Taken Verbatim From the GChat

Sarah: i just wanted to tell you since i know you hate dogs in bookstoreS!!

me: I HATE DOGS EVERYWHERE!

except doghouses!

and yards!

also pet stores.

and farms.

(I think I'm just going to post that on my blog as is)

Sarah: yes

Ab-Defining for the Under Ten Set

When I was younger, maybe six or seven, I BEGGED my parents for this:



And after I got the "Bangle Bops," I begged my parents for this:



I've started wearing leg warmers again. I haven't busted out the tutu yet, but I'm pretty sure it's in the dress-up box at my parents' house, so let's not rule it out. I WISH I still had the tapes. And you will be my best friend if you buy me this: http://www.amazon.com/Shape-Girl-Jumpn-Jive-Workout/dp/B000NVRYHS

Pete Wentz on Continuing to Procreate:

"I want to have six now. I mean not six specifically, but I want more...I can't imagine that we're stopping, you know what I'm saying? This is like a Journey song, it's like the chorus is just going to keep coming."

How To Kill Time While Unemployed, Vol. 1

1. Make a playlist for every occasion imaginable. Heading for the shower? Playlist. Going to the mailbox? Playlist. Making a playlist? Playlist.

2. Accidentally ingest toxic substances in your sleep. Spend 20+ minutes on hold with/speaking to Poison Control. [Face cream with salicylic acid. FYI. Not poisonous in small doses.]

3. Call insurance company. Get bogged down in semantic argument on the subject of "similar v. same."

4. Decide that it is imperative that you watch season 1 of ABC's "Making the Band" -- the season that chronicles the formation of O-Town. Scour the internet for it. Weep when it's not available. Find solace in the video for "All or Nothing." (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlIQYiSqGRg)

5. Spend 1+ hour(s) each day managing your library queue.

6. Read all posts on Craigslist, not just the ones that fit in your field. This enables you to find such gems as this:

http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/med/1096660958.html


And this:

http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/etc/1091467156.html

Aaaaand this:

http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/ofc/1088696201.html


And the one that specifically used the phrase "rent a wife" in the description that has sadly been flagged for misuse and removed. And, I'm sorry, but if you want to rent a wife? You should probably offer a wage higher than $15/hour.

I am a wordsmith.

Tonight, while watching LOST, I was trying to remember the word for "Target" (the reason why escapes me). What I said was the following:

"It's...with the red circle? Like 7-up? But not 7-up. It's a store. By Northgate. A big one."

Outstanding.

And here is every "that's what she said" from every episode of The Office ever. Thank you and good night.

I Did Not Watch the Watchmen

I spent three hours of today hiding under a coat in an IMAX movie theater. Thank you, Watchmen! Seriously: did not know there were that many places a person could bleed from. Also: did not know there were that many uses for a miter saw.

Choice lines:

"Oh my God. I'm on Mars."

"Is this bean juice?"
"Human BEING juice."

"I don't mind being the smartest man in the world!"

In the past month or so, I've made peanut butter and jelly and popcorn (with hot oil), gchatted, trimmed my bangs, and generally made a mess of my apartment -- all while completely asleep. I should not have allowed myself to think that things couldn't get any stranger because the second I believed that, last night, they did, and it freaked me the motherfuck out. It's weird to try to talk about it. My knee jerk reaction is to spin anything vaguely sad or difficult or tragic or even just annoying into the funniest anecdote possible, which immediately makes it into a story, not something that's actually happening to me.

The truth of the matter is that I think about and contend with things on a daily basis that are not what I had planned for myself, and that's almost always harder than I care to admit and almost never as funny as I spin it. I told a friend that tonight and she said back, so gently, "I know. But we all just try. You're trying."

Anyway. Tonight I'm falling (peacefully. please.) asleep to "Dream Operator," with thanks to Byrne and Eno and Some Guy on Youtube. I want to curl up inside this song.



PS, Human BEING juice? REALLY?

Music for Tourists

When I love something -- really, really, to my core LOVE it -- I tend to want everyone I know to love it too. And then I tend to get really angry if/when they don't. It doesn't happen with the things I find diverting and like (currently, MTV's now defunct The Paper, Young Adult literature, the cult film The Room and baking pumpkin bread).

It's with the things that I love so much it feels as if they're encoded into my DNA. I want everyone I know to love The West Wing and devour Nancy Lemann's Lives of the Saints and to be fascinated by David Foster Wallace (I'm just naming three. There are scores more. My friend Gemma once told me I have a favorite everything, which is accurate.) and when they don't, I feel like it's a rejection of me. Personally.

But the issuez, they are another blog post for another time.

And so it is with reluctance that I share Chris Garneau, the latest in a series of (potentially short-lived) musical obsessions. I came across his album, Music for Tourists, on this blog that apparently exists for the sole purpose of distributing pirated albums released in 2007 (http://lewisandclarkleague.blogspot.com/ [I do not know the trick for being fancy about links yet]). His are sad little songs: tragic lyrics, clever arrangements, lots of ennui, lots of strings.

I think the issue some may take with Garneau is that his songs all sound the same. I do not for the LIFE of me understand why this is a criticism people throw around about music. I can see it's impressive when an artist can come up with an entire album of songs, each with its own sound, that are all great and worth repeating and loveable (Abbey Road, to name the most perfect example -- every song is different, and I love every single one). BUT I feel like if you're criticizing an album because "all the songs sound the same" -- doesn't that just mean that you don't like the way the artist sounds to begin with?

Then again, I am a girl who can listen to the same song, to the exclusion of all other songs, for literally days. Or the same thirty seconds in the same song. My neighbors have come over to discuss this. But that's another story.

Chris Garneau singing "Baby's Romance" at a red-keyed piano while he wears a sparkly sweater is below. Please to listen and enjoy.

It has become abundantly clear that I need another venue in which to run my mouth about myself.

I've been unemployed for all of *A* day (let alone many days) and am, to put it delicately, bored out of my freaking mind.

To give you a sense of the scope of my "just keeping busy" activities, I am currently soaking my bathtub in a mixture of baking soda, bleach, and hot water, to remove those pesky stains ONCE AND FOR ALL. I also spent a lot of time today refreshing my library account online to see if any of the books I have on hold had arrived. I organized my dvds. I soaked, washed, and dried my dishes. I went to the grocery and dollar stores. I planned tomorrow's baking. I beat Bubble Shooter.

The paradox of this time in my life is that I have absolutely nothing to say, and vast acres of time in which to say it.

Oh! Here's something. A few weeks ago I found a bone chip in my Foster Farms dinosaur shaped chicken nugget while I was eating lunch at my desk (1. I used to have a desk, goddamnit; 2. Yes, I eat like I'm five). I kept meaning to send them an email, and I used the waning moments I had at my desk (I MISS YOU DESK NEVER FORGET ME) to shoot one off. I got a return phone call from them ninety minutes later. Nicely done, Foster Farms! I finally returned their call today, and they will be sending me an unspecified amount of coupons for my troubles. I'm hoping it will amount to "free chicken for life." I am nothing if not reasonable and just.

Stay tuned for tomorrow, when I plan to blog about such things as "which page I did in my French in Ten Minutes a Day workbook." Get excited.