We have a house guest. A real life-of-the party type guy. Talkative when you want him to be. Dependable. Entertaining. You know, one of those lifesize, animatronic, talking zombie types.
That's right, folks - we are currently home to a stunningly charming animatronic Zombie aptly named Zombie. And although every night Liz and I vie for his affection, we cannot help but to be absolutely terrified every time we notice he's here. Every time!! He could be standing right beside the couch where we're sitting for hours and all of a sudden we notice him and scream.
Ahh, it's so hard entertaining.
10.29.2006
I want to confess the truth, but then my life seems boring
To clarify, I am an adult because I picked up my dry cleanING - not, sadly, my dry cleanER. Although, that large black woman in her egyptian patterned moo-moo did seem to be givin' me the eye.
Yeah, I still got it!
Yeah, I still got it!
10.23.2006
They Said it Would Never Happen
Lists of things accomplished recently that make me a grown-up:
- Picked up my dry cleaner.
- Got a physical.
- Used the insurance plan under my own name for the physical.
- Got a promotion.
- Hung lights for Halloween.
- Turned down my music because it was too loud for me.
- Got a raise.
- Scheduled and planned a Reunion Show for Lizanda
- Planned my first Halloween party.
- Went to bed at 11:30pm so that I could get a cup of coffee before work.
- Started to make a budget.
- Began looking for a gym to join.
10.12.2006
And Carl Kasell Almost had me Convinced
I come from a long line of total night owls. We all stay up late and love sleeping in. So I just assumed that I would never be one of those people who would get set on a schedule of early rising and start waking up entirely on their own. Well apparently all that genetics nonsense is just a big joke because I, of the family most closely related on the evolutionary scale to bears (due in a large part to our repeated confusion over the differences between sleep and hibernation) have started regularly waking up early without the help of an alarm clock - all bright eyed and bushy tailed to boot! Now what sets me apart from those morning people is that I don't ever actually get up out of bed when this happens; I usually just lay there or go back to sleep for a while. If it happens to be one of those rare mornings where I am not incredibly lazy, I like to turn on NPR and listen to Morning Edition while I drift in and out of slumber. Today was one of those radio days. Unfortunately, it was also Pledge Day for the radio which is always a bummer.
While I lay in bed listening to Carl Kasell seemingly speak directly to me chiding me about loving public radio so much and being too cheap to contribute, I was almost convinced. I was just reaching for my phone (or dreaming about just reaching for my phone - reality and dreamworldsville get very mixed up during these mornings) when their next news story started up.
It was more than one of the normal quick 5 minute stories. It was a little segment. . . all about EYE SURGERY!!* I could have died! It started off with discussion of laser surgery and corneas. Painful for me, but doable. THEN they switched over to talk about the first man who figured out how help people who are nearsighted - which included talk of that round blinky thing that makes you see and a SCAPEL!! And of course, due to my Lazy Disease, I was forced to just lay there making loud humming noises so that couldn't hear the awful, awful words they were saying.
Ira, Carl, Diane, Steve, Renee, Garrison, Neil, Tom and Ray, I want you all to know that I love you and I love what you do. I want to support you with more than my ears and my laughs and my cries and my thoughtful introspection and my screams of fury. I wanted to become a member - and I tried (or, at least, dreamt about trying)! But if there is one thing that I will probably never be able to overcome it is the words eyeball and. Scalpel. Being in the same sentence.
*For those of you who have not spoken to me for longer than five minutes, you probably don't know that I have an incredible eye + vaguely sharp things phobia. To quote my uncle Matt - It's so bad that odds are pretty good that I will be the crazy old lady in goggles.
While I lay in bed listening to Carl Kasell seemingly speak directly to me chiding me about loving public radio so much and being too cheap to contribute, I was almost convinced. I was just reaching for my phone (or dreaming about just reaching for my phone - reality and dreamworldsville get very mixed up during these mornings) when their next news story started up.
It was more than one of the normal quick 5 minute stories. It was a little segment. . . all about EYE SURGERY!!* I could have died! It started off with discussion of laser surgery and corneas. Painful for me, but doable. THEN they switched over to talk about the first man who figured out how help people who are nearsighted - which included talk of that round blinky thing that makes you see and a SCAPEL!! And of course, due to my Lazy Disease, I was forced to just lay there making loud humming noises so that couldn't hear the awful, awful words they were saying.
Ira, Carl, Diane, Steve, Renee, Garrison, Neil, Tom and Ray, I want you all to know that I love you and I love what you do. I want to support you with more than my ears and my laughs and my cries and my thoughtful introspection and my screams of fury. I wanted to become a member - and I tried (or, at least, dreamt about trying)! But if there is one thing that I will probably never be able to overcome it is the words eyeball and. Scalpel. Being in the same sentence.
*For those of you who have not spoken to me for longer than five minutes, you probably don't know that I have an incredible eye + vaguely sharp things phobia. To quote my uncle Matt - It's so bad that odds are pretty good that I will be the crazy old lady in goggles.
10.10.2006
The Sacrifices One Makes to Reset the Balance of the Universe
I consider myself to be a regular good person. I care a lot about my friends and family while at the same time still caring about how much time I can ignore all of them and watch crappy TV. I listen when people talk to me when they are making sense. I give thoughtful gifts when I want attention. I love and care for my pets . . . most of the time. I'm one of those normally nice people. So when the forces aligned tonight to put me in the same room as one of the devil's underlings I was unsure that my mere average sized good personness would be enough to balance the cosmic good vs. evil scales. Yes, that's right; when my mom and I ran into Borders earlier tonight to grab two work-related books we were shocked to see none other than Mr. Never Again himself, John "Ashy" Ashcroft!
He and I exchanged a quick glance before he coddled and cuddled another tiny baby patriot with his clammy crazyhands.
My mom stalked between bookcases just to get a quick look at his wrinkly countenance. "He looked at me and squinted like a hawk!" My mom later said of their momentary exchange.
I went into a quiet panic. "I must do something," I thought, "to help the balance and make a point!" I began searching around, grabbing at every vaguely liberally-titled book I could see. "I'll buy every liberal book I can in order to offset the balance of his minimally well-attended book signing. That will affect . . . something. Right?"
I stood tottering at the edge of the line with at least 43 bold statements of my political slant weighing down my tired arms. Was this too much? Could it possibly be worth having these ridiculous comedy hand-on-hips, smirky, sarcastic jokey articles sitting around my apartment just to try to prove something about one person's beliefs vs. the 50 or so glassied-eyed, eager signees'? I dropped the stack of "RepublICKans" and so forth, picked up a compilation of American short stories, and was done with it all.
Take that, Ashy! In the end, I didn't even care enough to buy Garrison Keillor's political rants for $11 to make some point about you. How's them short-pants fittin' ya?
He and I exchanged a quick glance before he coddled and cuddled another tiny baby patriot with his clammy crazyhands.
My mom stalked between bookcases just to get a quick look at his wrinkly countenance. "He looked at me and squinted like a hawk!" My mom later said of their momentary exchange.
I went into a quiet panic. "I must do something," I thought, "to help the balance and make a point!" I began searching around, grabbing at every vaguely liberally-titled book I could see. "I'll buy every liberal book I can in order to offset the balance of his minimally well-attended book signing. That will affect . . . something. Right?"
I stood tottering at the edge of the line with at least 43 bold statements of my political slant weighing down my tired arms. Was this too much? Could it possibly be worth having these ridiculous comedy hand-on-hips, smirky, sarcastic jokey articles sitting around my apartment just to try to prove something about one person's beliefs vs. the 50 or so glassied-eyed, eager signees'? I dropped the stack of "RepublICKans" and so forth, picked up a compilation of American short stories, and was done with it all.
Take that, Ashy! In the end, I didn't even care enough to buy Garrison Keillor's political rants for $11 to make some point about you. How's them short-pants fittin' ya?
10.06.2006
Will You Pinky-Swear on it, Mr. Ashcroft?
John Ashcroft, the former Attorney General and the poor fool who lost to Mel Carnahan's corpse here in Missouri, has written a book. (I know! I too was shocked that he could put together enough sentences.) The title of the book is "Never Again." Granted, the man is awful, but I still can't help feeling sorry for him for just really walking into that joke. Then again, perhaps he is finally doing something positive for us.
Do you promise, John? Could this possibly be the last that we will hear from you? Will you really never, never again make any decisions that will affect anymore than a dozen people? Because you owe us at least that much. Sure, you made us laugh with that great joke you told on NPR the other day. You know? - the one about how Bush has respected and done more for our personal freedoms during a time of war than ANY other president - ever. Yeah, that hearty guffaw you gave us was great, but if you keep this promise, you might actually go down in history as somewhat of a philanthropist (Whoops! Sorry, didn't mean to confuse you. That means a person who does good things for people just for the sake of doing good things.) It could be a good move for you - you know, once your singing career bottoms out, you'll have something to fall back on. Consider it, Ashy. For us?
Do you promise, John? Could this possibly be the last that we will hear from you? Will you really never, never again make any decisions that will affect anymore than a dozen people? Because you owe us at least that much. Sure, you made us laugh with that great joke you told on NPR the other day. You know? - the one about how Bush has respected and done more for our personal freedoms during a time of war than ANY other president - ever. Yeah, that hearty guffaw you gave us was great, but if you keep this promise, you might actually go down in history as somewhat of a philanthropist (Whoops! Sorry, didn't mean to confuse you. That means a person who does good things for people just for the sake of doing good things.) It could be a good move for you - you know, once your singing career bottoms out, you'll have something to fall back on. Consider it, Ashy. For us?
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