5/29/2007
ppss.
I love how Pamie meets S.E. Hinton and gets her book signed and it says "Stay Gold". I'm really jealous.
Dept of Mental Violence
So, yes, it is my own fault for waiting a bit long to deal with my car registration. I admit that. I knew it would expire at the end of this month, but for some reason, I could not mentally prepare myself to sort through the rigamorale involved in registering in a new state and finding the DMV and etc etc. But you know, time is running out and May is almost a flicker in June's eye and I think they give you tickets if your tags are expired and etc etc.
So today, after a mindblowingly wonderful weekend, I made the mistake of going to the Beltsville MD Department of Motor Vehicles (hi google search peeps looking for info -- much like the DMV itself, you will not find it here!). I'm gonna give a shoutout to the 3491 other people who were there with me and who are quite possibly still waiting for their number to be called. Holla! (ps. Confidential to the lady in front of me in the mile long line for the Information boothwho was talking to her friend: You are correct in your assessment that joining a gym would be a good idea since you haven't lost those pounds from having the baby, that your book sales could be higher, that your friend should dump whatshisname, and that you should have renewed online).
I got out relatively quickly, only forty five minutes. Why, you ask? Well, the line for the information booth/gatekeeper ladies moved relatively quickly and it only took me forty five minutes to get through it and learn that it would take weeks and a special form to get my title from the lien company and another visit to get all the shit in order once I got a call from "someone at the DMV". In other words, one must trust a system that appears inherently and bureaucratically crazy-making.
Generally, I trust people. Ok, that's not entirely true. I trust some, but also, as my hero Ronald Regan once said, verify. Actually, that's not really true either. He wasn't my hero. Oh who cares? The point is: I found it infinitely easier/faster to lie and renew my shit back home and have it sent to a friend's house to be mailed to me than to deal with Maryland. But (disclaimer for any LEO types and/or DMV employees looking to fuck with me), I am only doing that temporarily until I have established permanent residency here and you know, it is possible I may move back eventually and it's not really lying about where I am living, it's simply suggesting that it is fucking easier to deal with the bureacracy that you know than the bureacracy that you don't. Thus, dear Maryland and your crabby DMV, I will put off anything official until I am mentally able to handle another visit to your insane-making factory. Let's give it another year, yeah?
ps. Wish me luck while I drive on expired plates later this week. And if you must, feel free to tell me I Told You So when/if I get a ticket and hauled off to jail or and waterboarded. Or whatever it is they do to you in this damn state.
pps. The sangria tasted like heaven.
So today, after a mindblowingly wonderful weekend, I made the mistake of going to the Beltsville MD Department of Motor Vehicles (hi google search peeps looking for info -- much like the DMV itself, you will not find it here!). I'm gonna give a shoutout to the 3491 other people who were there with me and who are quite possibly still waiting for their number to be called. Holla! (ps. Confidential to the lady in front of me in the mile long line for the Information boothwho was talking to her friend: You are correct in your assessment that joining a gym would be a good idea since you haven't lost those pounds from having the baby, that your book sales could be higher, that your friend should dump whatshisname, and that you should have renewed online).
I got out relatively quickly, only forty five minutes. Why, you ask? Well, the line for the information booth/gatekeeper ladies moved relatively quickly and it only took me forty five minutes to get through it and learn that it would take weeks and a special form to get my title from the lien company and another visit to get all the shit in order once I got a call from "someone at the DMV". In other words, one must trust a system that appears inherently and bureaucratically crazy-making.
Generally, I trust people. Ok, that's not entirely true. I trust some, but also, as my hero Ronald Regan once said, verify. Actually, that's not really true either. He wasn't my hero. Oh who cares? The point is: I found it infinitely easier/faster to lie and renew my shit back home and have it sent to a friend's house to be mailed to me than to deal with Maryland. But (disclaimer for any LEO types and/or DMV employees looking to fuck with me), I am only doing that temporarily until I have established permanent residency here and you know, it is possible I may move back eventually and it's not really lying about where I am living, it's simply suggesting that it is fucking easier to deal with the bureacracy that you know than the bureacracy that you don't. Thus, dear Maryland and your crabby DMV, I will put off anything official until I am mentally able to handle another visit to your insane-making factory. Let's give it another year, yeah?
ps. Wish me luck while I drive on expired plates later this week. And if you must, feel free to tell me I Told You So when/if I get a ticket and hauled off to jail or and waterboarded. Or whatever it is they do to you in this damn state.
pps. The sangria tasted like heaven.
5/23/2007
3some
Three quick things:
1. I have been using a used Mac (given to me as a gift from J) the last week or so after 20ish years of PC business. My assessment: Not many differences other than I can't seem to find shit because the Finder thing is kind of gay and hello, why won't thumbnails show up of jpgs so I don't have to look at every damn one. Other than that, it's got lots of bells/whistles that are nice. I am not sold yet, but I can't complain.
2. I attended my first Wash Mystics game last night. And by attended, I mean I drank beer all night because I ran into someone I knew from back home (crazy huh?) and the game was going on in the background. Normally, I like to watch the game (and from what I understand, I did not miss much), but since I had free tix and was busy making potential beer buddies in this damn place, I could not be bothered. Good times..
3. I will be going away this weekend for a much needed getaway from this place. Much needed. Hope your weekend is just as good as mine (though I don't like to be a player hater, but I doubt it will be, unless you plan on winning the lottery, in which case, please buy A and Miss V a pony). And with that, I bid you good day!
1. I have been using a used Mac (given to me as a gift from J) the last week or so after 20ish years of PC business. My assessment: Not many differences other than I can't seem to find shit because the Finder thing is kind of gay and hello, why won't thumbnails show up of jpgs so I don't have to look at every damn one. Other than that, it's got lots of bells/whistles that are nice. I am not sold yet, but I can't complain.
2. I attended my first Wash Mystics game last night. And by attended, I mean I drank beer all night because I ran into someone I knew from back home (crazy huh?) and the game was going on in the background. Normally, I like to watch the game (and from what I understand, I did not miss much), but since I had free tix and was busy making potential beer buddies in this damn place, I could not be bothered. Good times..
3. I will be going away this weekend for a much needed getaway from this place. Much needed. Hope your weekend is just as good as mine (though I don't like to be a player hater, but I doubt it will be, unless you plan on winning the lottery, in which case, please buy A and Miss V a pony). And with that, I bid you good day!
5/20/2007
Breaker Breaker 19
Well hello there, good buddy. Got your ears on? Man, doesn't that take you back to like 1979? When people actually had CB radios in their car? Like my dad? And that 10 foot antenna? (secret: My "handle" on the CB back in the day was a nickname my dad still calls me to this very day. Yep, I was once known throughout a 10 mile radius in northern Indiana as "Peanut". Oh yeah, you better look out, Peanut's gonna get all up in your grill, mister Big Rig Red. The sad thing is that I only remember ever getting one person to ever talk to me on the CB and it ended up being this like 8 year old girl in my same small hometown. Apparently, Peanut was not that popular in citizen's band radio back in the day and now has to write a blog entry about it 27 years later. I am digressing so I shall stop..)
What the hell was I even going on about to begin with? Oh yeah, a weekend wrap up of my activities because someone in Iowa or Arizona or Tehran really really cares. Granted, that person in Tehran is just hoping I talk about something 'nippy fucky' again. I'm here to please so here is what I did, more or less.
Saturday, I took the Big Dog to the vet because she had developed a 'hot spot' on her hind end. We used to have a dog growing up that would get 'hot spots', these itchy places that he would lick and chew on all summer and we'd have to put this Sulfadine stuff on it. Back in the day, it was a whole lot cheaper to have a dog b/c they didn't have all this newfangled 'veterinary medicine' business. Basically, you only went to the vet if your dog got run over (which sadly, eventually occurred to this one at the ripe old age of 16...further digression: the girl who hit him, a bitchy shrew I cursed at from three blocks away, I found out later had just then discovered she was pregnant at 16...it's no excuse of course and it didn't make me hate her less, but man, what a day to have huh? Find out you're pregnant and run over a dog known and loved by the whole town). Back on point, I took the dog into the vet today and $175 later (though some of it for tick stuff..they are bad out here), she received a shot of steroids and antibiotics. Apparently the days of treating such things with a $.89 bottle of Sulfadine are gone.
So if you recall, I was planning on going to the Mystics game yeah? Well, I decided instead to accompany The Agent down to Crystal City to have dinner with some people neither one of us knew. I should have stuck to my original game plan. After a decent drive over to Hotel Land (aka Arlington, VA), we ate at an Italian place. (I am not going to name it here b/c I suddenly had an irrational fear that one of my dining companions might google it for some reason, recognize me, and then read about how they were insufferably pretentious and lacking in all sense of humor...seriously, when a lesbian is talking about lesbians playing golf and you go 'Gosh, I had no idea lesbians liked golf!' expecting to get a chuckle b/c most lesbians I know would find that just a little bit humorous, not sidesplitting but you know, enough to nod your head knowingly and go heh, yet the person just seriously nods at you and goes on to explain that why yes, lesbians do like golf and in fact there's a local league etc etc. It was at this point I started thinking about Lindsay Whalen driving to the basket and I asked why god why am I here). Back to the restaurant. I love Italian and was looking forward to a good meal. Don't you hate it though when you go to a place that looks really nice and promises to be really good and instead you get mediocre Italian food that you could pay less for at the Olive Garden? Oh man..it was bad. Not even three glasses of grigio could save the dinner or the conversation. Good times..
Sunday, I painted my toenails a lovely shade of 'purple haze'. I also had a million hour phone conversation with A who celebrated her birthday yesterday. We spent the majority of it discussing what I would buy her for her birthday if I won the lottery (in no particular order: a pony, a brewery, a huge house attached to a brewery and a winery, capris, her own Victoria's Secret store, a car and driver to take us places, all forms of Le Crousset cookware, an NBA player who is not a douchebag, rings, shoes, tank tops, a personal chef, our favorite pizza delivered anywhere in the world, apartments/houses all over the world, cute sparkly pretty things, etc etc). You can understand why that conversation lasted a million hours. She also caught me up on the hometown gossip, who's sleeping with who, who's doing too many drugs, who is a being weird, etc. Good times.
There you go, my weekend in a not so nutshell and in all its nippy fucky detail. Wee!
What the hell was I even going on about to begin with? Oh yeah, a weekend wrap up of my activities because someone in Iowa or Arizona or Tehran really really cares. Granted, that person in Tehran is just hoping I talk about something 'nippy fucky' again. I'm here to please so here is what I did, more or less.
Saturday, I took the Big Dog to the vet because she had developed a 'hot spot' on her hind end. We used to have a dog growing up that would get 'hot spots', these itchy places that he would lick and chew on all summer and we'd have to put this Sulfadine stuff on it. Back in the day, it was a whole lot cheaper to have a dog b/c they didn't have all this newfangled 'veterinary medicine' business. Basically, you only went to the vet if your dog got run over (which sadly, eventually occurred to this one at the ripe old age of 16...further digression: the girl who hit him, a bitchy shrew I cursed at from three blocks away, I found out later had just then discovered she was pregnant at 16...it's no excuse of course and it didn't make me hate her less, but man, what a day to have huh? Find out you're pregnant and run over a dog known and loved by the whole town). Back on point, I took the dog into the vet today and $175 later (though some of it for tick stuff..they are bad out here), she received a shot of steroids and antibiotics. Apparently the days of treating such things with a $.89 bottle of Sulfadine are gone.
So if you recall, I was planning on going to the Mystics game yeah? Well, I decided instead to accompany The Agent down to Crystal City to have dinner with some people neither one of us knew. I should have stuck to my original game plan. After a decent drive over to Hotel Land (aka Arlington, VA), we ate at an Italian place. (I am not going to name it here b/c I suddenly had an irrational fear that one of my dining companions might google it for some reason, recognize me, and then read about how they were insufferably pretentious and lacking in all sense of humor...seriously, when a lesbian is talking about lesbians playing golf and you go 'Gosh, I had no idea lesbians liked golf!' expecting to get a chuckle b/c most lesbians I know would find that just a little bit humorous, not sidesplitting but you know, enough to nod your head knowingly and go heh, yet the person just seriously nods at you and goes on to explain that why yes, lesbians do like golf and in fact there's a local league etc etc. It was at this point I started thinking about Lindsay Whalen driving to the basket and I asked why god why am I here). Back to the restaurant. I love Italian and was looking forward to a good meal. Don't you hate it though when you go to a place that looks really nice and promises to be really good and instead you get mediocre Italian food that you could pay less for at the Olive Garden? Oh man..it was bad. Not even three glasses of grigio could save the dinner or the conversation. Good times..
Sunday, I painted my toenails a lovely shade of 'purple haze'. I also had a million hour phone conversation with A who celebrated her birthday yesterday. We spent the majority of it discussing what I would buy her for her birthday if I won the lottery (in no particular order: a pony, a brewery, a huge house attached to a brewery and a winery, capris, her own Victoria's Secret store, a car and driver to take us places, all forms of Le Crousset cookware, an NBA player who is not a douchebag, rings, shoes, tank tops, a personal chef, our favorite pizza delivered anywhere in the world, apartments/houses all over the world, cute sparkly pretty things, etc etc). You can understand why that conversation lasted a million hours. She also caught me up on the hometown gossip, who's sleeping with who, who's doing too many drugs, who is a being weird, etc. Good times.
There you go, my weekend in a not so nutshell and in all its nippy fucky detail. Wee!
5/16/2007
Irony Still Lives
It occurred to me that if Jerry Falwell were alive to discuss the circumstances of his death on the Sunday morning talk show circuit, he'd inevitably blame us lesbians and feminists and Tinky Winky for killing him.
5/15/2007
W to the NBA
At last, my long national nightmare is over and we are about to begin the WNBA season. Thank god. I don't ask for (too) much in this world, but man, do I need my sports fix (I hate to be so stereotypical but fuck it). The summer can be long and cruel with all that endless tedious baseball business (sorry V) and you know, I tried watching hockey lately but it's lacking something..oh right, women and skin. Wee! Yeah, sometimes it comes to that for me with sports. Give me women's tennis and golf and basketball and I am happy. I actually enjoy the sports part of it, but I can't say that the eye candy doesn't come into play either. Sue me!
Speaking of Sue! My girls LJ and Sue Bird are back in Seattle and ready to rumble.
Speaking of Sue! My girls LJ and Sue Bird are back in Seattle and ready to rumble.
LJ!
Point and Post!
OTP!
Even though I'm a fan of Seattle, I now live in a WNBA town and can go to actual games. Granted, I don't particularly care for the Washington Mystics, I'll go anyway. I'm not too picky. I shall be heading out this Saturday for a game against the Connecticut Sun and what that means for me is Lindsay Whalen and Meg Mahoney.
Mock me if you must, but I'm gonna get my girl game on!
ps. If you are in the DC area and not crazy and go to the games and drink beer, drop me an email. Yes, it has come to that, soliciting WNBA friends via my blog!
5/13/2007
5/07/2007
Lost Gay Weekend
Coming soon..a recap of my weekend in Boston attending a gay wedding! I am still recovering from spinning Aunt Carol around the dancefloor but once I recover, you shall know all the gay details.
ETA: Mon dieu, Aunt Carole really wore me out I guess. Alas, this week I have not been feeling too chatty and I seem to have developed a throat cold type thing. Thus, I'm a little slow on the uptake.
I will say this, it was a very lovely Jewish ceremony and it is possible that there were a few tears in my eyes. As you know, I very much support the right to get married and all the legal stuff that is necessary for equality for gay folks. I mean, duh. However, I'm not the marrying kind so it's not for me. But man, when two people you care about want to get married and have their special day, it's so great. Especially when their families and friends support them. Not everyone has that kind of support. So rather than go into the details of the wedding (I am feeling a bit private and protective of it now), I'd rather just remember the way they looked at each other and smiled at each other when they thought no one was looking. Utter happiness.
ETA: Mon dieu, Aunt Carole really wore me out I guess. Alas, this week I have not been feeling too chatty and I seem to have developed a throat cold type thing. Thus, I'm a little slow on the uptake.
I will say this, it was a very lovely Jewish ceremony and it is possible that there were a few tears in my eyes. As you know, I very much support the right to get married and all the legal stuff that is necessary for equality for gay folks. I mean, duh. However, I'm not the marrying kind so it's not for me. But man, when two people you care about want to get married and have their special day, it's so great. Especially when their families and friends support them. Not everyone has that kind of support. So rather than go into the details of the wedding (I am feeling a bit private and protective of it now), I'd rather just remember the way they looked at each other and smiled at each other when they thought no one was looking. Utter happiness.
5/02/2007
Good head, huh?
Sadly, it's come to this. You've heard of phone sex. Maybe you've even "talked" about some pressing "issues" with your gf/bf/lover/dad/cousin. Last night. Or whatever. I don't judge.
But have you ever heard of phone beer?
As you know, I have a long distance straight girlfriend, A. We tried to replace me when I left, but that turned into a half-assed failure on the part of the two straight people (guy and girl) who tried to be the kind of gay girlfriend I was. (Future reference: don't let a strai do the work of a gay).
Anyway, A then decided that I would simply become her long distance gay girlfriend. Hence, a thousand texts and emails about shopping, guys, shoes, her hair, what a whore she's become, drinking, tank tops, capris, jizz, etc etc. You get the picture. Nothing has really changed except me not actually being there.
However, we've stepped up the LDR a bit and we are now engaging in phone beer together. It's all her fault as the following email exchange back/forth shows:
A: Can you tell I'm drunk?!
(This in reference to pictures she sent from our favorite drinking establishment. And for the record, the short/long answer as depicted in said pictures was a resounding Hell Yeah)
Me: yes, you have 'drunken whore' written all over your face
A: it was a blast! you should have been there. :)
Me: thanks for reminding me that i can't be!
A: well, you just need to come back and visit. or, i'll just come out there. so...stop bothering me. i can have a phone beer with you tonight
So yeah, when you can't be there to drink with your peeps in person, there's always phone beer to satisfy your needs. Good times, good times..
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take this call and you know, I'm gonna need both hands ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo!
But have you ever heard of phone beer?
As you know, I have a long distance straight girlfriend, A. We tried to replace me when I left, but that turned into a half-assed failure on the part of the two straight people (guy and girl) who tried to be the kind of gay girlfriend I was. (Future reference: don't let a strai do the work of a gay).
Anyway, A then decided that I would simply become her long distance gay girlfriend. Hence, a thousand texts and emails about shopping, guys, shoes, her hair, what a whore she's become, drinking, tank tops, capris, jizz, etc etc. You get the picture. Nothing has really changed except me not actually being there.
However, we've stepped up the LDR a bit and we are now engaging in phone beer together. It's all her fault as the following email exchange back/forth shows:
A: Can you tell I'm drunk?!
(This in reference to pictures she sent from our favorite drinking establishment. And for the record, the short/long answer as depicted in said pictures was a resounding Hell Yeah)
Me: yes, you have 'drunken whore' written all over your face
A: it was a blast! you should have been there. :)
Me: thanks for reminding me that i can't be!
A: well, you just need to come back and visit. or, i'll just come out there. so...stop bothering me. i can have a phone beer with you tonight
So yeah, when you can't be there to drink with your peeps in person, there's always phone beer to satisfy your needs. Good times, good times..
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take this call and you know, I'm gonna need both hands ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo!
5/01/2007
Lilac wine is sweet and heady
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
And be what I want to be
- Jeff Buckley
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