Fresh Baked

Friday, July 30, 2004

T-MeFreakingtheHellOut

YOU'RE INVITED!!
When: 31 July 2004
Time: 2:00pm
What: B's 25th Birthday Celebration
Bring: Presents. Lots of them. Worship me with gifts of diamonds and playing cards. Also? Wear duct tape. Do it. Don't puss out.


I'm having a party at my house on Saturday. A party that requires people to honor me and my quarter-Century agitude, eat copious amounts of Mexican food, and, of course, partake of the KEG and get ripping drunk. While I am suuuper excited at the thought of all these friends coming for a party, I am not, however, doing well with the whole 'party planning' aspect of this. Chicken enchiladas for 30 are cooked. Beef enchiladas for 30 are what I'm supposed to making right now. Instead, I'm writing this. Because actual cooking is what a responsible organizer would do and I am nothing if not irresponsible and disorganized. Last night I actually cried because I'm so worried that I'm going to fuck this up somehow. Its a party, I know, but I have managed to make this molehill into the biggest mountain you have seen.

Today I'm to the point where I have transcended worry and gone straight to hate. I hate the lady who stood in front of the tortilla stand when I needed to get in there. I hate her 10 year old son who told his little brother that was "mentally disturbed." I hate the person parked in front of the 99c store with the "Millionaire in Training" license plate holder. Hate. Seething hate. They're doing nothing wrong, and still I hate. Because they don't have to plan a party for 30 people, try to pack up and move houses, and don't have to make a duct tape outfit that would be on par with this one, because Holy Shit:



Parties are normally a family affair, but half the family is up in Canada right now, which, as it turns out, is a very inconvenient party planning locale. This is all on me and I, normally stress-free, am Losing. My. Shit. Who's gonna help me cook a gazillion pounds of food on Saturday? Who will organize the prizes for the winners? What if I burn everything and have to order pizzas, cranking the bill up to a nice, round $500 or so? What if someone pukes in the neighbor's yard and I'm not sober enough to apologize? Why do I have to make my own birthday cake AGAIN? AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! I need to calm down, I know. Its going to be fine. But until its over? I won't be fine. Not at all.

I talked to Jack today and I think he had the best solution: If anything goes wrong, just point to the keg and smile. I'm just going to try and remember that. There's a keg! What party with a keg and miles of duct tape isn't a good one?


Friday's update:

I'm not any calmer. The food is mostly ready as you can see



Pay special attention to the mess I made on the stove. I'm such a great chef! So good in fact that I burned the living hell out of the rice. And now? I can't get the burned remnants off the pot. Shit, shit, shit.





But here's my dog. Sleeping peacefully while I flip out. And cute as hell (even if a little blurry).



Thursday, July 29, 2004

Volleyball for dummies. AKA? Me.

First step: Join a volleyball team, even though you haven't ever really played and haven't participated in team sports since college.

Second step: Make sure you get so involved in the game that you totally disregard your own personal well-being. Dive, dive, dive.


Third step: Invest in kneepads, jackass.

Fourth step: Be sure you scratch yourself at some point so you can bleed during practice. This is a good way to intimidate the other team. No, it doesn't make you look like you should be wearing a helmet.

Fifth step: Wake up the next morning not feeling your legs. They're still there, but you're so sore, your body has shut down all feeling below the waist. Expend enormous amounts of energy convincing the feeling to come back.

Sixth step: Come up with a catchy team name like "Team Congeniality" since that will be the pity award you will receive. Make t-shirts celebrating this.

Seventh step: Get eliminated in the first game (although it has yet to happen).

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Spinderella

This past weekend, I made myself a LONG list, complete with sub-lists and sub-sub-lists, of things to do. For I am very busy and important. I even woke up early on Sunday to get a head start on these, too. My brain, however, was less than functioning and I was very easily distracted by anything shiny or pretty or soft. And even some things that weren't.

  • Get up. Grab my wallet and go to the bank.

  • Huh... my ATM card isn't in this wallet. Right. Well then...

  • OOhhh!! Starbucks!! Have huge mental block when it comes to what I say order-- Venti? Large? Damnit, Chris.

Lets try this again.

  • Get up. Grab my wallet and go to Starbucks.

  • Go home and motivate. Lots of stuff to do.

  • Get a call from Mom... she needs keys. Grab keys and then wallet, for second attempt at the bank, head out to meet her.

  • On the way there, realize its the wrong wallet. Again.

  • Target! Target will fix my head. Target fixes everything.

  • Forget every damn thing on my Target list the second I walk in the door, except for mouthwash.

  • Leave Target unsatisfied. A rare and sad experience.

  • Drive by the bank, cursing.

  • Go home, and try to motivate. Still have not done any of the things needed.

  • Go shopping with Mom. Borrow money from her since I still haven't been to the bank and Starbucks and Target took all I had left.

  • Go home and motivate.

  • 5 hours later, start everything I had to do that day. Go to bed late, late, late and wake up crabby the next day.

As of today, two days later? I still haven't gone to the bank and the list remains unfinished.

Saturday, July 24, 2004

The Gift of Loave



Lookie what I got!! Y'all, Amalah is the best person EVER. And here now is my immediate reaction to opening this bundle of hot loave: Fuck you, Amy. You're the coolest!!

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Pooh Wisdom

Oh, the infinite wisdom of A.A. Milne:

When late morning rolls around and you're feeling a bit out of sorts, don't worry; you're probably just a little eleven o'clockish.

I am feeling so very eleven o'clockish right now.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Still Pissed...


before


after

Together now, in the key of RANT

BULLSHIT GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKIN' PIECE OF HORSECOCK

So.

Okay, so...

Okay, so... there is this door that has been locked for the past 3 years in the office stairwell that leads to the roof of the building. And for all that time, I have been begging someone to unlock it so I can go up and sit in the sunshine and eat my lunch with beautiful scenery. And finally, FINALLY, it happened. On Monday, my manager told me that the door to this magical wonderland had been unlocked. And my co-workers and I went and basked in the scenery and freedom from our desks. I ate lunch up there. I took breaks. I had mad passionate sex with the lab assistant from the third floor. (Okay, not really-- but I would have. But not with him. Eww.)

Today dawned with promises of more rooftop gallivanting. At the very moment I put my head down on my keyboard, feeling so finished with today and the 7 years of records I have gone through, my co-worker said, "Lets go up. I can't take anymore."

God bless her.

On our way out, we grabbed the others. Together we walked up and soaked in the direct sunlight we were hidden from before. We walked across the spans of the roof to look at the construction going on next door. We laughed at all the other poor saps who didn't get to go on their roofs, because they are sad people who have no idea what they're missing and should be pitied. Poor, sad them.

Well change that to poor, sad us. The fucking goddamn piece of shit co-worker I have decided that all this joy shouldn't be allowed. She thought what with all the fun we're having we wouldn't ever go back into the office. She was crazy with the jealous of me and that lab assistant. (Nope... still eww.) Because when we came down she pulled the stopper from the lock. She PULLED the STOPPER from the GODDAMN LOCK. Wwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?? What is her problem? Does she hate me? Does she hate fun? Does she kick children and dogs, too?

I am at a loss for understanding why she did this. But I am very certain that I didn't need another reason to hate her and now I am just beside myself with ire. My stomach hurts with the control I have had to display over my fists and mouth. It is a very good thing that the door is locked, actually, because otherwise she would find herself thrown over the side in short order.

PISS.SHIT.DICK.

PS: This is the same co-worker who told me that she liked Elvis's music, but couldn't ever watch him. Because of the hips and the gyration. Oh, Lord. I think maybe she does hate fun.

Almost Finished...

Update:


The dedos are getting better.


Aaaannnd, the foam worked!! Oliver and I broke the mold yesterday (nyuk, nyuk, nyuk) and here you can see that all our hard work was not for not. Not, not, not.



























Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Affianced... you know-- that word?

There are ways that some people say Congratulations! that are very nice and appropriate for the congratulatory occasion. Then there are times when the situation leaves you searching for the words that will never come. Because there are none. Like when your friend tells you that she got engaged the night before to a kick-ass guy and you are just so happy all you do is scream (YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! doesn't count as a word) and kinda jump up and down even though you're sitting at a desk since she was sneaky and made you look up the word 'affianced' because she had to tell you in some sly way. There are no words for that.

I am excited speechless.

When Chemicals Attack : Stupid People Learning the Hard Way

Blah, blah, blah duct tape party... and there will be PRIZES!! Not just any prizes, either-- goddamn handmade-with-love prizes that are slowly stripping me of skin tissue and patience. Oliver and I started this project yesterday, intending to make a trophy for the best dressed duct taped participant.


So we started with a plaster mold...


...that soon after became a plaster mold trapping my hand in 10 gajillion degrees of fire. Here's a fun fact, kids-- plaster has a chemical reaction to water!


140 degrees of heat makes your hand look real pretty...


...and I my hand fell into a burning ring of fire. And its burn, burn, burn...


And after that? The mold broke. Tonight we went for round two: papier-mâché (thanks, Jack).



Oliver got to be the hand model for this experiment. Here's the first round of application...


...and a fancy shot of the mold under the halogen.


And when that was finished, we tried to fill it with a spray-foam-mold-stuff...


...that exploded...


...and has since refused to come off of anything it came into contact with. Namely? Me. I cannot feel my fingertips. I have been trying to pull, wash, scrub, and scrape this shit off for a few hours now and predict that I'll have hours and hours more fun doing the same and still getting nowhere.

But the prizes will kick ass.

(ETA: The foam spray hardened over night. I feel like I am wearing a sandpaper glove.)

Monday, July 19, 2004

Sitting Dog, Part Doo

Of all the conversations I had with the owners before they left, I think this was my favorite:

Them: "You can take her for a walk in the mornings if you'd like, but keep her away from other dogs."
Me: "Oh, does she not like them?"
Them: "She will eat them."

(Go ahead and guess how many times she got walked. Those who say anything other than ZERO are delirious.)



As you can see, she's not a small dog, so I'd have to be mighty strong to hold her back from eating another dog. And while she doesn't look super friendly, she really is... a little too friendly on Saturday night, though, when she climbed on top me and started humping my leg. Pay attention to the nails on her right paw-- those were the ones that dug the fuck into my thigh, so don't be surprised to see bits of flesh hanging around. Damn that hurt.

And to the jackhole who called at 6:30 on Sunday morning? I will find you. And I will hurt you. A lot.

But overall? The dog-sitting weren't too bad, actually.

Friday, July 16, 2004

Sitting Dog

The last time I dog-sat was fairly uneventful. The time before that? Makes me surprised I ever dog-sat again. It was less 'dog-sitting' and more dog-you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me.

The setup:
1 week; 2 people, my sister A and I; 3 dogs, a lab (Boo, 2 years-- tons and tons of energy); a whippet (Annie, 3 years-- very beautiful and fun) and a daschund (Ziggy-- geriatric, mean-spirited, with nasty halitosis as a result of the teeth that were running away from him because this dog was such an ass).

To expound on Ziggy: This dog was on his last legs. He had always slept in the bed with the owners and when they realized that his last legs were also riddled with arthritis? They made a ramp up to the bed for him. A ramp he had to take a arthritic-running start to get up. And one from which he could not get down unaided. No, Ziggy had to be helped down by lifting him off the bed and to the floor, only... Ziggy hated being touched. Especially by me.

Already, you can see that this was a task for no mere mortal.

The sting:
On our first night, we played with the dogs, checked out which dirty adult channels they were getting, and ate all the food in the house. Standard procedure. We got Annie and Boo out of the house as instructed and then prodded Ziggy into the bed with us. (Sidenote: I have never understood why dogs sleep in bed with the owners. Warmth? Security? Grab a blanket and keep the dog on the floor.) Ziggy was a little enamored with A and wanted to cuddle with her... under the covers but on the pillow and if he could have just a little paw hanging out (or on my face)? That'd be super. When we go up there little traces of icky all over the comforter. We had no idea what it was or if it had been there the night before. So? We washed the sheets and comforter and promised to look for it again the next day. Which we did. And it happened again. Icky little brown traces of stink. All over the comforter. At that point, we knew it was coming from Ziggy, we just didn't know from which orifice. A took him to the vet and we got a diagnosis...

Ruptured. Anal. Gland.

Eeeeewwwww. Ruptured anal glands!! And we had been sleeping in that ruptured anal gland seepage for two nights! And need I remind you of the halitosis? We were, essentially, sleeping in a stink pile with liquid shit. And it gets better.

The way to cure one's ass of the rupture is to apply an ointment to the wound twice daily. Oh, were it that easy. We wound up having to chase Ziggy down the hall, sneak up on him from behind, crouch down, and shove the nose of the tube up his ass. Then, we had to squeeze enough ointment into the hole and get out before he snapped at us. He may have been losing his teeth, but he had the mean ones left.

Every day, twice a day, for a week we did this. And continued to have the dog sleep with us at night. Quite possibly one of the most disgusting things ever.

So this weekend? I'm dog-sitting. Wish me luck.

Mail, Mutha Fucka!

This week has been forever long. Seriously. FOREVER. By Wednesday I was finished with it and wanted to throw Thursday and Friday away. There have been a few highlights, but mostly its been looking at the clock at 2:46 and then looking at it again, 20 minutes later, when its 2:47. Forever.

But, since this week has been so very long and uneventful, the highlights stand out even more. Such as...

-Ben & Jerry's has brought back the dairy-heroin (dair-oin) Oatmeal Cookie Crunch. Its for a limited time only, so go get your fix while the dealer has stock.

- And I finished my CD. Yup... I just got out of the recording studio and boy is my larynx tired. No. For the past year or so, every month I compile all the songs I've been listening to and make a CD. On months when I don't have enough material to make a full CD, I'll wait and do two months at once, which drives me CRAZY with the waiting and by then, I have too much for one disc and they're never my best efforts. And while all this is fascinating, why don't I just tell you what's on the CD?

Broken/ Seether
Vindicated/ Dashboard Confessional
Cold Hard Bitch/ Jet
Scotty Doesn't Know/ Lustra (from Eurotrip)
Mother/ Danzig
Ch-Check It Out/ Beastie Boys
My Band/ D12
Date Rape/ Sublime
Shit Towne/ Live
Are You Gonna Be My Girl/ Jet
Sell Out/ Reel Big Fish
Where did you go/ Mighty Mighty Bosstones
The New Year/ Death Cab for Cutie
Hallelujah/ Rufus Wainwright
This Grudge/ Alanis Morissette
Angel Pumping Gas/ The Postal Service
Float On/ Modest Mouse
Take Me Out/ Franz Ferdinand
Rockin' the Suburbs/ Ben Folds
Musicology/ Prince

A lot of these are really random and could probably use some explaination. But I'm not really in the mood to do that right now. One thing I will say? As I was driving into work this morning I realized it was finally Friday and Hallelujah came on and it was damn near perfect... which it will be if it happens again on my way home.

Happy Friday!!


Thursday, July 15, 2004

I Want A Feast! I Want A Bean Feast!


Let the gifting begin!!

See that? Over on the right? Under the Blogroll Me!? That is my Amazon wish list! And because my birthday is rapidly approaching and because you all love me, I thought an opportunity to buy me shit was in order. High order.

(The Duct Tape Book is a beautiful beginning to this blessed day, as I will be having a duct tape party for all who are cool enough to participate.)

(thanks amalah for the know-how)

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Ha! HAHA!! HAAHahaahHAHAAHA!!

Go Fug Yerselves.

I am lightheaded with the laughing.

Wednesday Sentence Smackdown

Why are you here? Go. Now.

Also-- how did I not give myself the kudos I so deserved for last weeks win?? Kudos, self!! Thank you, Martha!

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

The Rudd and the Bateman and the Yummmmmmmmm.

Remember the drunk posting from last week? Here now you will see that I participated with my very own drunk email... that is now being posted.


To bring you up to speed:
I wrote-- And when did Jason Bateman and I start dating and why did I not know about it?

Amalah comments:
Haaaaaaaaaaa. I know what you mean about Jason Bateman.

I would like to marry him. And yet I Googled him and found out he's married to Paul Anka's daughter. Jason! You can do better! Me!

Fresh Baked responds:
Step away from the Bateman!! You already have a Jason-- leave this one for the rest of us, huh? Besides, I tap-tapped him first.

For leaving him alone, I will tell you nice things.

Amalah concedes:
Ok, I will not marry Jason Bateman. But if you marry him? I still might try to make out with him a little bit. And for this I am sorry. Are you going to take back all the nice things you said now?

Fresh Baked grudges:
Deal. I suppose I'll have to let him make out with his other wife, too... stupid Paul Anka for breeding.

See? All is well here. A little fake celebrity adultery never hurt anybody and we're playing so nicely. But then this happens...

Fresh Baked snots:
Just in case the rest of your fab weekend takes you to Anchorman...
Paul Rudd is already taken. By ME. That's right, I'm the bitch who takes all the guys. And ain't no amount of Care Bears gonna heal that wound in your heart.

-b (for bitch)

Amalah corrects:
I hate to tell you this, but I laid claim on Paul Rudd way back in the days of "Clueless." But maybe I will trade you a Paul Rudd Dream Date Spectacular for a weekend getaway with Jason Bateman.

-A (for...um...asshat?)

and finally, after some of this?




Fresh Baked slurs:
Amy, I do believe you're forgetting a little show called "isiters.: Shit. Sister.s Whatever. Kirby had to marry ashlet Judd, and i had to love him right then. FOREVER. but i love the swap more. lets keep them in constant rotation; their wivbs won't mind. also on sisters-- George clooney. who wsa in facts of life. whcih brings us back to blaire and trashy sears girls. see? loopy.

I have had a very busy niighy of drinking (with hudson/meli) and doing watherfalls. and seeing spidey2. tobeys all yours. hoep you enjoyed the cactii, i hear saguaro is delightfull..

-b. for bring me anotherdirnk i'm thirsty!!

also? lbooger is mean to me tonight and won't let me uppdate. and this keyboaurd sucks.


And really- isiters? niighy? lbooger? Why I couldn't be more proud than if I were sober.

Update: Amalah is now dating the lead singer of Carbon Leaf. Or she was, until I told her he looks like this fool.

Monday, July 12, 2004

I Love the 90s

Is it too early? Find out tonight.

Resting in Hammy Heaven (Or, Reasons to Make A List, Because I Just Figured Out How)

In my junior year of college, I decided it was time for our apartment to have a pet. This launched a successive string of hamsters, a pet that is enjoyable though not all that durable.

Before we get started, let me say that all these hamsters, though each had an individual moniker, was only ever referred to as Hammy.

  1. Moons Over My Hammy. I had this hamster for all of about a week. One day I came in from lacrosse practice to find two of my roommates crouched on the kitchen floor with flashlights, a broom, and the refrigerator pulled out of it's nook. Seems that Hammy1 had made a break for freedom and wound up under the fridge that I'm willing to bet hadn't been moved since its installation in 1973. A few days later we noticed that Hammy1 was doing a sad little hammy shiver in his cage and hadn't eaten in a while. When I called for help, the pet store guy suggested that I stick my finger up his ass to see if there was some... I really don't know-- the dude lost me after he suggested I stick my finger up my hamster's ass. Instead, I took Hammy1 in to the store for a "professional" to do the deed. Within minutes, the kid came back suggesting I look for another hamster because that one wasn't going to make it. I don't know what exactly happened to this guy- possibly something he ate under the fridge? RIP, Hammy1.

  2. Beady-Eyed Hamster. Hammy2 was named after a girl we went to school with, aka: the Beady-Eyed Dancer, for reasons I'm sure you can understand. (Seriously? The beadiest eyes ever!!) Hammy2 wouldn't bite like Hammy1 did, nor try to make a break for it, and was very good with children. Or, drunk college students who behaved like children. While he played well in his ball, he didn't have to go in it all the time because he liked to run on the window sill and the back of the couch... which is how we (I) eventually lost him. I let Hammy2 out to play one day and there he went, quiet as a hammy, playing his heart out on the window sill. He was so quiet, in fact, that I forgot he was out and went to class without putting him back. Three guesses as to what happens when you leave a hamster playing by an open door and there are cats lurking nearby. RIP, Hammy2.

  3. Scary Hamster With No Name. After the demise of Hammy2, I wanted another hamster right away ('cause I was so good at caring for them). But I wanted one that was cool and tough. So I got one with black spots and had a piece of his ear missing. I wanted to name him Rebel Without a Hammy, but my roommates put the kibosh on that by making me take him back before he ever got settled in because they didn't think he was cute. The best part? I brought him back to the store and told them that my kids didn't like it and wanted one that was prettier. So, no RIP to Hammy3, but... sorry you were ugly.

  4. Green Eggs and Ham(ster). As though to make up for all the hammy drama from before, Hammy4 was the easiest and most kick-backedest hamster (though nowhere near as cool as Hammy2). He lasted the longest, too. Hammy4 made it through the end of junior year and lived all through my senior year next door to a box turtle named Droz. After graduation, Hammy4 was raffled off in my sister's 5th grade classroom to a student who took very good care of him and informed us of his sad passing not too long ago. RIP, Hammy4.

So there you have it. It being either a list of hamsters I had in college or a very good reason to never let me near your pets.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

My Revelation


I feel so relieved! The movie production of my life as a ultra-tan bra model with great cleavage starts next week and they just found my breast double! Yay!! (Check your local listings for showtimes.)

Friday, July 09, 2004

I Forgot to Mention...

-We drank a LOT on last Friday. But we also took Chaser and it worked reeeeeal nice. Perhaps there are others who should try it?

- That fine gentleman in the black hat down there? He took his Chasers, turned to me, and said: "If I start making out with you, its only because of the pills." Now isn't that the most romantic thing you ever did hear?

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Better than an Umbrella!

The best part about this story is the fact that there are photographs to go along with it, so I'll keep the exposition down. Friday turned out to be a fun, drunken night. Bar-hopping, stolen shots, and a bacelorette party that we weren't a part of but they left us with wonderful prizes anyway (Note: my prize was the best because Balls! and the creepiest because Veins!):


Ah! L'amour!


I don't know... write your own caption here.


There are few things funnier than putting a straw with a penis-shaped topper on it into a guys drink in a bar when he's not looking. The confusion on their faces is beautiful because, not only is there something in their drink, its a penis! And its happy to see them. We did extensive research on this subject that night-- this is just the only one I caught on camera.

And in the end, the guy who actually drank out of the straw won a kiss from MEEEEEE! They were brawling for that straw, let me tell you...

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Making Absolutely No Sense. None.

Right. So. Okay, so... nobody knows who Riki Rachtman is? MTV? Headbanger's Ball? No? Right... well, forget I said anything then.

My 4th was good and mellow, thanks for asking. Pa and I did a 5K in the morning (and saw Riki Rachtman-- still? nobody? where's the love?) and it was rather uneventful, really. Except that my shoes decided to hate me about a mile into the race and I have God's Biggest Blisters to prove it. Ha! I said 'race' like I was running it and I, well... I wasn't.

Also, hey-- You know what makes a 3-day weekend even more fun? Injury! But, before I get there: I'm moving. MOVING! About a mile away from where I live now... at home, with parents I love, but don't really want to live with anymore. So... Moving! But not before a lot of work gets done to the new house.

Like taking down the wood paneling.



And fugly gold-veined mirrors.



And an ENTIRE corkboard wall.



But mostly, I want the cat stink gone. (Confession: I used to be one of those people who said that they were allergic to cats when really? I just don't like them (sorry, cat lovers). Turns out, Karma is a bitch named Dander.) The previous owners had 2 cats and, I guess, lacked the wherewithal to remove any and all evidence of their existence before I set foot in the place. Rude! This makes me all sniffy and watery-eyed which makes using a drill a bit more difficult. But, as it turned out, not as difficult as wielding a hammer.

And for that story:

Ma and I went over yesterday to rid the place of its paneling. Here is where I tell you that my mom is Super! Wonderful! Amazing! All of these things are true, plus-- she can take down paneling like nobody you have ever seen. Believe me when I tell you that she will make all of your moms cry should it come to a take-down face-off. And you're a bad kid if you want your mom to cry. My job, after the paneling was down, was to remove all the residual nails. Even the high ones. Even the ones that are high and really comfortable with their place in the universe and are rather adverse to the idea of leaving it. Even those. It was in taking out one such nail when I learned that Karma has a cousin named Gravity. And Gravity is an even bigger bitch than Dander when it comes to payback. I had been working at this nail for some time when, finally, it just gave. And the hammer I had been pushing on flung back in the direction of my head and when the time was right, Gravity yelled "NNNOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!" and let the hammer fall. On my head. In the ouchy Parietal bone that I totally had to look up because if it has a name you'll feel sorry for me. I saw stars, I dismounted from the ladder a little less than gracefully. I saw more stars. I felt pain. And then, well, those nails weren't going to take themselves out, so I got back up and finished the job.

Remember the tug-of-war scene in Revenge of the Nerds when the geeky Tri-Lams just dropped the rope and the hunky Alpha Betas just fell down? (I bet Riki Rachtman does.) I mention it because it was just about as graceful as this post. And to point out that Gravity didn't like the Alpha Betas, either.

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Headbanging 4th


Guess who I saw at the 5K this morning...