New-ier and improve-ier for 2007.


A mini-script with The Weez

VG: So I was talking with Mrs. Neighbor today. She mentioned that she’s going to help her daughter by being an example for her final exam.
TW: (distractedly) What’s her daughter studying to be, again?
VG: An aesthetician.
TW: WHAT?!? So, Mrs. Neighbor is going to let her daughter put her to sleep?!? How can that even be legal, with all the malpractice stuff?
VG: (stifling laughter) Um, honey, that’s anesthesiologist. Mrs. Neighbor’s daughter is An. Esthetician. She’s going to do her mom’s nails.
TW: Oh. Well, good.
VG: (laughing hysterically)



Cinematic Décor, Part IV

A young man’s talent drives his meteoric rise to fame. However, wealth does not buy happiness. Or taste. He looks for love in the arms of the lovely Apollonia. Apollonia has many faces – mother, lover, muse – but the face of “gifted interior designer” is not among them.

Purple Pain

Why do we scream at each other? This is what it looks like when doves cry.



Fish or Shot?

I’ve been having absolutely whacked dreams lately. Last night, I dreamed that my house was robbed by a bunch of eight-year-olds who were running some sort of candy-selling scam.

I also dreamed that I gave birth to a baby, and afterwards, the midwife needed to stitch up the bottom of my foot, which had been torn during delivery. However, she wouldn’t give me any anaesthetic, and the pain of the needle going in and out of my sole was a million times worse than any agonies of childbirth.

But my most-amusing dream in the past week has been the one in which Farmboy The Next Cube Over was teaching me a drinking game. He’d hold out his hands, balled up into fists. I would have to point to one and declare either “fish!” or “shot!”

Then, he would flip open the selected hand to reveal either a shot glass or a live goldfish (flipitty! flop!). The rules were as follows:

  • If I guessed shot and the result was shot: I would get to choose the shot and FtNCO would buy the shot.

  • If I guessed fish and the result was fish: It was a “pass.”

  • If I guessed fish and the result was shot: FtNCO would choose the shot and I would have to buy the shot.

  • If I guessed shot and the result was fish: I would have to eat the fish.

Fortunately for me, even though my subconscious is SERIOUSLY fucked up, I was never forced to eat a goldfish in my dream.



Vanity, thy name is "Ow! Dammit!"

So, I was playing volleyball last night. And the ball went flying out of the nice, foot-friendly sand area, and into the parking lot. Because I am not lazy, and because I am a team player, I ran after it.

There is a split-rail fence that separates the nice, foot-friendly sand area from the parking lot.

Now, I could've walked around the split-rail fence. It wouldn't have been far. But, the split-rail fence was not all that high, and in younger days, I was quite the hurdler.

So, in a fit of show-offishness, I neatly hurdled the fence. And landed right on top of a rose bush that had been cut back at the end of last summer. Said rose bush was not thrilled at being thus squashed, and retaliated by jamming a stick pretty far into my foot.

Of course, I didn't want my teammates to realize what a dumbass I was, so I tried to act like nothing happened, and went back to finish the game. Barefoot. In the sand. With a puncture wound in my foot.

Why is it that I can barely walk today? Um. . . I have absolutely no idea!

I am *such* a dumbass. :/



Tres political.

I play volleyball for a team that's sponsored by a snappy little Mexican restaurant. The place has fresh, homemade tortilla chips and excellent, cheap margaritas. Apparently, it also has quite the social conscience.

Our team t-shirts have a slogan on the center of the chest (right underneath a kicky blue sombrero). The slogan reads:

Be happy tonight. But not because of the world.

Ooookay, snappy little Mexican restaurant.