Oh, my stars and garters!

Dagnabbit!

I wanted to register a domain name, but it's taken. The pisser is that it's taken by an uninspired, low-content family website that features an animated American flag .gif, horribly pixelated photos, and fonts such as Comic-Sans MF. It also looks like it hasn't been updated in at least six months.

They don't really care about it, I can tell. But I do. I want their domain name; I need it. I want to take it, make it beautiful, and use it to bring joy to people.

The .net and the .org are taken, too. I see some doofy hyphenation in my future.

Highly unfortunate personal-appearance issues, which, taken together, could possibly cause me to be confused with a five-dollar whore on the last night of shore leave:

1. My chapped lips.
2. The zit at the corner of my mouth.
2. The mass of scrapes and bruises on my knees that resulted when I slammed into my bike pedal and engaged in a poorly exectued series of acrobatics, respectively.
3. The lemon yogurt I spilled all down my shirt and inner thighs.

Don't worry, though.  Because I've moisturized, dressed modestly, dabbed up the mess, and pointed these problems out to everybody who reads this, I'm sure no one will ever notice.

I'm tired, y'all.

I guess I'll be working a lot in the next few months, but I promise not to turn this site into a tedious box score listing my hours each day.

First, though, I'm going to break that vow immediately by saying that I worked until 3:30 a.m. yesterday and then most of the evening today. I am a little weary right now.

Really, working every day, or nearly, just means I have to be more savvy about finding my fun where I can--sleeping a little less, hit-and-run lunches with friends, riding my bike to work, racing to the bar before last call--and letting things slide if I have to. So long as the bills get paid, the groceries get bought, I see my friends a couple times a month (it helps that I live with a few of them), and I don't wear the same pair of pants more than three days in a row, I figure I'm in good shape for the time being.

Ah, who the hell am I kidding? That's pretty much my philosophy all the time.

This is post number six hundred and sixty-six.

Hey, everybody! Look at me! I'm eeeeevil!

(I think I've got the banality aspect of it nailed down, at least.)

Have a good weekend.

Wednesday-Friday

I took half of the cake to work. It went fast.

I worked last Sunday, and just found out I'll be working this Saturday and Sunday, too. Assuming I don't work next weekend as well, I'm in the middle of a 13-day workweek. Woohoo! Hiphophump day, y'all!

Eh, it's not so bad. We get our overtime in the form of precious, lovely vacation hours, which I'd much rather have than time-and-a-half.

Donkey dick. Cake. But hopefully not donkey-dick cake.

Work tonight sucked a donkey dick. Unfortunately, the details aren't the slightest bit interesting.

I really, really wish I'd kept a blog when I worked at 7-Eleven because then when I said my night sucked a donkey dick, it meant a sorority girl had vomited mushroom pizza all over the copy machine or a bum got stabbed in the hand and came in for a quick beer before the ambulance showed up, gushing fountains of blood all over everything he touched. That would have been much more fun for you to read about, I bet. I'll still take the boring-style suck over mopping up Tri Delt spew-style suck, though, no problem. Sorry to be selfish, but that's just the way it is.

Anyway, now I have a beer and what I hope will be a delicious cake in the oven, so things seem a little better now. 

I don't bake much because usually it makes me cranky, but every once in a while I'm moved to. I was moved to this week when my boss brought in fresh eggs from her chickens the other day and I managed to snag a half-dozen.

It seemed a shame to hardboil these eggs and hack them up over a salad, which is how I usually eat them. (If you read Bakerina, you know the importance of good eggs.) So I decided to make the same cake  I made last time, which was about a year ago.  It's a lemon-blueberry cake with white chocolate-cream cheese frosting. If I had to pick, gun to my head, I'd choose tangy fruit over sweet chocolate, no contest. But this cake is nice because I get to have both. 

Candies that suck:

Purple Skittles
Blue SweeTarts
Jelly nougats

Thank you

To the person who left the present on our front porch tonight: Thank you. Eric was touched, and it currently graces the beer fridge. We're trying to think of appropriate places for it to go next.

To everyone else who has no idea what the hell I'm talking about: You'll just have to come over and have a beer someday. What good is having a blog if you can't post the occasional inside joke or veiled message?

Do the worky-jerky

Oh, shit, I'm so restless I've been standing at my desk most of the time, doing a little foot-shifting dance while I work until I hear someone coming and slide down into a sitting position. I've been doing this all week.

I like the night shift because evenings and nights are my most energetic, productive times. But on second thought, why waste my very best hours on work?

Because if I have to get up before 9 a.m. I never get more than five hours of sleep a night, is why. Then none of my hours are productive, just achy, fuzzy, and miserable. There's just no getting around the fact that any day in which you have to spend eight hours at work will not be ideally arranged for you to do all the fun shit you want to do.

Catch-22

I'm too tired to get ready for bed.

State of the Me

I'm antsy. I'm microwaving a frozen meal, but it's one of the good ones from the froufrou natural foods section. I keep chewing on tea tree oil-impregnated (really, that's what it says on the box) toothpicks, and they make my lips burn so good. I want to play pinball. I want a big, loud thunderstorm. I want to go out of town. I want a bucket of fried chicken and a six-pack of Lone Star. I need to put away my laundry. I need to get my dinner out of the microwave so someone else can use it.

Art!

My friend Lyman sent me a link to the fabulous 1/25-scale foamcore world of Tom Sachs. This might be the best thing that happened to me all day. Start with the movies and at least hit the delinquency chamber on your way out.

I'd also like to throw in a link to David Shrigley's site for good measure. I love David Shrigley, and it would be fine with me if someone wanted to buy me his salt and pepper shakers.

Presidents' Day

Last year on Presidents' Day I recognized one-month wonder William Henry Harrison.
 

In keeping with the spirit of celebrating lame, crappy, or boring presidents, I bring you our 29th president, Warren G. Harding, who served from 1921 to 1923.

Mr. Harding played the cornet, was prone to nervous breakdowns, and died midterm of a heart attack as a whole flotilla of scandals surrounding his presidency threatened to break open.

Yay! Happy Presidents' Day, everyone! (And yes, I do have to work today.)

Sunday night

I spent some time at my sister's house tonight, drinking wine and screwing around with the astonishing amount of sports equipment she and her boyfriend keep in their garage. Ever played darts with boxing gloves on? Not the best idea I've ever had, I admit. Fortunately we didn't fuck up the wall too badly.

The drive home was eerie-scary, due to fog so dense I could see it rolling around under the streetlights. It was so thick I couldn't even tell where I was because all the exit signs and landmarks were obscured until I was right under them. It was fun, though, in a hurtling-toward-the-abyss kind of way, especially on the flyovers.

Then I got home to find Eric, somewhat drunk and upset about the Hunter S. Thompson news. I was a little bummed out myself. When I was 18 I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with a friend, and we were inspired and decided we should, you know, do something. And thus the plan for the Lamest Hitchhiking Trip Ever was hatched.

We stayed up all night, took a couple of packs of Mini Thins, and thumbed our way from Austin to--get ready--Plano, Texas. In our defense, we were both sort of in between places and figured at least we could stay at his parents' house for a few days for free. And, despite the stupendously lackluster destination, we had a blast. But I never did it again, and I really feel like I wasted a good hitchhike on that one.

Anyway, Eric was a big fan and has read everything of his he could get his hands on for years, so he was really sad, so much so that he surprised himself. He drank a number of boilermakers very quickly, showered, and went to bed early. Me, I'm just sitting here all of a sudden really pissed off that with all that inspiration and energy my friend and I didn't at least try for someplace worthwhile. Mexico's only four hours away, for Christ's sake.

Dear everyone I know in real life,

You are all too kind to bring this up, of course, but I wanted everyone to know that I realize my hair looks like a big puffy puffball. I know that it's becoming more strange and shapeless by the day. I know that it tends to kink up and gather into tiny wings in high humidity, and I know that when I try to rein this tendency in by applying too much product, it looks like I combed a family-sized tub of Shedd's Spread Country Crock through it. 

Despite all this, please be aware that I'm not letting myself go, at least no further than usual. I'm just tired of having short-short hair and am trying to grow it out a little. As you all know, I'm willing to suffer any indignity in the name of beauty, so please be patient with me during this difficult transition.

Love,
Joolie "helmet head" B.

Tragedy

I wish I didn't feel like someone's forcing a bale of razor wire through my left sinus cavity, because if it weren't for that I'd be feeling almost chipper.

Around town

"Dress like a prick." Bulletin board, Texas Union.

Honest, it's not. It's a rundown city office building on the grounds of the old airport.

MLK and I-35. I don't even want to know.

The mail has been so good this week.

So far, I've received:

• A beautiful valentine from Molly Goatwax.

• A Mountie postcard and another valentine from Wendy.

(Back when I only got one channel, there was a show about a Mountie that I always watched on Sunday nights. Did anyone else ever see that? He was working in tandem with the U.S. Marshals or something, and always got into wacky scrapes and jurisdictional arguments. Or something like that; I don't remember. It was a while ago. Anyway, he was adorable. That is my one and only Mountie story. The end!)

• A glossy photo of the Monkey Town Singers.

• A self-portrait of Kristin's torso, with a note on the back lamenting that she was wasting "a good rowdy" on work.

• Another valentine from my stepgrandparents. I didn't get to have Jewish grandparents until I was 16, but now I feel sorry for anyone who doesn't. The only thing I regret is that I was way too old to call them Bubbe and Zayde by the time I met them, but that's okay because I get to hear my little cousins say it.

• A nice e-mail from a 15-year-old girl who likes to draw comics.

• And Eric got a very sweet note from his father, thanking him for the visit.

Damn, y'all, thanks. That ruled!

I'll make you over with a 2x4.

Wow, I forgot how depressing afternoon TV is, with its shitty production values and the our-target-audience-is-composed-of-total-losers- who-are-not-at-work-right-now commercials that tell pathetic, underemployed you how to apply for technical school, consolidate your credit, or patent your amazing invention, all of which of which will put you on the road to make $$$! Unless the pursuit of these things bankrupt you, ruin your life, and cause you to take your disappointment and rage out on your spouse and kids until they leave you in the middle of the night and no one loves you. No one at all.

Today Eric and I were eating lunch at 888 and they were blaring Ambush Makeover on Fox on the huge TV over the bar. (TV? Bar? Never mind. I'm not going to get into why 888's own makeover makes me want to cry and cry for all the things I've ever lost.)

I'd never heard of this show, and of course it was terrible. I didn't want to watch it, but it was loud and colorful and directly across from me, so I really had no choice.

The less said about it the better; we all know these shows are shitty.*  Except I have to say I loved it when they interviewed the women's boyfriends. None had necks, all had thinning buzz cuts, all were at least 20 pounds overweight. And yet: "She don't wear makeup, always has her hair up in a ponytail," one of them groused when asked why he felt his already quite attractive fiancee needed an Ambush Makeover.

Another one paused, thought, and said, "Yeah, she really needed a change....It's good for her." Then he nodded curtly. I think he thought that would come off as sensitive and caring--I only want what's emotionally healthy for my darling queen--but he sounded menacing. "Good for her" as in, she'll tart herself up and shake it for me a little, if she knows what's good for her. "Good for her" as in, I'm not much attracted to my wife, but if she doesn't shape up, my fists just might be.

Dude, you have no neck and your face looks as though it were haphazardly carved out of lard. But good thing your wife got some highlights, because otherwise you'd have to leave that frumpy bitch, or at the very least kill her.

It was amazing.

Then they went back to picking out atrocious purple lipstick for the ladies. That was tragic but not nearly as interesting, so we quickly paid the check and left to get ready for our late-shift jobs that, sadly, are not as exciting or rewarding as those available in the growing field of dental hygiene.

*Aside from Cheaters, the show where they spy on people's significant others, hoping to catch them in the act. The host is such a smarmy, sanctimonious fuckhead that one of his targets stabbed him in the stomach. Cheaters is a trash-TV work of art. Sadly, we don't get it in Austin, even though I've written the local WB affiliate asking them to pick it up.

Toenails thumbnails

Wow, those are some pedicures.

Today: B+

I got the fucko buttons out today. I rode my freshly-polished bike to work, worked, rode home, waited for Eric to get home with big salad fixings, ate a big salad, and watched the last three episodes of The Office, which has on several occasions caused me to make bizarre, strangled "hoo hoo hoo" noises in my throat. I ran through it pretty fast, and now I'm fresh out of TV series to watch.

I need to get my hands on a copy of Spaced, I guess, or find something better to do with my evenings than sit on the couch in front of the television set, emitting hideous laughter.

Happy Valentine's Day

xoxo,
me

My weekend was all like, this happened, and then this, and then this:

So yeah, I said I went book and CD shopping yesterday. It'd been so long since I did either that when I was done I felt productive and virtuous rather than guilty for having spent over $100 in two hours on my personal entertainment and edification. I was going to type up a big list of what I got and why, but all of a sudden that seems like it would be boring to read (and to write). I haven't read or listened to most of it yet anyway. But I'm excited to have some new stuff. Oh, and I bought Girl Scout cookies, Thin Mints. They were delicious. 

I also mentioned that we went to Dan and Chad's house for dinner last night. Since Dan has already gone to the trouble to write about everything I wanted to say already, I'll let him tell you about it if you want to read it. (He has more softcore bubble bath shots, too!)

Although I will say that a kid attempted suicide in front of their house last night by jumping in front of a random car no more than thirty seconds before we pulled up. Eek yikes wow.

Bathtime!

Tomorrow I will tell you all about my day, including my shopping spree and a very interesting dinner. For now, I'll leave you with a bit of advice: if you go to a gathering at Dan and Chad's house, it pays to stay late:

 

Get away, get away, don't soil in my head

I just wanted you to know that my boyfriend has enough Japanese skinhead music in his record collection that he is right this minute burning a compilation CD of it all. I was amazed to learn this; he's never so much as mentioned it before, but there it was all along, nestled in his vast collection of records.

If experimental Russian computer music from the mid-1980s is more to your liking, he's got that, along with a very stirring recording of the Colombian army marching band, German prog, long-forgotten country swing bands, and on and on and on, and that's all on top of the usual stuff you might expect.

The fact that he worked in record stores for most of his 20s has absolutely nothing to do with this, of course.

Chase down Mr. Inky Dink

Eric got phase two of his tattoo tonight. The guy originally thought he could knock it out in a few hours, but he's crazy. There's still lots of coloring left to do on that shoulder. I'm gonna wait until it's all done to show the before, during and after pictures, but I can tell you that it's really something.

Now Roo Roo wants one, and Receptionista's been talking about getting a few more. I don't have any, but I've been thinking on it for a long, long time. I have an idea (if you know what it is, don't spill!) that I've had since I was 16 or 17, and I still kind of want it, which indicates it has some staying power. The problem is that it's (to me, at least) very funny, but it's also very dumb; in fact the idea was conceived during a conversation about the dumbest tattoo you could possibly get. Plus it would be probably be very difficult to make it look just right.

So I'm still undecided, especially about where to put it if I do get it, but if I am going to get a tattoo, I think my rapidly approaching 30th birthday would be an excellent time. Don't you?

Pointy needs a transplant!

Oh, no! I've been spending so much time babbling about how great Pointy is that I haven't bothered to see how he's actually doing.

The thing is, Pointy is not so great right now. I mean, he's still great in my book, but he's also a little dehydrated and beginning to be root bound.

This is sad. I was so taken with his compact size and unassuming nature, so busy celebrating his fabulousness by making buttons and T-shirts and what not, that I never stopped to think he might be getting cramped in his cute little terra cotta pot.

Much as I like him small, I'm stunting him, dragging him down. He's not a bonsai kitten or an imperial-era Chinese woman's foot. He's my buddy. He's given me nothing but joy, and now it's time I helped him thrive.

So I've given him some water, and tomorrow I'm going to buy a bag of soil and ask the office horticulturalist for some replanting advice. Forgive me, sweet Pointy. I didn't mean to let you down.

Scrooge McBitch

I'm not much of a donor, but occasionally when something makes me very mad or very sad, I'll write a check to assuage my conscience. This minor act always means I go on another mailing list, and I'm going to get junk mail, lots of it.

It's not so much the mail I mind, it's the waste. I know that nonprofits are perpetually short of funds, and I know they need to spend a little money to get more in return. But I'm a bad bet.

Uninvited

Maybe this is a little juvenile, but I have to say that channel surfing's been a lot more fun since I did this:

Tweet tweet tweet

I bonked my head on the coathook in the bathroom stall. It really hurts.

That's all. Houseguest, work, vague nagging sense that I'm being incredibly lame and not doing anything I'm supposed to. Waste, wreck, ruin in very slow motion, etc.

I feel a big virtuous unsexy atonement project of some sort coming on. I'm afraid I'm going to have to start with several loads of laundry and work my way up from there. Doing laundry seems appropriately penitential, plus it'll free up some space to do other things.

Nightcap

I'm no longer sick, but I'm still enjoying hot toddies before bed:

Boiling water
Two teabags--I like lemon tea, but chamomile's good for that extra boost of drowsiness
Half a lemon
A shot or two of whiskey
A squeeze of honey big enough that the bottle makes that wheezy farting sound

Pour into a big mug, steep, and stir.

Drink it like it's candy.

Cakewalk

Oh, crap, that's right, I was supposed to be more fun and productive this week. But too bad! I've discovered my new favorite thing: sleeping for 12 hours a day.

Listen, it's so great. It's economical--you don't need to eat as much, and you don't have time to go out and drive around, burning gasoline and buying a bunch of stupid shit you don't need. It's relaxing--instead of worrying about things you can't change or pissing off your friends, you're just tucked out of the way.  Plus it's fun; after you get past your normal allotment of REM sleep, your dreams start to get really twisted and vivid.

Before I would make myself get up every day, move around, talk to people, work on projects, learn things. God, I was such a dumbass! For the simple act of expending no extra effort whatsoever, I can turn off my alarm and go on a meandering helicopter ride, watching everything below me burn into cinders.

Shhhhh.

Eric's father is here from Florida for a short visit. He goes to bed early so we're trying to be quiet.

The weekend was just fine. Yesterday I slept a lot. I had a really excellent dinner with nice friends. I saw a band and played pinball. I stayed up too late talking to Melinda and then drunkenly trying to coax the stray cat inside.

Today I slept some more. I cleaned the bathtub, Eric grilled steaks, and we pretended to watch the Super Bowl, all in honor of his dad's arrival. Dan brought good cookies for dessert.

I think the boring-ass cold has finally subsided--my ears aren't ringing and I'm not achy for the first time in days. I hope this week will be more fun and productive than the last. Having fun takes a little energy, you know, and that's been in short supply lately. But I'm sure you couldn't tell.

Dragging on and on

Still I am sick. Not truly sick enough to be home and snuggled up in bed with my smelly cat. Just sick enough that I haven't felt like doing much more than the bare minimum: sleep, work, eat, bitch boringly about being sick, watch tv, sleep. Not the most exciting existence, but I guess I'm grateful that I don't feel like utter dogshit.

But I can offer you a tip:

When your nose is running and you must reach for the closest paper product, avoid the little takeout package napkins. You know, the ones that come in plastic baggies with the utensils and the seasonings.

See, the seasonings include little paper packets of black pepper, which are highly pungent and will taint everything they come in contact with. You will be expecting comfort and release. Instead you will blow your nose, and then you will sneeze and sneeze and sneeze into this harsh, stiff, pepper-scented napkin. Your eyes will water violently, and you will feel very poorly indeed as you spray aerosolized mucus everywhere and wonder what horrible trick you'll play on yourself next.

Trust me on this.

Hey, fuckos!

JuicyV gets a fucko button for coming up with the idea. E-mail me, Juicy, and I'll hook you up.

I have six more I'd like to send out to the first six commenters who leave an e-mail address. 

This time, though, I'd like to try something. This time, I'm asking that you send me a little something in return. I don't much care what--a postcard, a doodle, a recipe for your favorite icebox pie--so long as it comes from you to me through the mail. Don't tell me. Let it be a surprise.

If you really don't think you'll wear a "fucko" pin, you're only cheating yourself, but I can substitute a Pointy, vampire, or fishy one instead.  Let me know.

The only people exempt from this offer are my roommates, because getting mail from them would present some difficulties.

Rats

Aw, I missed the State of the Union speech because I'm at work. Shit and darn.

So, how was it? Are we still going to Mars?

My brain is made of margarine

Guess what happens when you don't do anything all day but work, drink hot toddies in front of the TV, and sleep until three p.m.? 

That's right, I have nothing to talk about, unless you want to hear about my dreams, my mucus production, or why I love the second season of The Wire above all others (you don't).

So maybe something will happen later, and I'll tell you about it then. That'll be fun, won't it?

I'm not getting sick

I'm not. Nuh-uh, no way. Fine! I'm fine!  No, really. This deep rattling cough and intermittent dizziness? Why, that's just me being silly. Funny funny Joolie! Tee hee hack hack hee! Get it?

Right now Eric is off getting his big new tattoo colored in.  I'll put up a picture when it's all done, but for now all I'm gonna tell you is that the predominant color is going to be lavender. I can't wait.

Edit: Boo. No tattoo coloring today. Maybe next week.