Bail me out of jail, will ya?

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

So...picture this...

I am in a cafe - a Second Cup - sitting and drinking my latte. I decide to put together the posts in draft form for the new blog

(which seriously - I fucking laugh HARDER every time I look at this thing - even if no one else read it EVER, it would exist as a piece of internet perfection)

and as I transfer pictures from my hard drive to the blog, I realize - the cafe can see each picture as it flashes up on my screen.

I have now become creepy male pornography woman in the cafe.

And then, I mentally mocked the guy with the ipod who felt the need to give an air guitar extravaganza at the table next to me. It was clear that his penis was small and he hoped to woo me with his Skillz.

The new Project

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Here it is.

I laugh my ass off EVERY time.

Always recruiting new contributers ( a bunch of you didn't get my invite email - I may have old or outdated info for you)

Think of it as a "Pornographic Snarkywood"

And yep. Those are real photos, culled from free places on the web. Yep, they are naked men.

Have fun, my lovelies...

When the little head thinks for the bog head, things go badly

I'm no doctor (yet) BUT...

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

In the world of "Puzzling google searches which bring people to your blog", I got this one today:

"How long after you've been stabbed can you go back to work"

I guess I would need to know a few things.
Were you stabbed AT work?
Were you stabbed in the LINE of work?
Were you stabbed BECAUSE of your work?

Or were you just walking down the street and a random stranger stabbed you?

and my final question:

Why are you googling this and not consulting with your doctor?

PS - I am cooking up a new project so fucking hot. So filled with comic GOLD that I can barely contain myself. Thats all I can say.

And this round goes to....

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Terrance and the (still un-named) cat have a real love/hate thing going on. While this also happened with Keillor, this cat has notched it up to a new level of personal cat/human warfare.

She LOVES Terrance. She has been known to follow him around looking at him adoringly. She perches under his chair and waits for him to acknowledge her. If she were a human, I would have to have a talk about "Women who love men who ignore them and why that drives us to love them more" (a topic which I ,sadly, have more experience than I care to admit)

He, of course, resolutely ignores her. 100%

Terrance went to New York last week. This signaled to our cat that her Man had left her. Not even a scratch under the chin and a "Here's looking at you kid". Dumped. Deserted. Au reviour.

She, like every self respecting young woman, got PISSED.

Since she couldn't blow his cell phone up with text messages (or act like a crazy woman via emails), she did the only thing she could.

She peed on his stuff. Specifically..His noise canceling headphones. And the futon where he sleeps most night.

All right, I was willing to accept this as an accident. Did we lock her in the house all day without a way to escape? Perhaps.

It was last night, however, that it occurred to me that the battle lines have been drawn.

It was after midnight. Emily had just evicted her father from the bed.

The scream from the other room was piercing.


I didn't even flinch. "What is the problem", I said from the bedroom.

"The god damn cat peed on the futon again...AND MY PILLOW"

Now, truth be told...I laughed a little, but only on the inside. Terrance does one explain the full extent of Terrance's "issue" with smells and germs? So now, of course, he smells cat piss EVERYWHERE. He runs in and out of the bed room shoving things under my nose to smell. It's midnight! I do not want to sniff things to detect cat piss.

But come on. His Feather Pillow? That is HARSH. She is fucking with him.

This round goes to the cat...

Ignore me at your peril, motherfucker! Vlad and I have plans...

Thats two hours I will never get back

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Learn from my pain.

Do not rent Miami Vice, the movie.

Oh, it is ON mo-fo's

Thursday, January 18, 2007

I am not a fan of the upstairs neighbors.

I tried, Internet, I TRIED to be accepting of their weird ways. I tried to not get pissed off that they feel that they deserve 9/10ths of the basement space, relegating us to the usage of a small corner ( which I have to move all the guys shit to get to). Yes, I am totally sneaking downstairs to take pictures, I promise.

I vaguely tried to understand about sharing the driveway and garage - except when I tell you that I have to leave at 7 in the morning and you park in back of me anyway? Or when I tell you I don't have to leave so I should park in the garage so YOU can leave first in the morning without involving me in your leaving - and you park in the fucking garage regardless?

And all right. You have a two year old. I understand two year olds. But, maybe if you exposed the child to some fresh air and exercise he wouldn't need to run through your house from 7 a.m. until you realize he is still awake at 11 p.m. and corral him into his crib. Not bringing a child outside ALL weekend? That's just strange.

But now we are moving into seriously disturbed land. During Christmas, I ran downstairs to retrieve the gifts I had craftily hidden in my trunk. Emily and Terrance were off to school, and I thought this would be an ideal time to grab everything and do my wrapping. The lights were off in the basement, so I assumed - as I think any normal human with any experience with living on this planet would - that no one was downstairs. I ran down, flicked on the lights in the garage and proceeded to the trunk of my car. When your voice hailed me from the CORNER of the garage, where you were sitting smoking pot in the dark at 9 a.m. - and I screamed? Your laughter was probably not the best response. Yeah, had I been stoned at 9 a.m., I might have laughed too. But as a woman dressed in a yoga top and shorts, you scared the living shit out of me. But now I know where the pot smell is coming from - as you kindly pointed out that you smoke over there near the vent - directly under my bedroom. Quite a collection of "roaches" you have there, sir.

This makes the "camera" I found at the edge of the garage a bit more understandable. I was more than a little freaked out when I looked up one day as I was getting out of the car to see the camera. At first, Terrance tried to explain that as you work as a Security system installer, it was just extra equipment that you had. I now believe that you are protecting your clearly massive stash of pot. Seeing as you smoke at least three times a day HERE, I can only assume how much herb is hidden in the basement.

Of course, then you brought what I refer to as the "serial killer van" home. Cause when curtains go up in that thing, it will be clear that the killing has begun. I can only hope that I will not be one of the first victims, although I think your amusement at scaring the living shit out of me is immense.

Yes weird dude. I am watching you.

But it is You, weird dudes wife? Partner? live in? You and I are going to have issues.

Your need to "sneak" your car into the garage, KNOWING that you will have to wake me up in the morning to move my car? Oh yeah. I know you are doing it on purpose. I know you want a "warm" car in the morning - but hey - That just isn't cool. Oh, and doing laundry at 10:30 at night? Also not cool. I don't know what they taught you while you were being raised by Dingos, but we in Normal, human society don't disturb our downstairs neighbors by using our washing machine at all hours of the evening.

Him? It's the pot. You? You and I have "issues", sister. And I'm pretty sure I can take you.

It's still no "Tommy" - Shit, it's barely "Suessical"...

Friday, January 12, 2007

Why hello errant wannabe meth cooks! Surprised to be here? I'm surprised to have you, but since I do, I might as well entertain. I am, if nothing else, aiming to please.
Here is a very old post. However, I feel it continues to stand the test of time. In fact, I may add a few new ditties to the mix. And decorated labia or brazilian wax photos people? Still have nothing for you. Can I suggest a hobby?

P.S. People who love me, and not my non-existent meth recipe. Strep Throat. Feeling MUCH better with antibiotics. Practically Chirpy.


I have been contemplating what my life would like as a Musical Opera, in the style of the great Rock Opera’s of past.

I would like to propose some song titles that would encompass my experiences throughout the day:

Side 1:

In Praise of Prozac, or how I get up in the morning
Where have all the run-free pantyhose gone?
Kidz Bop is the Devil’s music
Seriously Dude, you need to calm down before you have a stroke (A duet with my husband)
Emily, stop dancing around naked and get ready for school.
(This is a three-parter with the above Duet with my husband)

I have reached heaven, and its name is Dunkin Donuts
Guy in the F150 pickup, do not cut me off, for your job can not be all that great that you need to get there this fast, I see that you are in landscaping and like Nascar.

No small talk in the elevator (leave me alone) - a doo-wop number
What fresh hell is this? (the reading of the email)
Which morphs into the plaintive solo:
Are people really this stupid? (The Idiot Song)

Side 2:

Hey, Gas is 2.29! Fill ‘er up!
What do you want for dinner? (The Cell phone song)
Mommy has wine breath, but she still reads to me every night (sung by Emily)
Go to sleep, child, go to SLEEP!
If Mommy and Daddy don’t have sex soon, we will get divorced and it will be all your fault.

Bonus tracks:

I mock you, yes I do. (The Superiority song)
You can never have too many shoes – unless they are from Payless.
F is for Fuck
Suck it, Uber-Mom’s

Bonus Tracks for 2007:

The scarf song (holy shit, my ears are cold)
Par-lay vous English?
Adoption isn't what I'd hoped (sung by the cat)
Goin' to the Clinic ( and I'm gonna wait 3 hours)

and Terrance's aria:
"Things is Canada cost alot more than I thought"

Feel free to add your own.

Beep...Leave a message, I'll get back to you when I find my mind

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

As I look back on 2006, I must admit - I am not sad to see it go.

Next to 2001, it rates as my shittiest year as an adult.

There is something vaguely unsettling to returning to your senses after any kind of depression or other altering event. After being so very agitated for so very long, the relief I feel to have found ME again is profound.

This has not come without cost. My marriage has been hit hard by this last year. This has been one of those years where you gaze back upon it and think that if you could sustain a relationship through this, you should be able to manage anything. The Titanic sunk with less pressure than what has been on my marriage.

The fact that I got by my first term in school with my lowest grade being an A minus (which was mortifying to my perfectionist side), is a tribute to the quality of the work I was able to recycle from Grad school. Pure survival instinct.

The Block, which I saw as a writers block at first, extended into every part of my life. I stopped reading. I stopped quilting. No cross stitch. I even stopped playing my video games. Everything ground to a halt. Not a screeching halt. More like a rusted part, seizing up. I even stopped drinking. Clearly a sign of the apocolypto!

My life, the one I have cultivated carefully, methodically, was turned upside down. The more I struggled against the changes, the stronger the undertow became. Since it is my nature to fight, I could not let the tide take me down to push me up again. I exhausted myself fighting. My walls were breached.

I retreated. I left my post. Abandoned the ship. I, like Elvis, left the building.

When you come back, it is a sheepish feeling. Shy, embarrassed - not quite sure what to say or how to explain the whole thing. I often wonder what Emily will recall about me during these times. Will she have an awareness that I fiercely love her, while forgiving my absences from her emotional life? Does Terrance truly understand that there are things that I can't control entirely? Can't explain entirely?

And as with any illness, I have good days and not so good days. Yesterday was an all right day - today was not good. I am hopeful that tomorrow will be better, although I won't know until I get up and judge my body chemistry. Wellbutrin seems to have been one of my triggers, a little gateway to a manic episode. I am weaning myself off of them, half doses at a time. Of course, what this does to my rollercoaster of emotions? I don't know, exactly. But I know that the Wellbutrin is not good for my body, my brain.

Of course, the Ativan that I had to take last night to get to sleep tends to spiral me into a small depression. And of course, not sleeping sends me into a manic episode. Yee-Ha! It's the best of all worlds!

So, I try to be quiet - which is a state that KILLS me. My impulse is that when I feel better, I can pile up the work. Which my therapist has strongly advised me against. You know - when not depressed, I'm manic, so I work like crazy.

And so, I watch me. Like a spectator on the sidelines of me. I watch as I occasionally do less than positive things. I watch me try to figure out WHY that just happened - what end did that serve? I wade through the depression that follows the realization of the unexplainable manic state. I cry in the shower as I try to get my skin to wake up under the hot water.

And this is when I wonder - would a different medication help this? Would I trade the moving between the high and low for the calm of the middle? Will the middle come back with more time and no medication? Can I wait for that? And will it make me different? Not Dawn?

I don't know.

Dear White Actresses of the world:

Sunday, January 07, 2007

I want to personally thank you for your refreshing choice of a movie role as White, Upstanding, Female Ingenue

Where would the poor black and latino children be without you? I mean - honestly. Had they not seen your perfect giant teeth and size 2 body clad in designer clothing, they would be forever doomed to their careers as future pimps/drug dealers/thugs/rioters and crack whores.

You have inspired me to run down into an unsavory part of town and start, I mean "re-educating" them. Them being the non-whites, of course.

Perhaps you can bring them Jesus Christ as their personal savior in your next movie.

Maybe you can BE Jesus Christ in your next movie. I bet Mel would love to direct.

And Oh, I love this passion of a million suns. Why Yes, I DO love Coolio! :


Happy 2007 - thank god last year is over...

Friday, January 05, 2007

I start my TA position today...

I have a feeling that Vlad will return very, very soon.
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