave a shit about how much money I made. And that sucked even bigger balls than my credit rating.

and finally!

16. It wouldn't kill you to wash those jeans (or your hair) once and awhile. If they are beginning to feel waxy from the grease on them, give 'em a little spin in the washer, won't you? We can all smell them (and your dirty hair) from here.

Here ends this installment of: Twicksie has a nagging spaz.

Thank you, and goodnigh-- er.. goodafternoon.

Love,
Twicksie

2006-09-14T17:14:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I am beginning to think that my moods are solely dependant on the state of my bowels and the fit of my pants.

I no longer need an astrologer or a psychic, I just need only look to my toilet and closet for the answers.

Had I only known sooner.

2006-09-13T15:30:00.000-05:00

Ok, so, should I be worried if in the bathroom in the library it smells like coconut oil VERY strongly and there are weird balled up chunks of paper towels in the corners of the stall and by the sinks?

Is that a worrisome situation?

2006-09-11T11:54:00.000-05:00

2006-09-07T13:38:00.000-05:00

This morning, on the T (that's "Boston" for "subway"), I saw a perfectly lovely woman who was DEFINITELY OLDER THAN 18 (in which case there was no excuse) wearing bubble gum pink LEGGINGS, patent leather ballet flats and black BABY DOLL DRESS WITH A HEADBAND.

NO. NO. AND NO.

I am NOT OLD ENOUGH to see the fashion from the first season of Friends back in style. I AM NOT.

NO.

I REFUSE THAT WOMAN'S OUTFIT.

And to those of you that think those goddamn early eighties rocker tight-to-the-ankle jeans are a good idea, YOU ARE WRONG. Even goddamn KATE MOSS looks like a fat cow in those.

NO.

Je refuse.

2006-09-06T16:52:00.000-05:00

Toast.

Still.

Smells.

Like.

Why.

Oh, why.

2006-09-06T12:25:00.000-05:00

Holy shit.

It STILL smells like toast.

I am going to DIGEST MY OWN INTERNAL ORGANS, I AM SO HUNGRY.

dammit.

damn toast.

2006-09-06T12:11:00.000-05:00

Ok, it STILL smells like toast.

What the fuck?!?!?!

Jesus, I'm starving.

2006-09-06T12:03:00.000-05:00

It smells like toast in here and it's driving me UP A FUCKING WALL.

Someone is making toast and blowing the toast smoke into the vents.

It's the only explanation.

2006-08-18T09:44:00.000-05:00

A shoutout to a certain bookstore manager who gave me the tip for this gem from the Onion:

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/51562

Dude, that shit happens ALL THE TIME... Librianism is HAARRRDDD...

(ok, not really.)

2006-08-18T09:39:00.000-05:00

Twicksie's prescription for feeling better when, EVEN YOUR FAT PANTS are feeling tight:

Have a look around and pick out ladies that seem to be the same size/shape as you and think to yourself, "Yeah, I'd hit that shit."*

It's very helpful.

*this is, of course, if I were interested in 'hitting the shit' with the ladies, which sadly, I am not, but it don't mean a girl can't browse!

2006-08-17T09:59:00.000-05:00

Ok, for those of you that are perhaps not understanding the reason the last post was funny/disgusting, it's really all a matter of how one reads the title of the t-shirt.

You can read it as: A wet dreamcatcher, a dreamcatcher that is wet.

Which admittedly wouldn't be very gross or funny or anything.

Or!

You can read it as: A wet dream catcher, a catcher for what happens when you have a wet dream.

That's right, the dreamcatcher is covered in ejaculate.

Yes, it's that gross.

And yes, that's a lot of cum.

Tah daah!

Hope you weren't eating breakfast just now.

2006-08-16T11:35:00.000-05:00

Ok, this is pretty gross, but it made me 'LOL', as the kids say.

http://www.palmercash.com/product.asp?3=556&dc=ns78

I love anything that's a 'fuck you' to hippies.

Fuck you, hippies!

2006-08-08T13:54:00.000-05:00

Ready for your gumming, darling?

I found this whilst doing a search for funny library themed videos on YouTube for a class presentation I have to make.

Oh my god.

It's long but SO worth it.

GODDAMMIT IT'S FUNNY!

2006-08-07T16:06:00.000-05:00

Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Hoffy!!!

http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/story/0,,19904251-7484,00.html

I KNEW my taking tap dancing lessons was for a greater purpose. I KNEW IT.

Buckle-up Hoffy-boy, Momma's comin' to hoof for ya!

How much does a flight to Australia cost?

2006-08-07T14:31:00.000-05:00

Ok, so, I don't think I'm gaining any more weight.. no, really.

AND YET! I have some pants that keep getting smaller and smaller.

After some investigation, I have realized that all the pants that seem to be too small (even the larger 'fat pants' that I have purchased) are ALL chinos from J.Crew.

Here's a blurb describing their chinos:

The chinos we're famous for: vintage American classics that will never go out of style. Cotton twill. Favorite fit sits lower on the waist. Fitted through hip, eased through thigh, with a flattering, easy leg and refined drape. Updated with a slightly thinner waistband. Stitch detail on belt loops. Zip fly. Front slant pockets, two back pockets. Short sizes 0-16 come with 30" inseam, regular sizes 0-16 come with 32" inseam. Import. Machine wash.*

*Please note, after washing the chinos approximately 10 - 15 times they will shink to a full size smaller than their original size.

Aha!!! SEE!!!! I knew it!!! Trying to make me feel all fat but you have special booby trapped chinos**, shrinking at key moments in your life to make you feel like you have to purchase MORE CHINOS. EVEN BIGGER CHINOS! I'm on to you now, J. Crew! Ooh I knew it.

**actually, I made up that little extra description blurb about the shrinkage, but I'm sorry, IT'S SO HAPPENING. How else to explain that ALL my other pants fit fine and yet I keep growing out of the chinos. Oh how?

2006-08-04T13:07:00.000-05:00

So, here's the thing. I'm awesome. No, actually I'M THE BEST. And just to prove how I'm the bestest and most awesomest of ALL TIME, I give you the two latest shooshing signs I've just made for the library:

OMFG I AM SO AWESOME AND BESTEST!

YES!

2006-08-04T09:58:00.000-05:00

Hey! I've got a good idea! (you stupid cunt driving in front of me on the Riverway weaving around and driving slower than my 92 year old grandfather)

How's about you leave the VODKA out of your FUCKING orange juice in the mornings before GETTING BEHIND THE WHEEL?

How's about that?

Gooooood mornin'!

2006-08-03T11:28:00.000-05:00

I was searching for pictures of ninjas (for reasons that I SHALL NEVER REVEAL) and came across several things.

Am I the only one that has never seen this picture?

IT'S GODDAMN RIDICULOUS! Look at the kitty go! Go kitty ninja go!

Kickass! Yaw!

And um, I didn't get to hear the sound in this video yet but even without sound I was making some giggle noises:

Fear the Ninja

2006-08-02T09:57:00.000-05:00

So, the other night I had a dream about the Hoff and how maybe, you know, he and I might be 'right' for each other in a romantic type of way.

Yes, I've heard the rumors, I know he's a raging alchoholic with a penchant for self inflicted shaving wounds, but... but.. I dunno... I just.. I really feel it's right, you know?

So in my dream we're *working* together, which combines my crush with my other fantasy of being a judge on America's Got Talent (I think I would be a great compliment to Brandy and that British dude, a MESCLA of the two, if you will), and like ooh the tension is CRAZY!

No 'hooking up' actually happens in the dream (that I can remember) but I remember thinking throughout the whole thing that I KNOW if we got together, I could TOTALLY 'help him' reduce the size of the shoulder pads in his various cropped dynamically seamed leather jackets.

I just KNOW I could.

2006-08-02T09:55:00.000-05:00

I love you (comma) air conditioning. I'm going to MARRY YOU (comma) air conditioning. I love you soooooo much.

Please never change.

2006-07-20T16:23:00.000-05:00

Oh and speaking of being sexxxxy.. I WAS going to write a post about I seem to have the ever expanding belly and that 4.567 pounds seems to be growing rather rapidly and how my stomach seems to be all jiggly sort of like a third breast and that I could use a stomach bra and how I was going to make millions with the stomach bra and then I found out that they made those already so perhaps it was time to get me one.

And then a pair of pants that are usually too loose on me actually are uncomfortably tight and, no, there is no way that I'm pregnant and I got so cranky about it all that I decided to not write anything funny about it at all but just write this instead and now here I am and you know it's a bad sign when you are cruising the internet for maternity paraphenalia and you aren't fucking pregnant but just think all that stuff looks really comfortable.

Sigh.

2006-07-20T16:15:00.000-05:00

I've just been watching some 'videos' of the current 'hits' that the 'kids' are 'listening' to these days. Gotta get the '411' as the 'kids' 'say'. Har har.

Apparently, in order to be very SEXXXXY now-a-days one (if your a woman) must have very long hair that she VERY VERY AGGRESSIVELY flips forward and then back. Repeatedly.

And many many many deep knee bends. Also aggressive.

Up and then down. Bend those knees! AGGRESSIVE! Hair! Forward and back! AGGRESSIVE! Aggressive stripper moves AGGRESSIVE!!!!

aggressiveaggressiveaggressiveaggressiveaggressiveAGGRESSIVE!

I am very very very VERY SEXXXY! AGGRESSIVE SEXXXY! FLIP FLIP FLIP BEND!

So, please take note for your next session of SEXXXY 'lovemaking'.

Good day.

2006-07-19T15:05:00.000-05:00

Yeah, you may think I'm a bitch, but no, you can't borrow a pen.

Sorry!

If your compatriots had been responsible with their pen borrowing privledges, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation, would we?

If your fellow students had thought about the consequences their selfish actions would have on their demographic AS A WHOLE and hadn't taken all my pens from me AND MY TAPE DESPENSER FOR TWO SEMESTERS IN A ROW, you could borrow my pen.

But they didn't. And you can't.

2006-07-18T15:32:00.000-05:00

Some people? Some people are REALLY REALLY FUCKING WEIRD.

Like REALLY weird.

Like "let's do a documentary on this dude because no one will believe he's for real" weird.

Super fucking weird.

And that's coming from someone who would know.

2006-07-17T12:55:00.000-05:00

Remember back when I had that other job and had to deal with clients all the time and would often times do or say things that were somewhat embarrassing?

Hugging the client? Asking them to marry me?

Remember?

Perhaps you thought with this new job, all that had gone away. No more 'unfortunate incidences' having to do with my foot ramming itself into my mouth.

Oh, perhaps you did think that. But perhaps you'd be very very wrong.

Yes, today, just now, I totally humiliated myself in front of my bosses boss. Oh yes. The legend of Twicksie continues.

As some of you may know, I am having some 'trouble' at my condo due to some disruptive construction happening in my neighbors condo below me. No one is there to manage this fiasco, so I am left with damaged property and being the one that has to call up everyone to get the things they fuck up fixed.

I have spent a considerable amount of time, money, and energy on this which is ironic, due to the fact that MY CONDO IS NOT BEING WORKED ON. ahem... It has been very stressful and has caused me to loose some sleep due to the anxiety and worry about my house potentially burning down due to some contractor's fuck up.

Perhaps my home will burn whilst I am sleeping, I think to myself. How will I get the cats out of the third floor of a burning building? Should I throw them out a third floor windo or try to stuff them in my special 'fire bag'* that I have fashioned for them?

The whole matter has made me more than a little batty and out of it, so it's no wonder the following thing occured.

I had just been IM'ing with my boyfriend (a one Mr. jjohn, extrodinaire) about JUST this very topic (whether to throw the cats or to bag 'em) when my bosses boss came by to check in with me.

He had seen me earlier in the morning coming in from SWEATING MY LABIAL LIPS off and I was muttering angry phrases about Jesus and how hot is was out. As he often does, he came by to inquire as to how my day was going and to see what the latest tale of woe was concerning my home improvements by proxy nightmare.

As he walked up, I had been IM'ing which is not explicitly 'not allowed' but not exactly considered a 'good idea' by the institution that employs me and my screen was sort of facing in a direction where he might have seen that I was doing so. So, I wanted to keep his eyes on me, and not on my screen and was somewhat distracted by that.

I was also distracted by the fact that I had just been IM'ing with my boyfriend and so he was on my mind to some degree as well.

Have I mentioned that I haven't been sleeping well?

Yeah, right.. So. So, I go on and on to my bosses boss about how the nightmare continues at my house and it's all so frustrating and I'm not sleeping and blahblahblah..

Oh, before I continue, have I mentioned that my 'desk' is out in the library where everyone can hear and see what I'm doing? And there's a row full of students at the computers not 10 feet away from this whole interaction? Have I mentioned that? No? Oh well, my bad. Please consider it mentioned.

So, the conversation is coming to a close between me and my bosses boss and I do a quick glance over to my screen to see if jjohn has typed anything else and have a split second of spacing out between that and saying the following thing (to my bosses boss):

"All I know is don't by a condom..."

And there it was. The complete deafening silence that occurs RIGHT after something VERY VERY MISTAKEN AND WRONG comes out of your mouth hole. I call it the silence AFTER the storm.

I had been a little spacey so hadn't even realized at first that I had said it. After a few painful moments, I stopped, focused back on his shocked and reddened face and said:

"Wait? Did I just say condom?"

"Why, yes, yes you did."

"OH MY GOD, I'M SO SORRY, I MEANT CONDO, DON'T BUY A CONDO THAT'S OLD."

"I'd say that's good advice for both those things."

Oh my god. I immediately turned VERY BRIGHT RED, pathetically tried to remind my bosses boss that I was very very tired and then informed him that I would be blushing profusely for the next six hours.

But on second thought, I'd like to make that ten hours. For the next ten hours.

If I don't die of embarrassment first.

* my 'fire bag' is a whole different embarrassing story. When I lived in NYC and was recently unemployed, I began to worry quite a bit about quite alot. I had alot of time on my hands, not working and all and was drinking far fewer martinis. I realized I didn't have a good escape plan for me and my three cats should a fire break out at my condo (in Jersey City, JC IN THE HOUSE!). So, I sauntered into Paragon Sports one day and began looking for an appropriate bag that I could STUFF all three cats in and strap on should a fire break out. I had many needs and specifications for this bag so was taking some time looking around the bag section of the store. I took so long looking that eventually an employee came by to ask if I needed any help.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for a large duffel bag that can also be worn as a back pack."

"How big does it need to be?"

"Well, um.. pretty big..."

"Like this big?"

"No, bigger."

"Do you mind me asking what you'll be using it for?"

At this point, I became silent for a good minute or so.

"Um.. well, I uh.. I need something big enough to stuff three 15 - 20 pound cats into."

I saw a moment of concern flash across his eyes but then, it IS New York, so I'm sure he'd heard worse.

I then proceeded to explain to him my plan for the bag and how it would need to be tough enough to allow me to punch air holes in it, enough so that the cats wouldn't scratch their way out, and waterproof would also be nice, seeing one of the felines in question had a little bit of a nervous bladder.

He clearly thought I was COMPLETELY insane, but actually found me the PERFECT bag. I bought it, put rivited holes into it and it lives under my bed to this very day. It helps me sleep at night.

And no, the cats and I have NOT had a test run because it will be much harder to get them in the damn bag if they know what it's for.

2006-07-17T11:37:00.000-05:00

Brain Power Limitations

Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower. Ican'tcontroltheworldwithmybrainpower.

deep deep breath.

2006-07-14T11:00:00.000-05:00

I think there's something really really really wrong with me.

I think I might have a crush on David Hasselhoff.

Ask me about MY talent, Mr. Hasselhoff. Go ahead, ask me...

2006-07-13T15:28:00.000-05:00

Alll the little animals of the world need to shut up their little tiny fucking noise holes.

All the little birdies need to STOP TWEETING.

All the little doggies need to STOP FUCKING BARKING.

And all the little kitties need to STOP MEOWING.

Shhhhhhhh... little animals. SHHHHHHHHHHHHH.... time for sleeeeeeping...

Especially the little birdies. Shut your fucking tweet holes. SHUT THEMSHUTTHEMSHUTTHEM.

I mean YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE ARMS. Not even FAKE front leg arms. Maybe that's what you're tweeting about, BUT WE ALL KNOW ALREADY SO SHUT IT.

When you are trying to nap, little birdies, I am going to come to your little birdy homes and stand there and CHATTER INCESSANTLY about how my day went, what I ate for dinner, maybe do a little mating call (get ready jjohn, hehe), you know, just talkandtalkandtalkandtalk.

Then you'll see how YOU like it.

Little fuckers.

I think I'm going to have squab for dinner JUST BECAUSE I CAN.

Middle finger to you birdies! Middle finger to YOU!

feh.

2006-07-12T11:41:00.000-05:00

If you, dear reader (for some reason I feel like referring to everyone as 'dear reader', I know not why, so please bare with me. Or is it 'bear' with me? Or bare? Bear? Bare? LET'S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF! oh GOSH, I'm sooooo funny.. ahem.), are planning on having a party or 'function' that calls for tiny little cocktail umbrellas and live in the Boston area, here's a handy list of place THEY DON'T EXIST:

- Shaw's supermarkets
- Stop and Shop Supermarkets
- Bed, Bath and Beyond
- Walgreens
- ANY liquor stores - none.

These are many of the places I looked for these little fuckers all last night and you know what I found? I found that iParty (located on Soldier's Field Road, for those of you who give a shit and might seriously need those little umbrellas for something. You know what I say? FUCK those little umbrellas.. FUCK THEM.) seems to have taken a GIGANTOR little umbrella vacuum and set it to 11 and SUCKED all the little umbrellas in the greater Boston area right into their store. Onto a hook. On a wall. In the very very very back of the store.

They are the little umbrella kingpins. The little umbrella mafia. The little umbrella cartelle. The little umbrella monopoly, if you will.

But not anymore. Because now I have them. All of them. In my car. In the trunk. Downstairs. In the garage.

So FUCK YOU, iParty. NOW WHO'S THE LITTLE UMBRELLA BOSS?!?!?! Huh?? HUH?!?! NOW WHO?!?!

I am. THAT'S who. YESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think maybe iParty needs to say my name now. And so do all those little BITCH-ASS umbrellas.

SAY IT!

2006-07-11T10:12:00.000-05:00

Today is the sort of day that, if I had children, I would probably beat them.

And if I had a bottle of tequila in my desk drawer, I would probably be nursing that puppy all day.

Probably.

2006-07-10T09:47:00.000-05:00

My *almost* favorite part about the the slideshow on Flickr of the 'photo shoot' that took place last night is the title of the page when you link to it.

It reads, and I quote:

twicksie's dirty fur slide show on Flickr

It doesn't get much better than that, now does it?

2006-07-09T21:30:00.000-05:00

As a postmortem to my 34 Candles saga, I should share with you the following things:

1. Instead of a birthday cake from Jake on my birthday, I got flowers from jjohn. JUST as good. Better, even. Things don't always turn out as badly as you think they will. Thank fucking god.

2. You may have noticed that I haven't been posting much recently. Yeah, I've been busy with 'Jake'. Being smitten takes time people, it takes time!

3. As a way of saying 'yes you are old', God decided I should throw my back out. Muscle relaxants are fancy. Now I have a crown on my tooth and have had severe debilitating back pain. I can talk about my chiropractor and my PT appointments. I am truly an adult.

4. Jake and did a little photo shoot Paris Hilton style.. Have a look:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/55367261@N00/sets/72157594193485077/show/

awww yeah....

2006-07-03T14:38:00.000-05:00

So, I am getting older.. as one does and as a woman of 34, apparently I am supposed to start feeling an ache in my heart and soul to bear children.

I am supposed to look at babies and feel my whole BEING want for my own offspring.

I am supposed to YEARN to be knocked up. And how!

But, you know what? When I see babies now? All I can think about is how much cuter they'd be if they were covered with fur, walked on all fours, and meowed. Oh and were actually cats.

It's true. I think cats and dogs are cuter than human babies.

Maybe I need to arrange having a litter... THAT actually sounds delightful!

What's that say about my biological clock, eh?

2006-06-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

Sometimes? Sometimes you just don't know until you know. You know?

2006-06-09T11:37:00.000-05:00

So the local convenience store here at work (which by the way is not in a particularly residential area, in fact, I think it mostly serves the surrounding businesses) DOES NOT carry tampons, but DOES carry douche.

How very helpful.

Thank you, Mr. Convenience Store Owner for making sure I can wash out my vagina (at work) after I bleed all over myself.

Thank you so so so much.

2006-06-07T10:57:00.000-05:00

All aboard

Crazy, but that's how it goes

Millions of people living as foes

Maybe it's not too late

To learn how to love, and forget how to hate

Mental wounds not healing

Driving me insane

I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train

Let's go

-- Crazy Train, [Daisley - Osbourne - Rhoads]

So, here in Boston on our fine public transportation system, also known as the "T", one sometimes, not always, but sometimes, finds oneself in a car of the "T" that one might be tempted to label due to the type of people who are temporarily occupying this particular car (not including oneself, of course).

Yes, there is the 'ugly train' when one looks around oneself and truly cannot find a pleasant face upon which to rest one's gaze.

Or perhaps the 'drunk train' when it seems that everyone around oneself has a soda bottle filled with some sort of 'fruit punch' concoction that smells remarkably like jello shots and the owners of these bottles seem to have a hard time staying upright and/or not vomiting.

Or even the 'kiddy train' when ENORMOUS amounts of children come pouring into the car (usually with a very plain looking late teens early twenties chaperone, hair in ponytail, and with some sort of bead on a string necklace and sensible sneaker type shoes), shove themselves three to a seat, stare at one unabashedly, wiggle around nervously, and shriek a lot, either at each other or at the fact they are in a moving vehicle.

However, there is one train, that trumps all others, the GRAN MAL train of all time! The Crazy Train.

Oh yes, you know of what I speak. Those days when you get on the "T" and as soon as you sit down, you know something is terribly wrong. You sit and you think, "Motherfucker, do I have time to run into the next car?" Sometimes, it's the smell. Sometimes, it's someone staring at you with a blank smile on their face and NEVER LOOKING AWAY. Sometimes it's someone going up to everyone on the train that will make eye contact with them and trying to talk to them about their crazy feeeelings.

Yes, today was a Crazy Train day for your's truly, a one Ms. Twicksie Carmichael.

It doesn't take much to make a Crazy Train, it really only takes one crazy person, but sometimes, like on a day like today, you hit the Crazy Train jackpot.

Today, (and let me just say, I have the deepest sympathies for these people because obviously they are mentally ill, but well, they are still crazy) I got on the "T", sat down, and settled in for the painfully slow, constant-stopping for no reason, and lights flashing on and off, daily ride to my destination.

Soon after I sat down, a young man, not older than 30, dressed casually but conservatively, wearing some sort of beige windbreaker and white sneakers, (for chissakes, it doesn't get more casual conservative than that) clean shaven, a touch of a bowl cut going on, clutching his "T" pass and a scratch ticket and talking on his cellph... oohh dear.. wait, no, cellphones don't work down here in the land of "T", do they?

No, no, they don't. Then who is he talking to? No one next to him, not me, no, no, he's talking to himself. Quite loudly actually. And compulsively scratching his scratch ticket. I sincerely hope it was a winner.

So, yes, he continued to talk VERY loudly to himself as we, the other passengers nervously moved in our seats, constantly checking to see if he was actually talking to one of us. But he wasn't.

Great. But wait, there's more.

About two stops into the Crazy Train ride a new crop of people enter the train car and I smell a distinct whiff of 'very drunk person'.

I look over, and what do I see?

There is ANOTHER crazy person, *just about* to 'out crazy' the first crazy person.

She looked like a career alcoholic, bad teeth, very frizzy bleach blond hair pulled tight into a blond pompom atop her head, poorly applied upsetting pearlescent pink lipstick, and a tiny purse with a string strap worn across her cross your heart areas. And she was holding a big gulp cup, complete with the red straw. Gosh, I didn' t know they were making vodka slurpies now. Neat.

Like a birds to a feather she flocked to our young protagonist engaged in his one man show, and sat right next to him.

He was hunched over facing sideways the other way, and she sat facing forward, smiling a big crazy smile and said to the people across from her something like: I LOVE ASS.

Once that had been established for everyone (and I mean, who DOESN'T love ass, so I was relating to her a bit) she kept on smiling her crazy smile and whipped around to have a look at Mr. Crazy sitting next to her. She had to do some serious maneuvering to get a good look at him and when *she* realized he was talking to himself, well, I think she fell in love.

First, she decided to help him fix the collar of his jacket which was all tucked in because 'he probably put it on too fast' she conjectured. He smiled uneasily, agreed and was actually quite normal seeming when conversing with her.

She then went onto explain to him, how normally she doesn't dress this way, she normally dresses in girly dresses with a lot of funky jewelry. And on the 21st! She'd see us all again and see her in her finery. He smiled some more and looked around at all of us as if to say 'Can you believe this freak?'

And then just as quickly as she had sat down, she got up, mentioned seeing him and all of us again on the 21st and promptly exited the train at the next stop.

To this our young Mr. Crazy said: Not likely.

He then rolled his eyes again looking around for some sympathy having had to just deal with such a crazy person, focused back in on his scratch ticket, and continued the conversation he had been having. With himself.

So there you have it. A crazy out crazied by another crazy. On the Crazy Train.

All aboard.

2006-06-05T14:17:00.000-05:00

Reason 739 Why I am Uniquely Qualified to Have the Job that I Have (or at least more so than some other 'librarian types'):

A student asked me today, "Do you think it would hurt more to get a piercing or a tattoo?"

And I knew the answer.

From personal experience.

2006-06-01T16:48:00.000-05:00

Two Random Thoughts Brought to You by Me, a One Ms. Twicksie Carmichael*

Random thought number 1: Yeah, I like the foam soap. I like it. All foamy and fresh and clean. There's less work to do with the lathering. I really like it.

Random thought number 2: I think it's safe to assume that people who skimp on the hot fudge sauce (and you know who you are) are most probably definitely really really bad in bed.

*names changed to protect the moronic

2006-05-31T16:03:00.000-05:00

So, amoungst the many many many things that are weird about MySpace, here's one that I that I find REALLY fascinating.

People communicating with their friends, soley through those comments thingys. Like, instead of writing someone a regular email. Or calling them.

Like making plans for hanging out and stuff, FOR EVERYONE TO SEE.

So, great, I'm a crazy stalker and now that I know where you are going to be 'partying' this weekend, I'll be sure to join you!

And like telling people sort of personal intimate things in a comment.

"Thanks for fingering my G-spot last night! I can't wait to suck you off later this week! Oh and I think we're out of condoms, could you pick up some. Toodles!"

Huh? EW!

Don't these people get that EVERYONE can read them? I guess you can set you settings so only your friends can read it and that makes a little more sense, but still.... Pick up that phone! Write a NORMAL email! What the hell?!?

It's like a big ENORMOUS yearbook where everyone is trying to get as many signatures as possible. And when you give your yearbook to the next person to sign with their very personal note about their feeeeeeeeeeelings about you they read all the other comments people have read and know JUST how popular you are.

It's just weird. And like exhibitionistic and well, well.. young, I guess. Which is probably why the kiddies like it so much. But be careful kiddies!! Be careful with these exhibitionistic dramas you create! Twicksie is watching. Oh and judging.. BE WARNED!

2006-05-26T16:43:00.000-05:00

Yah, ok, so I just had someone who claims to be a PSYCHIC make fun OF ME for being A LIBRARIAN.

The conversation (which was on the phone - please don't ask why I was talking to a psychic on the phone, it's a long story - so she couldn't see me) went a little like this:

The 'psychic': So what do you do? ---> to this I would like to say "MAYBE YOU COULD FIGURE THAT OUT, YOU'RE THE PSYCHIC" feh.

Me 'the librarian': I'm a librarian

The 'psychic': You're joking, I didn't think people did that anymore.

Me: No, I'm really a librarian.

The 'psychic': Do you wear glasses?

Me: Nooo... (even though I do sometimes, but I am NOT giving her the satisfaction.. and honestly, I really didn't get where this was going right away.)

The 'psychic': Do you wear your hair back in a bun? (At this point she's laughing hysterically thinking she is HI-LARIOUS)

Me: No, no I don't (yes, yes now the funny funny joke is so clear to me)

The 'psychic' or shall we call her as she likes to put it 'the intuitive' finally INTUITS that she's being a stupid cunt and backpedals.

The 'psychic': Oh, I'm sorry, I guess that's not very sensitive of me.

Me: Don't worry about it, it happens all the time.

AND SCENE.

Ok, so how can someone who claims to talk to the 'spirit world' for living find being a librarian so goddamn funny?

Everyone's gotta shit on someone, don't they? Do all psychics feel they are above librarians in the social pecking order? Has it come to this?!?!?!

They probably get paid more.

I hope she 'psychic-ly' 'intuits' that I hate her. Oh, because I do.

2006-05-23T16:01:00.000-05:00

Ok, I just ordered almost 5,000 dollars worth of books (for the library) in about 20 minutes.

DUDE, WHAT A RUSH!

I'm all turned on. Now I see why librarians get all loose after hours with their bun freeing and collar loosening and whathaveyou.

It's all about the ORDERING.

Wheewie! I need a goddamn cigarette...

2006-05-22T09:53:00.000-05:00

Something else that occured to me this morning as I was readying myself for another grueling work week in the library...

I have concert t-shirts that are 20 years old. Like to the day. I just wore my Del Fuegos t-shirt yesterday.

Saw them opening for INXS in the summer of '86.

So, like the students at my school? Many of them are YOUNGER THAN SOME OF MY CLOTHING.

Holy shit. I am so old.

2006-05-22T09:44:00.000-05:00

Ok, here's a sign that the end of the world is coming:

I was in a club FULL of lesbians and black men (don't ask, it's a long story) this weekend and NONE of them hit on me.

Something is VERY VERY wrong.

2006-05-17T22:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, ONE MORE THING and then I SWEAR I'm going to bed. Really..

You know you swear alot when you are using the spell check and the word 'fuck' and it's various conjugations or declentions or whatever, is the only thing that shows up. Over and over and over again.

It keeps wanting to change it to 'Fuji' or 'bucking'. Tee hee..

2006-05-17T22:17:00.000-05:00

Boy I'm quite the little poster today, aren't I?

Ok, couple of things to do when you are feeling crappy about single (and say, your brother's wedding is the day after your birthday and the rehearsal dinner is ON your birthday and it's a clambake, and guess what? you are allergic to clams and you have to read Corinthians 13 all about how without love there is nothing in the wedding and you have gained 4.67 pounds and feel like the loser spinster LIBRARIAN sister with the three fucking cats who needs a walker to get to the pulpit or stage or whatever the fuck it is you have to stand behind to read the damn bible verse because you're so obese and AND BASICALLY you are living your own 16 Candles and really it's going to be renamed 34 Candles with a new ending where there is no Jake bringing you a cake and remembering your birthday and it's just you ALONE sitting with your cats rocking back and forth with the wilted bouquet and a crumpled tear stained Corinthians 13 in your chubby hand. ahem.)

Ok, right! So!

1. Find yourself someone that is having problems in their relationship to talk to. I know this is really fucked up and sort of shitty, but it really works! I dated someone once that said that he was sad about not being in a relationship but then walked by a couple in a parked car screaming at each other. He felt better then.

Obviously you'll want to be sympathetic to the person, but hey, if it can help make you feel a little better, everybody wins!

2. Go dancing in a dive bar, nothing fancy. Dance your fucking ass off. Dance until you don't care what planet you live on.

3. Flirt LIKE A FUCKING WHORE with anyone that will have you. Seriously, I've been putting this into practice alot lately and it really works quite nicely. Especially flirt with people you think would NEVER be interested in you. Most recently I've flirted with a super conservative biotech guy, a very attractive short man (also a fantastic dancer), a German toxicologist, a middle aged carpenter wearing union paraphenalia with YOU GUESSED IT a non-ironic moustache, and a SUPER cute waiter from Southie (from those of you not from Boston, that's the neighborhood Matt Damon's character is from in Good Will Hunting, does that help? eh?) with a teenie weenie Southie accent. And that was only in the past two weeks. Awww yeahh..

These are my prescriptions to keep the hope alive. I hope they serve you well.

I plan on doing all of them during my personal dramatic reenactment of 34 Candles.. fuck Jake, I'm good to go baby!

2006-05-17T10:57:00.001-05:00

I think I speak for almost everyone in the State of Massachusetts when I say that it's really quite amazing what a little sunlight will do.

Thank you for your time.

2006-05-17T10:06:00.000-05:00

Well Hello.

Today I would like to turn your attention to the following: The non-ironic moustache.

I have referred to this phenomenon often over the course of the past few years and have had many people inquire as to what I mean when I say 'non-ironic moustache' and so, today I will elaborate.

As you may know there are many styles of moustaches out there in the world. The style of the one's moustache often determines it's status as ironic or non-ironic. There's the fu manchu style (halfway to a goatee, but not quite there), the John Water's style, or even just a moustache that sort of connects to your sideburns and whatnot.

Usually, if a fella is under the age of 40 and his moustache is 'wacky' and/or 'creative' in some way, we're working with an 'ironic moustache'. You can tell that they aren't serious about their facial hair. It's part of an over all ironic 'look'. It's like wearing really thick black rimmed glasses, knowing that, true, yes, some actually dorky people wear them, but really, you're looking to be more like Elvis Costello.

Now, the man with the 'non-ironic moustache' is anything but glib about his facial hair. He is DEAD SERIOUS. There isn't a wacky bone in his body. Oh no..

A good example of a 'non-ironic moustache' is the ever-popular Tom Selleck. Or perhaps Burt Reynolds. These fellas are very very serious about their moustaches. And frankly the 'non-ironic moustache', well, it has worked well on them.

Here's who it doesn't work on: Everybody else.

Well, perhaps I should qualify that a bit.. I think on older gentlemen, a non-ironic moustache can have it's place and, in fact look pretty distinguished and dare I say.. Foxy. And of course those of you who have grown up in a difference culture where the 'non-ironic moustache' is king. These are instances where this type of moustache makes sense.

HOWEVER! Those of you under the age, of say 45 (depending on how old you actually look) I would think VERY VERY CAREFULLY before growing yourself a caterpillar above that lip. VERY CAREFULLY.

It just.. well, it sends a message that I'm thinking you probably don't want to send.

Unless you ARE a hard core porn producer who came of age in the 70's, well then, have at it.

2006-05-15T12:31:00.000-05:00

Ok, here's a question for you:

Why do Ipod headphones SUCK SO VERY BADLY?

And you may be thinking, "Oh I dunno, I don't think the sound quality is that bad, blahblahblahbalh" but that's not of what I speak.

I speak of the fact that if you have your music turned up to AT ALL they basically act as speakers so the whole GODDAMN WORLD can hear what your listening to.

Which, for a librarian, who hates shooshing more than life itself, is a serious irritant.

This isn't a very funny or interesting post, I just wanted share.

2006-05-12T12:22:00.000-05:00

AN ADDENDUM TO THE OPEN LETTER TO THE CRAZY LADY IN AT THE SUPERMARKET WITH THE MANY AND MOST VARIOUS OF BAGS:

Much to my chagrin, people have been telling me that they thought I was being MEAN TO A CRAZY BAG LADY. No and no.

This woman was not a "bag lady" in the classic sense of the term, she was just a weird lady with lots of bags that did not lock the fucking bathroom door.

She was not out of her head with crazy or anything like that, she was just a bit strange and well, not someone you want to see hovering over the toilet with her stockings around her ankles.

I mean, I don't think I'M someone you want to see hovering over a toilet with my stockings around my ankles, but THAT'S WHY I FUCKING LOCK THE FUCKING BATHROOM DOOR WHEN I AM IN THAT POSITION.

ugh.

I suppose I took out years of pent up aggression on this poor woman with the many and various bags, so for that I am sorry. So many people not locking doors throughout the years. So very many.

So, once and for all, I am not mean to crazy people. Unless they deserve it.

2006-05-11T11:58:00.000-05:00

This may only be funny to people who actually know me, but shocking of all shockers I make a lot of 'your mother' jokes.

It's true, I do.

But that's not what's funny.

On our local NPR radio station here in Boston there is a Mother's Day fund drive that allows you to buy flowers for the lovely lady and it also gives money to the station. Nice, right?

So during the moments when they are telling all of us to buy these flowers, they keep saying "your mom this", "you're mother that", "I'm sure your mom will.."

So basically NPR is talking smack about all of our mothers. Sort of..

Oh I dunno, it was funny this morning.

Your mom thinks so.

SNAP!

2006-05-11T11:31:00.000-05:00

I think Friendster suspects I'm cheating on it with MySpace.

It kept logging me out just now, like it was mad but didn't want to talk about it and wanted me to guess why it was being pissy.

Friendster just needs to accept that I'm seeing other networking sites. I mean, it already knows about Linked-In.. I thought it would be cool with MySpace.. jesus..

Oh and MY MySpace page doesn't look like a broke-ass unicorn festival. Thank you very much.

2006-05-10T21:28:00.000-05:00

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CRAZY WOMAN WITH THE MANY VARIOUS BAGS IN THE BATHROOM AT THE SUPERMARKET:

Dear Crazy Lady With the Many and Various Bags,

Please PLEASE remember to lock the bathroom door. Please. For I do not want to see you, for a brief flash of a moment, with your stockings down around you ankles, bending backwards over the toilet. No, I do not want to see you in this position.

Do you want me to see you in this position? No?

So then why not lock that door?

Yes, I heard you say "Whoops, guess the lock doesn't work well!" and yet, for during that brief flash of a moment when I opened the door and saw you in the aforementioned position, I also noted seeing an unused door latch.

Yes, I saw that. So, really, you did not lock the door, did you?

No, no, you didn't.

I think it would be in everyone's best interest if, next time, you took the time to do a little "forward thinking" and lock the fucking door. This way, you can take your sweet time sitting on the toilet, rifling through your many many and most various of bags, and contemplating how very crazy you are without any pesky and sudden interruptions. I truly think it will be the best for everyone involved.

Thank you very much for your consideration of this matter. It is my sincere hope, oh crazy one, that the lock 'works well' in the next supermarket bathroom you visit and you take full advantage of it's functionality.

Fondest Regards,
Twicksie

2006-05-10T09:19:00.000-05:00

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod..

http://home.pacbell.net/bettychu/2004allbreedbisris/2004bisindex.html

How can something so very wrong be so very right?

Ohmygod.

2006-05-08T13:10:00.000-05:00

Ok, David Blaine?

He's one crazy mother fucker.

Seriously. Totally crazy.

How is this a good idea?

His next stunt will be shooting himself in the head. And actually dying! And not coming back!

Seriously? I know he's all famous and shit for doing this stuff, but he has some SERIOUS issues. Seriously.

He's crazy.

2006-05-05T17:16:00.000-05:00

Ok, next on the list of random books I've come across:

The Encyclopedia of Meat Sciences

It's a three volume set!

And it's yours for the low low price of $867.00

And apparently it's well reviewed. Not sure who the fuck would be the one to review a book like this, but there you have it.

ISBN #: 012464970X

Enjoy!

2006-05-05T14:10:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I have this really evil idea.

Well, it's not evil exactly, maybe you would call it twisted. Ok, maybe a little evil, a little twisted.. and well a WHOLE LOT PATHETIC.. but what do you expect from good ol' Twicksie.

Alright, so I was thinking about not feeling 'thin' this morning and contemplating my ongoing struggle with the muffin top and the whole world on online dating and dating in general.

Now, as you may know, in the world of dating, and the world of online dating there is supposedly someone for everyone and there are labels for all these sorts of people. There is a specification called "BBW" that stands for "Big Beautiful Women" and NOT THAT THERE' S *ANYTHING* WRONG WITH THAT, but I am pretty sure you have to be pretty darn big to fit into that category. And THANK GOD there are men out there that like all sorts of ladies, REALLY. I am not even being sarcastic here. Thank god.

Ok, now, I am *pretty* sure that I am not a BBW, however, I am also not in the 'slim/slender' 0% bodyfat category either. I mean, for fuck's sake, I've been sporting a muffin top for months now. But like BBW's are sporting like well.. alot more than just the top of a muffin.. Which IS OK! SERIOUSLY. If they are happy, *I* am happy for them, really. Ne judge pas!

Alright, so here's my evil/pathetic idea. I'm probably too big for those that prefer slim/slender ladies and have had quite enough of feeling crappy because of feeling like I don't fit into the bullshit crazy unrealistic ideals people seem to have in their heads that they must have to be attracted to someone. (Although admittedly, that may be just because I have a completely distorted self image and low self esteem, but, like, since when do I listen to my therapist? Sheesh!)

So, what if, WHAT IF! I answered ads for the BBW types, or even described myself as one and went out with the fellas that prefered the bigger ladies BUT THEN GOT REJECTED BECAUSE I WASN'T FAT ENOUGH.

Eh? Eh???

How's that for a fucked up idea? Yeah, I know, it's pretty fucked up. And I wouldn't want to fuck with the guys that are looking for plus sized love, because, seriously, as I mentioned before, GOD BLESS THEM, so that's where I feel like it's a little evil. But still...

"I'm sorry, this just won't work, you're just not big enough for me."

Or even, upon seeing me, the fellow in question exclaims in dismay, "You're not fat!"

That might feel REALLY GOOD.

(ok, now I'm sort of ashamed I told you about this, and I think I must be pretty crazy, but if you decide to try it, I wanna know how it goes..)

2006-05-04T15:40:00.000-05:00

Folks.

Some students at my school made this FUCKING BRILLIANT video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzSc7t-Zf4A&search=boston%20runners

You'll pee your pants.

Sweah to GAWD.

Apparently there's a second one coming out where they actually run the Boston Marathon.

Jesus, it's a good time.

Enjoy!

2006-05-01T16:42:00.000-05:00

Oh and also..

Is it possible to gain like 5 pounds a day?

Ok, just wondering.

2006-05-01T16:31:00.000-05:00

I shit you not, I was going through a catalog to order books for my library (yeah, that's what librarians do, gotta problem with that?) and the following book caught my 'fancy':

Hermit Crab: Your Happy Healthy Pet

Ha!

Here's the description of this FASCINATING TOUR DE FORCE:

Hermit crabs are social creatures, so most owners have several. They grow, molt, climb, dig, and crawl. With colorful photos, charts, and tables, this practical guide provides information about care - including food, water, and daily misting - equipment, gravel, food, and water dishes, extra shells and more.

Ok, wow. Yes, well, I can imagine there'd be MORE! And more! And THANK FUCKING GOD there are colorful photos, charts, and tables in this practical guide, because LORD KNOWS, I would NOT be able to figure out how to deal with a Hermit Crab, my happy healthy pet without them.

There is no question that this book fills a real need in the world. A real IMMEDIATE NEED for a guide to rearing hermit crabs. It's a goddamn lifesaver this book.

the ISBN number is 0-471-79379-5

Just in case.

2006-04-24T13:46:00.000-05:00

Ok, so here's something that happens once and awhile that I really dislike.

This is really only something that would happen to a laaaaaady, but I suppose there is a boy version too.

Yes, well, it's when you have finished urinating, that's right, I said it, urinating and you pull up yer pants and whatnot and you have washed your hands and are just doing a little spin in the mirror to check out your ass or whatever and HELLO!

There is a tiny (and sometimes not so tiny) wet dot on the back of your pants JUST below where you shirt covers.

You know what that dot is made of, boys and girls?

Urine.

Yes, you have urinated on yourself, you dirty messy lady.

Ugh.

And then you spend the rest of the hour or so (how long does it take for a URINE SOAKING to EVAPORATE?) pulling down your shirt to cover it and hoping that you don't have to get up to do anything that would involve people seeing that you have sprayed yourself with your own body waste.

God help me, I really hate it when that happens.

2006-04-21T10:14:00.000-05:00

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!!!!

Please do the following thing:

Go to Google.com (this is on April 21, 2006, btw) and type in 'failure'.

Then hit the "I'm feeling lucky" button.

Y Voila!

Fucking brilliant.