The Friday Five, Santorum-ed for your Moral Pleasure.

1. What do you think of those who “save” their “virginity” for marriage? Do you find this practice spiritual and profound, commendable-but-pointless, or just dumb?

think it is fairly silly. however have an indian friend who is waiting for marriage for traditional reasons and i seem to find this commendable for some reason.

2. Did you feel any guilt the first time you had sex or an overtly sexual encounter?

no guilt. only excitement

3. Do you think a virgin and a slut can ever have a harmonious sexual relationship?

sure!

4. Did you/do you care who you lost/will lose our virginity to? Or were you indiscriminate and just lookin’ to lose it?

indiscriminate and just lookin’ to lose it

5. Brook Shields lied about her virginity back in the halcyon days of Princeton and disco biscuits. Have you ever lied about your relative chastity or “number” to anyone?

i think once when i was 13 i lied and said i wasn’t a virgin. it was along the lines of “yeah i have a boyfriend and i’ve slept with him… but he lives in canada”

you know that thing… when you pretty much know you don’t want to do something. say… go up to Santa Barbara for the weekend.

you have a million things to do. work to catch up on, laundry to do, you were gonna go see this band at that Goth bar…

but then your boyfriend tells you he is going up to Santa Barbara for two days. he’s going to be working. and his work friends are pretty nice. they’ll be out drinking and shit and talking about work at night. but you could go and stay in the hotel with him.

i don’t want to go. but if I don’t go I am going to feel jealous. i pretty much can’t win.

if i stand firm and don’t go and spend a peaceful weekend getting shit done, lying around and reading, etc. I’ll have a good time.
but the second he gets home I’ll be pissed. “what?! you went to that bar with the couches and apple martinis with out me?!?! you said we were going back there together god dammit!”

if I go, I will be bored most of the time. I’ll be irritated that we have to go out with M. as i find him to be a scum bag misogynist. “what?! We have to go the bar with the couches and apple martinis with M.?!?! why? I hate that guy. FUCK!”

okay, I hate chicks like that. But I’m one of them.

i kinda do feel bad that she lost it. i didn’t want to say anything because it’s a dumb reason. but it was something that had been his. whenever i looked at it i thought about him and now it’s gone.

i felt the same way that time i lent another man an ex-boyfriends socks. and i never got the socks back. so then, whenever i felt sad i couldn’t put his socks on anymore. they were warm and fuzzy and the boxers he left here are falling apart. when i put them on the elastic crackles with age. pretty soon i will have to get rid of them. but of course i never will, instead i will put them away in a box in the garage and keep them until i am 90.

i was listening to some thing on NPR the other day about some study of how our brains can be hardwired at a young age to people. i believe that applies to all kinds of things.

my old friends are my favorite ones. i love the music from when i was young best. i still miss my high school sweet hearts and that is why i secretly keep their socks and boxers to wear when i feel lonely.

i am drowning in my own non-personality.

dude, is he checking my email? that fucker was one of those people who _watched_ your fingers as you typed so that he would know all your passwords.

i have a feeling he has been looking at my hotmail account. i just changed y password. but i hate changing my passwords as i can’t fucking remember 3 million passwords. i can barely remember where i live for Christ’s sake.

i had this horrible nightmare this weekend. i was in college and living in a dorm with a roommate. i was my current age and my roommate was a very nice girl but she was typical 18 year old freshman and so she seemed really young and naive to me.
i returned home to my room after a vacation and i saw some of his stuff on my bed. i asked he about it and she said that he had been hanging around in our room with her. and how now they were friends and how sweet he was.
it was clear that there was a burgeoning love affair happening. and i was really torn and irritated.
what to do?
try to convince her that he is a jerk and not someone to date? or let her make her own mistakes? but also to somehow maintain my own privacy. such as, you are not allowed to let this person into this room since i share it too.

it was doubly irritating as i could see into both of their brains and see what was happening. how i was morphed into the bad person. and how it was all about fate. it was meant for me to be the asshole so that they would eventually meet and fall in love. fate. how they would in typical 18 year old fashion, confess all of their pathetic weak shallow souls to each other and find comfort. how i could look on and see the hollowness of it all. including how 2 years hence they would both see exactly what i see now.

irritating.

it has been far too long since i got good and drunk.

there is a good bar strip not far from my place but i always run into someone that i don’t want to see. and i hate paying for the cab ride home from somewhere further away, which invariably makes me feel worse physically. i’d rather walk the mile which helps me sober up enough to actually fit my key into the lock on my apartment door.

i usually don’t throw up because i try to drink with someone who knows my limit and will drag me out when i reach it. the last time i threw up was when i went out with some people i’d never been drinking with before. plus, they were all smashed beyond their own limit so they could hardly know mine. i had a pint of cider and three mixed drinks, then i started on the shots. i lost count around fifteen shots, and i wound up puking on the patio at the bar. of course it was a heinous sorority/frat place and all the rich coeds in their white cardigans and chinos were staring at me in horror. so i can pretty much never go back there again. which is okay, cause it wasn’t my kind of place to begin with.

when i drink it’s deliberately to get wasted. i never have a glass of wine to unwind or whiskey in my coffee or anything like that. it seems a colossal waste of money unless i’m gonna do it right. at which point if your phone number has ever been dialed by me, watch out, because i don’t forget numbers, even when i’m smashed. and you better believe i will call your ass at three a.m. no matter what time zone you are in so you can listen to me laugh and mumble incoherently.

isn’t that what friends are for?

if i live in a neighborhood that is predominantly greek and jewish, how come my local atm machine offers service in spanish? i mean really it’s not like i’m living in spanish harlem or anything, there aren’t that many spanish families around…

i was standing at the bus stop this weekend and after about ten minutes i realized that there were like fifty people around me and none of them were speaking english at all. i heard greek, spanish, italian, and several dialects of asian languages. it really bothered me. then it bothered me that it bothered me.

maybe i still feel afraid that they are talking nasty about me and i don’t know it? or am i way off base?

the real question is why am i still feeling that way on a semi-regular basis when i am supposedly an adult? do people who are rich and famous feel this way? is it because i am not completely mature and don’t have an ira or a 401k? does it go away if you get married and have kids or if you join the military?

are there any other so-called grownups besides me that feel like a stupid kid who doesn’t know any better at least three times a week?

once you have committed that mortal sin you always fantasized about you can never go back and it is just not quite the same anymore. like when you were a kid and you got busted by your parents, and all you could think about as they were beating the crap out of you was if i could turn the clock back just five minutes, i could have done something else and i would have been home free! and it is the worst feeling in the world because a little piece of whatever innocence you had is totally lost for the rest of your life.

i wonder if any of us, when we are old and gray, have any of that left anyway? is it all eroded by that point? or is that determined by the kind of lives we have led and the choices we’ve made? is it possible that when you are old enough that someone else has to take care of you, you earn a new kind of innocence that makes people take pity on you?

must learn to toot own horn more.
first must learn how to do that. then apply.

maybe ellie and i bitch too much about the people we work with? or maybe we just spend too much time at work.

for some reason i was thinking about an ex-boyfriend of mine this morning.
we had been going out for a while already and one day we were talking about sex, disease first dates and the like.

he told me that in his sex ed classes as a teenager they had shown super explicit close up pictures of what sexually transmitted diseases looked like.
despite this fact he seemed dolefully ignorant.

he confessed that the first time he had sex with someone (including me) he always did it during the day or with all the lights on.

this boggled me.
“and why did you do that“, i asked.
“so i could see if they had a sexually transmitted disease“, he replied.
more boggling on my part.
“soooo, what if they were just a carrier or in remission? did you whip out your speculum and microscope and dig in there to do some scientific research or what? and why not ASK the person first?” says i in high sarcasm mode.

my point here is that they guy was a fucking retard hick. and if he had such eagle eyes why didn’t he notice the weird little mole thing i have on my outer labia and call me on it?

i can picture him freaking out and throwing me out of his bed calling me a harlot or something. i would tearfully try to explain that it was just a mole and how could he not trust me! my blue mascara would be mingling with my tears as i gathered my pleather mini skirt, my hot pink thong and my spike heels off the floor and ran out of the room.

so this guy where i work…
well first of all he is a big dork. i can’t help but want to describe in in high schoolish terms. he’s an athlete but also a monty python nerd is you know what i mean.

he does the ‘dress for the position you want not for the position you have’ thing. sometimes he passes my cube and i almost spit my coffee out all over the screen. the shoe/sock/pant/shirt combos boggle my mind.
and he struts when he walks.

so last week he swaggers into work with what can only be described as ‘frosted’ highlights in his hair. holy shit. i heard someone say “oh you got your hair highlighted this weekend” and he vehemently denied it. claimed it always happened in the summer because he swims so much.

uh. no.

i could tell the person he was talking to wanted to make some kind of snide comment but didn’t. i have been debating with myself if i should fuck with him.
“hi! oh you got you hair highlighted! it looks grrrreat!” and then he would deny it and then i would call his bluff.

i just find it funny that this essentially grown man a. dyed his hair and b. felt it necessary to try to cover the fact up.

if you are going to go out and get a frost job my grandmother would be proud of please don’t bother to lie about it. it just makes you look doubly stupid.

dude! i forgot to say this.

smarmy guy always says stupid things to the hispanic cleaning lady. like she speaks spanish and he doesn’t, so he says dumb shit like hola! mucha burrito! grande cerveza! like she never heard a dumbass american say shit like that before?? that is so fucking original. and completely offensive.

this one time he stopped by when i was eating a banana and stuck his head in my cube. he acts all shocked and goes oh, it’s banana time? and i was like, um, yeah. and every time he passed my cube for the rest of the day he pointed his fingers at me like guns and goes, hey-hey, banana time!

can gps devices locate a specific cube on a specific floor of a specific building? i mean, i’m just curious is all.

could someone please, please explain to nonsmokers that saying a smoker “went out for a breath of fresh air” with sarcastic emphasis on “fresh” or doing that stupid quote thing in the air with their melodramatic fingers is possibly the oldest fucking joke in the entire world? and that it is simply just not funny anymore.

also.

there is this man i work with who comes sniffing around my coworker’s cube every day ten times a day. he calls her princess when she is not around. he is three times her age and would clearly hump her tan, waxed leg if given the chance. he is married with kids. he actually does leave his top two buttons open to expose his gold chain (bling-bling?). his large seventies-ish glasses are actually tinted (!!!!!). in short, he oozes cliche sleaze to the point where i am ready to file a complaint against him just for existing.

and on top of all that, when i have to actually work with him, ugh, he proves repeatedly that he does not know what the fuck is going on. he doesn’t know what the internet is at all. but every day he comes slinking around my cube looking for princess.

i must take a hot shower now. does regular soap dissolve UGH or does it require that industrial strength lava crap?

this girl i work with handed me a book by henry miller and said “read this chapter”. so i did, thinking it was classic literature. like maybe i thought it was henry james or something.

it was literary hardcore, with awesome metaphors skillfully describing a nasty tryst in the backseat of a taxi. i freaked out, because i’m thinking that my english teacher was pushing this guy on us in high school (turn of the screw, henry james, remember). later i made the connection when i got home and checked my bookshelf. i own turn of the screw though i have never read it yet. i glanced through it and found no trysts or sordid language. then i figured it out and felt like a moron.

however i now know that there is a trilogy of these books by henry miller called nexus, sexus and plexus. which sounds like hunter thompson or william s. burroughs re-writing that fairy tale about winken, blinken, and nod. or possibly the pornographic three little pigs.

must read all of them. must also re-read naked lunch to try and make more sense of it than i could when ellie loaned it to me all those years ago. must eventually work up to fear and loathing in las vegas.

must forget all the anne rice crap i read, too. it bugs me.

i want to kill people who steal my lighters and pens.

however, given the chance i will go completely klepto on even those i claim to love and admire. assuming the lighter or pen is that cool, i mean. so when people steal shit from me it’s mostly either cool shit that i found or cool shit that i stole from someone else, possibly them anyway. because who goes out shopping for cool lighters and pens? don’t they just seem to sort of cross your path? let’s be honest here.

when i was a kid we all did it and denied it vehemently. now it’s sort of this joke, where someone calls us on it and we admit it. then we give it back and we do it again later.

somehow as adults it’s all really amusing.

i love spam subject lines sometimes. here are a few from today:

Pound her peach
Pound her snake pit
find be happy

um? snake pit?!

here goes nothing…

i vow to become efficient at this!

pointy shoes, prissy skirt, gucci handbag. on your knees in the alley sucking your boss’s cock. 20 minutes later in your mercades on the way to your daddy’s house to play perfect little hostess princess. and then back home to your pink bedspread and giggling roommates.

you can fuck right off.

i go through these mousy and not mousy phases. it’s weird. and it surprises people who have thought of me as mousy and suddenly i am this bleach blonde tight clothes wearing whore all of a sudden.

who can blame them?

i can safely and not so humbly say that i looked fucking hot while out this weekend. somehow the lipstick stayed on perfectly, the white hair and sparkly makeup made me glow is a sexy way. my cute little tattooed belly ever so slightly peeking out. insanely high platform boots. hot.

last week at work cute boy met me outside for a smoke and was all like “so, you’ve been changing your look eh?” i sort of feebly tried to deny it. but being the serious dork that i am i had to launch into this huge discussion about it.

once when i was back in school there was this seriously sleazy teacher who always hit on all the girls. i was in a most serious mousy phase. mousy hair, clothes too big for me, quiet.
and then i chopped my hair and was in full tilt cute punk girl mode again. so this teacher starts in on me naturally. but i stopped his gob in hurry and in front of a bunch of people. he made some dumb comment about how i was blossoming or something. and i was like “oh yeah i guess you weren’t here when i was in my hot pink dreadlock phase.” “SO THERE MR. SLEAZIOD!”
he got fired for banging some freshman.

so anyway. i got quizzed by a girl friend this weekend about why i don’t have another boyfriend yet. i felt this hot rush of irritation. and tried to tell her that i just actually didn’t want one right now and it was clear that she didn’t understand.

it’s true tho. i cant bear the thought of having to have a boyfriend. i don’t want to have sex. i don’t want to have to do the ‘attract a mate song and dance’. i just don’t have the energy.

i have a little energy. and i am expending some of it in order to be out of mousy mode and into attractive mode. all the rest of my energy is going into things i like to do. and the things i like to do are not cool in the least. boys will not be into the things i like to do.

i abso-fucking-lutely do not have the energy to deal with the 300 lbs. of old relationship baggage that i am lugging around. i am unsure how to deal with it and so just can’t right now. and we all know that previous relationship baggage is supremely unattractive to the opposite sex.

so despite all my not wanting a boyfriend crap. i really kind of do want one. but i want one who wont fuck with me. i just want someone to be ‘around’ .i want someone i am already comfortable with. but that is impossible and would probably be really boring.

Baby steps ellie. Baby steps.

… i just cant help looking at men’s crotches. not because i even want to look at it. maybe it is that i know i am not supposed to be looking. so every time my eye moves it flickers over the crotch area.

this happened to me once in a job interview. the guy was wearing really really tight jeans reminiscent of high school headbangers. and he was sitting as if to accentuate his damn crotch! i couldn’t help it!!!
and then he was all smirking at me since im sure it was obvious i was looking.

how embarrassing!

maybe Emmie will marry me.
then we can be the wife and wife blogging team from hell.

i think i have a decoder ring somewhere…

i’ve noticed that on some blogs that are really boring there will be like 12 comments for each post. and other blogs that seem more interesting to me will have none.

why is this?

i am not a good friend. at all. i’m surprised i have any left. and when someone who has _sort of_ been my friend says something to the effect of “i will be friends with you but the friendship will be up to you”.

huh? what does that mean?

i think that means that all the effort of being friends will rest on my shoulders. as in, he will never call or email me or invite me to do anything. man. i am so tired of this shit.

why are people so touchy?
i think i need to make a list of all my friends and their phone numbers. i will tack it up on my fridge and every Sunday come hell or high water i will call them all and catch up.

what do you think? good?

i don’t even know why i am worrying about this person. he is nice and all. but … not like the coolest person i have ever met. i should just drop him like he is basically dropping me. right?

i figured out my only prospects for marriage.

i may have to become a born again Christian. that way i can explain away my tattoos as “my new birthmarks” and some horrid born again Christian guy will forgive me for having been a slutty tattooed wench for most of my life.
OR!
another exciting possibility would be to just marry some sleazy loser.

because normal nice guys don’t want chicks with tattoos. i know. because i am a normal semi-nice chick with big tattoos. and nice guys don’t like me. well, they may ‘like’ me. but they wont date me seriously.

and why would want one of those wankers anyway? uh. mainly because i don’t want a born again Christian or a sleazy loser that’s been in jail for the last 7 years.

um. i need a nice tattooed boy please. could someone round ‘em up for me?
*sniff*

i spent a long time as an adult with no money. “oh boo hoo for you”, you might say.
and you would be basically right.
in the grand scheme of things i have always been reasonably well off. as in, i have never had to live on the streets and have always had basic amounts of food and clothing.
but for years i was very poor. and it wouldn’t have been so horrible if almost everyone i knew wasn’t rolling in dot com money.

My early college years I was also typically without money. But so was everyone else. And it was fine. We would buy a 40 with change we found in public phone slots and hang out behind 7-11 or whatever. We had fun

so at this time, i couldn’t afford to go out to eat. ever. i couldn’t afford to go camping or go to the wine country or blah blah blah. i couldn’t afford to go to museums and art shows and retreats and raves and bars and play paint ball.
i couldn’t even afford to buy juice or meat at the grocery store. i drank sunny delight and ate pasta and beans. and it sucked.
and it sucked to watch everyone i knew do all those fun things that cost money.
so off they all went. and they became better friends because they were off having fun and spending money together.

now, i have money and can afford the little things we capitalists enjoy. and now all those people i knew are better friends with each other than they are with me. and i am jealous. “oh, remember that time we were all camping in Yosemite?” NO I DON’T! i was at home eating beans by myself fuck-o!

whatever. i am a whiner.

but he is so fucking sexy that i can’t help it.

i have seen him working, doing hard labor, not sitting at a desk yapping on a phone and diddling with a palm pilot. there is something amazingly hot about being so blue collar.

i know that he would get me out of a nuclear holocaust alive with the survival skills his tanned hands say he must have. he is probably not rich, but enjoys a good pint in a heavy pub glass. there is mischief in his eye, which is only replaced by an intense keenness when he is leveling something, judging distance or length. he could scoop me up with one arm and fling me over his shoulder. my half-hearted resistance wouldn’t faze him. he could restrain me with the same arm effortlessly.

yeah, he’d do that for me. i probably wouldn’t even have to ask.

when you are working
you look so confident that
i’d let you fuck me.

if you can carry
two bags of cement, then what
could you do to me?

tall, dark handyman
looped hammer in painter jeans
kiss me first, then bathe.

i knew she already had her wedding ring picked out before she even met the guy. she showed it to me online one day when we were both in the office over a weekend.

poor guy. he should have known better.

now he has to endure her joking but not really joking jokes about when he is going to propose/ which wedding ring he will give her/ how much money he should spend on said wedding ring/ within his earshot she is asking all the married people around her all about details of their proposals and weddings and honeymoons style and carat of wedding rings etc.

whoa. what an alien.

in a way i am really jealous that boys can get it up so quickly. i think that most girls are really not wired for quickies. those of us who do have quickies must not enjoy it as much as we could. either that or it is those women to whom the lube companies are talking when they advertise during prime time. the hot young slut who spends her day walking around dripping wet and waiting for cock is a porn fantasy!! and even that girl has a fluffer between takes. if such a woman exists in real life i guarantee you someone has already found her and she is therefore off limits anyway. i mean who would divorce such a woman?

possibly the answer is to spend an hour diddling and watching porn without actually getting off and then stalking a man for a quickie?

is it just me? or does everyone second guess everything that comes out of their mouth when transsexuals are around. if i say “hey you guys” i suddenly worry that they think i am making a reference to the fact that thy used to be men.

i have never had a dream where i was flying.
and this worries me.

i fear it means there is some fundamental flaw in my character that is keeping me on the ground. oh erica jong where are you when i need you?

i AM scared. all the time. this winter i chose something i was afraid to do. and i tried to do it. i tried to force myself to do this pretty small but scary thing. and i failed pretty badly.

i failed for several reasons.
i picked something that was scary but wasn’t something i really actually cared about. so my motivation to not be scared to do it was too little. also, in my initial panic i asked someone else to help me a little. and that person cared even less than i did so they lost interest and stopped helping pretty early on.

but now i am even more scared to attack all those scary things out there. and all this is even more disturbing to me because i never thought of myself as a person scared to face things or scared to do things on my own. it’s weird.

i don’t know myself at all.

so what does it mean when you dream you’re getting married? i have dreamed that like three times in the past month. and in no case was it something i wanted to do, it was always someone else planning it and being all gung-ho about it. i always wanted to run somewhere else and hide. and everyone around me seemed insane.

last night i dreamed that i lived in an apartment with no walls which was inside some type of industrial home improvement store. like that dream kitchen they have on display was mine, along with the dream bedroom. except without walls. and i was talking on the phone to ellie, who was for some reason extremely far away. and while we were talking some type of cosmic space rock fell straight from the sky through my dream skylight, utterly obliterating my dream apartment. and suddenly i was homeless. it also knocked out the telephone line, and cut me off right after oh, my god.

then all these people came the next morning to work there and shop there, and nobody seemed to give a shit about my ex-living quarters. i grabbed a chick in a suit with a walkie-talkie and explained to her that it had been my house, not just one of their stupid displays. she didn’t seem to understand and looked at me like i was certifiable for being in my pajamas and bunny slippers at a home improvement store. i think she called the cops on me. and i ran nonstop all the way to ellie’s apartment and slept on her couch. she comforted me with bonbons and a carton of cigarettes.

this girl i work with, who was in my last wedding dream, told me that she dreamed she had to hire a prostitute for some reason. later that night she also had a horrific dream that her front tooth was chipped in half. her mother thinks it all portends someone’s demise.

if someone could tell me it would spell the end of the marketing team, i would party like it was 1999.

i think i just heard someone say ‘digital meat’.

i noticed today that the chicks who work here all walk as though they are sashaying around on the runway. i don’t know, maybe that is just the way super skinny chicks walk. i find it to be extremely silly.
i think i have more of a stomping lope.

and there is one chick who every damn day i catch her in the bathroom reapplying makeup. COME ON! you work next the same shmoes every damn day. does your eyeliner have to perfect every second?

i apply one coat of makeup in the morning (if i remember) and then that’s it for the day. no primping for this hot chick!

i have also noticed that i can barely contain my tsk tsking or humphing or amused and disgusted chuckles at work. people are so fucking dumb i can’t stand it!
is that chick really that excited about the picture of a man, woman and baby the designer found for a web site? i really fucking hope not because if she is, she is a sad sad person.

alright i do the baby talk thing… to babies! and to small children, say age 0-4, after that they deserve to be spoken to like a normal sentient human.

baby talk is acceptable to animals too. it is just a fact that small children and animals respond better to a soft, high pitched cooing noise rather than the strident piercing shriek i use on adults.

if an adult ever again baby talks in my presence she is gonna get my fist in her throat. i mean it.

and worse, if i ever again get an email or see any sort of written baby talk I will be severely upset. People can’t even hear you for Christ’s sake. What is the point?!
Is it that you get your baby talking fix without the risk of someone punching you?

And if anyone tries this written baby talk in the same paragraph that they claim to be a writer… that will be the last straw. I will hunt them down and kill them.

when i was a kid i loved this phrase even though i didn’t understand it. (you remember that song “she’s a man eater!” by Daryl Hall & John Oates i believe).

when i was a teenager i adopted this as my secret motto after i felt taken advantage of by one too many boys. i would walk into a room and decide which boys were worthy my time and then i would deliberately set out to devour, use and abuse them.

I’m not sure which is worse. the boys who abused me out of ignorance, inexperience or just basic boy unawareness. or me, who was a cold and calculating man eater.

you and i both know that i don’t have it in me to be that kind of vile bitch anyway. so in the end you get what you want and i get a fucking ulcer.

happy?

yeah, me too.

that people like me who try to be responsible and considerate of others get criticized when we ask for one favor like every six months? meanwhile people who don’t ever ask, they only take what they want without thinking anything at all is wrong with it. so in essence they are blackmailing you and you put up with it. and because you are putting up with it, i can’t get a favor when i really need someone to help.

i really honestly don’t want to be a bitch, seriously! but i feel like you are giving me no choice, really. at all.

how is that fair to either of us?

for you ‘ku heads, i added a link to our haiku archive on the drop-down menu over there.

or you could just clicca qui.

how come on tv i see all these foreign language channels but i can’t get them without paying more? there is a show on a korean channel that i really want to see called with mother. i simply must know what it’s about!

there is another one on a chinese channel called snap! i’m a photographer! and of course fun with english must be great too. i suppose i would be content if i could simply see the hindi channel’s “romantic feature film” once or twice. i once saw an indian music video. it was very pop actually, except that the chick wearing the bindi probably actually wears one in real life, unlike madonna and j.lo. and the guy singing looked a lot like enrique iglesias, only indian instead of latino.

i had to watch it with the volume down though, because the sitar thing really bugs.

i am standing here!
can you see? please don’t hit me
with your shopping cart!

i get all obsessive about redesigning and forget to actually post anything of substance. not that there is ever substance here – 99% of the time we are the blog equivalent of seinfeld – but i feel bad that you guys have to listen to my whining about tags and browsers. so let me tell you about something i discovered this weekend.

hugh jackman is the closest thing to god that there is on earth.

no seriously. really great fight scenes always get me excited, particularly when it is a man fighting a woman. however, hugh jackman as wolverine nearly sent me into convulsions of pleasure when he was defending the house against the government guys that came barging in while people were sleeping. nobody i have seen fight on screen has ever injected such emotion into the fight choreography itself. he was a rage-filled machine, primal to the point of being artistic. i will see that movie again and again, and i will buy it on dvd, of course.

let me now say that cyclops is (and always has been) the luke skywalker of x-men. he is whiny and insufferable, and not even noble, really. jean grey is completely boring in the film, although i am hoping the ending left the door open for a movie version of her phoenix thing, which is exciting. rogue is not nearly southern enough, and she had no spitfire in her whatsoever. also she is too young. xavier and magneto are perfection, because patrick stewart and ian mckellen are two of the most perfect actors ever to walk the earth. iceman was cute but they didn’t do enough with him. and they started to run with pyro but chickened out.

all that said, when i grow up i want to marry a man with an adamantium skeleton. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

ok, i have to do something. this design is very clearly fubar in opera 7.10 and in netscape 6.2. i am trying to figure out why.

any css experts want to work for free? or for a plug.

a drop-down menu powered by blogrolling isn’t yet available, so i transferred all the links into a form element manually.

we didn’t purposely delink anyone lately, so if yours *was* there on the old design and now it’s not, drop me a line and point it out to me. my eyes are too tired to check every one. check the archive pages too.

she’s going to show you around the place.
don’t let the cotton candy fool you.

so excited!
inspired.
motivated.
fluid.

made three, count them — three –

new skins today. one includes a stunning comic book character. she is hot.

and yes, she’s completely dressed.
pervs.

i am seriously vitamin d deficient or something. i want to lay down on the hot roof of my building and not peel myself off for like a year.

it is warm now finally. french pedicure and toe rings, here i come!

i know what you mean
even when cartoons you draw
are not that funny

the toilet seat was cracked and it pinched my ass when i tried to stand up.