Okay hi, so here's the thing: I keep forgetting I have a blog. It's odd, really, since I've had it for like 5+ years now. But oh well.

My job continues to be great, except the workload has ratcheted up so I have less time for idle thinking during the day. I rather miss that. So I've been thinking maybe I'll take walks. You know, during which I could just let my mind wander, and such. I always think of getting off the train a few stops early so I can walk the rest of the way home, but I never actually do it. I just am not so excited about it at the end of a workaday, when I'm wanting to get home to dinner and The News Hour (because yes I am a PBS nerd). It actually took until this morning for me to have the revolutionary thought of "Hey! I can walk in the morning, on the way to work!"

I am a genius. That is all.

Omg it's hot, you guys. It's hot! I'm sitting here doing nothing but typing, but I am sweating! Because it's like 80 degrees today! YAY SUMMER WOO HOOO.

Now that I said that, it'll snow tomorrow. Fuck.

So yeah - forgetting to blog. Nothing much happens, see. I work. I occasionally hang with fam or friends. I always spell "occasionally" wrong and then have to delete an extra S. I eat food. I sleep at night. I ride the train. I have nothing to talk about. And I KNOW I used to blog scads and scads of stuff about all this nothingness, but somehow I have lost the knack. Sorry. Right now, all I feel like blathering about for hours is, gawd help us, politics. I need like an intervention or something. Which I began to say so to my dear friend Rita when we talked t'other night, but when I mentioned how I'm all for Obama and have come to despise Clinton, it set off this deluge. And you just have NO IDEA how fun it is to leesten to Rita and her very EEEtalian accent as she talks about how Heeeelary eez a total piece of sheet and Obama eez awesome how she preents out his speeches to give to unsuspecting people and how she waited in line like 5 hours to see him in Indy and the hijinks that ensued.

So really, every time I go to one of my friends to say "make me stop talking politics", we immediately begin talking politics. This includes my brother, who is a family member, and I never talk about politics with family. Ever. And if it ever comes up, I am always and inevitably on the opposite side from the rest of em. Except for now, because everyone I know doesn't need to be converted to my way of thinking - they're all already there and just waiting, like me, to be given the chance to babble about it. I'm in like some bizzaro universe where my brother actually believes in global warming now. What the fuck, I ask you?

ANYWAY. I should get off the computer and like actually clean my apartment. Because one thing that really hasn't even minimally interested me in the last few weeks has been housework. And boy howdy does it show.

Oh but first, I forgot (!!) to mention that I got cute new comfy shoes. Actually, I got 2 pair. This is the first.



These lil black numbers are Skechers. And I LOVE THEM. I got them on awesome sale, and I needed comfy shoes I could walk around in all day that weren't ugly or clunky and would even be okay with a dress work clothes. And they are all that. I love them. Everyone should have a pair. Not even kidding, even if you have to pay full price.

And I also needed comfy brown shoes, so I found these (by SoftSpots, who make like the softest comfiest shoes evah) also on awesome sale:


But a problem: they were like huuugely too big. (I ordered a half-size up because some online reviews said they're sized small.) So the new pair came yesterday and guess what? Still too big. I am trying to decide what to do. Sure, all the shipping back and forth is free - but do I like them so much that I will go to this much trouble? Why risk it? What if the next size down doesn't fit right? But they are cute. And even too big, they are extremely comfy. They also my my feet look tiny, which I don't care about, but I thought I'd throw that in just if you happen to care.

So that is my shoe dilemma, and it's a strange one because I've never had this much trouble with an online shoe purchase before. Also if you're interested, I totally shop at shoes.com now instead of zappos.com. Cheaper prices, better sales. But Zappos is the place for research and info, and they have more styles there. FYI to my fellow footwear-lovers.

In conclusion, I watched the following short video and spent the whole 38 seconds of it making squealing and cooing noises and asking the screen in my most sickening baby voice Oh where WERE you for two whole weeks you little cutie baby how'd you live what'd you eat aww aww kitty where's your mommy cutie kitty pie! It totally reduces me to a quivering mass of girl goo. I now share it with you.

So yesterday was Memorial Day and therefore I skipped SBD. Which I shoulda done a quick post saying as much, sorry, but I was eating food from the grill and making margaritas and sitting out on the sunny deck with the beloved family, etc. I got home last night and had that lovely end-of-a-summer-day contentment going on, where all your limbs are limp from the heat and the smell of sun lotion lingers on your skin and you don't want to do anything but sit and lazily read a bit until it's time to curl under the covers as a thunderstorm blows into town.

So what I'm saying is: it was pretty awesome. And that is all.

Random things:

I took a nap but it just wasn't enough. My head's all fuzzy. I swear I could fall right back to sleep.

I discovered a new Thai curry. It's called Kang Pa, and it is very spicy and very awesome. Now if my local Thai spot would just start making panang noodles.

I have a massive girlcrush on one of the instructors at my gym. I want her to be my new best friend so bad that I immediately become shy and tongue-tied any time she says hi. Not since I first met Snookie have I had this reaction to a total stranger, where I'm convinced I'm totally not cool enough to hang with her and silently wish that she'd ask me to hang with her, and then if she ever did, I'd spaz and say no I'm busy that day because I am just not cool enough to hang with her and I'd only embarrass myself. Thus ensuring that we'll never become friends, which is my secret desperately longing wish because she's so funny and smart and fun and I wanna be Just Like Her.

No, I'm not 12 years old. Why do you ask?

I just ordered Atonement from the swap. Funny thing: I always vaguely assumed I didn't like that book, because it was written by Ian McEwan - and I thought it might be that same author wrote this one book I tried to read once but it was very boring and pretentious. So I'd decided to dislike a book I never read (and didn't even know what it was about) based on the thought that it MIGHT have been written by an author who wrote a book I didn't read past page 3 and whose title I can't even remember. I never thought this out, really, just made vague connections in my head and the end resulting thought was: Atonement sucks. Ha ha. Joke's on me - I never even tried to read any of his books. So I ordered it. We'll see.

I am ridiculously pissed off at the stupidity of the doors at the el stop. See, they just renovated the stop a couple of summers ago (yay) and now there are 2 sets of doors you have to go through to get onto the platform. They are handicap-equipped, so you hit a button and the doors very slowly swing open. You know those doors? Like that. The problem is that these are the only doors, the only way to get through. If you just grab the handle and pull, there is resistance - you know those doors? I dunno, it's like built-in intentional resistance on the door, making it quite a chore to open. Every single time, all I can think is why why why WHY did they design it like this? Why? Why are they so stupid? Will they ever fix it? Does the station attendant know how much we love it when they just say fuck it and tie the doors open? Because they do it often, but not nearly enough for my tastes.

GOD it is such a DUMB design.

I need to get dressed and return this stupid movie I rented back. But my hair is still damp. And it's cold out there. And I mentioned that I'm really sleepy despite my nap. It would only cost an extra dollar to keep it an extra night. But. I already watched the mindless piece of unoriginal fluff and I don't need it anymore. It's just a dollar.But it's the principle, see.

Okay. Going now. Really.

I was totally going to go to bed early tonight, because I keep sleeping past the alarm clock every morning this week (which makes no sense at all,but there you have it) but oh my gads I am so totally awake it's not even funny. Oh well. So I'll be sleepy (or not) tomorrow.

Oh hey check this out - I got this email today, telling me we get out of work at 3 tomorrow because yay Memorial Day. Yay indeed. And as an aside, this glorious email informed me that the company is ever so sorry they don't offer alternative summer schedules, so here ya go, have two extra days off this summer instead.

Yes, I officially work in Shangri-La. It's pretty cool. Feel free to be thoroughly jealous.

In other news, it's fucking freezing outside. I felt like I shoulda brought my hat and gloves today. Yes, in late May. Because 6 solid months of cold is apparently not enough this year. Fuckers. At least it's sunny and pretty to look at, if only it were more than 50 degrees. We're allegedly (ALLEGEDLY) supposed to get up to 80 this weekend, but I believe that like I believe in leprechauns. And by that, I mean: not much.

I will be hangin' with the fave fam this weekend - the eye-talian &co., plus the south side niece and neff. We're planning a cookout. Which, due to the freezing ass cold, may become a cook-in. Really, there are no other plans besides "hey let's get together and eat", but I just really can't resist an opportunity to bring the neffs together. They get soooooooo excited at the very idea, then shout and jump and shout some more when the cousin walks in the door, then within an hour, they're fighting over some video game of some sort. They like live for these chances to spat. So they'll spat and the niece and I will work on making guacamole. Not a bad plan, really.

La la la, I don't really have much else to report. Allergies are still a drag, work is sailing along quite merrily, Anna Karenina is annoying the hell out of me and yet I can't stop reading it, I'm finally really back on my regular gym schedule (instead of skipping a session here or there for various reasons), my bank account is shockingly healthy, and the mighty mighty Thunderpuss is, well, mighty. I can't really think of anything bad to report.

Well, I am in dire need of tupperware. There's that. (Somehow I've lost all the containers and none of the lids. Wtf?) And I do need to do dishes. Of course. And my futon's falling to bits, but I don't mind that too much, really, since it just means I get to go shopping for a couch sometime in the near future. Honestly, if these are my only complaints, I'm very lucky.

And also destined to become thoroughly boring. Hurrah!

Political rant, click away now before it's too late!

So I know - I KNOW - I have to stop reading about the fucking primaries all the damn time, but this recent spasm of O How We Womyn Are Wronged just has me seething. SEETHING, I tell you. Can I just ask all females to not ever ever ever in the whole future history of the universe run for high office in my country ever again if you plan to take your cues from Hillary "I'm A Feminist If It Gets Me Sympathy" Clinton? Please? Thanks, appreciate it.

Because I read shit like this (just the last paragraph does nicely) and all I can think is - did you really just compare the Hillary Nutcracker to the legalized oppression and abuse of women in, say, Indian villages where they're married against their will at age 13? And incidentally, if the oppression of women is "the single biggest problem we have politically and socially in the world", can you please point me to the long list of anti-female-oppression legislative initiatives with your name on it? You know, all those amazing things you've done, how you've made a name for yourself around the world by championing women's rights? I know you gave a speech in China once (and kudos, seriously), but I can't remember you working tirelessly to stem the tide of violent rape occurring in Darfur refugee camps. I also can't remember any high-profile fury from you or calls for action when reports began to surface a few years ago about U.S. women soldiers being raped an awful lot by their fellow soldiers and the military covering it up and all that. I can only imagine the attention these issues could've garnered if a famous and politically active former First Lady decided to open her mouth and not shut up, on behalf of women everywhere. And I mean that I can only imagine, because it only exists in my imagination. Certainly not in reality, you dogged tenacious fighter, you.

Come to think of it, how long until you say that losing the nomination - I mean having it "stolen", sorry - feels just like being raped? Because that would be just precious, and I think you're only a half-breath away from it. After all, your speech in Florida today came dangerously close to saying that votes in a party's primary (kind of like a club picking its president, you know?) that are "not counted" - even though everyone said like a million times and people including you signed oaths that they would not be counted - is like unto the suffrage struggles of yore, including votes for women and black people.

Yes. Yes, it's exactly like that. And that isn't remotely demeaning. Nope, not at all.

Thanks for speaking for ALL women, sweetums! Oh, except 90% of the black ones. And about 70% of the young ones. And, um, none of the non-Democratic ones. I'll burn a bra in your honor. Or not.

Never mind, I can't even give good rant, I'm that brain-meltingly pissed off. I've had 7+ years of being embarrassed to be an American, thanks to George Bush. And now with Hillary's campaign, I'm embarrassed to be female. Humiliation is good for the soul, I guess. Do remember I said that, Ms. Clinton. In case you're feeling humiliated anytime soon. Very, very soon, one hopes.

A campaign season like this just makes me miss Molly Ivins desperately. Gads, the fun she'd be having with all this. But hang on - I remember now that Molly already had something to say on the matter. In fact, she was really rather prescient on the whole thing. Lord love her.

I think I'll just have a soothing cup of tea now.

Oh and PS to Geraldine Ferraro: thanks for 1984!


Ah, memories.

Hey, I'm 84% French in bed. Allegedly, for me, lovemaking is an art, a highbrow form of expression every bit as rich, complex and meaningful as cinema, literature or ballet.

Eh, if they say so. I want to know what the other 16% is.

It's SBD with just jmc and me.


The following is lame because I have a wandering mind and have not been reading Romance and bleh, whatever, nobody reads my blog anymore anyway, so here's my brain squiggles.

Remember a couple of years ago, when the RWA was sorta trying to define the Romance genre and in the process, also obviously trying to shut out gay Romance? And people got all up in arms about it, like insanely pissed off, and I was all like "Eh – I don't get it, who gives a shit"? Remember that?

Well I do, because I never did get it, despite many attempts to explain it to me. The way I see it, the RWA is like a club, and you don't have to belong to it and it doesn't have to represent you and it's not an arm of the government, so what the fuck, man? Thanks for letting us know you don't like gay people, assholes. If anything, a decision to Keep Out The Evil Gay should mean that the RWA should call itself the SRWA. (Straight Romance Writers of America – except that's confusing because it's not about the writers being straight, it's about the romance being straight. So maybe it should be American Writers of Heterosexual Romance. AWHR!) It sucks, it brands them as intolerant jackasses, and it's just flat-out mean-spirited and the opposite of love – which is what Romance is supposed to be all about, after all – but it's still something I just shrug at.

But anyway, so I was thinking about it this weekend because of the very cool California ruling on gay marriage, a subject that also fails to really stir me up. Not because I don't think gay people should be allowed to get married, but because I just don't give a shit about marriage as an institution and I don't understand people who do. So I don't get all riled up about it, but I do think that of course anyone should be allowed to get married if they want to. Beats me why they'd want to, but there shouldn't be any legal obstacle to it, because that's just retarded.

Which made me think of my kind-of-apathy toward the RWA vs. Gay Romance thing and wonder why an attempt to exclude gay Romance writing doesn't seem massively wrong to me. And there is that thing about it being a kind of club, but I think what it mostly comes down to is the absurdity of genre labels in any and all cases. I mean honestly, if it were up to me, a lot of stuff currently considered Romance by the RWA, shouldn't be. For heavensakes, Adios to My Old Life won the RWA's RITA award – and in about 6 million years, a "Romance" is about the last way I'd describe that book. It's about a young girl in a televised musical competition, and she happens to pick up a boyfriend along the way. By that standard, we might as well call Harry Potter a frikken Romance. I mean, I also don't think a lot of the sex-centric erotica writing fits the Romance label, seeing as how it's more about the nookie than it is about the lasting romantic relationship. (Well, at least the admittedly little I've read.)

I guess my point is: they seem to be really bizarre and subjective in how they define Romance anyway, so why the hell should I consider it an injustice when they continue their bizarreness? Sure, it's based on ignorant bullshit – but as far as I can tell, most genre labels are based on ignorant bullshit.

But more than that, I think, is that the discrimination they were looking to apply was against fictional characters. Not real people. Unless I completely missed the boat, the RWA wasn't proposing that gay writers couldn't be members of their club. Just that fiction about gay people falling in love should not be considered Romance by their club. So yeah, it's really dumb and intolerant and really not in keeping with what seems to be their expansive (and ever more expanding) definition of Romance, but I guess I realize that I can't bring myself to care about discrimination against fictional characters. I suppose that's the disconnect for me. In the same way, I wouldn't really care if all the booksellers in America decided that books starring female spies had to go in the Women's Fiction section and not in the Action/Adventure section. Yes it's dumb. But we're talking about the publishing industry, which is so full of dumb they don't have enough shelves to hold all the dumb, okay?

Having said that, though, obviously the people behind the push for excluding gay fiction totally had an agenda and were, not to put too fine a point on it, stinking cunts. And luckily they seem to have sunk back into the woodwork. But I still feel like it's nt a screeching injustice. It's more tlike the New York Times actually paying and publishing Bill Kristol and Maureen Dowd - they really lose a fair amount of their legitimacy, prestige, and the right to call themselves reponsible purveyors of "news".

Honestly, when you come down to it, a contrived label applied to fictional characters/events by a paid member group is pretty much irrelevant. In my view, anyway.

So that's what I think about that. Two years later. Because I am nothing if not topical.

(In other news, my hair is good again. Yay!)

Hallo! look I remembered that today is

SBD!

Aren't you all proud of me? I am. I'll be even more proud if I can manage to get to work on time, but anyway. Comments are open and tell us about what you've been reading, eh? Thanks.

kisskiss!

I went to the gym yesterday? And this particular round of TurboKick(tm!) just kicks my ass and I haven't done it that much - well, okay maybe I've done it a few times before, but I was totally into it yesterday. I have way more energy for the Saturday morning workout than I do the Monday or Wednesday evenings. But ANYWAY my point is this: Ow. I am sore all over. Okay, my neck isn't sore, or my head. Or my arms from the elbows down. And my back is only minimally ow. But the rest of me seriously feels it. I was thinking my abs weren't so bad, and then I went to throw stuff into the hamper and: Ow.

I have finished the somewhat painful process of gathering the load o'laundromat stuff, and now I must sit for a minute and work to gather my will to carry it all downstairs. I'll admit it's better as the day goes on. But gyah.

I had em cut like 3 inches off my hair yesterday. It's still long - a bit past the shoulders - but more one-lengthy. She (the new girl, not the eye-talian who was busy with an up-do) blow-dried it flat and the convo at the dinner table was like this:

Bro4: It doesn't look like your hair.
Me: It's because she blowed it out so straight, so she could the cut and layer the ends.
Bro4: I don't like it.
Me: I never style it like this at home, so this is the only time it'll look like this.
Bro4: It looks wrong. Why would she do it that way if it looks so not right?
Italian: It's the style now, everywhere. Really flat, like using a flat iron.
Bro4: [vague hand gestures toward my head] You don't look right. It's like someone else's hair on your head.
Me: Calm down, freakout boy, it's just a blow style. I'll let it be all messy and natural when I do it myself tomorrow and it'll be more wavy and fluffy and natural-looking, and then we'll see what this cut is really like.

It kills me that the brother was so disturbed by the style. But she did manage to make it SO flat that it looks like I have less hair. In reality, I have very thick hair - but this straight-as-a-board thing makes it look thin, like I've lost half my hair or something. I admit that not only does it not look like my own hair, it just looks freaky bad.

In light of this, you'd think I'd go get it wet and let it dry naturally and see how it looks. But that would require (a) getting up, and (b) actually holding my arms above my head. And I think I might've mentioned: Ow.

But okay okay - I needa go do stupid laundry. Me and my freakishly wrong hairdo and my aching thighs will pick up that 15 pounds (or 10? I dunno) of dirty clothes and we will make it down the stairs, I tell you. Yes we can! Go team!

Whether we can make it back UP the stairs is an entirely different matter, however. I think I'll pick up some Indian food on the way back, as my reward. Because my life is SO HARD, you see.

For lo yea verily I say unto thee: I can't sleep until the decongestant kicks in. Because ouch. Stupid sinuses.

So the job is dandy, still. Kinda boring and I feel like I should be doing more, but you know what? I don't really care. Every day feels like I'm getting away with something, like the whole thing is an indulgence. It's not hard AND it's not stressful. It's immensely liberating. Those parts of my brain that were being suffocated seem to be getting a bit of oxygen again. I can tell by the little movies in my head.

Did I ever mention the movies in my head? I think so. I think many people have them. It's like a fantasy or a daydream, except different. Anyway, I've always had a few going on, develop a little more of it every day as you go along. For years I had several versions of an alien invasion thing going on. Kinda miss that one, but I'm not so much into the whole Saving The World theme as much. A friend of mine has these movies in her head too and one day she thought "Hey maybe I'll write it out" - and that thought was quickly followed by: "Oh hey, this is what writers do!This is how books happen, by writing the movies in your head!" Which sounds like a kind of DUH moment, but when you live your whole life with these mutating movies in your head, it's not something you really consciously think of. It's just there. Stories you tell yourself as entertainment while you're dropping off to sleep. It's a very private thing, and I'd die if anyone could see the movies in my head. And they're not the sexual kind, either. It's just this bit of imagination that's not open to anyone else.

Anyway, lately I suddenly have new movies in my head. Brand new ones. And my brain fiddles with them idly. I wake up in the morning and am disappointed I fell asleep the night before without getting closer to the resolution, or the climax, or whipping up some good scene. I caught myself on the train today, speaking narration in my head, changing a word here, a phrase there, all the while adding images and images and a whole unseen world was alive again.

I'd elaborate on how wonderful that is, but I find I'm rather emotional about it. I wonder how many other things I lost that I didn't even realize. I wonder about the bits of myself that I can'tget back. Because I know there are some. I think I know which ones may be gone forever. But I watch for signs of life ad encourage any little sparks that may come along. It's amazing how much of you can die inside, and get shoved away, and forgotten, or strangled, or faded. Bits of yourself that get forcibly dunked under the surface and never come back up for air again. It's some adult thing, I guess, when you can look back and see what you lost and wonder what you could've done differently, if anything.

Anyway. These are the late night ramblings of a sinus sufferer. Oh hey I bought new shoes. Comfy ones. But stylish! But comfy. I do a lot more walking now. I'll offer some of my old shoes to my niece, who I think can fit into some of them. The white strappy sandals, the black ballet flats, the red shoes, the kitty shoes. I'll just have her come browse the closet. It's getting too full of things I never wear. But it's fun to get replacements, I'll tell ya. Especially since I have this unexpected mini-windfall which is a long story but is very welcome, as it means I can lay off the penny pinching for a while. Which allows me to buy shoes. Yay.

I go to the eye-talian's shop to get my hair done tomorrow. I think I'll ask for a different cut. The last of the dead ends should be snipped off tomorrow, and I think I just don't like all these layers anymore. I pretty much always pull my hair back or up, or whatever. It's never swinging gloriously free, because I'd have to actually put effort into making it look good. I am so not into that. So I rarely actually enjoy all this hair, which is a shame - after all, it's good hair. It's just not a good cut. So I dunno. We'll see. If I still don't like it after tomorrow, I'll get it all chopped off next time. Life is too short to not enjoy one's hair. Ya know?

The eye-talian has a new dog, too. A little yappy thing, of course. She likes little dogs. I find them excessively annoying. But okay, fine - I can coo at the new canine. If I can get over paying for the gas to get me out there, because prices here are like $4.15 or so now.
Oy.

Okay, that's all from me. I think I'll make some hot tea or something, in the hopes of soothing my aching eyeballs.

So today I am suffering because I didn't take any decongestant. Why didn't I take any decongestant? Apparently because I think I'm a god of some sort. The kind that magically overcomes sinus pressure simply by waving a powerful hand and saying "all gone". Or something.

My point: I was gonna blog but now I need to blow my nose and sleep deeply.

Look! I totally remembered it's

SBD!

Which is quite an achievement when I'm thoroughly preoccupied by this dream I had last night where this strange animal - like a mini hippo but it had fur so it was sorta bear-like and doggish - and it was wearing one battered red tennis shoe on its left rear hoof, and it got into my apartment and I called 911 and got a voice recording, but then I realized it was really a very sweet animal so no need for drastic measures. Then this extremely charming man showed up to take the animal home, and he was very flirty but never asked for my number, which was frustrating, so I was looking for a pen to write it down and give it to him anyway but then I woke up. It was quite the cliffhanger, and the bit that is preoccupying me is the animal because I think I've dreamt it before, tennis shoe and all. Serious deja vu. So of course I have to wonder if this has some Jungian meaning or something,

And that was my dream. So now you should SBD. Comments open.

So I've done nothing but sit around and be lazy all weekend (except a trip to the gym - that was the sole energetic enterprise of the last 48 hours), and it's led me to think many thoughts that I haven't been able to think about head-on for a long time. It's like the last few years have been very loud, and now all of a sudden - peace and quiet.

Which means, I guess, that I have things to say. And I think maybe I can say them here again.Sort myself out by tapping here, the way I used to. I think. Maybe. I dunno.

But it's nt happening tonight, that's for sure, so before I go to bed I will share with you bits of the phone call I had with my dear friend Tom (who hails, like me, from Northwest Indiana).

Tom: "Hey, so did you know Barack Obama is the antichrist?"
Me: "Oh yeah. That's old news, man."
Tom: "He eats babies. White babies!"
Me: "And we know this from an email that some old person got and it's all true but the liberal media will never report on it."

*

Me: "Ohmigod, do you know how much I was dying as the returns from Indiana came in and we were waiting on Lake County? Lake County! It totally MATTERED!"
Tom: "Ahhhh I know! And the best was the mayor of Hammond fighting with the Gary mayor on CNN!"
Me: "Can I just tell you that just the sight of the Hammond mayor reminded me of all the reasons I had to get out of Northwest Indiana?"
Tom: "They did a bit on it on The Daily Show. It was awesome."
Me: "I saw the Hammond mayor on this local show like the next day, and I nearly threw my TV out the window. You'd swear he'd never even BEEN to Lake County. He's like living on another planet or something."
Tom: "What'd he say?"
Me: "Oh that Lake County is Barack's back yard and it really MEANS something that Hillary got any votes there."
Tom: "...Back yard? ...Wha?... I'm so confused."
Me: "Oh and he's all like In the town of Hobart, Obama had hardly any votes at all, which just shows how much people love Hillary here."
Tom: [inarticulate sputtering due to the fact that Hobart is quite possibly the most anti-Democrat and thoroughly racist place in the county, where people proudly tell you they're in the Klan. Once as a teenager, I was trying on a dress in a shop on Main Street there and the salesgirl dreamily told me that there's "nothing more beautiful than a white woman in a pretty dress." That's when I knew their racist reputation was well-earned. Black people are rightfully terrified of even driving through that town, so if any non-Aryan ever received a significant portion of the vote there, they'd seriously have to notify the Vatican.]

*

Me: "I also saw some 'expert on Indiana' on CNN. He was from Indianapolis, and he said how much of a difference it would make in the northwest corner of the state, that Hillary was airing a commercial all about how she's from Park Ridge, Illinois."
Tom: [response incoherent due to laughter] "Park... Ridge... hahahahahaa"
Me: "If I didn't already know the 'experts' on TV were completely clueless, I certainly know it now."
Tom "Well we get to vote soon here in Kentucky. Me and all my liberal college-teaching anti-American elitest friends who want to see the terrorists win. Though I really can't see why she's still in the race at all."
Me: "She's a spare. In case something major happens to Barack, ya know. Like...um..."
Tom: "Like he eats babies."
Me: "For breakfast!"
Tom: "On camera!"
Me: "And declares them deeeelicious."
Tom: "It's the declaring them delicious that'd do it. How dare you savor our babyflesh!"

And that was the totally Indiana-centric, only understood if you're a region rat, kinda conversation I had with Tom. Sorry, it's just there are only a few people in my life who can understand what it's like to watch Hillary Clinton down a shot in a bar and then find out that the bar was fuckin Bronko's, in Crown Point. It's beyond surreal.

okay I gotta sleep now bye.

It's snowing outside.

Yes.

Let us say no more on the matter.

Hey, the lady on the TV just said that if I drink 3 glasses of skim milk per day, it'll help lose weight and build muscle. Does it count if I have 2% instead? And if it's in coffee?

Snow, man. Fuck.

This reminds me how fucking annoying it is that every person - EVERY PERSON - upon learning that I'm a vegetarian, immediately asks, "Do you eat fish?"
The reply I never make: "Do you have any idea how hard it is not to ask you if a fish is plant matter?"

It also reminds me of how my father wouldn't speak to me for like a month after I stopped eating meat. And how my mother would only speak to be in alternately condescending and belligerent tones.

It also reminds me of, when I was maybe 15, the most hilarious (because of its utter sincerity and gravity) response to my vegetarianism, ever: "Jesus ate lamb. If meat's good enough for Our Lord, it's good enough for me."

Conclusion: Meat makes people stupid.

Omg am I tired. Coffee coffee sweet luscious coffee.

Hallo Happy Wednesday! How the hell is everyone? I'm good, thanks. Except a continous sinus headache, so I'll just go swallow some sudafed now.

PS: It was in the 80s yesterday, but now we're in for a week of 50s and 60s, making this the Most Annoying Spring Ever.

Okay hi so guess what I'm doing? Being a compleeeeeete geek and waiting to see primary election results from Indiana. Because OH MY GAWD Lake County has not reported yet. Lake County! And there's less than 50k votes separating them! And Lake County is home to like I dunno a quarter million voters or sumpin. Which means that LAKE COUNTY might be the nail in the Hillary Clinton coffin!

Speaking as someone who voted in Lake County for quite a few elections, I have to say that this is RIDICULOUSLY exciting. Because in Lake County, your vote never, ever, ever matters. Ever.
Except for today.

I long believed that Obama would win Indiana, see, until the last week or so. All that between-the-lines racism shit recently is the only reason (imo) it didn't go Obama quite handily - there are some out n out screeching racists in Indiana, but most are unconsciously bigoted, see. It's an easy thing to appeal to, and naturally that cow would go there. Hence the lack of landslide. But that it all boils down to Lake County, home of Gary, home of a thousand roads I know like the back of my hand?

Dude.

I should really stop slurping the scotch, I know, but the elections gek within is freaking. I guess I should take out the contacts andput on the pj's, at the very least. I hate that it'd be unacceptable to call Snookie (who lives in Lake County! and voted Obama!) and make her pull an all-nighter with me.


okay oka - less scotch, more pjs. I'm on it.

Come n git yer SBD! with

Chas! (I didn't steal the pillows, Chas, sorry, or else I'd mail you one.)
and
Kate! (it was for work and I worked, a meeting at that hotel all Saturday after a business dinner thing Friday night, see, and they even made reservations for an extra night for me but I was all "Oh that's silly, I'll just go home when it's over" and man do I wish I'd taken advantage. Sigh.)

Random pictures because we are all totally lame today

So I found these pics that I took at the bookstore back before Christmas - remember when I got the Italian Billionaire book? Well I hadn't been to the Romance section of a bookstore in years, so I was in a tourist state of mind, apparently, and took pictures! How kooky am I, people? (ANSWER: very kooky. Hahaha look how I am giddy with my own goofiness.)

So let's just upload these and see what they are, shall we?


I bet you're wondering why I'd take a picture of this bookshelf, aren't you? I admit I was confused for a mo, too, but then I saw the blurry fabulousness of Laura's books! On a shelf! Her two greatest most brilliant books! For sale! Staples of the Romance section! Lookit you, Laura!

Okay, so we have evidence that I get ridiculously excited when I see Laura Kinsale books in the wild. What's next?



I have no idea. Let me look at it close-up.

Oh! I get it now. I was completely horrified and amused by the Ellora's Cave Twelve Quickies of Christmas cover. Here's a non-blurry image, to better aid you in understanding my horror. I mean it was faced out and everything! It was so startling and offensive to my aesthetic sensibilities, that I had to take a picture so I could immediately tell you all about it. Six months later.

Next!


This one was because I was snort-laughing at the NASCAR Christmas book in the middle. (Oh sorry, I mean NASCAR Holiday. Because there are plenty of NASCAR fans who are celebrating Hannukah and Kwanzaa and whatever, and we wouldn't want to offend by bringing the baby Jesus into it.) I remember standing and laughing at this, unable to recover my composure after I noticed it was NASCAR Holiday 2. Implying, of course that there was more than one of these in existence. And it did so well the first time, they put out another.

See why I went with the Italian Billionaire book? I had to get a totally goofy one, but I just couldn't subject myself to the NASCAR.

Ah, memories.

And in closing, here are some extremely ugly shoes which cost significantly more than my rent and present an excellent reason why we should hate rich people.


Thank you and good night.

Good morning! Hallo! It's sunny and lovely and Monday and

SBD!

So blog a lil something and I will try my best to be awake this evening to contribute as well. Okay? Okay!

Hey you guys want to see absurdly (and inexplicably) blurry pictures of the fab hotel room I stayed in this weekend? Huh do you do you??

OF COURSE YOU DO!!!!

Okay so this is my room:



That's my fab laptop bag on the floor there, with the pink handles It's an awesome bag (YAY PAUL THE GIFTER!) and various other unidentifiable things are strewn about. I tend to get messy when I first move in, but inevitably tidy things up before crashing. If only I could follow that pattern in my own home. Alas.

Okay okay so this is the big giant flat screen TV


I turned it on like once. But it was very large and very nice! I'd totally want one, except maybe not so big.

And then this was on the wall:

The picture does not fully convey how frikken HUGE this mirror is. It's gigantor. I'd guess like 4.5 ft in diameter. Hotel rooms in general have an overabundance of mirrors, as a rule, and I for one do not appreciate having to see my ugly mug so much. In this case, though, I kept thinking about how there was probably one of these in every room, and what a chore to ship them in, imagine opening the crate and half of them are broken, or what if the manufacturer got the measurements wrong and they were too big for the wall, or some poor construction-type guy is hauling all the gigantor mirrors for the 24th floor and the whole pile slips off the dolly and oh shit what a mess?

Yes, these are the kinds of things my brain decides to occupy itself with.

And now, the bathroom!




And of course the most important part of the bathroom! The free toiletries! Look how neat and sweet and Provence-y these ones are:


I of course had to immediately open and sample and basically pillage the whole spread.


I totally meant to take a couple of the things home with me, but forgot. Oh well. The shampoo looked good.

The little couch-ottoman-window-reading nook thingie was what made me wish I could spend more time in my room, though. I mean, how could you not find this the most inviting thing ever?


I mean, imagine it in focus. You'd see that's a big fat novel on a velvet setee. For petesakes.

But this was by far the best part:




This line-up of fluffy pillows - I just wanted to dive on it and wallow in the down-stuffed goodness. Five fabulous pillows, all for moi. I swear I'd've stolen them if I could get away with it. They were the best pillows I've ever experienced in my whole life. MY WHOLE LIFE, PEOPLE.

It was the Hotel InterContinental. I could never afford this shit on my own, so yay yay yay new job. And if you're ever in town and want to splurge? This is the place to stay, man. Plus the staff is fab. Very friendly.

And here is a random photo, found on my camera as I was downloading. It's Moo & Oink! A Chicago tradition! Best commercials EVER.



Okay good night and see you tomorrow for SBD!

happy happy happy :) :) :) :)

gnite

Having joined Facebook in the hopes of knowing a single damn thing going on in my faraway niece's life, I am excessively amused by this:

Stealing this from Lyvvie.

You're feeling: A bit sleepy, and hot.

To your left: A green fleece blanket.

On your mind: More coffee, whether to turn on the "news", Anna Karenina, what to do for Mother's Day, need to brush my teeth.

Last meal included: Avocado.

You sometimes find it hard to: Remember what day of the week it is.

The weather: Sunny and too chilly but mostly gorgeous.

Something you have a collection of: Lamps.

A smell that cheers you up: Sun lotion.

A smell that can ruin your mood: Rancid dumpster.

How long since you last shaved: Monday (I think, but I have trouble remembering the days of the week, remember?)

The current state of your hair: Unbrushed, with a head band holding it off my face.

The largest item on your desk/workspace (not computer): Work desk: a binder; home desk: a book. (Man they meant this to be an interesting question but it sure is boring.)

Your skill with chopsticks: I manage. But my hands get tired.

Which section to head for first in a bookstore: Bargain books.

Something you're craving: Hash browns.

Your general thoughts on the presidential race: I wish (most) old people would die already, and stop fucking things up for the rest of us with their rusty, calcified, retarded ways of thinking.

Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: Home. I live alone. It's quiet here.

You've always secretly thought you'd be a good: Kept woman.

Something that freaks you out a little: Uncircumcized penises. But only a little.

Something you've eaten too much of lately: Ice cream.

You have never: Achieved 1/10th of the things I always wanted to, and still want to, and it's already too late for most of them. Oh well. (Gee, thanks for depressing me first thing in the morning.)

You never want to: Be in chronic pain again.