WHITE NOISE

Headache, Headache, Headache, Headache, Headache, Headache

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Bastardcramps, Bastardcramps, Bastardcramps, Bastardcramps

Get off the fucking phone, get off the fucking phone, get off thefucking phone

Bus is late, bus is late, bus is late, bus is late, bus is late, bus is late

No fucking seats, no fucking seats, no fucking seats, no fucking seats

On time for work, so that's good...on time for work...Good thing

Lots to do, lots to do, lots to do...where's that form, where's that form

More coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee, more coffee

Nice day though, nice day though, nice day though, nice...

I'm STARVING

That must be why I have a headache, that must be why...



...Headache, headache, headache, headache, headache.

Health, health, HEALTH, Dahlings.

Not to be smug or anything, but I've just had a pretty healthy week. Not a drop of booze, plenty of working out, back at work and being productive. Tonight I shall reward myself with a shitload of beer and fatty foods.

But all that boozing I did over my vacation is STILL working itself out through my system, so the dreams I've been having...YEESH!

Last night, it was Jay & Silent Bob, doing unspeakable things to a vending machine, while Shaquille O'Neal was doing circus tricks and slamming some guy into a plate glass window. Hilarious, I know.

Then one of my cats was mouthing off, and giving me an earful about not taking her to work with me.

The rodent up top in that beer and cheese picture reminds me of this. I used to have a guinea pig called Peaches. This isn't a picture of her, but it looks just like her. She died. I put her in the dumpster. Hey, I didn't have time for a rodent burial, I had to go to work. Guinea pigs are great pets, especially for kids. They're friendly, don't mind being held, don't smell as bad as some other rodents, and they only live about 5-7 years. Not a huge commitment, when you think about it. And you don't have to worry about huge vet bills. You bring a guinea pig to the vet, he laughs, clubs it to death, gives you seven bucks for a new one.

Peaches, R.I.P.

NUTS!!

Lo, though I have torn off my thumbnail trying to open a pistachio nut, I shall endeavor to keep the whining to a minimum. You can thank me by making a small donation to the charity of your choice, unless it's that one that buys a goat for a little boy in some small village in the middle of fuck-knows. I do not condone the purchase of live animals for people who will only eat the poor things.

"NO, boy! You're supposed to MILK IT, not EAT IT!! Never mind, give me the goat back, and stay away from them chickens unless you're only going after the eggs. I don't care if you're starving now. Immediate gratification is the privilege of rich, western countries. You'll just have to wait."


NOTE: This is not my thumb. Mine's much worse. No, really.

REAL MEN

Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong.


Ladies, you know you've hit a certain age, when you no longer find this attractive:

And what you now consider manly and attractive, is this:

Oh yeah.

How much longer do we have to wait for Season II of HBO's "ROME"?

TOO FUCKING LONG. Get a move on, you bastards.

Kids dig it

Back from vacation, and this is all I got.

.............Herd of cows:

............Colony of bats:

..........Gaggle of geese:

.........Shower of cunts:

Sebago Lake

Squeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Last leg of vacation. I'm at the lake. Later, bitches.

Vacation update

So, for the better part of the last year, I have worked my two jobs pretty much non-stop. I would get up at 6:30 am, work out, then do some freelance work whilst cooling down before my shower. (If you don't cool down enough after a workout, the shower just doesn't "take." I bet Fatmammycat knows what I mean.) Then I would do the freelance work during my lunch break at my regular job, then I would do the freelance work at home after work. Cook/eat/clean-up dinner, then back to my desk to transcribe interviews until I couldn't stand it anymore and dropped, to begin the whole process again the next day. Weekends? What weekends? I was working 7 days a week. FROM AUGUST OF 2005 until JUNE OF 2006.

Tired? You could say that.

Then, for some reason, this summer the freelance work dried up. A large job I was expecting has never appeared, and though I could use the extra money, the break has been kind of nice. And for the last week of July, I had LITERALLY NOTHING TO DO at work. So, when I realized that I had 25 days of vacation banked at my regular job, I thought, " 'allo! I'll just take this PAID time off, take the longest vacation I've had since grade school, go back to work August 21, and Bob's yer uncle, I'll be well rested and ready to whup my weight in wildcats well before registration."

Remember those limitless summer days when you were a kid? No agenda, all the time in the world, wandering hither and yon, at will? Well, that's the kind of vacation I was nostalgic for. Not one where you take one week off, only start relaxing on the Thursday, and then you go back to work on Monday, which is my usual M.O. But one where the summer seemed limitless...that's what I was after.

But being a clean freak, I would never be able to enjoy this kind of freedom if my house was a mess.

So, since coming back from Newport, I have spent 3 days getting this apartment absolutely spotless. The bathroom is gleaming, the floors are swiffered to slippery, shiny gorgeousness, the fridge is cleaned out, defrosted, organized and full of fresh, organic produce and other healthy comestables, rugs are vacuumed and dust-free, laundry cleaned, folded, and put away, and I am free to do whatever the hell I want.

What to do, what to do. Well, what better way to spend a beautiful summer afternoon than wandering around a graveyard?

So, after yesterday's workout, the longest I've allowed myself since I don't know when, I took a 3-hour stroll around Mt. Auburn Cemetery. I'm lucky enough to live within walking distance (about a mile from door to gate) and after 3 years of talking about it and never actually GOING, I decided yesterday was the day.


It's a spectacular, gorgeous place. Some beautiful and interesting statuary, beautifully landscaped, full of little gothic touches. A little medieval-looking chapel, a tower you can climb and see all of the Boston area spread out before you in all directions, a couple of ponds, some famous graves, and best of all? Because it was 3pm on a Wednesday, I pretty much had the entire place to myself.

I spent the first hour trying to find the tower. (The trees were so fully in bloom that you couldn't see it until you were under it, and I didn't want to stop at the office for a map. Maps? I didn't want no stinkin' map. The whole point was to wander aimlessly.) Evidently the tower is a monument dedicated to George Washington, though it wasn't built until 100 years after his death or something like that... I dunno.

Right, found the tower, climbed to the top, and stood at the top for about 20 minutes, feeling like the Queen of Absolutely Fucking Everything. When I climbed down? Well, my legs were a bit wobbly (from all the working out and the climb - my poor pale chubbies weren't used to all this work) so I found a little bench and took a breather. And when I got up?

WILDLIFE! I wandered to within 10 feet of a hawk, the size of a freakin' border collie, with a freshly killed quirrel in its claws, and he was staring at me as if to say, "Christ, woman, can't a guy have a quiet meal anymore?" I wished him a quiet bon appetit, and backed away slowly.

Then I found one of the little ponds, and a heron - I SHIT YOU NOT - flew over my head, no more than a few feet away. A HERON! Sweet, dancing Jaysus!

Then I got lost. For, like, an hour. And I started to worry. My legs were still twitching with lactic acid, I was starting to get thirsty, and this place covers about 175 acres - full of twist and turns and tree-lined paths. You can find a fence, sure, but it's more than likely across town from where you went in!

Anyway, I found my way out, obviously. And the walk home was a bit tough, what with the shaky legs and dehydration setting in. I'm sure I looked pretty frightening when I got to the Dunkin' Donuts in Coolidge Square and bought a lemonade, then guzzled the whole thing in one go. (And I NEVER drink those shitty, sugary drinks. But my body was screaming "SUGAR!!! GIMMEEEEE" so I did.)

My legs are killing me. Today? Maybe I'll drive to the mall.

Always better on holiday II

I am home.

Some people tan, some people freckle, some people BURST INTO FLAME. That'd be me, that last one. Because if I had done anything less than SPF 30, I would be toast. TOAST, I tell you.

I escaped from my one day at the beach, having gone from a pale-blue shade of "oh my God, what are you doing out of the morgue," to a soft, lightly freckled shade of "oh, so you DO respirate after all," sort of off-white, or ecru. I drank a lot, ate some interesting things, burned through Saul Bellow's Herzog (great novel, by the way. Surprising word-choice, very clever, funny, and sad. I recommend it!), slept like a rock, and learned the difference between sunscreen and sunblock. And made my sun-protection purchase accordingly.

But I should mention to anyone who is planning a vacation in the New England area anytime soon: The beaches at Newport...well, they kinda suck.

* You pay for parking

* They smell

* Seaweed. Not just a few bits, but it colored the water RED, and was really, really disgusting to swim in.

* They don't allow alcohol (okay, we got around this one by being subtle with it, and our clever use of 'cozies' but still)

* They close the beach before sunset, and kick everyone off. What? I can't watch the sun set on the beach? Bastards.


This business of not allowing people to have a few beers on the beach, policing of people's behaviors, and protecting them from themselves has got to stop.

"Why...when I were a lass, we 'ad bonfires, and walked the beach at all hours of the day and night. Weren't no authoritarian bastards tellin' us naw..."

All in all, though, it were nice.

Vacation

Eeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww!

Had to top the awful mankini photo on FMC's site.

I'm going to Newport, RI for a few days. Though I'm not a beach person, I married one, so I'll have to deal with it for at least one day. All about compromise, me.

Rest assured, I will not look like this charred corpse on my return. (Here's a tip: Invest in Aveeno skin-care products, as they are about to see a spike in sunblock sales. I'm covering up, and yes, that's a fair amount of canvas.) I'll be in the fetal position under an umbrella, slathering some SPF 5 million on, fanning myself with a copy of Vanity Fair, and whinging that none of the Newport liquor stores stock Cider Jack.

Good times.