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Archive for March, 2005

Memes

Why are these things called memes?  I got this one from Dr. Dave, cool and irreverent science dude.

1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A SECOND HOUSE ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?
I’m less concerned with where it would be and more concerned with how big it would be.  And whether or not it had a balcony and a fireplace.  Well okay I’ll say the Cathedral Close in Exeter because this would be my view.

2. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES OF CLOTHING?
My green ruffle top and my fur wraps.  Sorry PETA.  I did buy them in antique shops though.  Oh and my treasure trove of sparkly bits.

3. THE LAST CDs YOU BOUGHT?
Oh Lord I can’t remember, because it was YEARS ago.  The last CD I was GIVEN was Paul Simon’s Graceland.  I never thought I could get sick of that album but I have.

4. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?
This morning: 9:14 am. SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK SHIT WHY THE HELL DIDN’T MY ALARM GO OFF GODDAMN IT??????????  This is a typical morning.  However, Internet take note: I got in to work at 9:40.  Because I am MAGIC.  Also I didn’t wash my face.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE KITCHEN APPLIANCE?
My mini Cuisinart. That thing kicks ASS.  I can chop ANYTHING in there and even process small amounts of homemade soup.  I don’t have the counterspace for anything bigger.  If I got a regular-sized Cuisinart I think I would PASS OUT.

6. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
The bassoon.  I could play Grandfather in Peter and the Wolf.

7. FAVORITE COLOR?
Red.  Also ice blue.

8. WHICH VEHICLE DO YOU PREFER, SPORTS CAR, MOTORCYCLE, OR SUV?
Sports car.  HERE ME NOW INTERNET I WILL NEVER OWN AN SUV.

9. DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE AFTERLIFE?
Reincarnation.  Does that count?

10. FAVORITE CHILDREN’S BOOK?
Miss Flora McFlimsey’s Christmas.  Oh my GOD people it is about this little doll who lives, forgotten and abandoned, in the attic and at Christmas she creeps downstairs and the angel at the top of the tree flies down and produces this entire TRUNK full of new clothes and a gold locket and she dresses poor old Flora McFlimsey in these new clothes and puts her under the tree for the little girl of the house and there are all these ILLUSTRATIONS of the little clothes and shoes and jewelry and……………………….

11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?
Autumn, hands DOWN.

12. IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT?
Not yet but I want a Napoleonic Bee tattooed in the small of my back or some such other sexy place.

13. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPERPOWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
To be able to stop time so I could take naps anytime I wanted.

14. CAN YOU JUGGLE?
No way.  Why would I want to do that?

15. ONE PERSON/PEOPLE FROM YOUR PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO?
Oh my friend Clarence with whom I’ve lost touch.  I MISS YOU CLARENCE!

16. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED?
Two big plastic boxes filled with photographs.

17. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DAY?
Any day I am not at work.

18. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SUSHI OR HAMBURGER?
DEFINITELY sushi.  Mmmmmmmmmm……. I think I’m going to lobby BD to go out for sushi tonight.

19. FROM THE PEOPLE WHO NORMALLY READ YOUR BLOG, WHO IS THE MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?
No clue.  The Cartographer? The Commandant?

20. ON WHICH BLOG DID YOU FIND THIS MEME?
Dr. Dave, cool and irreverent science dude, who needs to be reminded that despite all the CRAP it is still awesome to be paid to teach kids stuff!

21. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?
White lillies.  And I am not just saying that because it was Easter three days ago.

23. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MEAL?
Sushi.  Lobsta.  Gin.  Champagne.

24. DESCRIBE YOUR PJS.
Undies and a little t-shirt.

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BREAKFAST?
Lunch. I don’t like breakfast.

26. DO YOU LIKE YOUR JOB?
NO OH MY LORD I HATE IT I HATE IT.  I hate it so much I am going to kill the next person who walks through that door.  Oh wait it is my friend Fish.

27. WHAT IS YOUR DREAM JOB?
Talking about Ideas without ever having to write Papers to back them up.

28. WHAT AGE DO YOU PLAN TO RETIRE?
As soon as is humanly possible to keep feeding myself.

29. WHERE DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
At the bar where he works.  But seriously, his parents are big friends of my parents and we peripherally knew of each other before I forced him to give me his phone number.

30. SOMETHING YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO THAT YOU HAVE NEVER DONE BEFORE.
Get a job I actually LIKE.

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The Deal with the Car

Okay, so I promised you a story about car trauma and I keep MEANING to write about it but you know. Things come up. Anyway, not that crazy shit doesn’t happen to me all the time, but people, THIS SHIT WAS CRAZY. When I became the proud owner of my little piece of crap jalopy, I was ready for all the attending hassles that accompany said ownership. Petrol costs? I’m on it. Oil changes? No problem. Bigger insurance bills? Done. Tickets? Been there, done that. Finding a parking space in upper NW DC within a 20 block radius of my apartment? You know it baby! Locking my keys in the car? WHILE IT IS RUNNING? With my cell phone, handbag, identification, money, and house keys inside? Piece of CAKE.

But THIS shizzle? I was not prepared. I mean I was NOT READY to nearly kill myself and Bartender Dude on the freeway whilst driving only 50 miles per hour. So here is what happened.

One beautiful snowy weekend not too long ago, right after The Commandant returned to the Green and Pleasant Land, Bartender Dude and I received an invitation to drive out to the wilds of Northern Virginia and have dinner with his parents to belatedly celebrate his birthday and generally bond with each other over cheesy chain restaurant food. On the way out of town, we stopped to get petrol, and being the supremely great guy that he is, BD offered to pump my gas, check the oil and top it up, buy cigarettes, and wash my windshield whilst I sat inside in relative warmth and comfort. As he was topping up the oil I reflected on how super fantabulous he is and resolved to give him a kiss when he got back in the car. That being done, we were off.

After a brief stop to take some snaps of the pristine and blanketed city, we bumped and banged our way over the roughshod DC streets (all the bloody taxes we pay and they STILL can’t keep the streets smooth??? I ASK YOU!) and zoomed up the on ramp to Route 66. I began to speed up to merge with the traffic. As I got to a speed of about 50 mph, my vision was suddenly obscured by the turquoise blur of my hood. FLYING. UP. IN THE AIR. The hood flew up (of course I remember all of this in terrified slow motion), paused for one awful second as it reached the limit of its range of motion, and SNAPPED on its hinges. I don’t know how I did not panic and slam on the brakes but somehow I managed to slow down by degrees. At this point the hood had slammed into my windshield and (THANK JESUS whom I will thank because we are entering Holy Week) began to slide back down, now fully upside down, onto my exposed engine. I managed to get safely over to the shoulder and was able to stop completely. The ONLY REASON the hood didn’t fly off my car altogether was that I wasn’t going super fast and because it was still attached by the thread of my wiper fluid hose, a thin tube of rubber sufficient to keep this large piece of metal from hurtling over my car and decapitating the driver behind me.

I tell you my life flashed before my eyes. I have never been so terrified whilst driving IN MY LIFE. And I’ve done a 180 off an exit ramp in the ice before. At any rate, we got out of the car and Bartender Dude managed to get me to stop shaking as we surveyed the scene. Amazingly, nothing was damaged. APART FROM THE FACT THAT I NO LONGER HAD AN ATTACHED HOOD. But seriously, the windshield wasn’t cracked, the hood didn’t even have so much as a dent, and no one had died or been terribly injured. I began to thank all the gods I know for taking such good care of me during such a dangerous situation. We managed to snap the wiper fluid hose and manouever the unwieldy piece of sheet metal into the back of the car. Which, by the way, was filled to the brim with donated clothes and coats for one of the prison ministries my church supports.

Once I regained my composure, I got back into my little denuded vehicle and drove out to Northern Virginia as if nothing had happened. The snow fell in big lazy flakes that melted on contact with my bare engine and I smoked a cigarette and hummed happily as I contemplated my narrow escape.

For the rest of the week, I drove my naked car around the streets of DC, enduring the stares of pedestrians at EVERY STOP SIGN. It was super tacky. It was ghetto-fabulous, y’all. GHET-TO.

That weekend I drove it to a body shop deep in NE and left it in the capable hands of the folks at Congress Auto Body. They ordered new hinges, attached them to the hood, and re-attached the hood to the car. I had to pay in cash. I’m so not kidding. Cash is the only form of payment they take.

Now that my car is back to normal, I’m kind of missing the notoriety. I got stares of incredulity, sympathy, and downright amusement when I drove around hoodless, especially when I pointed out the missing piece wedged in the back of my car. It was like instant community in some ways, community with my fellow city dweller. Not to mention saving me money on my car insurance. Clearly I need a hood to cover the engine so that it won’t rust and fall out the bottom (which would probably happen to me whilst driving on the freeway at a sedate 50 mph), but without it, would anyone be tempted to steal my car?

Yah, I don’t think so.

Geico, you so owe me for your new advertising slogan.

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I apologise, dear readers, for not taking any photographs when the Commandant was here.  Somehow in the midst of all the drinking, eating, and general hilarity, I forgot to power up my little camera and take snaps.  We had such a good time whilst he was here, and we did all the things I said we’d do.  Except see The Capitol Steps.  (I hope I do not offend anyone by saying that didn’t bother me one bit.  I really have no interest in seeing them.)  We went to the Native American Museum, the new Air and Space Museum out near Dulles Airport, and all the bars and clubs around the neighborhood.  The Commandant also bought tons of American goods for next to NOTHING the lucky bastard.

But before he left us and returned to the Land of Keane, Queen, and Good Sausages, we had one last hurrah, one last night on the town.  We started at a local billiard bar, where we enjoyed a few drinks.  Then it was off to the Witch’s house for a fantastic dinner, lots of wine, and some very interesting music choices (you wouldn’t expect anything NORMAL now would you?  How boring.)  At this point The Commandant was getting quite tipsy and began speaking authoritatively and banging his hand on the table.  We all nodded sagely, being quite tipsy ourselves.

Commandant: “Did you know that Kris Kristofferson is the King of the Lizard People?”

Dinner Guests: [nodding sagely]

Dinner Guests:  “Wait, what?”

After dinner we were off to another bar, which was not a pool hall, but happened to have a pool table.  We played a few games, downed a few more drinks.  We finished up the evening where we started, at the local billiard bar. (Are you sensing a theme here?  Good.)  The Commandant began praising Bartender Dude, which always makes me happy, because he is AWESOME, and did I mention he gives me free alcohol?  Anyway, at this point the Commandant is leaning on me slurring sweet nothings about BD into my ear and I am smiling beatifically and suddenly the Commandant decides he is going to give me a kiss.  Not just any kiss, mind you, but a big sloppy I-bloody-love-you-I-do-I-bloody-do kiss.  At this point the Professor decides it is probably time to be getting him home.  After a touch-and-go cab ride during which an angry Southeast Asian cab driver kept warning the Professor “Don’t let him puke in my cab.  You tell me, I will pull over.  I don’t want him puking in my cab” the two lads got out a few blocks from home in an attempt to “walk off” the worst of the drunkenness.

The Professor: “Commandant.  COMMANDANT.  You are weaving.”

The Commandant: “No. [holds up one finger] No.  I am NOT.”

The Commandant: [weaving like crazy]

The Professor: “Here just let me help you.”

The Professor: [holds out hand]

The Commandant: [falls down]

The Commandant: [gets up]

The Commandant: “I’m okay.  I’m fine.”

The Professor: “I bloody told you.”

The Commandant: [falls down again]

The Commandant: [on his face]

The next day, when we all, in our various shades of hangover, met up for a bar-food type lunch before taking our dear Commandant to the airport, I noticed the huge SCRAPE on his face.

Chanelbaby: “What the hell is that?”

The Commandant: “You don’t want to know.”

We put him on the plane with bruises, scrapes, and did I mention cuts on his hand?  But he made it home okay.

We miss you already Commandant!

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Target Love

This evening I drove out to the burbs to participate in a ritual well known to anyone living within a 50 mile radius of any town larger than three people. I went to Target to buy paper towels, toilet paper, and shave foam. I left with cute pink sponges, tissue for my desk at work, basil seeds, Method pink grapefruit dishwashing liquid, Febreze, lovely smelly body wash, 6,000 rolls of toilet paper, a teeny tiny interlocking dustpan and brush (it fits in a DRAWER!) and THIS gorgeous sherbert-coloured super cute handbag:

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Don’t you love how I have artfully photographed it next to the Veuve Clicquot bottles and fuschia Christmas ornaments in a trifle dish?

Do I NEED another handbag?

Don’t answer that. And anyway, at prices like these, WHO CARES? The only limitation to my cute handbag acquisition is the size of my one closet. (ONE CLOSET! THAT IS ALL I HAVE! I LIVE IN A CRACKERBOX WITH ONLY ONE CLOSET WHERE THE BROOM LIVES CHEEK BY JOWL WITH THE SEXY SHOES AND THE WINTER COATS AND THE RUFFLY TOPS!) Oh. Excuse me. What was I saying?

Here is a recent photo of me and Bartender Dude. Lord do I love that man. I mean, he gives me free alcohol people! I LOVE HIM.

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