The wrong mantras. I’m fond of…
In with the good things [inhale], out with the good things [exhale] – since we all know the same pair of lungs handles both inhaling and exhaling.
McSweeney’s lists sometimes make me laugh so hard I nearly asphyxiate myself.
Naughty DNS still not fully populated. It is just asking for a spanking.
Bizarre cosmic coincidences: Matt Welch commented that if he had to narrow his magazine subscriptions down to two, he’d pick the New Yorker and the Economist. On the T this morning, I was thinking to myself that of all the magazines I really, really like, the two I like the most are the ones for which I have never had a formal subscription. Those two? the New Yorker and the Economist, of course. Though fortunately I can raid my aunt’s New Yorker stash when I go to Maine.
Via Heath Row: Blogathon for charity! Alas, I can’t participate, as I will be in Chicago performing Chief Bridesmaid-ly duties, but you should! Right? Right. Just pretend I am chatting with you all every 30 minutes instead of drinking stiff cocktails on Pamela’s new back porch with her new dog and soon-to-be new husband.
Glitterkitty knitted a monkey bra. Not often you get to read the phrase “Yay! Monkey has a bra!” And now we have come to the part of the song where I plug my new knitting blog. You knew it was coming eventually, and it’s a bit lame right now, but I am working on it.
Anyone who should happen to be in London next month is welcome to make a certain bitter yet adorable girl inexpressably happy by sending her a postcard or other such trinket from When Philip met Isabella, an exhibit opening at the Design Museum 5 July (through 27 October), as Philip Treacy is her favorite milliner in the whole entire world.
Of course, sending him ’round to make her a hat would be even better, but bitter-girl is aiming for realism these days. Though Anezka did so want to meet Mr. Pig.
OK! FINALLY! The DNS changes for bitter-girl will be going through tonight at midnight, which means that the site and my email may go down for 24-48 hours (depends how fast the changes propagate). Email me at email@example.com if all else fails!
If you’re self-employed, does masturbation constitute sexual harassment?
I belong here! I really do! This website tells you which U.S. cities you’d like living in based on your answers to questions about culture, weather, activities and more. Boston ended up one of my top choices…hey, it’s all scientific and stuff, who am I to argue? Most of the other cities they selected for me were in Oregon. Funny, since I almost went to school there.
When I was 16 (I graduated a few days after turning 17), I narrowed my college pool down to Reed in Portland, all-girl Smith College here in Massachusetts, and Ohio U. I decided to put myself in as little debt as possible, and within a 4-hour drive of free laundry. Mmm, free laundry. If there’s one thing I miss more than anything about Ohio, it’s having my own washer and dryer. Can’t wait to buy another house for that reason alone. Is there anything sweeter on this earth than sheets straight out of the dryer? I think not.
That’ll teach them. A company I once very much wanted to work for, who led me down the primrose path for months last year, is going down in flames. Ha. I feel strangely vindicated. As I said earlier this week, I am guided by caffeine, hormones and a thirst for vengeance. In today’s case, a very large quantity of caffeine. I can actually feel my bloodstream coursing through my veins. Time to calm down and knit for a while.
I used to know how to lambada. Yes, lambada – the forbidden dance. A South American exchange student taught me in high school. Since 1996, though, what little dancing ability I have has gone to hell in a handbasket. Maybe I hit my head and not just my hip when ex-boyfriend dearest decided spinning me out (and forgetting to reel me back in, sending me hurtling across the room and into a wall) was a good idea.
In 1995 I went dancing all the time. I’d get all hot and sweaty and take my shirt off (it was a gay dance club, I figured I couldn’t get myself into too much trouble), and kick off my crazy high heels and dance, dance, dance! I not only knew how to throw my hands in the air, I actually did. At the end of the night, I’d look like I just crawled back from Ibiza…except I was in Cleveland and I’d have to put my shirt back on before walking to the car, because Lake Erie is no Mediterranean Sea.
No more. My left foot’s hostile takeover of the right must be stopped. I have made my decision…it’s time for dance lessons!
Dance. Yes. This, from the girl who quit ballet school because she was tired of being 2 feet taller than everyone else. The girl who has no rhythm, being whiter than an Antarctic ice sheet and all. Oh yes, the girl who watches Latin ballroom dance competitions and then trips over her own feet when she gets up to fetch another cocoa. Good idea, Shan.
But when there are entire societies devoted to making you Lord of the Dance (the tango, the salsa and more…), how to resist? How?
All I need to do now is find a willing
WARNING: Network Solutions finally made the requested changes to my DNS records. The next update goes out at midnight tonight; until it propagates, you may not be able to get to the site for a bit. Don’t cry, darlings. I’ll be back soon. By tomorrow, methinks. As ever, if you need to find me, mail my firstname.lastname@example.org address. Ciao for now.
UPDATE (29 hours later, still nada): The rotten bastards recanted and decided they didn’t feel like bending to my will after all. Still fighting. Site could go up or down at any time…fasten your seatbelts. I am so switching registrars the second this nightmare is over.