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Archive for February, 2007

 
|| February 15, 2007 || 10:59 pm || Comments (2) ||

/sarcasm

Wretched Dee Cutlet is one of those Valentine’s Day-hating fucks.

He sent me this sweet and heartfelt little illustration yesterday, to which I responded:

“There are places for people like you.

“Like, you know, under my boot heel.”

The Easter Bunny is going to put rocks and dead spiders in his basket this year, I just know it.

Check out the rest of youyesyou.net. There’s some pretty tasty humor-slash-art over there.

 
|| February 15, 2007 || 12:19 am || Comments (1) ||

WWSL’sMD?*

The Young Genius Comic Book Creator is going hard at it again:

MATHIAS: Next I am going to draw TROGDOR getting his head chopped off by me….

JETT: Um, no.

MATHIAS: Well, what about I draw him getting blown up?

JETT: No, Mathias. You can’t be drawing things like that; people will think you are disturbed.

MATHIAS: Squeezing him hard.

JETT: ….in a bear hug?

MATHIAS: Now that’d just be cheeeesy.

MATHIAS: I meant until he popped into little pieces or somethin’.

*What Would Stan Lee’s Mother Do?

 
|| February 14, 2007 || 2:25 pm || Comments (2) ||

Valium Times

Love, in its purest form, does not give way easily to indifference. It struggles to endure.

~Beverly Flanagan

chocolatey lovin'

:: chocolatey lovin’ ::

 
|| February 13, 2007 || 10:18 pm || Comments (0) ||

um,

Just now? Just now I was reading the archives of one of the most brilliantly-crafted websites on this very planet, and as I clicked through to one entry, only this showed up:

bad date

Just like that, plainish default font in black on stark white nothingness.

Haha, yeah.

 
|| February 13, 2007 || 2:08 am || Comments (3) ||

Well of course I fled Hellabama last week, der.

Feeling increasingly like my head was in a not-so-great place and needed to be wrung out for four or five days, I started throwing some clothes in my FAVORITE ORANGE SUITCASE on Tuesday night. On Wednesday morning (late morning, I might add) I was getting a sandwich from Subway and I thought to ring up Tess: “Hey. Roadtrip. First tank of gas is on me. You in?”

“Girrrrrl, give me twenty minutes to shake the sleep outta my head, shower and pack my Piggly Wiggly bag; I’m therrrrre.”

Um, yee-haw. And Tess really has more official weekend bags than anyone I know. The Piggly Wiggly thing was a joke. Seriously.

Tess was so inclined to come along on such sort notice because she is possessed of a new car, spiffy (also new) driving glasses


Tess' badass driving specs.

and a potent, hearty sense of adventure.

“Okay,” said I, “pick a letter: Ay, Emm, Ell or Tee.” Tess picked option Emm and I hollered –while pulling out my most awesome-vicious laminated flip-map– “MISSISSIPPI IT IIIIIS!”

“FAAAABULOUS!” the girl cried, and we were off to the races. However, twenty miles into the whole thing we got behind a small flatbed hauling a couple of porta-potties. Um. I swivelled my head over at Tess, who remarked that this could potentially be a Portent Of Doom. I told her to put a Scarlett Spin on things: ‘Fiddle-de-deeee, what plastic outhouse?’

Not long after, we ditched the plastic outhouse guy with our patented Roadtrip Ninja Fierce Distracting-and-Driving Manueverstm and a celebratory stop at Dollah Genrul was called for. We needed to procure staples like coloring books and a fresh mascot.

We stopped to take photos, made up our own roadgames, went across-then-down-then-up the state of Mississippi (plus a little beyond) and had adventures. Some snippets:

+ There was a cruise on the Mighty and Legendary Mississippi River. There were people and music and puckeriffic drinks. We ended up on the boat through a combination of dumb lucks and magicks; you just had to be there.

+ Tess explored (aloud) the theory that I might have a convenience store fetish. (I don’t. Mostly.)

+ Free! Fancy-dancy! Hotel stay!

+ I met two men in one night that enchanted me in a non-sexual way. The first was an ebony fellow by the name of Andoulaye whose voice was honey flowing warm all around me in the cold night air. The second was an anonymous sort of cowboy who looked both juxtaposed against and right as rain in the three ay emm hotel lobby whose fireplace could have staged a smallish band. The hearth crackled, the conversation hummed and we each came away with a little nugget of truth…in a good way. Sometimes my insomnia pays. Sometimes a rich conversation in a strange, empty and ornate hotel common area while wearing jammie pants, floppy socks and a tank top is just the thing a girl needs at that moment.

+ “My harmony button is, like, broken today.”

“Ahh, hell, I left mine at home. In the shower, I think.”

+ I filled a whole damn notebook. That was like sex, you people.

+ There is singing, and there is singing “I Like To Go Swimming With Bow-legged Women” with a few hearty and welcoming souls at a bar in Tennessee.

+ Abandoned places along the way. Rusted-out, broken-in, torn-up, forgotten-about, strangely-beautiful abandoned places. How can I not love them, stand in some quiet loving awe of them, be haunted by them? I can’t, I just cannot.

+ While Tess slept soundly one night, I found myself watching an infomercial on the stupendous Vidalia Chop Wizard. Before I knew what I was doing, I was interacting with it. When I came to full realization about this, my head shouted, Sonofabitch! It’s time for a drink! at me so I found my driver’s license, a couple of bills and my boots. I had a (some) drink(s). I mocked Tess in my dreams, “HA! I CAN SLEEP SOUNDLY, AS WELL!”

+ A Commodores/Lionel Richie medley has to be executed just…so.

+ There were a couple-hundred miles there where we could find neither Fountain Dew nor Sunkist On Tap. Finally, finally we settled our minds on canned Dew and ‘Kist. The first town to creep up after this monumental shift in thought was fiercely ghet-TTTOH. The local convenience store only had the diet versions of our chosen drinks (aspartame, ewwww and icky and ptuh), to which we reacted poorly. A handsome young caucasian man well-versed in ebonical speakitude asked if we needed his hizzelp. We fell on his mercies, which included rummaging through the stock room while Tess shouted, “I’own wannit if it ain’t coh-ohhwwd.” She one local girl, yah? Anyway, after a dramatic rattling about and an even more dramatic silence, the precious hottie gentleman reappeared, proclaiming, “Yeah. Ain’t got shit.”

+ There is getting pulled over by an officer because of your love of windin’ shit out. Then, oh wondrous Muffinasses, there is explaining to said officer how your license just may be in the middle of Mississippi sommers, “Uh, I’m not especially sure.” The offending, errant license –cute little hideous thing– turned up in one of the tweed flats. The left one. It was being shared with a lucky heads-up penny.

+ ‘Vulnerable adults‘, HA! Secret messages to far-away peoples, yes.

+ Tess won all teh pointes for finding giant things.

+ The Esteemed Society Of Sister Neckbone was formed on this journey. Our theme song is that Purple Sizzerp joint and our motto is, “Scooping up words and phrases and clauses and bopping them on the head.” Our charter is forthcoming. We are very, very narrow-minded and exclusionary in our own sweet way. Hope y’all understand.

+ Someone texted me with the news that Anna Nicole Smith had died. That poor girl; she just wanted a little love, is all.

+ Somewhere along the way –after Tess mandated that I put down my camera– we were driving over a marsh. My eyes swung out of the passenger window just as we passed this: There was a mattress planted in a foot of muck, one corner kind of poking up. Next to it was a sign: “M & R Waterbeds”. I laughed for a good eighteen miles. Tess patently refused to go back for a picture.

I came back settled if not rested, and was steeped full in one solid truth: I am indeed wretched and blessed.


kudzu snow

:: along nail road in walls, mississippi ::

I really, really, really thought I would be able to sleep tonight.

Really.

Fucking insomnia….I go to sleep and I’m all, “I’m warm and tired and cozy and at peace, laaaaa!” (the ‘laaaaa’ bit was teh Angels Singing On High, in case you did not know) A mere four hours later I am wiiiiiide awake and trying not to get all obnoxious with the anger, thereby gettin’ mah pressure up. Thereby prolonging the misery. Thereby feeding some cycle ‘they’ tell you about.

Which one of you woke me?? Hell, I’m in front of the monitor now; you might as well ‘fess up.

 
|| February 11, 2007 || 1:35 am || Comments (0) ||

A time and a place.

a time and a place

:: found along higway fifty-one south, northern mississippi ::