December 2010
Happy Hollydaze
This makes my heart ache. But also proud - of Rob’s and John’s pride, love, forthrightness…and, marriage. That’s what makes a family. <3
robguy:
Got this email from the folks - the sort of holiday letter that many people send with their xmas cards. I was mentioned…
“Robert is living in Australia with a friend he met in Madison. We don’t hear much from him...
Meanwhile, on Facebook
The famously rageaholic — but, in my memory, good-hearted — dude who played “Greg,” the villainous surfgang ex in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, has announced he’s single.
(Ladies.)
You're so vain, you probably think this Tumblr...
If you are a smug bastard: I probably want to shiv you.
If you are a smug bastard with whom I happen to share a great deal, in culture, politics, taste in music, and so forth: Add strangling.
2 tags
I just realized I'm the perfect candidate for an...
They have those, right?
__
* Implicit in such a treatment protocol: First, they would hide my netbook (oh my GAWD can someone at least do that?).
1 tag
Thing I did immediately after telling a writer...
Spent the entire day on the Internet.
1 tag
Thanks, Insurance Dude, for repeatedly calling to...
But the point of my registering online (after weeks of methodical and careful research about my options) was OH MY FUCKING GOD, I HATE TALKING TO PEOPLE, JESUS CHRIST TAKE A HINT GO AWAY.
1 tag
1 tag
I can put away my father's journals now. I have...
November 9, 1971, describing a visit to Southwestern Virginia:
Shooting stars over Hillsville. Jan and Suzi and Linda’s reunion. ‘Mountain magic.’ Cornbread and chow-chow and pickled beets and wedding cake and ‘sweet milk’ and coffee and soup beans and ham and in the mornings eggs and bacon and biscuits and glowing red jellies. Plenty in the middle of deprivation in...
1 tag
“Suzi wants a biblical name for son. May have to look in the Bible.”
– from my dad’s journal, on 12/14/1971, shortly after my first birthday. I’m reminded of a few things:
how dry he’s always been (I can totally see him snorting with some kind of self-disgust, after “May have to look in the Bible”).
how he’d always wanted a son,...
invasion of the internet meme concerning...
him: Look, woman! We may both wear the pants in this family—
me: Don't you mean 'we may both NOT wear the pants'?
Leave me at home to see the Clutch show I wanted...
Leave me at home to see the Clutch show I wanted to see, without the car and with no cat food in the house and two very vocal, angry, hungry cats (after specifically saying you’d pick up some cat food earlier, right before you got the call offering a free guest past to the show)…
Well then, I just might have to kick your ass once you get home.
"Please allow me to adjust my pants... so that I...
Me, several hours ago: Dammit, Clutch is playing tonight. Like we can afford tickets. SIGH.
Husband, half an hour ago: Um... you're gonna hate me.
Me: Why would I hate you?
Husband: Well, Mark just called. He's on the Clutch guest list... 'plus one,' and...
Me: Don't be silly! Go! Just don't buy me any merch, out of some misplaced guilt about my not being there.
Husband: Really?
Me: Really.
Husband: Okay, then... [heads out door]
Me (muttering, as door closes): ASShole.
Others question Quakerism's authenticity, given...
I question its authenticity, given its failure to appear among church closings on the early Sunday news, following the snowing-est Christmas in recent regional memory.
(Whatever. I’m pretty sure that of God within recognized, collectively, it would have been a damned fool idea to hit the roads yesterday morning, and so we had cozy hunkering downs at our respective homes. If I were the...
Ruminations 13* days in advance of my tenth...
The soundtrack for the third** phase of my relationship with my husband ― in the summer of ‘90, before I went back to women, was reported to state and federal authorities as a missing person, got knocked up against my will in a homeless shelter, and finally, late in 1997, fled the state of Minnesota, bringing my beautiful daughter back with me to Virginia ― consists chiefly of Bad...
“Step away from the Twitter, young lady… I SAID, STEP AWAY!”
– my brain.
2 tags
2 tags
“It seems as if we couldn’t do much worse than we are now, which is to say...”
– me, abusing metaphors/conversing with one of many awesome Pacific Northwest friends about our (hopefully) upcoming move, and the ever-pesky necessity of “making a living,” whether we remain here, or leave.
[Cue The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go… which I’d post...
Can Virginia Ban Gays in Its Military? | Mother... →
Keep this shit up, Virginia Republicans, and I will make good on my threat to leave this state forever. (Not that you care… sniff.)
fun with text-shortening tabs
Him: Um, hon? Something you want to tell me?
Me: Whut?
Him: I couldn't help but notice that gmail tab you left open.
Me: Aaand?
Him: Well, it says "date for fun."
Me: Right, that's about George.
Him: ??
Me: My dear old friend? Whose widow is planning his funERAL?
Him: Ooooh. My bad.
Daughter (whispering): *awk-ward*
To the tune of "Billy Jean is Not My Lover"
Now singing “Vikki Fowler is Not My Mother,” because in throwing out a bunch of desperate, mangled words in the course of this goddamned endless book research, I managed to convey to Nick Douglas the misunderstanding that the person I’m trying to find is my mother.
STEPPING AWAY FROM THE INTERNET IN 1, 2, 3…
If you know a woman named Vikki Fowler, her... →
With HUGE appreciation to Nick for reblogging my inquiry, although I’m not actually Vikki Fowler’s daughter (rather, I was named after her, by my mother, from whom I’m estranged). (And who, for the record, would really like me to contact her, but I can’t…It’s uh, complicated.)
1 tag
Desperately Seeking Vikki Fowler (a serious...
Dearest Internet friends: I need your help.
BUT FIRST, a reassurance: No, we’re not in the midst of another expensive veterinary crisis. Nor, thank God, are we in immediate danger of having our utilities shut off. (Although, I gotta say, it was sort of a hoot for us last night, when the water main out front broke; it was the first time we, as a family, were without running water for a...
I tend not to notice new Twitter follows.
However, given the “rats in domiciles” motif found in many of my past traumatic experiences, a user self-described as the dead rat smell in the garage… gives me pause.
(*shudders*)
(*but also, just faintly, giggles.*)
Heating snow in the microwave.
Like a… pilgrim?
1 tag
It's all very well and good to offer a thermos of...
remember, YOU DON’T HAVE THE WATER WITH WHICH TO MAKE IT.
“…he includes ‘postcards’ from his life in the Rose City dating...”
– From the review that sold me on Chuck Palahniuk’s Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon.
“The old story about bullets, Ha.
Don’t sweat the one that’s got your name on...”
– excerpt from Jim Northrup’s Walking Point, in Walking the Rez Road. He reads the whole poem here. (There’s also a good interview here, addressing needs of veterans with PTSD.)
Fibromyalgia Follies - My Invisible Disabilities... →
Apparently there’s a whole social-networky thing just for “invisible disabilities” (a phrase I’m not quite feeling, yet, because it seems half whiny, and half super hero-ey), found today after Googling “Fibromyalgia Follies” (which I’d thought somewhat* original) from my last post.
Maybe now I can channel more of my whiny/superhero-ey crap through that...
Today in Fibromyalgia Follies
Having the sensation of low-grade, but unceasing, electrocution along various nerve pathways (alternating with numbness, for variety!).
“Electrocution from within one’s own body” - thing?
I wonder...
Filed under “my husband is pretty cute, but also really needs a job.”
thunderdolt:
Do my dogs envy my opposable thumbs because I can brandish tissue and clear out the old snot locker? I know if I had to eat with my nostrils submerged into my kibble, being slammed against the side of the bowl in order to get to the yummy stuff stuck in the bottom corner, I sure as hell would really...
YOU GUYS, GENDER IS SO CONFUSING
You know how, for emphasis, one might pronounce...
When leaving a Facebook comment for a female-to-male transgender friend, maybe don’t inadvertently lead with that, because your sincere expression of relief that his house didn’t burn down after a recent electrical problem just might look oh-so-awkwardly wrong, once it’s typed out as such.
(TMYK.)
