You are currently browsing the monthly archive for April, 2008.
Ouch. That one even hurt me.
Anyhow, HARRIET has tagged her readers for a simple meme in which we are supposed to describe ourselves with a six-word phrase. Here’s mine:
Only six words? Surely you jest.
First – I am pleased to announce that Harriet AND Claudia have both won a prize for their heartwrenchingly mundane haiku. S. probably should win something to for his “serving lunch to the foreigners” triptych but really, being married to me is prize enough for him. Right, honey? Right? Right? Anyhow, you ladies watch your mailboxes for a little treat.
There was a creepy old pervert hanging out on the Lamar pedestrian bridge this morning. I saw him on my first loop – he was giving every woman who passed the old “up and down” in a really obvious manner. I muttered a barely-audible “fuck you” as I flew past him. On my second loop, he was still there. He called out, “Hey, sexy mama!” to a woman a few feet ahead of me. She stopped dead in her tracks, whirled around and yelled, “Drop dead, disgusting old man!”. Loved it!!
I did not run today – my ass and quads were really sore from yesterday’s efforts, so I stuck to my fast walking. I am still walking 9.5 miles in 90 minutes, so I’m not sure how much extra benefit I would actually get from running…and I am afraid that too much running will wreak havoc on my ancient bones. We’ll see. My sister is acting like I’ve finally joined her evil cult – offering to buy me shoes and a running bra and all this other stuff. NO. Begone with your accessories of Satan.
Yes fans, there is a LAND OF THE LOST movie in the works. Will Ferrell is the lead, the kids are now adults and in addition to the Sleestaks there are the “Pakuni” – monkey men! I am there.
Speaking of remakes, while I was ralking* yesterday, I was listening to the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” soundtrack. It’s a classic and there is no need at all to remake it, but as I ralked I was thinking that if anyone DID redo it, Javier Bardem would be an excellent Frank N. Furter. That’s as far as I got with the casting, though. Anyone else want to take a stab? *(Ralking is the term my sister came up with for my new workout routine. She’s a laff riot, that one.)
S. and I are off to the races, starting today. (Well, mostly S. but I will be along for the ride as kitchen assistant). Shopping, prepping, mad dash to his hometown Friday for a rehearsal dinner and wedding, mad dash back to Austin early Sunday to finish prep and haul ass over to the very manse in which we stayed last weekend for a party and….eeek!! Then it starts all over again next week for another party.
And me? Well, I have some errands and ralking to do. Tally ho.
An odd thing happened to me when I was walking today. I started running. I don’t know why. I have a very brisk walking pace and maybe this is just the next logical step. Or maybe not. I get winded pretty quickly when I run and I don’t like the jarring on the boobs and knees or feeling all of my other jiggly spots jiggling but…I may do it again. I did this walk/run for about an hour and it was ok.
I do NOT want to inform my sister of this turn of events because she’s been telling me for a month that “one of these days, you’ll just start running.”
Eeeeeeek.
p.s. Scroll down one and play the mundane haiku game!
I don’t want to let National Poetry Month slip by unrecognized so here’s a little contest, somewhat in the vein of HARRIET’S WCW challenge: Write a mundane haiku or two, make me laugh and I will send you a prize. Here are a few to get you started. Have fun!
Rug, full of cat hair
I really should vaccuum it
Pick up book instead.
******
Gag, gag, gag, gag, hurl
Now a hairball joins the fur
God dammit, kitty
******
Do I want cherry
Or key lime pie or lemon
Oh, so much yogurt
******
Apron, birdseed, soap
Shampoo, conditioner, pens
Target list, so long
Is THIS semi-nude shot of Mil3y Cyrus really any worse than THIS? Or THIS? Or any of the other manufactured pretty-pretty princess bullshit Disney is using her to sell to young girls? I think not. And as far as the mom quoted in the article saying she has a problem because “Very young girls look up to Mil3y Cyrus as a role model.” : You should have been worried about that long before the topless photo, honey. And for very different reasons. And all of this because no one had the foresight to stop the mullet-headed Gomer who sang “Achy-Breaky Heart” from procreating. END OF TIMES!!!
Also stupid, but funny: JERRY SPRINGER is scheduled to give the commencement address at Northwestern’s Law School.
Not much to report this morning. I have errands and applications for writing seminars and walking to do and that’s about it. So here, have some singing cows:
She tagged me so I now present to you six things about me that I haven’t previously blogged about…or listed in my “things about me” lists or whatever. I can feel the excitement from here.
1. When I was in high school, I sweated a lot. Nervous, shirt-soaking sweat. So much that I took to wearing primarily black because it would hide the sweat marks on my clothes. I can’t remember when exactly the sweating abated but it did, eventually. The nerves remain.
2. I feel compelled to finish any book I start reading, even if I hate it. I can walk out of movies or turn off tv shows but there is something about a book that deserves a finish. And, when I’m writing a lot, I tend to pick books that I know will be kind of lame because they spur me on. (“If this piece of shit got published, surely my fabulous words will, too.”)
3. Until I was 21, my romantic life consisted solely of secretly-held crushes and/or fending off crushes from guys I was friends with.
4. I am very much a what-if person when it comes to thinking about the future. But I absolutely refuse to let myself think that way about the past because to do so seems like the ultimate denial of who and what one is.
5. I have known eight people who died of AIDS. Half of those were people I worked with. The other four were friends or lovers of friends.
6. I’ve had a lifelong hatred of my freckles and have actually rejected men when they told me they were attracted to them. Be gone, freckle-lovers! And take your “does the carpet match the drapes?” and “Hey, Red!” friends with you.
I can’t give too many details but…wow. The house is lovely – an architectural mix of Mediterranean and Craftsman, full of antiques and artifacts of a life well-lived. Cocktails and dinner on the loggia, breakfast on the almost-rooftop veranda, access to a library that would blow your mind….’twas loverly. The grounds total about four acres and are on a hill, made completely private by high, gated walls and huge live oak trees hanging with ivy. We spent a lot of time discovering all of the private nooks scattered around the yard – lots of nice spots for reading or just sitting. Or other stuff. *cough*
The room we slept in contains the bedroom furniture from a famous author’s home and while I am quite sure he would make an entertaining ghost, no such luck. I did, however, have a very vivid dream Friday night in which a woman came into the bedroom and was admiring my rings. I explained to her where each came from, she told me they were “lovely” and that was that. Ghost of the woman who built the house? Maybe. Some of the people who work in the house have apparently seen her around. The house itself has an entirely peaceful and welcoming vibe to it – nothing creepy or negative.
Yesterday we took a short break from our high-toned living to attend EEYORE’S BIRTHDAY PARTY, a yearly freak show held in Pease Park here in Austin. It is, hands down, the best place in Austin to get a contact high and that is saying a lot. Unfortunately, it is also the place to see lots of middle-aged, overweight men walking around in nothing more than a thong. The horror. And while the photos I linked to are from last year’s event, they mimic pretty well what we say yesterday. Lots of costumed (or body-painted) adults and children, drum circles, live music, some poor donkey trucked in to be petted by the kids, good locally brewed beer, interesting food. There was a bruschetta booth, which as some of you who know me can imagine, was pretty much the highlight of my festival-going life. The only way it could have been better would be if it was bruschetta-on-a-stick. Anyhow, America…I willingly put myself into a crowd of hippies. And had fun…even if it was mostly at their expense.
After that, we repaired back to the manse for a dip in the pool and more lounging. The library was definitely my favorite room. Last night, I camped out there with a good book while S. played some snooker in the other room. Lord and Lady of the manor, don’tcha know. I wish I could share more information or that I had been able to take pics, but neither would be cool vis. S.’s work situation so you will have to be content with this.
P.S. to HARRIET – Abe said to tell you he misses those “railsplitting booty calls”. I don’t want to cause trouble with you and Mr. Spy – I’m just telling you what he said. Also, have you seen his table manners? Egad. And don’t get even me started on that wife of his…
S. and I are about to leave for our fabulous house-sitting weekend. Back on Monday with tales of how the other half lives. Happy weekend, everybody!
Because upon return from the laundromat, I checked my email and found a missive from one of my all-time favorite authors. (No, not Fante. He remains stubbornly dead, the bastard.) I don’t need unwanted traffic here so let me say it’s someone on my writer’s list who is a woman. And who draws pictures. And who is totally fucking awesome.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go re-read it. Again. And probably hyperventilate a bit.
