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Thursday, June 24, 2004

Well, we got a new car. My husband, who never buys a damn thing, came by the bakery as I was painting on Saturday and told me he found a get car for a great price. His testosterone level must've been really high that day, because buying anything, especially a car, is the last thing on his mind most days.

There is a good reason for it, though -- his new job in SC. The pickup he's been driving would probably only make the trip a few times before completely breaking down. Lucky for me, he'll be taking the old Saturn to work, which gets great gas mileage, and I get the new (to us) Saturn Vu for my driving pleasure. It's also easier to load and unload for my painting jobs, and the gas mileage isn't bad, either.

Since we both aren't car-type people, we're most excited about the CD player and the AWD. I guess we've joined the SUV masses, albeit ours is one of the smaller ones. God, please forgive us. We know not what we do.

Current wallpaper: Comes to us courtesy of this site, (Go to Yosselle Rosenblatt on the left hand screen for my current WP. It's worth it.) which has lots of fun, weird, and funny album covers.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Funny They Didn't Mention My Watching a Neighbor's Silent Reel-to-Reel Porn Collection Starring a Bunch of Fat, Ugly Women and an Occasional Irish Setter or a Package of Philly Cream Cheese

Somebody sent this to me today, and it brought back a whole lot of memories. I edited it down and added my own comments to a few.


YOU WERE A LITTLE GIRL IN THE '70s IF...
You wore a rainbow shirt that was half-sleeves, and the rainbow went up one sleeve, across your chest, and down the other.

You made baby chocolate cakes in your Easy Bake Oven and washed them down with snow cones from your Snoopy Snow Cone Machine.

You had that Fisher Price Doctor's Kit with a stethoscope that actually worked. (My prized possession, actually)

You owned a bicycle with a banana seat and a basket. (Mine was bright yellow and I took the damn basket off real quick-like.)

You even owned roller skates with metal wheels.

You thought Gopher from Love Boat was cute (Admit it!) (I did, I really did.)

You had nightmares after watching Fantasy Island. (I did, I really did.)

You had rubber boots for rainy/snowy days - remember Moon boots (you then advanced to Duck Shoes in the '80s.)

Your Holly Hobbie sleeping bag was your most prized possession.

You wore a poncho, gauchos, and knickers.

You begged Santa for the electronic game, Simon. (My cheap-ass mom would only get me the Pocket Simon. I still own a Pocket Simon. Well, that's what I call it anyway. Just kidding.)

You spent hours out back on your metal swing set with the trapeze. (Until I got too tall too fast and it fell over on Eric, pinning him to the ground.)

You even had a pair of Doctor Scholl's sandals (the ones with hard sole & the buckle).

You wanted your first kiss to be at the roller rink. (Oh, and it was -- my first French kiss, anyway. Reggie deposited a few crumbs from the Fritos he was eating into my mouth with his tongue causing me to swear off of kissing for a while. Come to think of it, I'm still not all that fond of kissing.)

Your hairstyle was described as having "wings" and you kept it "pretty" with the comb you kept in your back pocket. (with the big fat handle.)

You know who Strawberry Shortcake is, as well as her friends, Blueberry Muffin and Huckleberry Pie.

You carried a Muppets lunch box to school. (Actually, I had a Snoopy one, a Barbie one and a Jaws one. I'd kill to have that Jaws one again.)

It was a big event in your household each year when the "Wizard of Oz" would come on TV. Your mom would break out the popcorn and sleeping bags! (Also for the Sound of Music. It'd be real popped corn loaded with butter and salt.)

You even asked your Magic-8 ball the question: "Who will I marry, Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, or Rick Springfield?" (or Matt Dillon or C. Thomas Howell)

You completely wore out your Grease, Saturday Night Fever, and Fame soundtrack albums.

You used to tape record songs off the radio by holding your portable tape player up to the speaker.

You couldn't wait to get the free animal poster that came when you ordered books from the Weekly Reader book club. (Oh, I loved these -- I had a pic of baby beavers and a pic of a cus-cus.)

You learned everything you needed to know about girl issues from Judy Blume books (Are you there God, It's me, Margaret.) (And I learned all about boy issues with Then Again, Maybe I Won't.)

You thought Olivia Newton John's song "Physical" was about aerobics. (No, I never did, but when my dad heard it on the radio one day and started pitching a fit about the suggestiveness of the words, I told him he needed to see the video because the video explains that the song was about aerobics. He believed me. I was 11 or something.)

You wore friendship pins on your tennis shoes, or shoelaces with heart or rainbow designs.

You wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer. (I coulda been one too, if the damn show hadn't gone off the air.)

You had a Big Wheel with a brake on the side. (And big, gaping holes in the plastic wheels from skidding down the huge hills in PA.)

You had subscriptions to Dynamite and Tiger Beat.

Monday, June 21, 2004

I am one of those people who always have to learn 'it' the hard way, no matter what 'it' may be. I'd like to think it's because people give me advice about things, which I then choose to ignore and do what I want anyway, but that's just not the case. I do listen when people try to tell me things, and I usually do what they suggest. It just always seems that the 'unexpected' pops up deeming the well-thought-out advice from others utterly fucking useless.

I do find learning new things the easiest when it's 'trial by fire' and very stressful. I don't know if it's an Aries thing or not, but I seem to learn more quickly and, through utter stress and fear in remembering the disaster, seem to retain what I've learned longer.

Let's take home repair. Almost every single repair I've ever needed to make hasn't gone the way it was supposed to as outlined in the DIY manual or the way a contractor friend told me it would go or the way I saw it done on TV. These seemingly awful experiences have taught me exactly what to do when many different situations arise, and through my multitude of mistakes these experience have taught me what not to do in certain situations.

All of this leads me to the painting of the bakery this weekend. Let's just say I figured the cost for a total of 12 working hours. Now let me just say that I've already put in 18 hours and I'm not even half way done. I have painted lots and lots of things/rooms and have never had anything take so long. Part of the reason was damage to the wall that I needed to repair and/or spackle before I even got started, damage that was hidden when I looked at the place. The other reason is painting with fucking oil paint.

I am guilty of being overly confident in thinking it'd be no problem to use oil, even though I never once used it before, because I'd spoken to a painter with years and years of experience and a man who has worked for Duron for over 20 years. They both told me it was no problem -- just a little more difficult to clean up and there are special brushes I need to use or the brush strokes would show up too much. What they didn't tell me is that, even after thinning, the goddamnmotherfuckingshit goes on like you're painting with TAR. A door that would take me 15 minutes to paint with latex takes me an hour and 15 minutes to complete with this oil paint.

Oh, well, lesson learned. That's why I've not had time to update.

Current wallpaper: I love this site. It has a whole bunch of the magazine covers from the '20s and '30s/ It's fun to waste time looking through.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Too Damn Tired

Too damn tired to post anything tonight. This working a real job, keeping up a house with 4 animals in it and painting are taking a toll on my usual good nature and loads of energy. I will post my current wallpaper, though. Egon Schiele is probably my favorite Expressionist. His paintings range from disturbing to the sexual to gorgeously rich and textured landscapes.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Surprise, Surprise

I love when people surprise me, not with things, per se, but with ideas. I love when I have a certain image of someone and their life in my head and they just blow me out of the water with the truth, even if it's a truth I'm not comfortable or in-line with. See, I am so fucking jaded because I think I understand a whole lot of the world and it's peoples and nothing really ever shocks and surprises me. That's why I love when someone does just that.

Like today, for example, a woman who does medical records at an office I work for blew my perception of her away. She appears shy, quiet, and as sweet as she could be. Her clothing is so plain it's almost nondescript. She appears to me to be one who's really into either pseudo-country music (like Faith Hill) or she's into the likes of Celine Dion. Maybe she could slightly astonish me and be into '80s hair bands or some other lame-o shit or something, but she could never really shock me. Or so I thought. The only inkling I had of something else lurking under the surface was that she wasn't insecure like others who look/talk/dress like her.

Turns out she and her husband produce the horror films in which she stars. She also sells DVD's of her self stripping and writhing on floor of a boxing ring. She shows lots of T and lots of A, and she should -- she's got an awesome body hiding under all those ill-fitting dresses I see her in at work. In other words, she enjoys her body to the fullest and that makes her hot, I think.

She's also not one of those really odd creatures who's so far into horror and Goth that she's had fangs permanently implanted or dresses like a vampiress while doing mundane things like cleaning the house. She's hit some kind of middle road, and I'm learning that not all middle roads are for the lame or meek.

We work for a very conservative office, and she's taken a lot of flack for what she does in her spare time since an article came out about her and her husband last year in the local paper.

Here's her site if you want to read the article, ogle some pics, or see the latest movie. The name is a pseudonym.

While her lifestyle isn't something I'm generally into, I admire anyone who does what they love to do and anyone who can shock me that readily. I admire anyone who doesn't wear Dockers, eat at McDonald's and go home to watch CSI or American Idol, in other words typical fucking Americans. Though, if they keep the McDonald's up, they maybe too fat or weak to fuck.

Today's Screensaver: shows that not only do I have a thing for Latin men, but also the art they produce. I love Diego Rivera, Trujillo, Dali, Goya, Picasso, Nigro, Berni, Tamoyo, Botero, Kahlo, and Eduardo Arroyo who created this current screensaver. My actual screensaver is from 1968, shows a cup of coffee and a copy of Granma, the Cuban newspaper, but I couldn't find it on the web anymore, so I thought I'd show you another piece of his work.

P.S. I know some of the artists I listed are women.

Sunday, June 13, 2004

I Would Never Really Punch Him, I Swear

Well, here I am again. It's a Saturday night and I can't sleep worth shit. This seems to happen on a monthly basis, and it really pisses me off.

Commonly known fact: One of the best parts of marriage is that you get to sleep together. Uncommonly known fact: One of the worst parts of marriage is that you get to sleep together, if the other person involved is a snorer. Aaron's not only a snorer. He's a mover, jerker, grabber, meaning that he will grab various parts of my body very hard and wake me up, and a sweater, meaning he holds me while he falls asleep, gets all sweaty and all his body hair sticks to my non-hairy, dry skin and actually feels like little needles poking into my flesh which, of course, wakes me up when he moves at all.

To make it all even more unbearable, he'll turn off the light on his side of the bed, roll over, and be having all of those little drifting-off spasms with in 10 seconds of doing so, before I even get a chance to fill in another crossword clue. Sometimes I have to fight the urge to punch him in the face. I'm not joking. But then I realize that it's not his fault he's such a good sleeper and I'm such a lousy one. It's my mom's fucking fault.

I was raised in a very quiet home where no one was allowed to make a sound if I was sleeping as a baby/child. Aaron, on the other hand, was raised with lots of siblings and crazy parents who were probably singing Christian hymns and shit all hours of the day and night. Oh, how I envy that upbringing just for the one benefit he reaped from it -- the ability to sleep through anything, including alarm clocks.

I also have a new theory about neighborhoods and class distinction. You will never go into an upscale neighborhood and hear dogs barking all night long, like you do in my so-not-upscale neighborhood. In Myers Park they wouldn't put up with the kind of crap I have to put up with here.

Dogs here bark, howl, growl and whine all night long. One of them even goes, "Eeeeeee owrow bark, bark eeeeweee owww roww." Really, it does. I think it's possessed. Keep in mind, too, that I sleep with ear plugs in and I can still hear them, and neither of my ears is bionic.

How do the people who own these critters from hell sleep through it? How do their neighbors sleep through it? I do hear random gunshots in this neighborhood fairly regularly, come to think of it.

Current screensaver: Awh, just awh. I'm not usually one for cutesy wutsey, but otters are just too damn cute.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Okay, I got the job painting the bakery. She decided not to do the cake thing, after I told her about the extra time and cost. Thank you, God.

Anyway, part of me is ecstatic to be making that much money in one day or so, and part of me is scared shitless. I am not usually the type of person who worries, frets or has fear, but this is my first 'real' job as a painter, and I can get many other clients from this one job. Also, this job has a few new things in store for me. I mean, she wants the trim painted in oil, and while I know in my brain how to paint with oil-based paints, I've never actually used them.

I'm going to her house in Dilworth on Monday to give her an estimate on finishing a vanity her architect husband designed specifically for their house. I was a little concerned with making a quote, because this is the first time I'm not bartering a service for payment, until I realized she lived in Dilworth and drove an brand-new Mercedes sedan.

A friend in the painting business gave me the formulas for figuring out the square footage of a room and average prices for painting. He also told me to look at the area I'll be working in and charge accordingly. Since her business is in Southend and her home is in Dilworth, I didn't give her a break on cost.

I'll be painting her bakery on the 20th. Wish me luck.

Today's Screensaver: Is from one of my all-time favorite screwball comedies, My Man Godfrey. It stars William Powell as the 'forgotten man' and Carole Lombard as the dingbat Park Avenue socialite with a heart of gold. Cliche, I know, but oh, so much fun.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

I know that you all are tired of my lists of searches that got people to my site. So this time, instead of just listing them, I've decided to make up a story, including the weird searches, which are in italics. This is part one. As I get more weird searches, I will continue the saga.

Part 1 of Our Story

The last time I was on a Greyhound bus was just a few years ago. My car had broken down and I needed to take a trip to Tennessee for various reasons, but first and foremost to find the glory hole in Knoxville. No, not that type of glory hole. I was looking for the type of glory hole to help me with my glass blowing and toe jam stoneware, not the other type of blowing. I think.

Anyway, we all know how awful a Greyhound trip is. If you don't, you should take a bus ride just to experience it. It's the strangest thing next to Jethro Clampett porn or steamroom masturbation with a swell swollen shark, unless he's really, really swell. Although, it's not quite as awful as your grandmother demonstrating the proper way to eat a pussy on her friend from the nursing home. Trust me.

When I sat on the bus, a man immediately moved out of his seat and sat next to me. Not a good sign. He mentioned he was interested in my talent, not beauty and shortly thereafter began clamping his hands all over my body like some kind of squidley diddley.

I had to move, and the only seat left open was next to a tightly corseted boy with heels and lipstick. He told me he loved straight men. At least I knew I wasn't his type and he wouldn't start pawing me.

What he actually did was almost as nasty. He started telling me all about his armpit hair overgrowth problem and sobbing. Loudly. For 15 minutes. After I gave him the specifics on the best razor I knew of he calmed down for a while. He then asked me, "Would psoriasis stop me from getting a job working?" Psoriasis? I thought all the flakes were from his pancake makeup slowly flaking off and peeling away. I was covered with them. I had felt myself breath them in. I had probably sipped some with my water and ate some on my chili dog. Every time he moved a whole new snowfall of flakes would descend on my person. Ick.

Just then, I noticed he and a passenger across the aisle were tickling each other's feet on the sly. I took that opportunity to ask if they wanted to sit with one another. They accepted my offer. I was saved.

As the bus pulled out of the station and I was settling in to take a nap, I heard the corseted boy whisper sweetly, "Halle Berry tickle toes, my love." It warmed my heart, it did, and actually, the other guy did look a little like Halle with a beard and a hard-on.



Tuesday, June 08, 2004

This list is an homage to Big Ed. He did it first, and I'm following his example, with a little extra info thrown in.

10 Nicknames I Have Called Others (Plus One That People Called Me)

1) Quag

2) Fuckin' Ann, Man (All the 'Druggies' and 'Heads' at school used to call me this because I did funny and insane things whenever they got me drunk or high. It stemmed from people often saying something like, "Oh, my God. Look at fuckin' Ann, man. She's crazy." I wasn't a member of their crowd, but they liked having me around to amuse them. I got lots of free drinks and joints that way.)

3) Fish Lips

4) Zube

5) Ludley

6) Raw Meat

7) Cheeseball

8) Shocky

9) Snapper (This was may dad's nickname for over 50 years. No one will tell me where it came from. My mom said it's dirty, but she 'can't remember.' Mmm hmm.)

10) Rinker (The lovely guy who once told me, "As long as I have a face, you got a seat." I was 15. He was 18 and BUTT ugly.)

Monday, June 07, 2004

Well, I'm sure my sister's upset. See, she owns a horse in Florida that was sired by Smarty Jones. The horse could have been worth millions of dollars, if only Smarty would have pulled off the Triple Crown. Now, unfortunately, it's just worth hundreds of thousands. Oh, well. C'est la vie.

Spent the day at the DMV. On a recent trip home from PA, the security guard didn't want to let me board the plane because my license was expired. Luckily I had my social security card with me. I had no idea that the license was expired. I thought I still had a few more years on it because I just got a new one in 2000, after I got married. I didn't get a notice in the mail because I didn't change my address when we moved to the new house three years ago. I didn't change my address because . . . well, I don't have a good reason.

The DMV is totally different from what I remembered it to be. The people were very friendly -- ALL of them. I even laughed a lot with my officer and the one who took my picture. What a change, unlike the wait, which was close to three hours. And I forgot a book (!!!). Damn.

Here is a list of things one needs when spending the day at the DMV, in order to make the stay even more enjoyable:

1) Appropriate paper work to complete task at hand.
2) Fluids.
3) Foodables, just in case.
4) Form(s) of entertainment, i.e., books, magazines, GameBoy, MP3 player, crack cocaine.


Current Wallpaper: The Clash, circa 1980,with Joe Strummer looking his absolute sexiest ever. Believe it or not, but Rolling Stone has a great site where you can see a lot of the covers from past issues dating all the way back to the first issue.

Friday, June 04, 2004

The Inside of a Cake? Are You Fucking Serious?
I got my first real, paying painting job today for someone I don't even know. It was a referral from a current client. I will be painting the foyer and office at this hip bakery downtown which supplies scrumptious sweets to upscale Harris Teeter's and fine restaurants.

We may paint the foyer to resemble what it would look like if you were in the middle of a cake looking out. She says there's a famous painting from that perspective that I could use for ideas. I haven't found the painting yet, but she has it and we'll look at it and discuss it. Maybe, I can talk her out if it if it's garish or I'm unable to do it because I'm not artistic at all. Well, I can copy other's work, but I can't come up with my own. So, we'll see.

I will also be painting in her home, so what I'll make that week will be almost three times what I make in two weeks at my regular job. This is going to be great. I hope.

On a different note, I started thinking that I will post what my screensaver is each time I change it, which is almost daily. I like it to change very often. Aaron hasn't changed his, which is a pic of Tom Waits, in like a year, and when I sit down at the computer, if he's logged on and that pic is up, I have to try not to look at it or it literally irritates me. Aaron must know this because he hasn't let me change it to anything else, even another pic of Waits'.

Current wallpaper -- This is Bowie during the Eno/Berlin phase in the video for 'Be My Wife.' I think it's hilarious. He's still in the Thin White Duke phase, although he's not quite so thin as before because he was trying to kick cocaine and may have actually eaten some bratwurst or something whilst living in Berlin. Before Berlin, he lived on the 'White-Only Diet," which just had two components: Cocaine and milk. He thought it was aesthetically pleasing. And stimulating, I'm sure.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

Big Hairy Balls and Children's Songs

I have this picture of Botero's (scroll down to the bottom right) as my wallpaper right now. It's entitled 'Cat on a Roof,' which isn't very original, but the painting is. I love Botero's art -- the gigantic proportions of everything he's created. Just check out the size of that tomcat's balls, for Christ's sake. Go ahead -- I'll wait.

See what I mean?

This painting reminds me of a song we used to sing in elementary music class, 'Senor Don Gato.' You know . . . 'Senor Don Gato was a cat, on a high red roof Don Gato sat, he went there to read a letter (meow, meow, meow), where the reading light was better (meow, meow, meow)' . . . and so on. I can't remember the rest. I think he falls off the roof or something.

Anyway, I brought this up to my husband and he'd never heard of it. Has anyone else heard of it? He went to a private Christian school, poor boy, and they only sang Christian songs in music.

This started me thinking of all the songs we used to sing, such as: 'She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain'; 'Free To Be You and Me'; 'Alouette,' a sadistic song, if you know what the words mean; 'Froggie Went a-Courtin' '; 'I Know an Old Lady,' that bitch swallows all kindsa shit. I'll bet she was popular when she was younger; 'I'm a Little Teapot'; 'I've Been Working on The Railroad'; 'If You're Happy and You Know It'; 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider'; 'Oh, Susanna'; 'Puff the Magic Dragon,' we were singing about drugs, if can you believe it; 'This Old Man,' I suppose they don't sing this anymore because it's about an old man playing 'knick-knack' on various places on a child's body; 'There's a Hole in the Bucket, Dear Liza.'

We actually had a good time in music class back then. We got to sing and play all sorts of crappy 'instruments,' like the triangle, and those two sticks that you bang together, and finger cymbals, and the gourd thingy that makes a raspy noise when you rub it with a stick. I heard recently that the children in CMS don't have a music class, per se. That's shame.

Okay, I got off my lazy ass and searched for the lyrics to 'Senor Don Gato' . They're really strange and silly.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

My Favorite Sound Effects

I once overhead Eric's(my best friend from childhood)Uncle Nelson give the following description when I was a small child: "And the water was so damn cold that when she surfaced, her nipples said 'THONG'(spoken long on the 'th' and with a bell-like resonance)." I love that description of nipple erections. This was before a 'thong' was an item of clothing. We laughed so hard about that, and I'm not ashamed to admit that it still makes me laugh.

The late Graham Chapman of Monty Python fame uses the words 'F-tang, F-tang' to describe being attacked by either a creature with fangs (holding his first two digits up to represent the fangs while saying the above) or the sound of the attack coming from a fighter plane in WWII.

My husband and I have said both of these things a few times in the last 48 hours and laughed every time. Yeah, we're immature. And, well, lame, I suppose. Okay, we're lame, too.

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