The notion and omnipresence of Valentine's Day conjures up many a response from lovelorn and schmoopy folk alike. Here is my favorite synopsis, courtesy of a random bulletin:
It's also the day the single women seem to be pretty amiable to the idea of hooking up so they aren't alone. If your only positive trait is that you occupy space, and technically a hottie wouldn't be 'alone" if you were spooning her, this is the holiday for you.
Preach on, brother. Kisses to all, Stay out of snow drifts. XOXO
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Round Two
One would think I am fabricating my vehicular challenges, but alas, no.
Today, upon rolling out of bed (always delightful after a Thursday night of too many cocktails) and pulling it together for work, what to my wondering eyes did appear?
A flat tire. Another flat tire (please recall that is my second... of the week).
I am progressing so far into my affair with AAA Motor Club that I may as well call it a serious relationship, buy a ring, and pick out my china pattern. Is ridiculous. And this ill-begotten snow (no, I shan't complain. read: New York, seven feet... shudder) has every towing company in the city run ragged. Typically AAA tells you an estimate of about 60 minutes for help to arrive, maybe 120 if things are crazy. Well, today the reply was, "Well, honey, we're running on about 4 hours waiting time for these things." Apparently everyone has decided to forgo traffic traditions and drive themselves straight off every road, over every hill, dale, and overpass and straight into eagerly awaiting ditches. Even the police are forcing AAA to supply assistance to those they claim to need it so direly. (What? Like having no heat and being stranded in the center lane of 465 is really so hazardous.)
Anyway, either I was charming or just damn lucky because no sooner had I tried some alternate businesses ("Sorry, 4 hours."), I get the call and my new friend arrives. Poor man. A locksmith by trade, his entire week has found him rescuing the likes of me with his knees in the slush and defibrolating (that spelling must be atrocious) batteries, most of whom have decided to unionize and go on strike during the cold season. 20 hour days ever since the blizzard hit, he tells me.
At any rate, just so happened that today I decided to spiff myself up in sleek pencil skirt and heels*, which I want you to know is not advisable when one's car is buried in a drift and ice-picking is an all-consuming 15 minute ordeal before the windshield is rediscovered.
*side note: beware of women who suddenly reignite the flame of fashion/sex-appeal. usually a compensation for feeling like shit and not wishing to be exposed as such. a disguise, more often than not.
home now and picking a fight with the cat, who is a monster and complete miscreant. no wonder she's mine.
Today, upon rolling out of bed (always delightful after a Thursday night of too many cocktails) and pulling it together for work, what to my wondering eyes did appear?
A flat tire. Another flat tire (please recall that is my second... of the week).
I am progressing so far into my affair with AAA Motor Club that I may as well call it a serious relationship, buy a ring, and pick out my china pattern. Is ridiculous. And this ill-begotten snow (no, I shan't complain. read: New York, seven feet... shudder) has every towing company in the city run ragged. Typically AAA tells you an estimate of about 60 minutes for help to arrive, maybe 120 if things are crazy. Well, today the reply was, "Well, honey, we're running on about 4 hours waiting time for these things." Apparently everyone has decided to forgo traffic traditions and drive themselves straight off every road, over every hill, dale, and overpass and straight into eagerly awaiting ditches. Even the police are forcing AAA to supply assistance to those they claim to need it so direly. (What? Like having no heat and being stranded in the center lane of 465 is really so hazardous.)
Anyway, either I was charming or just damn lucky because no sooner had I tried some alternate businesses ("Sorry, 4 hours."), I get the call and my new friend arrives. Poor man. A locksmith by trade, his entire week has found him rescuing the likes of me with his knees in the slush and defibrolating (that spelling must be atrocious) batteries, most of whom have decided to unionize and go on strike during the cold season. 20 hour days ever since the blizzard hit, he tells me.
At any rate, just so happened that today I decided to spiff myself up in sleek pencil skirt and heels*, which I want you to know is not advisable when one's car is buried in a drift and ice-picking is an all-consuming 15 minute ordeal before the windshield is rediscovered.
*side note: beware of women who suddenly reignite the flame of fashion/sex-appeal. usually a compensation for feeling like shit and not wishing to be exposed as such. a disguise, more often than not.
home now and picking a fight with the cat, who is a monster and complete miscreant. no wonder she's mine.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Snow
Indiana seems to have walked itself into a Robert Frost poetic landscape, white and crisp and glazed with frozen slushes and bare treescapes. Drifts cascade from cars and assemble themselves peacefully along curbs and boot-tracked sidewalks. Life assumes a state of temporal
pause, as if everything is hovering, suspended like the cloudy snowshowers that arabesque through the wind. A cold day, yet providing a strange insulation from life outside the little bubble of my bedroom walls and steaming teacup.
You’ll wait a long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other, nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves,
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
(excerpt, "On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations")
pause, as if everything is hovering, suspended like the cloudy snowshowers that arabesque through the wind. A cold day, yet providing a strange insulation from life outside the little bubble of my bedroom walls and steaming teacup.
You’ll wait a long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other, nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves,
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
(excerpt, "On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations")
Monday, February 05, 2007
team of young male horses wins SB XLI
Just goes to show that it really is all about the pink underwear. (Never watch a game without some). Hopefully will be able to sleep tonight despite the chorus of car horns serenading the downtown streets.
Side Note: Connectile Dysfunction. Brilliant.
Side Note #2: Prince for President. Loved the hair.
Side Note #3: Did anyone else interpret that halftime show shadow-behind-the-waving-silk moment in an inappropriate way? That guitar silhouette was rather... suggestive, n'est-ce pas?
Side Note: Connectile Dysfunction. Brilliant.
Side Note #2: Prince for President. Loved the hair.
Side Note #3: Did anyone else interpret that halftime show shadow-behind-the-waving-silk moment in an inappropriate way? That guitar silhouette was rather... suggestive, n'est-ce pas?
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Oy Vey
Since I apparently can't sleep and have thus turned to the internet for mind-numbing drift...
have discovered yet another reason why myspace is the force of the age and thus incredibly creepy. in that it is home to creeps. and tragedies masqerading themselves as people. and lonely hearts. and this guy.
my latest "message" reads thus:
Have you heard about Mutual Sympathy? It is very cool site.The thing is, they show you a pic of a boy and ask if you like him. You answer Yes or No. If you do they send him your pic and ask the same.If u both like eachother you can get in-touch and meet up. Mutual Sympathy
sent by someone whose myspace name included the term "Thug" (yes capitalized for formality's sake)and whose picture featured large sunglasses. left wondering: is this an attempt to invite me to said website, which if you would like my opinion is a cheaters' haven for those ducking out of the ball-busting world of internet matchmaking sites... is sender some sort of admirer (euphemism for stalker, of course). but seriously? is this elementary school all over again? DO YOU LIKE ME? CHECK YES OR NO
I did not visit the link nor the sender's profile. though it appears that the hyperlink has posted here if someone else wishes to pursue this to a lengthier end. but really, when a web hook-up site has the term "sympathy" in it's title, whatever can one conclude but that it is not home to anything I wish to associate myself with, as a general point. nor shall I willingly converse with anyone who spells the word "you" with only one letter. call me crazy. call me snobbish. call me judgmental. some people call me maurice. it's fine.
have discovered yet another reason why myspace is the force of the age and thus incredibly creepy. in that it is home to creeps. and tragedies masqerading themselves as people. and lonely hearts. and this guy.
my latest "message" reads thus:
Have you heard about Mutual Sympathy? It is very cool site.The thing is, they show you a pic of a boy and ask if you like him. You answer Yes or No. If you do they send him your pic and ask the same.If u both like eachother you can get in-touch and meet up. Mutual Sympathy
sent by someone whose myspace name included the term "Thug" (yes capitalized for formality's sake)and whose picture featured large sunglasses. left wondering: is this an attempt to invite me to said website, which if you would like my opinion is a cheaters' haven for those ducking out of the ball-busting world of internet matchmaking sites... is sender some sort of admirer (euphemism for stalker, of course). but seriously? is this elementary school all over again? DO YOU LIKE ME? CHECK YES OR NO
I did not visit the link nor the sender's profile. though it appears that the hyperlink has posted here if someone else wishes to pursue this to a lengthier end. but really, when a web hook-up site has the term "sympathy" in it's title, whatever can one conclude but that it is not home to anything I wish to associate myself with, as a general point. nor shall I willingly converse with anyone who spells the word "you" with only one letter. call me crazy. call me snobbish. call me judgmental. some people call me maurice. it's fine.
Fernando Pessoa
This my madness, accept it, those who can,
Dare whatever it needs.
What, without madness, is a man
More than a beast after feeding,
A corpse adjourned, the half-alive breeding?
Dare whatever it needs.
What, without madness, is a man
More than a beast after feeding,
A corpse adjourned, the half-alive breeding?
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Face That She Keeps in a Jar by the Door
I HAVE THE:
... dirtiest car in the world. this damn salt is out of control.
I JUST VACUUMED IT, DAMNIT.
... most bloodshot eyes you can imagine.
all-nighter, dry winter air, tu sais.
... sassiest new tire. full of air and shiny jet-black.
she's a-sparklin', don't you worry.
... clothes on that I wore yesterday... still wearing them,
it's totally sexy. all the kids are doing it.
... biggest pile of clothes to donate. hurrah!
reduce-reuse-recycle! de-clutter! out with the old!
... messiest pile of assimilated crap all over my bed,
mostly articles for school, some poetry books, several black ink pens,
a few random tins of lip balm... you'll have that.
... urge to watch a chick-flick (yep, I said it) and (undoubtedly)
pass out. Meg Ryan (pre-plastic surgery) is great for that.
... twinge of guilt that I should watch CSPAN instead.
... song Eleanor Rigby stuck in my head... since yesterday.
... need to shower but not the motivation. give me a couple of hours.
... smug satisfaction that can only come after you clean out
your text message in/out boxes. ERASE ERASE ERASE.
... greatest bed, ever.
... dirtiest car in the world. this damn salt is out of control.
I JUST VACUUMED IT, DAMNIT.
... most bloodshot eyes you can imagine.
all-nighter, dry winter air, tu sais.
... sassiest new tire. full of air and shiny jet-black.
she's a-sparklin', don't you worry.
... clothes on that I wore yesterday... still wearing them,
it's totally sexy. all the kids are doing it.
... biggest pile of clothes to donate. hurrah!
reduce-reuse-recycle! de-clutter! out with the old!
... messiest pile of assimilated crap all over my bed,
mostly articles for school, some poetry books, several black ink pens,
a few random tins of lip balm... you'll have that.
... urge to watch a chick-flick (yep, I said it) and (undoubtedly)
pass out. Meg Ryan (pre-plastic surgery) is great for that.
... twinge of guilt that I should watch CSPAN instead.
... song Eleanor Rigby stuck in my head... since yesterday.
... need to shower but not the motivation. give me a couple of hours.
... smug satisfaction that can only come after you clean out
your text message in/out boxes. ERASE ERASE ERASE.
... greatest bed, ever.
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