EMAIL MOMENT!
Subject: On distaff and my bony ass.
Me:
What is it with men and baked goods? A man may be
impressed by your brain, or your body, or whatever, but if you walk into
the room with an apple pie, his eyes roll up into his
head and his mouth starts frothing. It’s like,
“Well I knew you were hot, but I didn’t know you
baked..”Him:
It speaks to our lizard brain. It is hard to starve with a woman who
bakes. A woman who bakes can compensate for myriad detrimental
evolutionary traits, such as narrow hips, an waistline that suggests
infertility, and a brain that is too smart or too dumb for her prospective
mate. Baking is tantamount to survival. Additionally, very few men have
the moxie, time, or inclination to bake. Baking is a place that is solidly
in the woman’s world. Women bake, lap dance, look pretty on game shows,
heal, and mediate. Men bust broncs, and philosophize. Just the way it is.Me:
You have such an odd, offensive little take on things.
Remind me never to bring you cupcakes lest you request
a lap dance.Him:
Your butt would poke holes in my jeans.
4:28 p.m.
Nyotaimori — The practice of eating sushi off of the body of a naked woman.
3:14 p.m.
PEOPLE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD
Dan Bistline is self-appointed mayor of Church St. I know this because there’s a sign in his window:
Church Street
Pop. ?
Dan Bistline, Mayor
Dan Bistline has also printed up a quotation for each pane of his three-sided window:
“You are a good and kind person.”
“Jump and a net will appear.”
“There are no truths, only stories.”
Dan Bistline annoys me.
10:39 a.m.
Nothing screams invalid like an hour spent watching “Growing Pains, Behind the Scenes.” Yeah. Should I perchance ask for Jell-O or a good book of crossword puzzles, please just pretend like you didn’t hear me.
10:25 p.m.
I just returned from knee surgery. I am currently doped up enough that if we were in a bar, all of you would look very attractive to me. Wheee.
1:42 p.m.
I hesitate to post this so soon after the bumper dumper link, but who am I to let good taste override your entertainment? I hereby present stuff people have crammed up their bums. The site comes complete with x-rays and medical reports. There are the standard bottles and phallic vegetables, and then there’s the guy who made a cement cast of his anus and the person who crammed a kangaroo tumor.
3:13 p.m.
Litotes — understatement in which an affirmative is expressed by the
negative of the contrary (as in “not a bad blog” or “not
unhappy”)9:57 a.m.
So I got an electric toothbrush, which is charmingly efficient. You push a button, it brushes your teeth for exactly two minutes and beeps at intervals that indicate when it’s time to change sectors. My teeth are shiny and new–they do the little lens flare thing when I smile. The only problem is, my new toothbrush sounds very much like a vibrator. My roommate has begun to avoid eye contact with me when I leave the bathroom.
2:37 p.m.
One of the tastier things I’ve seen on BART: a fake nail someone peeled off and dropped to the floor. It was a pale, opalescent pink and there were bits of real nail clinging to it. There’s a poem in that somewhere.
12:49 p.m.
Supreme Court allows KKK to adopt a highway “The Klan requested a half-mile stretch of Interstate 55, one of the routes used to bus black students to county schools as part of court-ordered desegregation efforts in the St. Louis area.”
What is this? Like people are going to drive by and say, “How nice, honey. The KKK is helping keep the highway clean! Look how upstanding they are in those crisp, white sheets.” If they’re launching a PR campaign, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a highway sign to change my ideas about the Klan. I can just see the brochure, “Forget about the lynchings, now we do bake sales! Burning crosses? That’s so 1952! Now we’re into BBQs by the lake and squash tourneys for charity!”
10:31 a.m.
The best press release/meeting request I’ve ever received. (I’ve anonymized the name and company so I don’t humiliate anyone publicly):
Margaret,
*BODY TEXT OF MESSAGE HERE*
John Smith
President & Managing Director
3:18 p.m.
The Bumper Dumper is not just a luxury, it’s a necessity. Mighty Girl–bringing you the technology that shapes your world.
2:08 p.m.
Stuart, author of the ever-chewable Sylloge, creator of the 5K Contest, and witness to a murder, sent me a description of his favorite party in reference to my marker-fight post below.
“It was held when I was in grad school. Two friends invited about 30 people,
arranged so that any one guest knew only three or four other people there.
We were told to wear all black clothing. At the door, instructions were
posted: we should take a drink in a plastic cup from the small bar
provided; the apartment had a foyer which served as an “airlock”: we were
to enter the foyer and close the external door before opening the internal
one. It was a “dark party”.Inside, there was absolutely no light. They had rented thick industrial
carpeting which was affixed to the walls to prevent any light from getting
in from outside. The stereo, containing two 120 minute mixed tapes on
autoreverse was similarly covered. A thin rope was provided as a guide for
entry into the bathroom and it really was perfectly black. It made no
difference whether you had your eyes open or closed.Because you never knew if there were people around, except for when you
were constantly bumping into them (everyone was on the floor and had to
crawl) and because most of the people were strangers, there were some
interesting conversations. My hearing became very acute. It was bizarre to
speak to someone when I had absolutely no idea what they looked like. Faces
were felt.After 5 hours or so, the lights were flipped on, which hurt. But wow, it
was strange. And very interesting. Best party ever.”10:39 a.m.
Dear San Francisco Sidewalk Users:
I have tried to be patient owing to your obvious dearth of intellect and corresponding
need to be coddled like a small child. However, I am only one woman. If one more of you nearly blinds
me with a hideously oversized beach umbrella that you insist on using in the rain,
I shall beat you mercilessly about the ears with my laptop bag. When you are sufficiently subdued, I will appropriate your monstrous “umbrella,” snap it shut, and make a kebab of your brethren who will by then have gathered, slack jawed and mewling, to watch your fate unfold.Thank you.
12:02 a.m.
EMAIL MOMENT!
Subject: Dave responds to an inquiry about his health.
Excerpt:
Yes, I feel much better today. I’m not sniffling and sneezing anymore, but I
do have a splitting headache. Also, I saw these strange lights in the sky
last night, my bedroom window is broken, I woke up on the balcony, and my
ass is on fire. Weird.12:26 p.m.
I have messy party ideas. Example 1: Cover the garage in plastic bags, make about 300 pounds of mashed potatoes, pass out some goggles, and stage a massive food fight. Example 2: Make a mud hole in the back yard and pit my friends against each other in teams. Very few parties I’ve been to couldn’t use a little more texture. But I know what you’re thinking, it’s the same thing all my friends say. “You want to have mud wrestling in your backyard? You want a bunch of people to come over and smear food on each other?” Yes. Yes, I do. All of us are adults here. (Adults coated in a creamy layer of mud and mashed potatoes, but I think we know when to say when.) Anyway, my point is that marker fights sound just as cool. A lot less cleanup and no kinky undertones.(Via Strange Brew.)
9:52 a.m.
3:04 p.m.
Overheard: Young Love on the J-Church
Characters: Badass prepubescent boy slouched in his seat, practicing tough face. Sassy prepubescent girl stands in the aisle near him.
Her: Stop stepping on my shoe.
Him: Huh. Huh.
Her: HYUH! HYUH! (Mocks him with corresponding “this is how inbred you look when you laugh like that” face.) Stop stepping on my shoe!
Him: I ain’t.
(She shoves him. His head rocks back and bumps the bus window.)
Him: HuhHuh. I ain’t. (He isn’t.)
Her: HYUH! HYUH! (Exaggerated threatening face, raises hand to hit him. He flinches, holds hands up to shield face.)
Him: Huhhuhhuh.
Her: Why you run from me when I try to hit you? You afraid? Afraid of a giiiiiirl?
Him: Nah. I ain’t afraid. Huhhuhhuh.
Her: HYUH!HYUH!HYUH!
(He makes a face. She makes a face. He makes a face. She makes a face. Both gather their things to exit at the school stop. She kicks at the backs of his shoes as he shuffles off the bus.)
Her: Go dawg.(kick) GO! (Kick) Go dawg. (kick) Go dawg. (kick)
Him: Huhhuhhuhhuhhuh.
9:49 a.m.
I’ve been collecting silhouette photos.
Mighty Girl 