Monday blahhhhhhhhhhhhsssssss

First, there's this.

Now once you get over that eyeful I'll post Rufus's birthday e-mail greetings and the packing tape baby photos, which my computer is playing "hide and seek" with, only it's kind of cheating and just flat out deleting them. I hate computers who cheat.

And lastly, LISTEN UP, YA'LL. Tomorrow is a holy day of obligation. That's right, Rufus Wainwright is rolling into town to make me a giddy school girl once again. Yeppers! Here's Our Rusty's favorite Rufus song to get us all in the mood. Enjoy.

Making babies.

The Roommate and I have been busy making babies. No, silly, not real ones! Ours are made out of packing tape. I've decided to borrow this artist's medium for a little outdoor art work, which we will be installing this evening for the Alberta Street Last Thursday art walk. Here's what it will look like. Turns out making babies is a laborious task. And time consuming. And that is my excuse for not posting Rufus birthday e-mails and the meme from iamnot, I'm busy tending to my new brood. But rest assured, we will be photo essaying the baby abandonment tonight for your amusement very soon!

Yea for packing tape babies! You can leave them alone out in public and child protective services can't touch your ass.

Shocker: Travolta doesn't make a pretty woman.

My review of "Hairspray", you know the movie/musical inspired by the musical, inspired by the movie: I liked the original movie.

On to other news!

Saturday was the much awaited wedding of Rob and Kate----I say much awaited since they were engaged on New Year's ......1987. Or 2006, all those years just run together. I must say it was quite an enjoyable wedding, but then again it ended with a co ed skinny dip in a questionably polluted river, but fuck it! Everyone had fun! Great wedding and a great couple. Many happy returns! Wow, a weekend of celebrations it turns out! (Ok, you can hold your tongue right now, I know IT'S TUESDAY and am just now getting around to the weekend update. Deal with it, I am busy, and therefore important, so this is the soonest I could post.)

Speaking of men dressing like women....

This very Sunday the Guinness Book of World Records was here in our very own PORTLAND for a history making event. Yes, the record for the largest number of drag queens in a dance line was BUSTED RIGHT OPEN, people, right before my eyes! Owww, my eyes, I may never see straight again (pun intended). So yes, I was there for this monumental occasion, photographic proof. I tried to get the whole line in the shot but 60 drag queens? That's a lot of wig, sister! This isn't CinemaScope! And finally, yes, it was my lovely, darling Rufus's birthday this past Sunday (and the other Rufus too!) so we made our way to our local pizza joint for birthday pizza and beer.

And cake.

And before anyone accuses me of being a crazy dog lady, wait...what the heck. Go ahead. It's funnier if you think I am!

Mmmmm, chocolate mint cake! Only the best for my Booboo!

It's not too late to send him a birthday e-mail greeting at mommyslittleangel1@gmail.com. I told him there was an e-mail postal strike so some correspondence may be delayed. Dogs, they are so forgiving! Send your greeting now before he gets all jaded and eats my shoes, or the couch!

Gumdrop nose and longest eyelashes in the world!

This is Rufus's birthday weekend! That's right, Mommy's little angel will be four years old tomorrow! Although I haven't ironed out how we will celebrate this milestone I do urge you to send your birthday greetings to the cutest dog in the world via his personal e-mail account. All correspondence will be read to the birthday boy. You can reach Rufus at mommyslittleangel1@gmail.com

Happy Birthday Rufus! And it's also this Rufus's birthday as well.

Happy Birthday VE, too!

Silly, there's no basement at the Alamo!

The title of this post has nothing to do with the post itself, the quote from Pee Wee's Big Adventure just popped into my head this morning on my commute into work and it's been rattling around in there ever since.

Because I am once again uninspired to create literary brilliance here (smiling at my own wit and self deprecation) I am going to do what I do best. Rant. Today's topic is a foot fashion nightmare that I simply can't abide and feel it must be stopped at all cost. That would be abomination that is called the Croc. I've seen people wearing these things everywhere and cannot understand why otherwise intelligence adults are clunking around in gardening shoes in public (you would expect an attraction to the bright colors and goofiness from kids, so they are excused from the rant). They wear them at work even. And on vacation (I saw a couple in matchy-matchy slime green ones in Key West and all I could wonder was how they made it to a vacation destination straight out of their gardens). It is reported that they are extremely comfortable and I have no problem with things that make one feel good, I just don't understand why comfort has to be so damn butt-ugly and chunky. The mind trust behind this silly footwear fad must surely like to chuckle at other people's misfortune, because wearing these shoes are the embarrassment equivalent of tripping over a piece of gravel on a crowded public street holding a now-spilled latte. And wearing dumb shoes to boot.

So here is my plea! Throw away those ridiculous looking shoes immediately! Or adopt a plot in a community garden. Or get used to me pointing and laughing at you, because let's face it, you look down right silly. And yes, even in a lovely shade of puce.

"Buddy, can you spare a dime?"

Normally I don't have a problem with panhandlers; hell, if you can get someone to give you money just by saying the two words "spare change" then more power to ya. But you've got a lot of balls if you say "spare change" sitting on a downtown sidewalk, smoking a joint.

Call me old fashioned but it just don't seem right.

Blahhhh.

Today I sat on hold for 45 minutes waiting to order a DSL line from Verizon. Wooowooo.......that is a perfect example of FEELING NO LOVE.

Makes one wonder how the giant stays in business. But that wasn't my only interaction with Big Bad V today. I also sat on hold for their maintenance line and in a separate incident was told I already had DSL on a line that they had told me Friday did not have DSL on it. Who do you believe, the liar or..........the liar? I GIVE UP, VERIZON! YOU WIN. YOU ARE STUPIDER THAN ME, and I just said "stupider" so that's how stupid I am!

Sorry, tired. Verizon has completely zapped my energy and creativity.

Oh, and my friend Dana told me about a show on Showtime called Dexter. Serial killer turned do gooder (sort of---if you've been dealing with Verizon it will make perfect sense). Anyway, killer (pardon the intended pun) show so check it out.

This one goes out to Leigh, who's bored today.

On your average a Portland summer day doesn't usually consist of:

a) really hot temperatures
or
b) balmy humidity

There's a few smells that are most unpleasant on a hot, balmy day (for instance B.O., dog shit and vomit come to mind) but right up there on my list of offensive hot smells is a whiff of patchouli oil, and we have a lot of hippie types up here in Portland. I got stuck walking behind someone wearing an overabundance of patchouli oil just this morning and it being hot and balmy I decided to head back to the office quickly and stay there the remainder of the day because there are a lot of hippie/street beggers/weirdos all over downtown Portland, especially around Pioneer Square which is a block from my office.

The bank I had to visit this morning is right on Pioneer Square and as I was entering the bank a man in wildly patterned board shorts and what appeared to be a wildly patterned T-shirt exited the main entrance. I say it "appeared to be a wildly patterned T-shirt" but on closer observation it turned out to actually be his bare torso with an elaborate tattoo covering only the skin that would normally be covered by a short sleeved shirt. Did I mention each of his nipples were pierced and had 6" dangling paper clip chains attached to each? And he had a loop piercing his back, kind of like a talking baby doll would have. Kind of a little too "different" for business casual, even for the Pacific Northwest.

Once inside I was approached by a clerk who was standing right at the entrance; I commented that the man who just left probably shouldn't wear such a loudly printed pair of board shorts with a tattoo as it really kind of clashed. The teller laughed and said "You should of heard the question he just asked me" so of course I asked. Turns out the man went into the bank to find out if anyone working there knew where he could get glow in the dark nipple clamps. Yep, only in Portland. I told the teller he should have told the guy he gave the last pair out just this morning to an elderly lady who opened a checking account.

And in case you are wondering, they can be had here. Thank god for google.

Hot.

Damn hot, and I'm out five bucks which makes me hotter. I bet the Roommate it would NOT get over 100 degrees here in Portland today and I checked 4 weather sites and 3 of the four* said it was 100 degrees as of 3:15. I based my guess that the temperature would stay in double digits on the fact that it was only in the mid 80s yesterday and triple digits rarely happens here. Anyone who wants to argue there's no such thing as global warming (or the limp-dicked term the president likes, climate change) can put their money where their mouth is, and I will agree whole heartly with you, but only until I get my hot (literally) little hand on that five spot.

I'm going to see if the Roommate will go double or nothing for tomorrow. NOAA says it'll only be 99.


PS to iamnot, I could not post a title either. It was gonna go with "Paris called it, it's hot!" or the old stand by "Hot enough for ya?"



*Yahoo!, MSN, Weather Channel and NOAA. NOAA was the one of the four holding at 99 today.

Crack for all ages.

Shawna was talking about playing spades online and it reminded me of a slightly funny story and since nothing hilarious happened on the train this morning I just so happened to have found myself post-less, until now.


Every so often I find myself obsessed with playing solitaire on the computer, so much so that I literally lose hours engrossed with the worthless entertainment. It pisses the Roommate off to no end, why I don't know, so much so that he started calling it "spinster crack", his logic being only old ladies play solitaire on the computer, I guess, maybe he meant with actual cards too, but that's besides the point. He'd come home to find me on the computer and he'd automatically know I was playing spinster crack and would give me no end of grief about it. Even with an endless supply of hassling and sarcasm I still had the solitaire monkey on my back and played it whenever I had a few free minutes.

If you recall, in January a group of us went to San Diego for the Roommate's birthday weekend bash; sometime mid flight the Roommate went to the back of the plane (nope, we were not in first class) to go to the bathroom. When he came back to his seat he instructed me to go back to the bathroom and to take particular notice of what the little woman a few rows back had on her computer screen. I got up as instructed and made my way to the back of the plane; I noticed a little old lady working on a computer. When I say "little old lady" I mean it in the truest sense of the word, cartoonishly accurate, white hair, glasses, navy floral print dress with a peter pan collar. As I passed her aisle I glanced at her computer screen and almost laughed out loud. The little old grandma was playing solitaire on the computer and the scene was so perfectly put together I almost would have sworn the Roommate would have set it up, only the whole trip was a surprise to him. I chuckled all the way to the back of the plane and upon my return to my seat I vowed never to play spinster crack again.

And I still haven't to this day. Cut that puppy off cold turkey. I figure not playing solitaire will keep me young. Or youngish.

Last train to crazy.

Just when you think you've seen it all on the train a woman will sit down across from you, close her eyes, reach into her messenger bag and pull out a small stone with an odd native looking symbol carved into it. She will then slowly rub the rock on the palm of her hand, over and over, all around the palm, with a look of pure bliss on her face (eyes still closed) and she will continue to do this for about ten minutes. As the train approaches her stop she will put the stone back in her bag and slowly open her eyes and disembark. She had the look of an ultimate orgasm on her face, or a look that kind of said she was just visited by Jesus, either one will do.

The train rocks. And stones too, I guess.

I'm thinking of teaching an e-mail writing class focused on making the e-mail correspondences of the average busy executive more streamlined, specifically geared toward decreasing the amount of time workers waste writing e-mail messages that their counterparts will never read. It's pretty obvious that few people in the American work force actually read the body of an e-mail but instead glom whatever info they deem important from the e-mail's subject line alone. If an e-mail's subject line consists of "Acme project a go" then why bother with the rest of the message, it's only going to be chocked full of details you won't need until later and it's all going to be a let down anyway, right, since you already know the big news from the subject line spoiler? I for one know I've labored over the precise wording of an e-mail only to find out it was never read after speaking with it's clueless recipient. So let's all get together and agree that e-mail is passé and it's the age of texting, so all that is really needed in corporate correspondence is a very short line, something along the lines of "Acme = go" until that is itself shortened to "Acme ;-)". I would imagine we could cut down our work week to 35 hours---like the schedule the French already enjoy---just by avoiding the senseless waste of time writing and reading e-mail.
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Rusty doesn't like the color change and as I am not married to it, I'm afraid it will have to go, so don't get attached (words I live by).