If your brother puts the entire country at risk of nuclear attacks, turn him over to the feds before he turns you in. If he won't go willingly, tie him up with more electrical wire, suffocate him with a bag, rinse and repeat.
Moonrat: you're my hero!
p.s. Any chance you can make the oatmeal prophecy come true? It'd make me a happy camper.
I have my dry cleaning! Now I can be warm and look professional at work. Long johns be gone!
Well, I did drop off a pair of jeans and trousers for alterations. It remains to be seen if complete victory will be mine.
Oh God, I cannot turn away, I cannot change the channel, I cannot stop watching. I need a support group, or I might watch this show again.
I've always hated Simon Cowell and American Idol and I've never understood why anyone watches that cruel show. But, I didn't stay late at work tonight and Lost isn't on yet, so what else is a TV addict to do but be a hypocrite and watch American Idol. Whaddya know, I'm crying. Fuckin' CRYING!? It's people like Sarah from Ohio--lied to her disapproving father, skipped school for two days, came to NY to try out, and won a ticket to Hollywood--that turn me into a sappy girl. Thanks, Sarah. I fucking hate this show, but now I have to keep watching to see how you do.
Word to the wise: never buy clothes that require dry cleaning.
1/8, 6:59pm: arrived in the nick of time at Romano Cleaners, the only "organic cleaners" in town and dropped off all of my winter trousers and a sheath dress.
1/15, 1pm-ish: return to Romano (on a Monday) to retrieve my clothes and learn that the store is closed, in observance of MLK, Jr. Day. (sigh)
1/21, 12:45pm: return to Romano. Closed. Again.
1/22, 7:15am: standing at bus stop grabbing at my crotch to pull down the long johns that are riding up my ass. Long johns, people. It's come to this.
2/1, 6:15 pm: sit in my cubicle cursing and mumbling that I'll never be able to leave work in time to retrieve my clothes.
2/3, all day: am shivering cold because wearing summer khakis in 15 degree weather. Fuck long johns.
2/14, 7:30pm: am pissed because unable to wear my pretty sheath dress that's still at the fucking cleaners.
2/15, 8:15pm: still at work; working two jobs now--editorial ass and faux senior editor. Thinking about quitting job just to get my clothes back.
2/20, 5:45am: call in to work and leave voicemail message for boss #2. Message sounds something like this: "Hi K. Just wanted to say that I'm not coming in to work today...(pause)...or ever again. See ya, sucka!"
2/20, Noon: arrive at Romano Cleaners. They're open and I am victorious! Lady looks up my ticket and tells me that my clothes exceeded their hold policy and it's been donated to charity.
2/20, 2pm: have been rifling through the racks at Salvation Army for 2 hours looking for a slew of expensive super fine merino wool trousers. Hate, hate, hate dry cleaning.
If your brother won't give you the information you need, punch him in the face, tie him up with an electrical cord, and interrogate him. If he continues to resist, suffocate him with a plastic bag. Then rinse and repeat.
...is what I've decided to call Monday nights from 8-10pm on Fox. Prison Break is back and back-to-back with Jack. Christmas cometh again, and again!
Now I'll need to update my countdown to my next show I'm waiting impatiently for: Lost.
P.S. Netflix pulled through for me and delivered the 24 premiere DVD to e over the weekend. I'm all caught up and I have no need to use this forum for bitching and moaning...for now.
Wooo! My very first video posted on YouTube, and one of my favorite Frames songs to boot. This is from the New Year's Eve show I went to at Vicar St., Dublin, with my better half and my sister. These tickets were worth every inflated Euro I paid on eBay. The Frames rocked the house down!
Sorry for the moments of shaky cam, but I think it's pretty good considering the multitasking (holding camera as steady as possible while keeping drunken Irish fans surrounding me at bay).
I've got more to post as soon as I can figure out how to edit my video down to 100MB. If anyone has advice on doing this, please holler in the comments. Much obliged!
Why am I not sleeping right now? Because of my usual insomnia and because I'm tinkering around on MySpace.
Yes, the earth stopped spinning, the mountains crashed into the sea, and the sun went supernova because Bluenana's profile has information in it. Gasp!
I refuse to pay for anything other than the Season 6 DVD of 24 when it comes out this fall, even if it means that I've missed part of the 4-hour premiere. Just on principle alone!
But, I've got a plan! I returned an (unwatched) Netflix DVD today, which should be received and processed tomorrow morning, and Netflix should ship out the next disc in my queue on Friday (24 premiere), and have it to me by Saturday. If all goes well, I'll be all caught up in time for Monday and I'll be happy snappy camper.
If things don't run smoothly, Nikki's already offered to let me watch it at her place (because she rocks and she said she'd save it on her DVR), and then Netflix will taste my wrath. Oh, yes they will.
So, on Monday night, I decided to keep playing Twilight Princess with my better half instead of watching 24 because I figured that I could watch it Tuesday night online. I know! It's a crazy stupid decision, but I wasn't going to see him for over a month and we promised to only play Zelda when we're together.
Now I've discovered that Fox doesn't show episodes of 24 online anymore, so I basically have to either pay $10 for that Season 6 premiere DVD (a nice little George Lucas milk ya bone dry maneuver) or wait a few days for Netflix to get it to me.
Son. of. a. bitch. Please, NO ONE talk to me about 24 until I find some way of watching 8-10am.
The first time I ever saw The Frames perform, they were opening for Damien Rice at Avalon in Boston. When lead singer Glen Hansard walked out on the stage, my better half turned to me and quizzically said, "Is that Jeremy?" Since then we've been convinced that Jeremy's been hiding his alternate life as a rocker.
First of all, we've never actually seen these two people together in the same room. The one time we were all supposed to go to a Frames concert together, I conveniently ended up in the hospital and missed the concert. Ya lucked out, Jeremy! I heard you had a great show that night. Wish I didn't miss it.
...is the crass phrase I'm using for myself this weekend. I upgraded my account to pro a few days ago and now I've uploaded close to 900 photos, with more to come, as quickly as my sickly computer and internet access will allow.
I've promised SO MANY people that I would send them photos of various things and completely flaked on them, so I made it one of my New Year's resolutions to post photos online and finally share them with people.
Photos are finally up from a close friend's wedding and bachelorette party (from 2 1/2 years ago), the Red Sox Championship parade, my trips to Dublin and London, and more. A lot of these photos are restricted to viewing only by people in my contact list, but I've sent out a handful of guest passes. Please holler in the comments section here if I'm a bitch and have forgotten you.
The guest passes expire after a while, so if you want to continue to have access to my photo sets, you'll need to add me to your contact list on Flickr and I can grant you access. Enjoy, my fellow Foresters!
Oh happy day! I have found another pretty pretty that is perfect for The Forest. I present you with the Tokidoki Campeggio bag in "Foresta." Foresta, of all pattern styles!
Some of you may already know about my hatred for MySpace and pretty much all social networking sites. Let's just chalk it up to my inner antisocial wallflower.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a hypocrite. For example, I have a Friendster account. Why? Because my cousin in the Philippines forced me to. My profile is up there and I have a bunch of pictures up (to make her happy), but I hardly ever login to check it. Periodically I'll get an email from Friendster telling me that so-and-so has updated their profile with new pictures and then the voyeur in me will immediately login to see what's what. So basically, Friendster is my Us Weekly that I read only for the pictures.
Once again, I am a hypocrite reborn, because I'm thinking about updating my MySpace account. As some of you may remember, I have a MySpace account, although thanks in no part to my own doing. I just mysteriously have one that's linked to my email address and has the same password I use for virtually everything. Very, very disturbing.
I discovered recently from my better half that one of my best friends has a MySpace account and they're now "friends." Inside my brain went, "Hey, that's my friend. How come she never told me that she has a MySpace account?" and I became green with envy.
So, thanks Justice. Now I'm going to have to redecorate my corner of the internets and invite you to my crib to be my friend. And then I'll have, like, two friends, which will then remind me that I am an antisocial wallflower who has two friends and who needs to be reminded of that?
Finally, I've set up a photoset on my Flickr account with photos from Dublin. These are just the public photos. Email me if you want to see more pictures (in other words, the ones with people in them). You'll need a Flickr account and you'll need to be one of my contacts in order to see them.
Top Five Things That Sucked about Dublin:
5. Ridiculous racism. Racism has a completely different flavor in Ireland, and in European countries, in general for that matter. Over in Ireland, everyone's feathers are ruffled over the significant influx of Nigerian immigrants who are "taking their jobs, and going on welfare." Not to say that there isn't racism everywhere, and most definitely in the US, but there's something socially acceptable about hating immigrants in Ireland (ironic, huh?) that makes me sick.
4. The rain and the persistent damp. Ever wonder what a wool coat smells like after it gets wet, never completely dries, and then gets wet again? Yeah, nasty.
3. Inflated prices. Our 8-pound Christmas turkey cost 45 Euros (which we got at half off, for 22.50 since it was going to expire on Christmas day). That's just nuts. Prices on everything are a little more expensive there and the sucky U.S. dollar only makes it worse.
2. Stupid drunk people. Woman who opened our taxi door to try and shove her drunk ass in our cab while we were stopped at a red light: I don't like you. Girl who shoved her drunk British self to the front of the stage to stand in front of me and annoy me during The Frames concert with her arm flailing out of a drunken stupor (even though I'd staked my spot since 7pm and it was now around 11pm): I hate you. I hate you so much that I'm going to post this photo of you getting groped by a boy who said he was 17 (though he looks to be about 12) who could not hold his liquor and turned out to be another little shit. See my thoughts on Irish kids.
1. Irish kids. I could seriously kick every one of those little fuckers in the face. When we were at the National Irish Museum (a museum that charges no admission, but happily accepts donations), these two boys were trying to knock down a tall donation cylinder in an attempt to steal all the money out of it. Also, despite every exhibit explicitly stating that you CAN NOT touch anything (isn't this just common knowledge, anyway?), every kid touched EVERYTHING in the museum. Here's a nice shot of a boy who mistaked this museum for a playground:
Well, in defense of these kids, I will admit that their parents are no help at all. In fact, they're collectively a great leap backwards in the global effort of parenting. I witnessed parents demonstrating to their kids that they could and should touch the exhibit, despite the many big signs explaining that this is prohibited. Here's my very lame attempt to be ironic:
Someway, somehow I was able to limit myself to a couple of really neat things while in Dublin. Here's a sample:
1. Plum suede with black leather trim bag from Oasis.
2. 3/4-length A-line coat with stand-up collar and off-center silver buttons from Zara. It's a little balloony around the middle, but it's so darling! I've named it The Consolation Prize, in remembrance for The One that Got Away.
I also got a pretty floral skirt from Monsoon and a Jeff Buckley bootleg CD and DVD, but I'm too lazy to photograph those and post them. Forgive me!
