embarrassing is not funny when it's you.

in elementary school when they wanted you to write an essay, seems like it was always something so stupid, like "what did you do this summer?" or "talk about your happiest memory" or "what is your most embarrassing moment?" all of these were as pointless now as they were to me back then. i was in the 4th grade people. my happiest memory? i really liked the cocoa pebbles i had this morning? give me a break. embarrassing moment? this one is fraught with possible disaster to me, as i'm sure there had to be moments of pee-in-pants and throwing up in front of the class that had to go through little minds with this one. i never really had an embarrassing moment, so i usually made up something asinine like grabbing a strangers hand at the mall because i thought it was my mom. wow. was my face red. ugh.

you have to get some life on you to understand what it's like to be truly embarrassed. to walk out of the bathroom with your dress tucked into your panty hose (BTW can i please hear it for bare legs coming into style? good lord how i hate panty hose...anyhoo). but more often that not, embarrassing shit is hard, hurtful stuff. Calling your guy by the wrong name. twice. getting caught at a bar by your pastor. forgetting to pick up your kid and the teacher has to sit there with them in front of the school. it's embarrassing. and it's not cool to be embarrassed.

this morning i was listening to a blurb from the interview diane sawyer did w/ Rihanna (which not matter how you spell, still reads in my mind like diarrhea, sorry Ri..) anyway, she was talking about getting abused and even i can't make something funny out of that. i've never been hit by a man. actually, i don't think i've ever been hit by anyone ever. once in the 8th grade i was supposed to fight some butchy mean girl, but i was so terrified that i hid in the bathroom and let her think i was a total coward, which i am. although in hindsight, i doubt i would've gotten hit even then; i went to this tiny baptist school and i'm sure there was a teacher or a coach or a preacher or someone who would've broken up the whole thing before anything happened.

so what i'm saying is: i can't relate to Rihanna getting punched in the face.

but she said something that i can relate to: she said she was embarrassed. i can't find the transcript of the interview, so please don't sue me Ri if i get this wrong, but she said something like, "i am embarrassed that i fell in love with a man who is like this. that i fell so far in love with someone like this, it's embarrassing."

i totally get that.

my ex never hit me with his fist. but having to tell people that he left me, moved out of state and was living with his then girlfriend while i laid in a hospital bed having his second child--was embarrassing. it still is. he hit me with his words. his abandonment bruised me. gave my girls a black eye. you just can't see it. i selected this guy. do you? i said yes, i do. i'm not proud of it.

people tell me: it wasn't your fault. he's a jerk. i would say the same to Rihanna--he's a jerk, it's not about you. but the fact is: it is about her. she picked him. i picked mine. we CHOSE to be with these guys. you can't pick your parents, you're just stuck with them, but i loved this man. i had children by this loser. and as much as my incredible friends have stuck to their guns about hating him and his name is synonymous with asshole in every conversation, at the end of the day most of my regret about the whole thing is that i fell in love--so completely in love--with a man who was capable of leaving his family in the blink of an eye, for a piece of ass. it's embarrassing. but it is what it is. he's gone. life rocks along. lesson learned: you never really know someone. love as if they'll never leave. because it's all about you. one way or another.

so rihanna: hang in there. the great thing about life is that there's always tomorrow. another chance to get it right. least you don't have to worry about our bare ass hanging out of your panty hose anymore. and if i ever get stuck in an elementary school writing class: i totally have an embarrassing moment to write about.

After the sugar comes this big crash

Is everyone comfortably seated and safely strapped in? because halloween is over people. clear out the little plastic gravestones from your yard-- it's time for the wild ride toward YEAR END.

yahoo. but pooor halloween. every year it gets more crammed and shoved into one stinkin lousy day. this year Wal-Mart had their halloween stuff 50% off the day before halloween! they were literally stocking wreaths and santas on the shelves as they were cleared of obama masks and fake blood. so in honor of halloween, here are some pics of halloweens past and present, in homage to my parents who were the most awesome costume-makers ever!

What a cute little clown i was back in 1974. the picture-in-front-of-door motif would be picked up again many decades later when i would pose my own dressed up kids at the same place. well... not the SAME place. different house. different door. same location within a different house. jeez. do i need to explain this? hell no.

Halloween 1977 - that's me as cheerios. mom and dad positively LOVED to make us wear boxes. strangely, i don't remember complaining about it. whereas my six year old daughter won't even wear a fairy skirt because "it's too itchy." i spent my first ten halloweens with my arms hanging straight out all night. Here's my poor sister in her box that year: MILK. the parents were very into the whole go-together costume ideas. Cheerios and Milk. One year i was a mailbox and she was a package. me: cracker jacks (cracker "julies" actually) and she was popcorn. possibly the most tasteless costumes they came up with was during the bicentennial -- in which my sister and i were both bicentennial fire hydrants (did the whole country do this or just texas--where the fire hydrants were painted in patriotic colors to celebrate the bicentennial?) anyway, we were bicentennial fire hydrants and my parents were: yep, you guess it: dogs. somehow, the photos, classic as they are, have been misplaced over the last 800 years but i did find this. you can just sense the joy on my dad's face.


Now let's fast forward to my own little darlings, who i allow to wear good old, store-bought costumes that require little, if any, intervention or box-cutting on my part. this was my very first costume as a mommy for my little darling: a flower. both my girls wore this to absolutely rave reviews. Dang, i wish they had a baby costume contest i could've entered them in. this was so incredibly easy, it was back when all that Anne Geddys crap was real popular and i looked at making a flower costume a'la anne geddys for my then 10mos old. but sista mary and the baby it was complicated, i was like screw this. so i went the craft store and bought a bunch of silk flowers on long stems. took them all apart and hot glued the pieces in the right places on a footed sleeper i had. the hat is an amish bonnet someone gave me as a baby gift, covered with hot-glued blossoms. evidently the bonnet was handmade by some woman who rode around town in a black horse-drawn buggy. ah, backstory.



Circa 2002, this was (is) a custom-made raggedy ann costume with my daughter's actual name stitched onto the front apron. i made that yarn wig myself. you can't see it here, but she has red-ringed leggings on, also made by me, by wrapping pieces of red duct tape around her little white-tighted legs. she was three. and just LOVED it. actually, she hated it and couldn't wait to tear off this whole getup. but my dad is happy. no dog costume for him that year. by the way, if you happen to have a 2 yr old named bailey elizabeth *call me* have i got the costume for you in 2010.

obligatory snow white. notice the front door. it's because that's how MY mommy did it. i guess. now this year i was able to talk them into a little "couples" costuming with this: snow white and the witch! get it? but of course you do. My attempt to set up a little vignette: notice the apple? jeez louis that is one cute snow white. lordy. then there's this... not the most well thought-out pose, i grant you. again, in front of the damn door. why?

Blogger seems to be cloggered right now.. probably with everyone trying to meet their NaBloPoMo quota... current pics to follow... looks like i'm gonna get another post outta this! take that daily posting rule! ah HA

hold that bandwagon, i want to jump on

the blogosphere is packed today with a bunch of posts from people that i follow who haven't posted in about as long as i haven't posted and i just figured out why--its' that dangnabbit NaBloPoMo time again.

this time i want in on this action. for months i've been mercilessly beating myself up (on the inside, scars you can't see) for not writing more. ... as they say, i'm not writing any more, i'm just not writing any less. so, without further adieu, here we go.

and yes, this counts as a post so bite. me.

do you see a pattern here?

i still haven't actually committed the time to write a full blog. but lemme tell ya, i've got a torn-out piece of spiral paper sitting in my purse with some ideas that'll make your little head spin.

eh. not really. except the torn paper part. that's true. it's the head spinning part: not so much.

but i have been sticking in a little here --too long for twitter and too ..um, much.. for facebook.

here's another.

so i'm reading my blog rolls today, and come upon this little gem: Recipe for Wine Vinegar.

i scrolled back up a little shaggy doo-like "wha huH?" i actually feel kinda sorry for a woman that takes this much time to come up with vinegar. and also--an ear of corn? relax lady. have some of that wine before you let it spoil.

i gotchur recipe for wine vinegar right here:

1. open a bottle of wine
2. drink about two thirds of it.
3. go to bed
4. leave bottle on the kitchen counter for about a week.
5. voila! wine vinegar.

enjoy.

mom math

how many moms does it take to change a lightbulb?
one.
but she's really got to be in the mood to do it.
so you may have to walk down a dim hallway.

for a while. like a month.

it is what it is.

so...how many moms does it take to change a smoke detector battery? right.
now stop complaining about that beep.

shit. there it goes again.

goodnight kiddies. mom loves you.

collecting my thoughts for the moment

its not that i don't want a partner. i'm just not sure i can swing my heart out on a line again.
can you really love like you've never been hurt before?
it is possible to forgive AND forget?

i want my mamma (gram)

i flat out refused to be nervous about it.

oprah's guru says, Always work with it, not against it. whatever it was: it was meant to be for my good, eventually. i was determined to hold onto my shit, even it turned out to be something shit-losing worthy.

it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays Superman by REM. the words come into my ear like someone talking to me, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god. i almost start to cry.

about two weeks ago my gyno had been rooting around on the boob like she does every year. we were in the middle of our usual, meaningless annual well-woman chatter. "I found a lump," she says, looking over her shoulder as she washes her hands. my world flashed black. "You whah...?"
"it's squashy, i almost missed it," she wiped her wet hands and looked me in the eye as i lay there trying to shield my vulnerability with a paper sheet. "i would tell you if i had a bad feeling about it. I don't. It's not hard or immovable. but let's look at it. I'll schedule a mammogram."

so here i sit. drinking dirt. listening to god use michael stipe to mess with my head.
"i am superman and i know what's happening." i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant for the results and i caught myself choking on fear tears.

a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery.

i was flat out determined not to be nervous.
she was freaking me out.
so i moved.

then i got called to the back. it is a surreal experience to sit in a waiting room topless with other topless women. all three of us in a row. in jeans. black lady to my left. older, gray long-haired woman to my right; we sat in silence, clutching our open-in-the-front hospital gowns and staring at the little television.

this was my first mammogram and it wasn't as bad as i thought. i pictured the machine as a huge refrigerator door into which each of my boobs would be ceremoniously slammed. it wasn't nearly that violent or painful. but as i stood there, with the young tech maneuvering my breasticle between the plates, like a fresh-caught fish, i was aware that i was terrified. She gave no indication of what she saw except to say (after i asked), "yes, i see it. it's white. that could mean it's nothing. or it could be cancer." wow. thanks for that.

she took the scans to the radiologist and told me to wait.

i had no contact with the mysterious radiologist, but i had the distinct impression that he was much like the wizard of oz--somewhere behind a curtain, with the little techs coming to him like the citizens of the emerald city, asking for answers.

whatever he saw, the great radiologist ordered a sonogram.

the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played and sang to while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i jerked back in pain up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.

from there, she cleaned me up and sent me on my way. by now, the initial terror had worn off with so much boob goo, stilted smalltalk and indian melodies.

i believe that words give power. So i didn't tell anyone (almost) about the lump. only one chick pal, who had gone through a lot of similar stuff and ... i told The Guy. The two days following the mamma/sono were surprisingly calm. What's done is done, i kept telling myself. The Guy comforted me in his no-bullshit way, which is the only way i can accept comfort. "It's just a picture," he said, "from there, you might do a needle biopsy. Then they might remove the whole thing to look at it. you might not know for a month. Don't waste your energy worrying about. not yet, at least."

The lump, it turns out, is a spectacularly unsexy calcium deposit. A degenerative calcium deposit, to be exact, which not only implies stony boob bumps, but OLD stony boob bumps.

when i hung up from the doctor's phone call, i felt my diaphragm expand. i realized i'd been holding my breath for two days. i haven't come up with a snappy ending for this one. maybe there's not one.

i totally got drunk with the dooce at blogHer and all i got was this crappy post

i know, right? made you click. i'm going to start titling all my posts with some reference that only the really truly cool blogees will know about and those minions will consistently click, driving up my hit counter higher. and higher.

First things first: i did not get drunk with the dooce. i mean: duh. she just had a baby. okay, that's when most women start the really serious drinking. but she's totally mormon. do mormons drink? i actually don't know any mormons. when i meet the dooce, i'm going to ask her if she drinks. and if she does, i'm totally gonna challenge her to a shot contest. or at least buy her a shot. i not only didn't go to the BlogHer conference, i'd have to google it to know where or when it was. and what it is. or was.

but you're here now and that's what counts.

this blog has become like a dorky little kid that follows me home from third grade.
pesky blog: hi jewels! you gonna write something soon, huh? you think you'll write something? i sure do like it when you write something. you wanna write soon, Huh? do ya? huh?
me: beat it kid
pesky blog: you're so funny jewels! you're hilarious. i like your new shoes. are those new shoes? they sure are nice. you think you're gonna write something soon? do ya? huh?
me: beat it kid. i got laundry to chastise. kids to fold. very important appointments to run late for.

it's been a long time since my last post (which i can't even remember, so i'm certain it was el lame-o. however: a very cool sidenote concerning my last post--and part of the reason why i'm writing now--i got a comment from (get this) BOSSY. i swear i almost peed a little when i saw her name in my inbox. Freakin' Bossy~ read my blog. and left a comment to prove it. Listen, i'm not cool like yall blogHer people. i don't have a badge on my blog. wouldn't know how to put it on this thing anyway. i'm just a writer. sitting in my living room. watching infomania. and out of nowhere Bossy reads my blog. so cool. wish it wasn't such a lame post. anyway... what was i saying? oh yeah, long time since last lame post. well get ready kiddies. here comes another one. sort of.

see, the thing is, i get a lot of great ideas for posts. all day. well, some days. but i can't decide what to write about. and they're starting to pile up. which intimidates me. and makes me not want to write even more. (makes me less want to write?) which makes this pesky little kid hang around my daydream brain. i told you about it. jeez. pay attention. so you decide. you're a cool unknown, random person at a screen. you know where blogHer was. you know i didn't get drunk with dooce.

or did i?

i'm not in the right clique to do one of those awesome random contests, where you get cool free stuff for leaving a comment at the right time on the right day. not that any company would send me free shit to give away on my blog. and let's face it, even if they did i wouldn't give it to you. i love free shit. mine baby. but like a little boy in mommy's nightgown, i can pretend to be beautiful. and i'm giving you a chance to tell me what to do.

so here's a list of a few things i'm mulling around in my blog-brain. take a look, and let me know what you wanna read about. and i'll write it. maybe bossy will read it. and if black hockey jesus leaves a posthumous comment, i may soil myself. with joy.

Blog Bit #1:
It was a surreal moment. i'd been lost in a flashback triggered by facebook comments from names i used to yell down high school hallways. watching johnnie carson. listening to flock of seagulls. barettes. the grassy wet smell of a football field about 7:00 on a friday night in october. sitting in the backseat. i look up and see my kid. "hey, who's the kid in my apartment" then it hits me: i don't live in an apartment. high school was like three big blocks of memory lane behind me. i'm a grown up. i've gone to the dark side. these are the days i used to tell myself about in college. this is : One Day.
remember?
one day i won't be able to lounge around and do nothing, so i think i'll skip class today and smoke pot.
one day i'll have a budget, so today i'm gonna go out and blow my last twenty bucks on a B-52s album and jack in the box.
Today is One Day. and that's a pretty scary day.

Blog Bit #2
i flat out refused to be nervous about it. accept: then act. it's what oprah's guru says, but i like it anyway. it's earlier than i'm usually out the door and i'm in a waiting room drinking coffee, whose aroma and color remind me of dirt. my ipod plays superman by REM. a lifetime fave, but the words come into my mind like someone is telling me something, "i am superman. and i know what's happening. i am superman and i can do anything." i recognize that it's god. i almost start to cry. god pumps on my faith. i got this one, god was saying. i wasn't sure what it meant about the results. a woman sat beside me, studying credit-card sized jesus pictures, with a prayer on the back. she had a little stack of them and sometimes would hold a couple of them side by side and just whisper her prayers. then cross herself. her eyes were watery. i was flat out determined not to be nervous. she was freaking me out. so i moved.
the sonogram tech was not gorgeous. not plain. not write-worthy, really in any way except for the bollywood movie soundtrack she played while she rolled her sticky wand over my boob so hard i teared up a couple times. "is that it?" she'd say. "um, yeah, can't you feel it?" i answered. like duh, you're hurtin me here. "yeah, i can see it," she said, "i just didn't know what it was." nice. isn't that the whole freakin reason i'm here.

Blog Bit #3
so what i'm sayin is: if you're married, stay married. dig in your heels, give it all you got. tomorrow will be better. stay connected with sex and laughing. it's worth it. if you can stick it out, you'll have something truly sacred to be proud of by the time you check into assisted living. love your spouse. accept him. tell her she's sexy. be faithful. relationship is the most rewarding, single most important investment you can make while you're on earth. and the payback is priceless.
but if you've made it this far without getting married, or by circumstances beyond or totally within your control, you've gotten out of a marriage: stay out. it's not as good as it looks. you wake up wishing he was someone else or going to sleep wishing you were. even though you're lonely every once in a while and it feels weird going on vacation by yourself, it's still better than having a three-day discussion of what television you're going to buy or enumerating the pros and cons of mexican vs chick fil a.

Blog Bit #4
so as a willing, anonymous pool of intelligence, i ask you, exhalted reader: what should i be when i grow up?
1. Private Investigator: i'd name my company 'Confidential Observations' with focus on cheating spouses and match.com background checks.
2. Quirky Home Chef Guru: my recipe-laced memoir and irreverant blog build a buzz. I lead the 8 o'clock hour on the Today Show (oh Matt, you're just a big flirt, aren't you?) and i'm the last guest of the night on Jimmy Fallon (well of course i brought the wine, silly boy) . eventually Food Network offers me my own show which i tape from my spacious hill country kitchen along the Frio River.
3. Music Publicist / Restaraunt Critic: both require a huge ego and taking delight in the unwarranted criticism of others. check and check. my lifelong experience as a good ole boy bullshitter only enhances my resume for this one. a strong contender.
4. Stand-up Comedian: not sure if i have the balls for this one, but like bungie jumping, i'm thinking i'm gonna have to do this at least once before i check into the assisted living.
5. Secretary. oh wait, i already am this. if i had it to do again, i wouldn't. assuming i first didn't kill the brain cells where the memory of this crappy job live. and let's face it: these are the first i want to go.

Blog Bit #5
So even though i didn't have venereal disease, it's still an uber-embarrassing story with a high gross factor. i try not to think about it, but i don't know which is worse, knowing The Guy will always have this little gem to "pull out" (so to speak) when he needs a good dig or the fact that i had to tell my father. ugh.


Okay folks, there they are. i don't have any fancy software to randomly choose the winning comment. based on past experience, i'll just have the two of you giving me your opinion. which you would anyway. because you're my friend. and you read my blog even when it's lame. especially when it's lame. and i love you for it.

and bossy, if you read this. call me. we'll do shots.

Amazingly... its barely my fault

okay. me and The Guy are on the skids. there. now you know. and i'll tell you why.

he travels in his job. also, he likes to travel. a global nomad, he calls himself affectionately. he likes the idea of it. moving all the time. i admit - it works for him. for a long time, i liked that about him too--he's not around all the time. so he is usually gone for 3 - 10 days at a time about once a month. its not unusual that he'll schedule a series of short trips. A three-day business trip then home for a day, to fly out the next day on a 5-day pleasure trip.

so he's gone for sprints at a time. often.

from the beginning, now almost a year ago, he becomes invisible while he is out of town. i say that i become a stranger whenever he gets on a plane. it's an exaggeration, somewhat. he texts. irregularly. usually he will call once. sometimes he won't. so not a total stranger. but an acquaintance at best.

it's weird, because when he's home, we talk all the time. text back and forth all day. meet for lunch. squeeze in an hour of squeezing in the hour between work and my getting the kids. he'll talk to me up until the seatbelt sign comes on in the plane. when he's here: we're good.

but when he's gone, he's gone. our lives swim in a river of technology from texting to email to skype. but still. he doesn't return texts. sometimes for days. lately when he does text, he doesn't even send "i miss you" or any sweet little nothings, like he used to. i feel disconnected from him. i question if this is a one way feeling and i'm the only one going that way.

plus it just irritates me. it hits my "don't-trust-this-guy" button.

this is not a new issue in our relationship thingy. he knows it irritates me. he knows about the button. he knows i feel like he doesn't care... we've passionately discussed this subject ad nauseum.

and every time he says he understands and he's not going to do it next time. ANDs he still does it.

but this time. i don't know. this time when he did it. i was done with it.

he's been gone 7 days. i've barely been in touch with him at all. aside from a few short texts--mostly informational texts (water temp is nice here, our show is going good...bleh bleh ) we talked once on skype. which was nice. but he won't answer my texts. then texts "sorry" he was out til 3am with clients. he's in latin america in a beach resort hotel overlooking the water. what do you think i think about when he says he's out till all hours? yep. my button's going off. you know what i'm sayin.

then yesterday we had a text tiff.

you know, i sat down and started writing this post so i could pour out all the thoughts that keep clogging up my brain. and now that i'm sitting here writing it out. it seems ridiculous. but nonetheless. we had a text tiff. a fight. by text. yes. it is childish. i see that now.

he said i remind him of his ex wife. i said to call me when he gets over his ex wife. he said 'be more positive'. i said, 'come get your shit'. all in text. that was yesterday about 3:00.

so now he's back in the US. not home yet, but on american soil, texan soil even. he text when he got to IAH (his usual "got back ok") and he did call. feeling me out. he'll be back in houston on sunday. i'll have to fish or cut bait at that point.

on Saturday, my kids leave on daddy duty for two weeks. traditionally, i have dubbed these two weeks a summer as "the debauchery tour". i'm thinking it will depend on how much fun i'm having between kidless saturday and The Guy Returns Sunday as to how i'll play this hand.

i'm open to suggestions. it's been six years since i had to manage a relationship. that didn't go so well.

am i rambling? it seems like i'm rambling.

because i have to post something

when you haven't posted in a long time and you know you want to, sometimes you just gotta throw something out there to get back into the groove; take the pressure off the "first post after not posting forever" post.
so don't get frothy. yes, i'm posting. but: it will suck. it's the first pancake.
now that i'm free to mediocre. let's begin.

current obsessions

music:
she&him Vol. 1 - this is Zooey Deschanel and M Ward. you recognize her. she was in elf. she's pixie-ish, but can also be kind of creepy in a The Shining sort of way. certainly not profound or groundbreaking material, but i can't stop singing Sweet Darling... also the cover I Should Have Known Better, worth hearing.

Short, Sharp, Shocked--Michelle Shocked. early 90s i think. maybe earlier. i used to have this on cassette and would listen to it in between Upstairs at Erics and The Go-Gos and The Judys (if you have a copy of Washarama--LEAVE A COMMENT. i want to talk to you.) i got turned onto michelle shocked with her campfire tapes, but this one is better. Run to Gladewater my current anthem. look for an upcoming post about this song. it'll be deep. but funny. you'll like it. probly.

Day and Age--The Killers. this is my first killers album even though i've been kind of a closet fan since that somebody-told-me-you-had-a-boyfriend-that-looked-like-a-girlfriend song. they seemed constructed in a lab to me. i didn't get a lot of authenticity from them. but by the time this album came out i decided to give them a fair shake. still strikes me in the vein of a poor david bowie wannabe ... but they are catchy little tunes. gotta love catchy. and i do. Spaceman. Are We Human.

Technology:
Facebook -- i don't say this lightly... i never say this, but: OMG. its like sticking your head into the genie bottle where everyone you've ever met got stuck the day you forgot about them. this kind of thing is like putting a bowl of trailmix with m&ms in front of me. i keep digging around to pick out the good stuff. but in the meantime, i've had my hands on a lot of...nuts.

Twitter -- okay, not officially an obsession, but you can't say i'm not open to try new things. i get it. my own quotes, by me. it's funny. i like it. ... i guess. but i have to ask... really? regular posting isn't enough to live up to. now. twitter pressure. the concept is awesome, though and i'm not going to get kicked off the back of the wagon just cuz i'm not with the band. follow me?

Wireless -- oh yeah baby. this is the maiden voyage. the awkward virgin. this is the first post from my new laptop. i am writing this ... from bed. and i am naked. nah, i'm not. but i could be. because i am in bed. with my computer. i am making sweet technological love to this little slab of computerlicious advancement. there aren't words to describe my infatuation and total adolescent-like devotion to wireless internet. but i wish my kids inspired even a fraction of this love. i'm just sayin.

Miscellany
The Guy -- this will probably get its own post. eventually. but The Guy is still around. i know. can you believe it. and he's my favorite current obsession. obsession in a good way. not in a 'got his bunny simmering on the stovetop' kind of way.

Monty's Screenplay -- unfortunately, i'm bound to secrecy by a privacy clause that's only enforceable in states where marijuana is legal, but i can tell you it's a pretty fuckin funny little tale. naturally, neither him nor i have the vaguest clue as to how to write a proper screenplay, let alone shop it, pitch and eventually in some acid-laced dreamworld get it produced, filmed and ... good lord... distributed. but i'm having fun writing about crazy pot-shit. and i like talking to monty about something fun.

My Vacation -- i'm broke. i'm fat. i'm broke. but fuckitall, i'm going on vacation and i. can. not. wait. don't know where. don't know how. but i took a week off. (i've been here for 11 years. please, come kill me. if you loved me, you would) and i know it's going to be more than 2 days. it will not involve any family bonding time (this vacation not approved for general audiences). it will not require air tavel. (ew. planes are derty) and i will be relaxed. more on this later.

you still here? wow. you are cool. bet you have a rockin facebook, doncha.