On a Non-Co-Habitational Front

This got sent out to the entire NY Office of our firm [and in case you are wondering, it's a very large firm]:


______________________________________________
From: [dumbass]

Sent: Friday, April 28, 2006 5:25 PM

To: *NY Office

Subject: Tape Dispenser

Would whoever borrowed it please return it to me, thanks!

--[Is she fucking kidding?]
Legal Assistant to [Someone]
______________________________________________

A glowing example of when corporate living has taken over your life. We handle multi-billion dollar lawsuits and I can't be certain, but there should be more than one tape dispenser lying around. But perhaps hers has a certain sentimental value or something. Let's just hope she doesn't pull a Milton and burn the whole building down if she doesn't get it back.

1001 Ways an Open Bar Will Kill You

Sometimes it's what happens AFTER the open bar that'll getcha.

I got drunk, Swetus got real drunk, and I made the brilliant decision someone always does to have a serious talk. At 1am. After a 2 1/2 hour open bar that Swetus thought was a race against time and liver disease.

Now that the Aleve has kicked in, it's really more a matter of having been up way too late for a Must-See-TV Thursday. I saw this old guy who looked Michael Keaton and made note of it. I later found out in the cab home that it actually WAS Michael Keaton. Hmph. My blurry brush with celebrity.

It should be noted that when we went into the bar, I didn't think photographers would take my picture. The flash scared me and I scuttled through like I was Sienna Miller on a Valium. What? I never asked for this fame. I just wanted to make movies!

Swetus protectively put his arm around me. Well, now I know who to hire for personal security.

Oh yeah, and he's moving in for a couple months. Discuss.

In the meantime, here's just about the cutest damn thing in the world. Cute Overload is trying to redeem my life, one adorable puppy at a time.

Hot Time Kid / It's Cold Under the Blanket

I had a thousand deep, philosophical things to say getting off of work last night. It was going to be so poignant. I'm reading The Prince of Tides and it's incredibly powerful. There's so much to think about. There were parts that hit so close to home I had to put the book aside for a couple days to let it simmer.

But today was a bit too amusing for that. I got in so late today I missed the meeting that was called to discuss us being too late recently. And I wasn't even the latest one to that meeting. Comedy gold, folks.

Truth is, it's become harder and harder to get up to go to work. Normally, I'm actually very much the morning person. And even more obsessed with punctuality. But I imagine there are several reasons for the recent switch:

1)I've been at my job for almost a year. Realizing how long you've spent somewhere is somewhat tiresome if it's not ultimately what you want to be doing, however pleasant the atomosphere might be.

2)I'm coming off a few very exciting weeks (weddings, birthdays, resignations)

3) Allergy season. I've been a big snot ball lately. And my eyes are watering like I'm walking around in a endlessly sappy Hallmark commercial or something. Benadryl makes me all kinds of woozy and fucked-up feeling.

4) I often wake up with a gorgeous Swede in my bed. What's a girl to do? There are starving children in Africa who don't even have CUTE Swedes to wake up to, much less a hottie of one. Seems a shame to let it go unutilized.

But yeah. Time to start coming in earlier. Stupid adult responsibility. Professionalism, Scmofessionalism. But I was honest with my boss about why (omitting the Sexy Swede part) and I think it got smoothed over and I'm going to be a good little worker bee from now on.

Also, Derek got us invites for some fancy movie party tonight. I'm dressing pretty and bringing Swetus, Chris and Spring. We're going to be so hot. And I'm most excited to see Swetus all dressed up. He has even hinted that he's going to get a haircut (which is good, the shaggy thing he's working right now looks more like a Swedish version of Nell or something). But the one flaw I've found with Swetus so far is that he's cheap (and that he has no other faults--I'm forever doomed to be the One with Issues in a relationship), so I'll believe the haircut thing when I see it.

So yeah. I was a naughty employee, but now better. I was feeling introspective, but now I'm going to go to a movie party. I was going to write stuff that was all insightful and brilliant, but instead enjoy this site, which I'm sure is filled with intellectual gems. Or at least references to hungry bitches crying which is good enough for me.

Duh.

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerousPeople will stop and watch you when you appearEven though you're capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing

What Type of Weather Are You?

Deep Thoughts / Vain Thoughts

I'm totally addicted to him. When I leave him to go to work, I feel like I'm missing part of myself. It's not in a soulmate sort of way, at this stage in our relationship it's purely physical. Which shouldn't be discounted. Because our kind of physical intimacy denotes a certain amount of emotional intensity that has to be there, like a silent addition to an already quiet force of nature. I've been in the arms of a few men, and I've never felt more safe than when I'm curled around him. I've never felt more comfortable when someone touched me. And I feel an atomic blast couldn't shake the shield we put up, protected by being wrapped around each other watching the History Channel. And that's not just because he's pretty. Though, certainly, it helps.

So on that note, I felt comfortable to find out whether I'm HOT OR NOT.



Turns out, I'm an 8. Not bad. I also post that so everyone can go to the site and validate me even further. Let's make me a 10, shall we? Look at me. Rigging my hot-or-not score. I'm awesome. I'm shameless. But that doesn't make it any less necessary for you to go give me a 10.

RIGHT. NOW.

Here's the link again, in case you missed it.

I'm so hot, I'm so hot LA TI DA DEE DA DEE DA!!

New Game: Cat? or Boy?

From the chapters of Me and My Ridiculously Adorable Boyfriend Files:

I tease him about how he always says the right answer, and not in a way that seems like he was trained to respond robotically to my tests. But he'll say something and I'll just say that it was the right answer. He'll reply that he didn't know he was being tested (Oh, naive boy, you're always being tested). But we were chatting online and last night was the first time we've slept apart in a while. I told him that I wasn't quite sure how to wake up without morning sex. His reply:

"Well, at least you're not sore."

I told him that was the WRONG answer. The perfect boyfriend in my head would have said "Yeah, it was terrible waking up without you." Stupid real boyfriends never match up to the imaginary ones. Though he does come close in a lot of ways. I decided it was unfair to subtract from his score when he wasn't aware of being tested, so I put it in test form.

After spending a night apart, do you:

A) Use the chance to change your name and move far, far away?
B) Lament the time apart?
C) Tell your girlfriend that the alter you created for her wasn't enough, put a stray hair of hers on your head and a shirt that she left at your place and dance around pretending to be her?
D) Eat more veggies?

[Correct answer is B, though D is always a good idea]

He agrees with B, but said it would be a waste to let all my shed hair go to waste [yeah, I'm a shedder]. I told him that pretending to be me was scary, but making a Carrie doll is perfectly acceptable. Totally normal. He said that he couldn't handle a mini-Carrie because it would be too cute, he implodes as it is when he looks at me.

I think this is the best statement I ever got from a boy. Not because he says I'm cute, but I absolutely adore that he went with "implode." It is by far my favorite release of mass energy.

Conor thinks it's sweet how we are around each other. Spencer says it makes him sick. To be fair, Spencer's been witness to more of the making out. I try to be as chaste as I can in our living room, but it's hard. He's REALLY cute, folks. Dreamy, even. I think Spencer's just jealous because he really wants to make out with Swetus, too.

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I shall now call attention to the new link I've put up here. It's Neighbor's blog!! Hoozah! I call attention to it because he is actually getting PAID to write it. But it's dependant on how many hits he gets on it. So I don't care if you actually read it or not, but it would be cool if every once in a while, you clicked on it and knew you were helping a starving (at least emotionally) paralegal who wants to be a writer get ONE step closer to his dream.

That, and he is pretty funny. He writes on occasion for one of my favorite sites, McSweeneys. Here's a classic Neighbor piece. And while this isn't McSweeneys, I have to agree with some of the logic in this piece. So check out his blog yo, and help pay for his drug habit!!! [I am slightly sad that this tips everyone off to what Neighbor's real identity is, you know, besides Neighbor, but these are the things we do for our friends.]

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That's all. Mondays suck. But at least we have Jack Bauer to fix that right around 9pm. And I'll be with Neighbor and Swetus and everyone else I give a fake name to on this thing.

Oh, and while I don't think it's as cool or adorable as Panda Cam, Spencer has fallen in love with Eagle Cam. Enjoy.

The Infinite Pet

I've become part of one of those couples I hate.

You know the ones.

Always making puppy eyes at each other, can't stop touching each other, if not kissing, wrapped around each other at every available opportunity...

Karma's a bitch. I'm living the dream. But I suppose for someone as self-loathing as I am, that WOULD be the relationship I wind up in.

Could be worse. Because I've been there and I know it could very well be much, much worse.

But I'm very happy. So fuck it. I still hold true to my "No Tongue In Public" rule, but extreme cuteness is fair game.

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Spring sent me the pictures from the wedding. Not having to worry about mascara this time around, I cried a little. We all just look so happy. Chris and Spring look So. Happy. Love is a very nice thing.

This is my favorite picture:

If Spring's sister didn't have her eyes closed, it'd be perfect. Look at all those fabulous ladies. And Sharon and I were right. The grey day really did bring out the red in Spring's hair.

Absolutely lovely. Absolutely FABULOUS.

It's My Birthday and I'll Post if I Want To

Some awesome songs from Abby's Year of the Fabulous Mix she sent me:

Oh yeah, Ms. Apple knows how to call it.

Perhaps I need to venture into burlesque, just to use this song.

Shaking my shit right now. And I think "The Denial Twist" should be the name of MY LIFE.

And as always, here's a little something from Cute Overload:

Me Vs. The WOMB

I won.

Go me.

24 is far better than 23. There was no way 23 could have gotten shittier. So already, many birthday wishes have been flying at me (and a few presents) and I am one happy lady.

My cup runneth over.

Now, everyone got shake their jiggly bits and then stick your tongue down someone's throat. That is what I plan on doing. Join in the fun!

On a Year Older (Almost and Never)

Lovely day
Spent exorcizing demons and trolls
Out of the curves of my spine
and along my arms and legs
I drift, not walk, to him as Happy Phantom
And regain matter only as I drop into his arms
Oh, you
Oh, baby, I'm so relaxed I can't move
Alright, then
He scoops me up
And carries me gently to the bed
There is a place and time for him to break my heart
But not here and not now
He strokes my hair as I drift in and out of worlds
You're beautiful
Exhale
You're amazing
I smile into the reality which is nicer than the dream
Not here
And not now
Not
here
Not
now

I'm Arriving on a Sin Wagon

Lusticus has taken over my life.

It's a welcome change. There are many things about this that are welcome changes.

But--

Sheesh. I need a massage.

Oh, wait.

Sharon got us massages for my birthday.

Awesome.

I should go call Swetus now.

Bring it! Oh, it's already been broughten!

And Happy Easter! Nothing says "Crucifixtion Sucks!" quite like bunnies and eggs. (Thanks to Cute Overload for the picture).

For Your Love is Better Than Wine (Part 3)

Where We Left Off: Happy Fun Ball.

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Chris got way too drunk and was a little bitch to me and Spring.

The End

I'm all out of epic story-telling. Bride and groom are healthy and happy now (and sober). I am healthy and happy (I'll get back to you on the sober part).

In the meantime, off to file my taxes!


Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.

For Your Love is Better Than Wine (Part 2)

We left off: Everything seemed to go wrong, then everything went so right. The only thing that would have made it absolutely perfect for me was if the rain had brought a warm front with it. But that's a small favor to ask in the midst of more blessings than I can count.

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Wedding receptions, I'm convinced, are the best and worst ideas about weddings. Open bars really do tempt the Fates.

But don't be looking at me. I was practically an angel. At least when it came to drinking. Because of course, I took a special smoke break at one point--this is me we're talking about. I think during the course of the evening, I had about 6 drinks, which was enough to give me a pleasant buzz and not enough to have me sobbing under the table. Though after everything had gone so well at the ceremony, I don't think that would have been a problem. I was just happy to be there. But it is hard when you are in a room with at least two people who have hurt you deeply, however far removed you are from it now. There was laughing and pool and I always had a dance partner. Spring's dad took a liking to me, and not in a creepy old man way. But he had mentioned something to Spring a while back being concerned about the woman she was becoming in New York and it had hurt her at the time. I found it somewhat shocking, since I cannot be prouder to call someone my friend. So I pulled him aside to let him know that. That she is a woman who is incredibly and deeply loved by many people in that room, especially me, and that he raised a fine daughter. I probably should have said it earlier when he was more sober because he looked at me and said,

"You're VIVACIOUS!"

Why, thank you sir. I do what I can. If he had said FABULOUS, I might have kissed him right there on the spot (Year of the Fabulous!).

I had a fun time playing a little pool and getting taught a few pool tips from Spring's niece and nephew. I always feel bad for kids at things like these. All there was to do for them was play pool and sort of run around. They'll discover the joys of drinking later. But they were very cool kids, indeed, if not a little hyper.

Chris and Spring's first dance as man and wife was "Where is My Mind?" by the Pixies. And you have now stumbled upon Reason #109238159.3 why I love them. I danced with all my dates that evening. I should mention that Devon and Conor had taken the time to pick outfits that matched my dress. Conor looked very handsome, and Devon just looked fucking hot. Aron is not so good with the more formal-type wear, but he made up for it in spades by interpretive dancing with me (and Spring dad jumped in by sprinkling Baby's Breath on my head while we did it). Aron also knows how to do lifts, and he would swing me around like a ragdoll and while I was having a blast, the vain creature that I am was concerned for the safety pins holding my dress together. Don't want to reveal how padded we had to make the top of that thing. I normally hate push-up bras, I consider them to be false advertising, but we did what we could in the time that we had.

It was all love and joy. For all the shitty things that go on in the world: all the pain, the treachery, sorrow, war, death, and destruction, love is the one thing that in its purity is the greatest gift we have as human beings. And should always be celebrated. I was lucky enough to be a part of such a celebration, and incredibly grateful that I could be a part of celebrating this love in particular. It is a good thing. My friends know me well, though. They know that even with smiles and laughter and quips that I can hide a great deal of pain behind it all. I suppose in that way, I can be a pretty good liar. Jeremy pulled me aside briefly at one point, discussing some matter at hand and asked me if I was alright. I said everything's great.

"No, I mean, are you alright?"

He wants to know if I'm sad or upset by having to be around the Unmentionables. He was one of the ones who held me while I cried when I was going through it. He saw how badly I hurt from it all. I remember the night he did so quite vividly. I have been close with Sharon for a little while now, but it was the first time I considered Jeremy to be a close friend as well. And he's an amazing man to have in your corner. I was incredibly touched that he thought to ask.

I smile.

"I'm fine. I really am."

And I wasn't lying and that was a great feeling.

[I would like to mention here that Jeremy caught the garter. When Sharon didn't catch the bouquet, she looked at Spring and yelled, "That wasn't even CLOSE!" I had been standing right next to Yvette, who did catch the bouquet. I went up to Spring after and told her she should have just pegged Sharon with the damn thing. Spring laughed and said, "You're right, but don't think I didn't see you actually DUCK to avoid that." Heh. I totally did.]

The nice thing about being with a good guy, such as Swetus, is that the way he treats me is the way I should have always demanded. But never knew how good it felt to be respected, admired, and adored since I had never experienced it. As much as I thought I was in love before, I was settling so much to get my heart there that my feelings from that time seemed more false than they ever had before when I saw the Unmentionable again. I hope that no matter how things go with Swetus, I will always expect as much from the next guy. I've earned it, I think. So nothing about the past appealed to me in the least, except to remind me of how low I had gotten and to be proud of how far I have come (with a TON of help from my friends).

Later in the evening, everyone was well liquored when it came to toast time. Chris' brother Aaron gave a speech that made Chris, and almost everyone else, cry like little girls [not me, though--MASCARA! VANITY!]. I always find it sweet how willing Chris is to cry. It doesn't effect his masculinity in any way. He's an emotional guy, but he's also a RAWK star. I'm impressed with how close of a relationship he and his brother have, and this is coming from a girl who's incredibly close with her sister as well. But you get the feeling from watching those two that they were the kind of kids that probably had their own language growing up. And probably still speak it to each other. Spring's dad went next, and I imagine this has to be a hard task for a father to do when his little girl is getting married. The booze also didn't help. Because he seemed to take on a lifetime of memories of Spring as a little girl to try to encapsulate this one moment, but instead he just started about 10 different stories that were left hanging in the air. In essence, though, what I think he was trying to say is that all her life, Spring has been fearless. And I think if you're ever going to be successful in matters of the heart, fearlessness is the key element. Because you are working against your own past, your own failures, your own fears. And basically, you have to give that terror the finger and do what you feel is right in that moment. But I understood what her dad was aiming for (maybe more than a lot of people in the room) and it touched me while my makeup still held.

I didn't even speak to the Unmentionables the whole time. I didn't want to. For a moment I was sad that it all turned out like this, that I lost two people I considered friends. But had they been real friends to me, the situation would have never happened, so I guess in the end it's better because I saw them for what they are. I have real, amazing, brilliant and diverse friends who love me despite of myself. And they're douchebags. Douchebags who kept getting the groom shots and shots and more booze and left before the reception was over. Leaving us with a very drunk Chris.

And here's where the story takes a turn for the worse. But that will have to come tomorrow in Part 3. HA HA--SUCKERS!!!

For Your Love is Better Than Wine (Part 1)

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

I have fun and fond stories to share of Swetus and my attempts to nurse him, but for another day as well. I will say that he looks at me in a way that doesn't make me scared of looking back. And I am in profound wander lust of his form.

His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely.

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I woke up early on Saturday, excited like a kid on Christmas. Swetus and I had a late night before, though my plan was to get a full night's rest so I would look that much more fabulous. But he and I are no good at keeping our hands to ourselves, so I had to settle for a rosy flush instead of perfect beauty sleep.

"You're really happy for them, aren't you?"

"I am"

"You'll have to tell me all about it."

"I will. And I can't promise you what state I'll be in when I call you."

"It's okay. I'll buy a mini-keg. When you call, I'll know how much I have to catch up to."

"Deal. Gotta go get pretty."

"Oh, you." [he says that to me all the time]

Spring had offered to let me bring him as my date, Conor had offered to have me bring him as well. I declined both offers. I want him to meet all my friends, and he's met a few, but I want it to be when it's time. Saturday was not about my new boy or showing off him to anyone, it was about Chris and Spring. I can show him off to people who won't judge or assume anything about him in the right environment. And there were going to be ugly and shameful parts of my past involved, and I wanted to keep this new and pure thing as far away from it as I could. I explained it to him and without any resentment, he said he understood.

"Plus," he said, "I'm a terrible dancer."

And it was settled. For as much as he touches me and looks at me and wants to spend time with me, I have tested him willfully and not sensed an ounce of jealousy in him. These things are important when dealing with me.

I get ready slowly since I have plenty of time. My hair is being really good today (anyone with curly hair will understand where I'm coming from).

Then it's all okay. Swetus gathers his stuff to go home, as I gather my stuff to go to the hotel where Spring's folks are staying to help her get ready. And help me get ready. I had lost weight since the last time I tried on my dress, and with not too much time left, we were going to be forced to ghetto-pin me into the dress. Not a problem. I don't hang out with all these theatre people to not have someone know how to safety pin a dress in a pinch.

We step outside. It is positively shitty. It is raining and cold and the wind is blowing in 10 different directions. The wedding is going to be outside. On a bridge. I will have bare legs. Swetus voices some concern over that last part, but I just tell him this will be the most worthwhile pneumonia I ever contracted. After all, what good are health benefits if you never get to use them?

I get to the hotel and immediately have to leave again because Spring doesn't have a thong or a bra for the dress. Spring's sister is pinning her hair, her mother is not feeling well but trying to put the flowers together, Spring's dad seems just sort of amused by all the estrogen-induced chaos in the room, and Spring's niece and nephew are watching Nickelodeon. I get a headache immediately upon my return. It's a big rush, Sharon shows up, she helps me pin my dress. We have tons of stuff to bring to the reception place, we need to take a car, we're already 20 minutes behind schedule and because of the rain, a car service is on a 2 hour delay and cabs are not so amenable to going out to Brooklyn. I tried to get Spring to cry. LOOK, STUPID CABBIE!! You made the bride cry!!! Spring is not the actress of the bunch and didn't cry on command like I told her to, but we managed to get everything in two cabs and on the way. Too bad the cabbie didn't really know where he was going. Neither did we.

Over the bridge, Spring looked to Sharon and I and said, "Today is the shittiest day in the world." There was a bemused helplessness in her voice. And moments like these are why you have bridesmaids:

"Noooooo! It'll be fine. The rain has hours to clear up!"

"Yeah, and all the rain will ensure is that there won't be a lot of foot traffic up on the bridge!"

"AND it's sort of perfect that it'd rain, sort of ironic, you know?"

"And the grey sky really accentuates your new red hair!"

While all these things were true, we were still talking out of our asses. It WAS one of the shittier days on record. But we weren't about to let Spring know that we know that, too. Our job is to keep her as positive as possible, and to get her to the bridge on time. Or as close as we possibly can, given our current state of affairs.

Not that I didn't have faith, but my tummy seemed to betray me. I wished I had ten mouths to smoke ten cigarettes all at the same time.

Luckily for us and for Spring, out of their stag invites, I wound up having THREE dates: Aron, Conor, and Devon. I told them to meet us at the reception place. Without them, I don't think there would have been any decorations to speak of. Truly heroes, those boys. And we definitely put them to work. Coming up on T-minus 5 minutes in counting, it all seemed a bit too chaotic for me to think that this could really happen, but Spring came out from the bathroom after getting dressed.

She looked like a goddess. Like Rita Hayworth. She'd kill ya as much as kiss ya, and you'd be fine with either. My beautiful friend, beautiful on the inside and out, looks positively radiant. I choke up a little bit. But the one thing I got wrong with my look was that I forgot my waterproof mascara at the office and so if I was going to make it through this wedding looking as fabulous as I wanted to, then I was going to have to toughen up. I whisper in her ear that she looks lovely.

And then it's time to go.

But it's much like the opening of every show I've ever been involved in. Massive craziness, no one really thinks we'll be able to pull everything off. But as with every show I've ever been in, the best thing to do is throw your hands in the air and take one giant leap of faith. Just not off the bridge you're getting married on.

We all had umbrellas, we all shivered a bit, but by the time we reached the place that we were doing the ceremony, the rain had almost entirely stopped. See? All you need is a little faith. I notice the Unmentionables for the first time. It's the first time I've seen one of them since the bet. And you know what? My hairdresser was right. I looked amazing, and they looked like assholes. And when I also thought about all the work that everyone put into making this moment happen, I felt sorry for them for being such douchebags. Between me, Sharon, Jeremy, Eric, and Laura, we bent over backwards to make this day happen. We would have fucking BUILT the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge for those two. It seemed all the Unmentionables could do was show up on time and wear hats. And the hats were probably more for their own amusement than anything else.

But for the first time since I fell into the trap door of their fucked-up Degenerate world, I could give a shit what they think. I'm looking at Chris and Spring, and they look as giddy as kids. I look at Eric, our friend who became a minister online to marry them, in full kilt and with booming voice, read a very respectful and touching "sermon." I look at Sharon at key moments, both of us knowing the girly impact of what's happening before us. We touch pinkies at one point, a little "hey, I love you too" tip-of-the-hat to platonic love as well. And I keep my shit together, though every single element would have me do otherwise. Why? Because I don't want to fuck up my makeup. Yup. I'm THAT vain. But I must have been trained well, because Devon later told me:

"I was watching you. You came close to crying, but you didn't. That's my girl!"

A kiss seals the deal and the wind goes right up my skirt and reminds me that we'd better move this show along or I will freeze to death right here. A wedding and funeral all wrapped up in one. I think that's more ironic than Alanis would have you think.

And thus ends Part 1. Part 2 is gonna be a doozy.

Nothing to See Here; Move it Along, Folks!

Yeah, pretty boring weekend.

Didn't do much.

[yawn]

Just kidding. It was epic. But it will have to wait for tomorrow because I was too busy fictionalizing it in Liechtenstein. And now I am behind at work. And I also need to get stuff together to take care of a very ill Swetus. Sorry, Sharon. I'll make it to your show next week. Promise. But due to certain events over the weekend, some compromises and allowances had to be made for the boy, and going to his place is the first step. Stupid Upper West Side.

Regret is For People Who Haven't Discovered Self-Medicating...

Facing the music this weekend.

2 steps forward? 3 steps back? The Electric Slide? Shame spiral?

We shall see.

In the meantime, let's be as good as we can. This is a weekend of love. So let's show some and then make some.

Blow Jobs and High Treason

I'll talk about the wonder that is the fancy schmancy hotel that Marina (and I) are staying in. Perhaps tomorrow.

But shit like this makes my brain implode with fury. Wrathodite is in full force. Honestly, the way this man weathers scandal is really something. I think they'll look back on his presidency with a certain respect and awe that this bastard pulls shit like this, ruins the economy, starts a seemingly endless war, fucks up hurricane relief, and COMMITS HIGH TREASON and people can still love him. And blame a left-wing conspiracy. But hey, he likes God. So clearly, God must be okay with high treason, putting our boys overseas at risk, putting the lives of agents who are trying to PREVENT the next 9/11 at risk, not caring about black people, etc. But most importantly, God does not like butt sex. Neither does George Bush. God does not like animal-human hybrids. Neither does George Bush.

George Bush never cheated on his wife that we could prove, so it seems sooooooo reasonable that he should be able to avoid impeachment. Really. The logic is astounding.

I mean, really.

I am personally amazed that not only has he managed to avoid impeachment, but avoid angry hoardes of villagers with torches and sticks.

Jack Bauer would have had this dude's eye on a plate by now. And then made him eat it.

I am sometimes so sad with what people deem so important that they compromise so much that could be just as important. Well, there's only one thing to do in a situation like this.

Go lay in the tub of a really fancy schmancy hotel and pass out in a luxiurious bed, dreaming of a time when people could actually see the forest for the trees. If only George Bush hadn't cut them all down.

[impodes]

Feel Good, Inc

Works is insane and it made me grumpy all day.

So here are some things that make me happy:

--Marina's in town!!! Yip yip. She is. On the firm's dollar. I'm spending some quality girly time with her and staying the night in the fancy schmancy hotel they put her up in. Sweeeeeeet. We are so in the hot tub it's not even FUNNY. Or, it could be very funny, once we take into account how freaking pale we are. People are going to stay away from the hot tub because they will think the hot tub is haunted.

"Those ghosts smell like booze. Is that normal?"

--Panda Cam. Most people who read this also talk to me in real life and know my love and obsession with panda cam. I call it: Meditation in the Key of Panda. When the grumpy things happen, as they did often today, I turn to Panda Cam to soothe me. Being a panda seems like it would be awesome. Just eating bamboo, sleeping, waddling around and just being adorable. Not a bad existence. Not too shabby at all.

--Our Staten Island Gods. Blythe and I have added:

Boredes--[bor-E-dees]--the god of being bored at work. This is a god we know well.

Wrathodite--[wrath-o-DIE-tee]--the goddess of the RAGE. Wrathodite and I were one today with all the work shenanigans

Shameus--[either sha-ME-us or SHAME-us]--goddess of the Walk of Shame and all other shame-related activities. I imagine this might be how she presents herself. Just imagine that when she looks up, her makeup is something VERY scary, indeed:





Not directly related to our gods, but while looking for images for Shameus, I came across this article and I think it's swell.







Well, that's it for now. Duty calls. Doodie.

Tragedon, Traumadon, and Lusticus

Blythe and I have gone a little ridiculous expanding our Metron circle of godly friends. Now we have:

Metron- god of the New York City Transit system

Traumadon- god of little tragedies

Tragedon- god of big tragedies

Lusticus- god of, well, you know...

We decided our gods have their own Mount Olympus. Their land? Staten Island. Yup. Our gods live on Staten Island. Why? Because it's a place every New Yorker has heard of but no one has ever gone to or is 100% certain it exists.

Traumadon and Tragedon are in a feud, much like Hera and Zues. I pissed off Metron the other night, letting Swetus go through the metro turnstile with me, thus saving him $2 on his Metro Card. I decided that then Metron shopped out his services to Tragedon and Traumadon seeing who could help him out with my blasphemous self. Because Metron was good to me this weekend, almost TOO good.

Traumadon and Tragedon vied for his affections.

I had a doctor's appointment in a far away land on Saturday, and Metron was just good enough to me to have the train leave in one minute from my arrival. This was good. Traumadon decided to have me drop my iPod Billie trying to catch it, thus rendering it useless for the train ride. I'm sure it just needs to chill and then Billie should be back to normal.

All the same, I kinda wanted to die. I actually called to find out how much a car would cost in both directions because the thought of riding the train without Billie was so horrendous to me. Turns out, the cost of a private car to and from Long Island is slightly more horrendous.

Tragedon stepped in to win Metron's alliance against Traumadon. Coming back, I had a big bottle of water. I tripped and said water spilled all over INSIDE my purse. My checkbook? Ruined. My directions to some place I was to go later? Dunzo. And most tragic of all? All in Billie. If he wasn't dead before, he be DEAD now, man.

It's so sad I can hardly stand it.

The gods clearly hate me.

The rest of the weekend was lovely. Especially Sunday, where I met up with Blythe for brunch, hair, and walking time. I had been up late with Swetus the night before. He was indulging in some drugs, I was not since I wanted to be functional the next day for Girls Day, so I watched 24 in my room while he played with Spencer and another friend of theirs.

I called Conor to bitch at him for a very LAME April Fools' joke that really just made me worry and not in a funny way.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Well, Swetus is partying late but I'm going to try to make it an early night. Which just means that Swetus will be crawling into my bed at about 5 or 6 in the morning and then try to do me."
[I maybe sounded a bit frustrated. To be fair, I was more pissed at Conor's stupid joke than Swetus]

"Wow. Sounds romantic."

"I'm living the dream."

But I was totally right. But it was okay. He didn't expect me to be on top, which is all a girl cares about when a man wakes you up for sex. Lusticus was clearly on our side.

But anyway, it left me a bit tired for a 10:15 wake up call. I was hoping I'd call Blythe and she'd tell me SHE was hungover and then, no harm no foul. We'd meet up for our hair appointment at 2 and I would get a bit more sleep. At the time my alarm went off, a woodpecker seemed to have mistaken MY BRAIN for a tree and was going at it like it was going out of style.

"I'm so excited about Girly Day!"

[Oh shit. She sounds chipper.]

"Yeah, me too [brain dies]. So noon, then [coughs up lung--goddamn cigarettes]?"

"See you then!"

"See ya [if there was an opposite of an exclamation, here's where it would go]"

Swetus just shifts in his sleep. I swear loudly, pop two Advil, and give myself an extra half hour sleep. In his sleep, Swetus rubs the back of my head like he knows. Good Swetus. Thanks.

I wake up, not dying in pain, but certainly not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I choose my hangover poison carefully and put on my very big, very dark sunglasses to venture out into the day.

It is lovely. The weather is actually perfect. And while I started out fairly rough, my hangover cure kicked in about two blocks into my walk, and then the thought of NOT having french toast and mimosas on this lovely day seemed to be the greatest tragedy that Tragedon could think of.

Brunch is lovely. Blythe is lovely.

Hair is fun. My hair makes me happier than I can say. I'm a blonde rockstar. Pictures soon. I did have Devon take a picture of it last night but then I had just spilled beer on myself and it's ruined the picture. Stupid beer. Just once, I'd like to drink it without spilling it all over myself.

Becca met up with us, and we walked around Brooklyn, acting like kids. Which, when you're older, translates to acting like idiots. But it's absolutely the nicest day I can recall in a while, and not just because of the weather.

I walk home from it all, put on multiple episodes of Season 3 of 24 and imagine Jack Bauer chopping a finger off an unpleasant person in some stupid meeting that sometimes happens at work. Ah, Jack Bauer. If only, if only...

Tonight I will do my duties as bridesmaid and help Spring out with some little stuff that she wants to do before her folks arrive. I have conscripted the aid of Swetus as well. He wants to check out their pool table, I want him to see my friends in their natural habitat. And an extra set of hands will be nice when working with small and delicate wedding items. I mean, he works with DNA all day. I imagine he's steady enough to handle stamping matchbooks. Me, however? It'll be a wonder if I manage to not burn down their apartment.

This is what I believe they call the Good Life.

If only I could make something up to the gods and get my Billie back, all would be well in my world.