All I wanted was a pizza crust, with which to make me a vegan pizza. Tragically, I could not find any, and so made a faux-za out of a long baguette. Anyway, but for real. WHERE does the grocery store stock pre-made pizza crusts?
This is like when I went into three, count 'em THREE Starbucks coffee places and not one of them had coffee. They're like "oh, we need to find the civet cat and sift through its shit to get some coffee beans for the making of your beverage. The MacDonalds across the street wasn't so pretentious...with their stale, syrupy coffee flavored beverage which, if nothing else, was ready to be poured.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Worst. Mother. Ever.
I am very behind in reading the newspaper (about ten days behind), so I just read today an article about the two boys who died in a house fire. They were living with their mother, who was already under investigation from CPS for failing multiple drug tests, neglecting her children, and for allowing a boyfriend to sexually abuse one of the children. The house that burned was, according to the Houston Chronicle “well-known” to the Houston Police Department. “This year alone, there have been nine calls to HPD for everything from domestic disturbance to guns being fired to assault.” This being the tenth month, that averages to about one call per month. Oh, and did I include that all characters in this drama, including Prashawna White (the mother), Pamela Bell (the grandmother), Bell’s boyfriend, and White’s multiple boyfriends, are convicted drug dealers?
What can be said about Child Protective Services? One could argue that this is one of those cases where everything that can go wrong actually does go wrong and results in a tragedy. Every mistake was 100% avoidable, but someone along the way dropped the proverbial ball and never recovered from the fumble. Really, though, it’s a case of people not following through on their duties as public servants. The CPS case workers cannot play the “overworked” card because the history of neglect and abuse coupled with the mother’s history of drug abuse, plus the fact of the children’s home being a known crack house should have tipped off even the most overworked and underpaid caseworker that something was amiss in the White home.
Incidentally, this 2009 winner of Worst Mother of the Year Award was working at a day care center at the time of the fire. Did I mention she was under CPS investigation for neglecting her children and that she was a drug addict? According to the newspaper, Keywood Kiddie Corner is “reviewing its hiring practices as a result of the fire.” I sure hope so!
On a side note, the children were named Bri'Vion, Javunte, and Briaiona. Excuse me now while I go throw up.
What can be said about Child Protective Services? One could argue that this is one of those cases where everything that can go wrong actually does go wrong and results in a tragedy. Every mistake was 100% avoidable, but someone along the way dropped the proverbial ball and never recovered from the fumble. Really, though, it’s a case of people not following through on their duties as public servants. The CPS case workers cannot play the “overworked” card because the history of neglect and abuse coupled with the mother’s history of drug abuse, plus the fact of the children’s home being a known crack house should have tipped off even the most overworked and underpaid caseworker that something was amiss in the White home.
Incidentally, this 2009 winner of Worst Mother of the Year Award was working at a day care center at the time of the fire. Did I mention she was under CPS investigation for neglecting her children and that she was a drug addict? According to the newspaper, Keywood Kiddie Corner is “reviewing its hiring practices as a result of the fire.” I sure hope so!
On a side note, the children were named Bri'Vion, Javunte, and Briaiona. Excuse me now while I go throw up.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Ants are eating my brain, WHAT?
I went to a bachelorette party because I'm just one of the girls like that. So, Katie was telling me about this co-worker of hers...it seems his sister, whose legs fell off a few years back, woke up covered in ant bites. The ants were, from best we can gather, eating her flesh during the night. She subsequentally went insane because as it was discovered, the amount of venom was so great, it actually poisoned her brain. Did I make this up? NO! For real!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Bears
So as you know, I'm single again. I'm feeling a bit down about this and looking for a nice leather daddy to take me on. Tonight while out to dinner with Evn, I found myself seated near a table of grizzlies. Now, two of the three looked like extras in a late 90's porn, but they were okay. But the third grizzly, oh my. I wanted to splay myself on the table right then and there. But I digress....so, as they got up to leave, Evn grabbed Big Sexy Grizzly and said, "My friend thinks you're hot." Oh my, I turned red and then Big Sexy Grizzly held his hand out and said, "I'm Dave" and all I could do was mumble something and stare at the floor. Oh my, is it really all that bad for me to want to put his penis in my mouth?
Friday, September 4, 2009
Drunk Times in Finland, part 3
Adventures in Finland, part 3: Vomiting across Europe
So, you know, I usually have a very strong stomach. I’ve been known to eat combinations of food that would horrify even the most finicky pregnant woman. I purposely bring to parties foods that no one else will eat, just so that I will have it all to myself. Well, sometimes. So, here I was, on this flight from London to Finland. It was the last leg of my journey before arriving in Helsinki. I’d just spent a 12 hour flight from the US to London smashed against the window by a 400 pound man who drooled and was pleased to find this Swedish airlines flight both clean and full of petite, well mannered people. So as soon as I sat down, the woman beside me offered me a cheese sandwich. What? Okay, well thanks, I said. How kind! How kind indeed---except that being vegan has rendered me entirely lactose intolerant. But what was I to do? I could tell by the look on the woman’s face that it would devastate her universe if I refused her sandwich, so I rapidly ate the sandwich. I mean…well, processed cheese isn’t real, right? Ahem...
So about ten minutes later, that poor woman was flat on her ass in that airplane aisle, with me climbing over and hitting people, fighting my way to the bathroom, and then barfing so explosively that even the pilot thought we were under terrorist attack. Lordy!
Okay, so now, flash forward by 2 days. Irene and I were on the obligatory “Booze Cruise” to Tallinn, Estonia. The day went well, there were, you know, all kinds of old castles and other crumbling things, and on the way back there was a buffet. I love me some good buffets, especially the kind with shrimp. Because did I tell you? Shrimp is vegan in georges-land. Anyway, so I’d had a great meal and was digesting it nicely when I just HAD to try the licorice syrup for the ice cream. I mean, you would too if you saw something so bizarre. But since it’s weird to just get a bowl of syrup, I got the tiniest amount of ice cream for the syrup to sit on and then proceeded to eat this tiny bit…and of course immediately ran into the bathroom for a toilet session. It was all okay until I realized that the toilet would not flush. And, a line was forming. Now, in Finland, the stall walls go from the floor to the ceiling, so no one can see who is inside. It’s very cozy that way. And so I was frantically trying to pull apart plumbing and figure out some way to get rid of the embarrassing mess of paper towels and licorice barf while a gypsy man screamed at me and pounded on the door. Then I noticed that it was one of those “sensor” toilets and all I had to do was move to the right a little and the toilet would flush. Oh my, well, my bad!
Now, let’s move into the next week. Irene and I decided to return to Tallinn. But, her dad had funded our first trip and we had to be a bit more frugal in our own vacation planning, so we chose a “Linda Lines” pre-soviet era renovated battleship to get us over. And of course, the boat was rusted, and of course the waves were choppy, and of course it was the captain’s first voyage, and of course I monopolized the bathroom for the three hour trip. I mean, I could not even stand! I’d mistakenly eaten a “shrimp” salad (Estonian word for “rancid crap we’ve had for seven months") and drank some kind of Eastern European cat piss passing itself off as beer (Irene told me later that the crew members were so fascinated that someone had actually left an unfinished can of beer that they framed it in a novelty museum). So, of course, these Russian women showed up, banging on that damn door, screeching for me to move it, and with my reserve strength, I swung open the door, trash can in hand, and vomit down my shirt, and screeched “WHATTT???” and slammed the door shut. It wasn’t as gratifying as I’d hoped for, but what can you do with plastic walls and doors. Anyway, so that’s enough about my vomiting stories.
So, you know, I usually have a very strong stomach. I’ve been known to eat combinations of food that would horrify even the most finicky pregnant woman. I purposely bring to parties foods that no one else will eat, just so that I will have it all to myself. Well, sometimes. So, here I was, on this flight from London to Finland. It was the last leg of my journey before arriving in Helsinki. I’d just spent a 12 hour flight from the US to London smashed against the window by a 400 pound man who drooled and was pleased to find this Swedish airlines flight both clean and full of petite, well mannered people. So as soon as I sat down, the woman beside me offered me a cheese sandwich. What? Okay, well thanks, I said. How kind! How kind indeed---except that being vegan has rendered me entirely lactose intolerant. But what was I to do? I could tell by the look on the woman’s face that it would devastate her universe if I refused her sandwich, so I rapidly ate the sandwich. I mean…well, processed cheese isn’t real, right? Ahem...
So about ten minutes later, that poor woman was flat on her ass in that airplane aisle, with me climbing over and hitting people, fighting my way to the bathroom, and then barfing so explosively that even the pilot thought we were under terrorist attack. Lordy!
Okay, so now, flash forward by 2 days. Irene and I were on the obligatory “Booze Cruise” to Tallinn, Estonia. The day went well, there were, you know, all kinds of old castles and other crumbling things, and on the way back there was a buffet. I love me some good buffets, especially the kind with shrimp. Because did I tell you? Shrimp is vegan in georges-land. Anyway, so I’d had a great meal and was digesting it nicely when I just HAD to try the licorice syrup for the ice cream. I mean, you would too if you saw something so bizarre. But since it’s weird to just get a bowl of syrup, I got the tiniest amount of ice cream for the syrup to sit on and then proceeded to eat this tiny bit…and of course immediately ran into the bathroom for a toilet session. It was all okay until I realized that the toilet would not flush. And, a line was forming. Now, in Finland, the stall walls go from the floor to the ceiling, so no one can see who is inside. It’s very cozy that way. And so I was frantically trying to pull apart plumbing and figure out some way to get rid of the embarrassing mess of paper towels and licorice barf while a gypsy man screamed at me and pounded on the door. Then I noticed that it was one of those “sensor” toilets and all I had to do was move to the right a little and the toilet would flush. Oh my, well, my bad!
Now, let’s move into the next week. Irene and I decided to return to Tallinn. But, her dad had funded our first trip and we had to be a bit more frugal in our own vacation planning, so we chose a “Linda Lines” pre-soviet era renovated battleship to get us over. And of course, the boat was rusted, and of course the waves were choppy, and of course it was the captain’s first voyage, and of course I monopolized the bathroom for the three hour trip. I mean, I could not even stand! I’d mistakenly eaten a “shrimp” salad (Estonian word for “rancid crap we’ve had for seven months") and drank some kind of Eastern European cat piss passing itself off as beer (Irene told me later that the crew members were so fascinated that someone had actually left an unfinished can of beer that they framed it in a novelty museum). So, of course, these Russian women showed up, banging on that damn door, screeching for me to move it, and with my reserve strength, I swung open the door, trash can in hand, and vomit down my shirt, and screeched “WHATTT???” and slammed the door shut. It wasn’t as gratifying as I’d hoped for, but what can you do with plastic walls and doors. Anyway, so that’s enough about my vomiting stories.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Drunk times in Finland, part 2
Did you know:
Not only does Finland have the European Union's highest rate of alcohol related deaths---it also has an actual word to describe when a person goes on a bender and rolls their R's improperly. It is called Oresta, which is pronounced "ooooooorrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeesta." Now, I'm not so concerned about the drunkness and the fact that there is a word to describe it. I think, rather, that it's out of this world that a country has such an impossible language that it cannot be spoken unless one is bone dry sober. Tragic indeed.
Not only does Finland have the European Union's highest rate of alcohol related deaths---it also has an actual word to describe when a person goes on a bender and rolls their R's improperly. It is called Oresta, which is pronounced "ooooooorrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeesta." Now, I'm not so concerned about the drunkness and the fact that there is a word to describe it. I think, rather, that it's out of this world that a country has such an impossible language that it cannot be spoken unless one is bone dry sober. Tragic indeed.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Drunk times in Finland
In my desire to immerse myself in authentic Finnish culture, I went out drinking with Irene. We went to the famous gay karoake bar, "Mann's Street" where Malcolm said we could spot some mens. So, we went inside after taking the obligatory tourist photos of the bar's famous entry way. After unsuccessfully trying to instruct the inebriated bartender in the art of mixed drinks, we ordered a couple of bottled somthing or others and sat down to an evening of bad karoake and disturbingly quiet dancing queens (as I discovered, the Finns are known for their silent composure except when entirely shit-faced).
We set our bear traps and one by one, they ambled into my range of sight--large, sexy men with flat tops, goatees, and thick arms. It was lovely until up from the shadows slithered a straw haired strap of brown leather named Villay. His pick up line, translated from drunken Finnish was, "I see you in magazine somewhere? Young and hung, yes?" Irene's ingrained politeness doomed us to listening to Villay's attempts to impress us with his broken English--"Tablay, fingerrrrrrr, Obama," and so on. So at once, Irene became my girlfriend, the cell phone rang, "beep boop beep, Yes, Villay, my ring tone does come from my mouth!" and our house caught on fire, prompting us to run out the door into the 11pm sunlight.
Undeterred, we returned to the bar the following week, on a Monday night, as it was unlikely that Villay would return, unless he was a total lush-----which of course, he was. "My frrrrrriends!!" he shouted! But I had a plan--you see, on the ride to the bar, I threatened to slash Irene's tires if she so much as breathed a word of Finnish. "Poor Villay," I said, "English only, my frrrriend." And so Villay, too drunk to remember last week's conversation in his native tongue, tried to teach us Finnish. Oh damn. "Kahlia-- beer. Kassi--hand." So the cell phone rang, Irene and I awkwardly touched hands, and the house caught on fire once more. And so we left, to do our drinking at home like decent folks.
We set our bear traps and one by one, they ambled into my range of sight--large, sexy men with flat tops, goatees, and thick arms. It was lovely until up from the shadows slithered a straw haired strap of brown leather named Villay. His pick up line, translated from drunken Finnish was, "I see you in magazine somewhere? Young and hung, yes?" Irene's ingrained politeness doomed us to listening to Villay's attempts to impress us with his broken English--"Tablay, fingerrrrrrr, Obama," and so on. So at once, Irene became my girlfriend, the cell phone rang, "beep boop beep, Yes, Villay, my ring tone does come from my mouth!" and our house caught on fire, prompting us to run out the door into the 11pm sunlight.
Undeterred, we returned to the bar the following week, on a Monday night, as it was unlikely that Villay would return, unless he was a total lush-----which of course, he was. "My frrrrrriends!!" he shouted! But I had a plan--you see, on the ride to the bar, I threatened to slash Irene's tires if she so much as breathed a word of Finnish. "Poor Villay," I said, "English only, my frrrriend." And so Villay, too drunk to remember last week's conversation in his native tongue, tried to teach us Finnish. Oh damn. "Kahlia-- beer. Kassi--hand." So the cell phone rang, Irene and I awkwardly touched hands, and the house caught on fire once more. And so we left, to do our drinking at home like decent folks.
Roaches on Wheels
As some of you know, I'm applying to a graduate therapy program and am completing observation hours. So most of the clients are kids and a few are adults who aged out of the program but still recieve limited therapy. So, about 4 hours into my observations, I noticed a dark black roach scuttling across the floor. Okay, so it happens. But then I saw two, then three and by this time the entire staff was shrieking and standing their desks. About five seconds later, an adult client rolled in with her electric wheelchair.
Are you making the connection here? A quadriplegic who eats, sleeps, and presumably uses the bathroom in her wheelchair, massive roach infestation, and shrieking therapists. So the bravest therapist was dispatched to peel the client out of the chair, help her shower and change, while another therapist and I "drove" the chair outside and fumigated it with four or five cans of roach spray. Those things were just flying around and threatening us with their antennae. We lost count of dead roaches at about 50. Barf.
Now, humor this question a moment:
How is it that a person with a full time, live-in caregiver is driving around in a roach motel (roach trailer?)? How can a quadriplegic with full mental abilities but no way to talk maintain any kind of dignity knowing that her skin is crawling with roaches? I need to keep laughing before I start crying.
Are you making the connection here? A quadriplegic who eats, sleeps, and presumably uses the bathroom in her wheelchair, massive roach infestation, and shrieking therapists. So the bravest therapist was dispatched to peel the client out of the chair, help her shower and change, while another therapist and I "drove" the chair outside and fumigated it with four or five cans of roach spray. Those things were just flying around and threatening us with their antennae. We lost count of dead roaches at about 50. Barf.
Now, humor this question a moment:
How is it that a person with a full time, live-in caregiver is driving around in a roach motel (roach trailer?)? How can a quadriplegic with full mental abilities but no way to talk maintain any kind of dignity knowing that her skin is crawling with roaches? I need to keep laughing before I start crying.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
This is why we need to eat people
Hi everyone,
This is a really, really old email I sent out back before blogs, when I had my "reverend georges uber yahweh" list.---zemkat
"Jesse Sandler said he was one of the people pushing forward, using a folding chair he had brought with him to beat back people who tried to cut in front of him..."
"Witnesses said an elderly man was thrown to the pavement, and someone in a car tried to drive his way through the crowd..."
Dear followers,
Such events, which occured yesterday, are sure to warrant a massive WTF from ye ol' reverend georges. Although I can and do condone all forms of senseless acts of nonsensical and humorous violence, I strongly feel that such violence should always have a motive...some goal, a sort of reward of sorts.
In this case, the trampling, the beating, the pissing on oneself (see story below) was all in the name of purchasing a crappy, used, broken $50 laptop computer. Surely this cannot be! Since when did we return to the days of the Cabbage Patch where plenty an arm was broken as people wrangled over Xavier Robert's backwards-elbowed nightmarishly hideous dolls? Has my mighty plan of evolution turned backwards on itself, with people becoming increasingly stupid while technology advances by leaps and bounds?
Perhaps these people need the computers to replace their brains, which have long ago crashed under a Fatal Error.
Until next time we meet,
Rev. georges
http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/nation/3313671
Laptop offer sets off bargain-hunters' bedlam
Schools' sale of used iBooks draws crowd of 5,500, leaves 17 injured
By KRISTEN GELINEAUAssociated Press
 Dean Hoffmeyer/Richmond Times-Dispatch Henrico County Police Sgt. A.J. Scott tries to control the crowd rushing into Richmond International Raceway in Virginia on Tuesday. |
Screams filled the air and police called for backup as people were trampled, beaten with a folding chair and nearly driven over. A child's stroller was crushed. A woman urinated on herself.
All in the name of getting a bargain.
The violent stampede erupted Tuesday when thousands showed up at the Richmond International Raceway to purchase $50 used laptops. The Henrico County school system was selling 1,000 of the 4-year-old Apple iBooks to county residents. New iBooks cost between $999 and $1,299.
"I could not move, I could not breathe," said Latoya Jones, 19, who lost one of her flip-flops in the ordeal and later limped around on the sizzling blacktop with one foot bare. "This is total, total chaos."
Officials opened the gates at 7 a.m., but some already had been waiting since 1:30 a.m. When the gates opened, it became a terrifying mob scene.
People threw themselves forward, screaming and pushing each other. Witnesses said an elderly man was thrown to the pavement, and someone in a car tried to drive his way through the crowd.
Seventeen people suffered minor injuries, with four requiring hospital treatment, Henrico County Battalion Chief Steve Wood said. There were no arrests and the iBooks sold out by 1 p.m. Police estimated around 5,500 people turned up for the sale.
"It's rather strange that we would have such a tremendous response for the purchase of a laptop computer — and laptop computers that probably have less-than-desirable attributes," said Paul Proto, director of general services for Henrico County. "But I think that people tend to get caught up in the excitement of the event — it almost has an entertainment value."
Blandine Alexander, 33, said one woman standing in front of her was so desperate to retain her place in line that she wet herself.
"I've never been in something like that before, and I never again will," said Alexander, who brought her 14-year-old twin sons to the complex at 4:30 a.m. to wait in line. "No matter what the kids want, I already told them I'm not doing that again."
Jesse Sandler said he was one of the people pushing forward, using a folding chair he had brought with him to beat back people who tried to cut in front of him.
"I took my chair here and I threw it over my shoulder and I went, 'Bam,' " the 20-year-old said nonchalantly, his eyes glued to the screen of his new iBook, as he tapped away on the keyboard at a testing station.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Eating Babies for Jesus
As some of you know, I appointed myself as "acolyte shepherd" of my church some 16 months ago. I was motivated by the desire to ensure my eternal salvation by enduring Hell in the form of fourth grade boys in white robes handling red wine.
As part of my effort to whip the troops into shape, I set out to create an acolyte training manual of sorts...a visual representation of what they should be doing to enhance the worship of our God. Rule #1--Don't leave church mid-service. Rule #2--Jesus isn't cool with muddy crocs.....and so on. For this manual, I had to stage a series of scenes with the priest and servers interacting as though at an actual Mass. Things were going very well until we got to the baptism shot and noticed that the baby doll was missing (btw, I ended up finding it at my apartment later that week sans the arms, which eventually turned up in my dog's poop).
Thinking quickly, the priest jetted on up to the nearby Fiesta to get a loaf of "ethnic" bread to stand in for a plump, sprinkled baby. So, the priest baptized the sweet bread and the pictures were taken and all was good in the world. Until, of course, I ate the baby. I felt a brief moment of horror upon realizing that I had eaten a baptized, Christian pastry, but as the priest pointed out, "We eat our God too, so it's okay."
As part of my effort to whip the troops into shape, I set out to create an acolyte training manual of sorts...a visual representation of what they should be doing to enhance the worship of our God. Rule #1--Don't leave church mid-service. Rule #2--Jesus isn't cool with muddy crocs.....and so on. For this manual, I had to stage a series of scenes with the priest and servers interacting as though at an actual Mass. Things were going very well until we got to the baptism shot and noticed that the baby doll was missing (btw, I ended up finding it at my apartment later that week sans the arms, which eventually turned up in my dog's poop).
Thinking quickly, the priest jetted on up to the nearby Fiesta to get a loaf of "ethnic" bread to stand in for a plump, sprinkled baby. So, the priest baptized the sweet bread and the pictures were taken and all was good in the world. Until, of course, I ate the baby. I felt a brief moment of horror upon realizing that I had eaten a baptized, Christian pastry, but as the priest pointed out, "We eat our God too, so it's okay."
Monday, June 29, 2009
Here's why I don't play sports
Today, while logging observation hours at a local neurotherapy center, I lost a game of Horse against a one armed paraplegic with severe brain trauma.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Why?
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Angelic boy child caressing fetus.
Whoever came up with this idea for a "family photo" needs to be jabbed with a coathanger.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Why I am forever banned from Expedia.com
So as many of you know, I've been planning this trip to Finland and then was supposed to return to Connecticut so my b.f.f. could get gay married. Well, due to lack of foresight, karma, or whatever malevolent forces exist in the universe, the wedding was postponed. So imagine me on the phone at midnight, explaining this to the Expedia lady who could care less about the personal life of Zemkat. It didn't help that she spoke heavily accented English at 500 words per minute and had access to a comparative list of flights and prices while I frantically scribbled down her responses to my questions such as "What do you mean that Finnair does not serve vegan meals?" and "Excuse me but how can I avoid this 32 hour layover at the London Heathrow airport?"
Sigh.
Sigh.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Adventures in Zemland
This morning I had an incident with a candle warmer at my friend Nero's house.
Nero (walking into the room): WHAT IN THE GODDAMN HELL?!?!?
Me: What?
Nero: You do realize you’re covered in hot wax, correct?
Me: Oh that? I was just trying to achieve that sleek, hairless look.
Nero: So how will you be paying for the damage this time?
I tried to defend myself by pointing out that it was a jar of liquefied wax, just waiting for an accident to happen. Never mind that that stupid candle warmer has been in his house in that exact spot for three years without anyone else wrecking it. My defense a failure, I set about cleaning with a hot iron and wet towel (hey didn't I see that combo in a porn somewhere?).
Nero (walking into the room): WHAT IN THE GODDAMN HELL?!?!?
Me: What?
Nero: You do realize you’re covered in hot wax, correct?
Me: Oh that? I was just trying to achieve that sleek, hairless look.
Nero: So how will you be paying for the damage this time?
I tried to defend myself by pointing out that it was a jar of liquefied wax, just waiting for an accident to happen. Never mind that that stupid candle warmer has been in his house in that exact spot for three years without anyone else wrecking it. My defense a failure, I set about cleaning with a hot iron and wet towel (hey didn't I see that combo in a porn somewhere?).
The wax was coming up quite well until that damn butterfly distracted me and I burned a triangle in the carpet. Nero was a bit confused when upon returning to the room, he discovered that his couch and entertainment center had been rearranged. However, seeing no cause for concern and certainly no burnt carpet, he accepted my explanation that Martha Stewart had stopped by as part of her “Getting Down and Dirty with the Locals” tour.
I’m actually on my way to Nero’s house this morning to continue or summer horror movie marathon, but first I'm giving him time to Zem-proof his home with bubble wrap.
I’m actually on my way to Nero’s house this morning to continue or summer horror movie marathon, but first I'm giving him time to Zem-proof his home with bubble wrap.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Night Trip
So around 11:30pm, I had the idea to climb up an oak tree by the Rothko chapel and look at the full moon. So there I was sitting in the oak tree, enjoying the moon beams, when a University of St. Thomas security guard materialized and shined his light up at me. Our conversation went something like this:
Guard: And just what are you doing in that tree on a night like this?
Zemkat (without thinking): Um….witchcraft?
Guard: (angry stare)
The nearby swarm of feral cats and empty bottles of Schlitz Malt Liquor littering the base of the tree did nothing to help my case.
After it was determined that I was neither drunk nor sacrificing cats and that I was no real harm to the general population, I was allowed to remain in the tree staring at the moon. Until I fell down about ten minutes later, of course, because as it turned out, I really was quite drunk.
Guard: And just what are you doing in that tree on a night like this?
Zemkat (without thinking): Um….witchcraft?
Guard: (angry stare)
The nearby swarm of feral cats and empty bottles of Schlitz Malt Liquor littering the base of the tree did nothing to help my case.
After it was determined that I was neither drunk nor sacrificing cats and that I was no real harm to the general population, I was allowed to remain in the tree staring at the moon. Until I fell down about ten minutes later, of course, because as it turned out, I really was quite drunk.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Dancing Queen
I am attending a belly dance workshop today. Right now is a lunch break to give everyone a chance to throw up and chain smoke. Everything hurts. I discovered muscles today that I didn't know existed. And now they hurt.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
For the love of hair
They told me to not put Rogain on my receeding hairline, but did I listen?
"It will drip down onto your face! Your eyebrows will be as caterpillars," my hairstylist said.
My appointment with the Houston Electrolysis Clinic is tomorrow at 1pm.
"It will drip down onto your face! Your eyebrows will be as caterpillars," my hairstylist said.
My appointment with the Houston Electrolysis Clinic is tomorrow at 1pm.
second attempt at blog
My first attempt at blogging on wordpress failed because my attention deficitted mind could not focus long enough to find the "post" button. So Evn, my apologies for not following through on your suggestion to use wordpress. Or maybe you told me to use blogger....I forget.
I am entering my second hour of trying to buy a plane ticket to Finland. If the Expedia drone says, "bear with me" once more, my projectile vomit may very well precede my flight. Sorry Irene!
I am entering my second hour of trying to buy a plane ticket to Finland. If the Expedia drone says, "bear with me" once more, my projectile vomit may very well precede my flight. Sorry Irene!
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