06.30.08
(weeps)
THEY WON A FREEWAY SERIES! THEY WON A FREEWAY SERIES!
… despite getting ‘no-hit.’ Only in LA.
Onto Houston! Tally ho!
:fires meek shot across the Daily Pointers bow:
Photos: ESPN.com screenshots, Getty Images/Jeff Gross
06.27.08
with all the grace and poise of a blind, three legged giraffe in heat
While walking* to the parking lot, I managed to trip over a phantom obstacle, try to regain my balance, fail by jamming my kneecap into a parked Jetta and set off the burglary alarm. I tried to hobble away as fast as I could but it hurt too much to be self-conscious of the witnesses. I have no choice but to hunt each and every one down and kill them.
My knee is all purple and sexy (J. Crew would call it “heather aubergine”). Once the swelling subsided, I swear I could feel the dent in the bone. I look like I’ve been attacked by a usurer and/or his** goons.
* I am well aware that I am being incredibly generous with my choice of verbs. Leave me be with my delusions.
** Are female usurers called usuresses? I’m not getting the Red Underline of Spellcheck (the lesser known sibling of the Blue Screen of Death), so I think they are. Let me know if you ever meet one.
06.24.08
as much as i strongly dislike any similes involving ‘mondays,’ i begrudgingly admit that today feels like one
Another confession: I’ve been wearing the wrong bra size. I know it’s been oprah-ed to death (over (enter startlingly high percentage) of women are wearing the wrong size!), but yeesh.
I don’t feel dumb that I’ve been wearing the wrong size, but I feel really dumb about how wrong I was (Band? WRONG! Cup? WRONG!). I mean, they’re MINE. I should know how big they are.
Saving graces: 1) I hadn’t invested much in undergarments, 2) the size is ‘nicer,’ and 3) the tits are no longer bff with the navel (not that I have National Geographic tits, but now THEY DEFY THE LAWS OF GRAVITY… kind of).
Photo: US Presswire/Gary A. Vasquez
PS: In retrospect, I shouldn’t have paired a photo of Juan Pierre with a post on my chest.
06.23.08
he was the funniest ‘george’ i ever knew of
RIP George Carlin
I’m going to listen to his material today on my iPod and make strange faces while trying to suppress any laughter.
Photo: Source unknown.
06.20.08
it’s a good thing i took that digital slr camera out of my cart
At any given moment, I have 5-50 items in my Amazon shopping cart, along with another 10-100 items that are “saved for later.” This is relevant because I got a shipment from Amazon yesterday, even though I have no recollection of ordering from them in the past month or so.
It turns out that I had drunk-Amazoned, and was lucid enough to archive the confirmation e-mail (I compulsively archive my gmail, so my inbox never exceeds 10. There’s going to be a prescription drug for this soon). And two weeks later, I get a surprise!
*twiddles thumbs*
PS: I also got ‘Special Topics and Calamity Physics,’ but it was camera-shy. And I never got a shipment confirmation!
06.19.08
i must credit him for the strides i have made in my mouth-breathing skills; i no longer pant like a pervert
I have complained about my coworker, he of the exquisitely offensive body odor, on multiple occasions. His Stinkiness still reeks of damp armpits and overripe toejam, but now he’s taken to wearing wife beaters with very spacious armholes. I can see his sideboobs. And I can see his nipples through the body-hugging ribbed fabric.
I want to die.
Only 30 more business days until I quit.
06.16.08
how i spent my sunday
a.k.a. If slugs gave a paternal damn, this is how they would celebrate Father’s Day.
We did nothing. Really. I hung out with my dad and we did nothing. I imagine this is what the inventors of television envisioned when they were tinkering with their glorious idiot-box.
“This shoddy faux-wood finished box with ridged knobby dial things and sticky/dusty antennae may look like crap now, but by george, they’ll one day spawn HIGH DEFINITION PLASMA TVS and we shall have people mesmerized, MESMERIZED BY OUR GLOWING PICTURES AND CLOSEUPS OF TIGER’S ENLARGED PORES!” And then Riddler/Jim Carrey runs away with the idea. That movie sucked. Only bat-nipples could’ve made it worse.
Hm? What’s that you say?
I consulted my mom to find out if my dad needed anything. He didn’t. Or if he particularly wanted anything. He didn’t*.
So I showed up on Sunday morning with some munchies, a 12-pack of his choice, the phone number for the local pizza place, and we parked our asses on the couch for the entire afternoon, to watch the Dodgers (sigh), Tiger (whoa) and the Lakers (whew).
* When asked what he wanted for Christmas one year, he actually said, quite earnestly and without any sarcasm, “nose hair trimmers. The automated kind.” He loves that thing. My mother will attest to the fact that his once hirsute nostrils are now quite dapper.
06.11.08
gaaaarrrrrrgh
If I hear any variation of “reaching across the aisle” when it comes to (bi)partisan politics, I’m going to club someone with my Nalgene bottle.
EDIT*: When I was walking to the parking lot, a small lizard scampered across my foot. Too bad I was wearing flip flops.
* was too short to warrant a new post, and could very easily fall under the same title.
06.06.08
now i’ll have to wash my hair in the morning
I was about to shower* and turned on the water without realizing that there was a dumbass spider in my tub that couldn’t climb out. The sucker got a bit wet, and its legs got tangled up. I thought it was dead, but still tried to dry it off with a square of TP. I scooped it onto the dry part of the tub in the hopes that it was still alive.
I just checked back now, and its alive! It’s crawling around!
It better take care of all the ants in my house** now. It owes me big.
* I really need to look into dry shampoos. My hair doesn’t get really greasy, but I swear I can feel my scalp accruing oil and it drives me insane. I have to wear a baseball cap half the time so I can ignore it. And I hate the smell of hair that hasn’t been washed in 24 hours. Almost as much as fresh cut grass.
** There’s another spider somewhere with only seven legs. I’m terrified of bugs, but my house is a sanctuary for those spindly, long-legged spiders. The fat ones with stubby legs are fair game, though; I just shoo them outside.
