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You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Archive for September, 2009

sniff, sniff

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

I’m sick. I’m not going to make the declarative statement “I have the swine flu”, but I’m not going to rule it out either.

Either way, I’m here in a semi fevered state, unable to sleep and unable to focus long enough to read or watch television. Playing fetch seems to be about my  speed, except that lifting my arms is sooooo much work. As is typing.

Earlier I was thinking about something someone once told me – the ‘nearest doughnut’ theory. After googling it, I realized this is not as well known as whoever it was that told me about it made it sound. The basic theory is this: men’s affairs can frequently be boiled down to the nearest woman who was willing to sleep with him. If his wife is across town but someone willing is in his office building… boom. A man will eat a doughnut that’s in hand rather than drive across town for a home cooked meal.

Yes, it’s insulting. Part of the reason I was googling it is because I was getting all worked up about health care and abortion and all sorts of vaguely related things earlier and then I saw this tweet: baratunde Wow @RobGeorge on mark sanford: he flew to Argentina for his mistress. No nookie is worth a 9 hour flight! There’s 9 minute nookie in SC. Either  the nearest woman who found Sanford sexually attractive was a nine hour flight away or, you know, the doughnut thing is bullshit. What does this have to do with health care and abortion? Um… it too gets me all worked up? That’s about all I got for linkage at this point.

Anyway. One of the sites that ‘nearest doughnut’ search led me to was a sociologist mathematician dude. I know, I don’t necessarily see the combo either, but he’s making it work. He didn’t use the ND phrase, one of his commenters did. Check this out – the post I stumbled on was a mathematical way to figure out how long your marriage is going to last.

A= Woman’s age at time of marriage (No, men’s age at the time of marriage is not accounted for. Maybe it’s irrelevant due to the widely acknowledged fact that men never grow up heeheehee man I’m funny tonight.)
E=Current combined years of post-high-school education
K= Number of kids from this marriage
R= How religious is the couple (1-10 with 10 being “the Pope”)
D= Combined number of divorces of couple’s parents
P= Combined previous marriages
T= Years at which you are computing the chances

H.e.a. stands for “Happily Ever After” and is the percent chance you will still be married at time “T”

Based on my current status, where X is number of years married and Y is percentage chance of staying that way. And yes, I would have used excel to graph this if my netbook had excel, but it doesn't.

Based on my current status, where X is number of years married (T) and Y is percentage chance of staying that way (H.e.a.). And yes, I would have used excel to graph this if my netbook had excel, but it doesn't.

Two takeaways.

1) According to math social geek, my lack of children and religion and my parents divorce means I will never have a better than 50% chance of staying married.

2) I am a gigantic nerd.

One two three knock on the wall

Monday, September 28th, 2009

Morning after note: The below is my tequila-fueled-iPhone-enabled last minute review of The Orphanage. If you read it last night before I fixed the typos, I apologize and thank you kindly for returning. If you haven’t already, please visit Sam’s, Andrew’s, and Dawn’s-scary-movie-substitute’s reviews. I haven’t read them yet but I’m guessing they’re a little more coherent than the below and hilarious/fabulous/gross as usual.
Netflix actually tried to foil my last minute movie watching, btw. I got this lovely screen that said ‘the movie you’re trying to watch is unavailable’. My movie buddy took it as a sign that we should ditch it and go to the Citizen Cope concert, but this movie club is my baby so I persevered. You’re welcome.

Welcome to thoughts while watching The Orphanage. Since my computer is currently showing the movie, I’m writing this on my iPhone. I apologize (or say you’re welcome, whatever) in advance for being less verbose than usual.

“She’s a midget hooker! Don’t adopt her!” This is the first line my movie watching buddy uttered when the movie started. I’m pretty sure this is not the movie he’s thinking of….

Even when I don’t understand the language I really want to hear what they’re saying. What is that about? The words are RIGHT THERE. Someone could be boxing my ears and I could still tell what was going on. On an unrelated note, what is ear boxing?

My movie buddy is threatening to send his nephew to the orphanage. I love his nephew but I can respect his perspective on this.

“Don’t go in the cave, ugly Diane Lane!” Heeheehee.

When an HIV positive child tells you he’s never going to grow up, that is a complicated moment. Sigh.

Oh. My. God. What kind of mask party requires you to wear the worlds scariest masks? The kind that happens in a horror movie- that’s what kind.

If my movie buddy doesn’t stop whispering redrum I’m going to punch him in the stomach.

Really? Ten investigators are using flashlights to look for one little boy in three hundred square feet of grass? Good use of manpower, Spain.

Wait…are imaginary friends a sign of genius or a sign you’re about to disappear into nothingness? Cause I should either send for my Mensa app or write a will.

Who puts a sack over her disabled child’s head and paints a face on it? No, really, who? Someone with glasses so thick she can’t see that the face-sack is the scariest fucking thing ever?

The idea of a disembodied (or bodied but unwelcome) person climbing into bed with me while I’m sleeping is one of those things that haunts me at bedtime. Thanks, The Orphanage, for reinforcing that fear!

If you could be in a room with a person who was seeing a ghost or could see the ghost yourself which would you choose? I’d be the seer. Watching somebody else see this shit is mofo scary.

Ass infrared.

The Mandible Trail. Sort of like the Oregon Trail but with more chewing.


Ok. This was actually quite lovely, despite the ghosts and death. Emmanation rating: homemade individually sized chocolate bundt cakes with a mild chili chocolate glaze.

a puzzling, rollicking piece of tosh

Friday, September 25th, 2009

I may have mentioned that I ran the marathon, yes? I was a little fried at the time, but since I’ve received some congratulations, I’m going to assume that my marathon post made sense etc. Yes, I could go back and read it, but I’m worried that would make my legs hurt.

There are two things that I did not mention regarding the race. Both had to do with keeping myself entertained for twenty six very long miles and both involved my iPhone.

1 – I listened to The Lost Symbol. Not all of it, obviously, since the unabridged audio book is 18 hours long, but quite a bit of it.

(This is apparently the New Zealand cover. I like it better than the North American one.)

(This is apparently the New Zealand cover. I like it better than the North American one.)

Why, oh why, does Dan Brown have such a problem with letting us in on his secrets? I’ve now read four (is that all of them?) of his books, and the theme that ties them all together seems to be a basic desire to keep us guessing. Well, other than the whole ‘there are secret symbols everywhere’ theme.

For example, in The Lost Symbol, Robert and his obligatory lady friend are in the back of a taxi cab headed to some fate-of-the-world-depends-on-it meeting, when she suddenly has a revelation involving a dollar bill and redirects the cab. She writes something down and tells Langdon ‘you’re not LOOKING where I’m POINTING’ and then they rush out into the night. That’s the sum total of the information you get, as the reader, for like a chapter and a half.

I’m actually quite familiar with this technique, because I remember it from the chapter books I read when I was little. For example, R.L. Stine could and did rock the chapter ending cliffhanger. Of course, R.L. Stine was also trying to keep young readers from giving up on the whole chapter concept by making the next chapter a must read. What on earth is Dan Brown’s excuse? Dan, darling, we are not third graders and do not have to be tricked into continuing onto the next chapter.

2 – I live tweeted the marathon. Yep, that’s right. If you’re on twitter you can go look under #bouldermarathon – it’s mostly me, with one from my mom bluehairsprinte. However, you don’t actually HAVE to go look, because here it is in all it’s degrading psychosis.

Short shorts, iPhone, and a pocket full of Tums. Let’s go!

Mileage is smileage

The Lost Symbol is keeping me company, in case you’re wondering. (Told you.)

I repeat to myself: this will be a tailwind on the way back. (Not true. It was pretty much a head or side wind the whole race.)

Port-a-potties, I both love and loathe you.

During races is the only time boulder county encourages you to throw trash on the ground. (I thought this was hilarious. Cut me some slack, I was at mile 9 or something and the 17 miles to go were weighing heavy.)

Only 11 miles and I’m hallucinating spaceships

Mom as support crew yay! (God bless that woman for bringing me candy corn and love.)

I am strong. I can do this.

This hill is just mean.  Anyone wanna run a 10k? (The hill was more than mean – it was the end of my hopes of meeting my time goal. A hill at mile 20 is seriously rude.)

At this point I stopped saying any words that weren’t curse words, so I (wisely) stopped tweeting. However, I had one more in me for after the race:

Finished. And still vamping. Bam, said the lady.

I’m so proud of myself. And such a geek. Denver Marathon, anyone?

feel the rain on your skin

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009

I cannot believe I have not written about this yet. So awhile ago (ok, January 2007 so kind of a long time ago) I posted about how a couple of major fashion cities were setting a lower limit on the BMI a model could have. If your BMI was under 18, no runway for you. However, London and New York were not interested.

How far we’ve come.

Witness, my sisters, and rejoice. And then go eat some cake. Oh wait, I’ve been vegan for two and a half days. Ok – you go eat cake, I’ll go eat vegan cake.

Lizzie Miller, prominently featured on page 194 of the September issue of Glamour.

Lizzie Miller, prominently featured on page 194 of the September issue of Glamour.

Kate Dillion, one of several plus sized models who will be featured in the October issue of Glamour.

Kate Dillion, one of several plus sized models who will be featured in the November issue of Glamour.

Ashley Graham, who will also be in Novembers Glamour.

Ashley Graham, who will also be in November's Glamour.

As much as I would love to continue posting images of beautiful women with bigger boobs than me (yes, my breast obsession is coming back – blame Mad Men), I can’t because I don’t have a full list. As I understand it, though, there will be at least three or four plus size models in addition to the ones I’ve shown above.

There are a couple of key points here. First, yes, I am aware that some of these women are an 8 or a 10 and that is not plus size in the real world. I’m being optimistic, ok? Seeing more body types may start to mean loving more body types – if our medias definition of what’s beautiful is starting to widen I say two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Second, the reason that Glamour is being so trailblazing about this is because of the GREAT reaction they got to Miss Lizzie Miller, the first woman pictured above. Her little belly pouch and happy smile got Glamour more fan mail than they’ve received regarding any other single picture ever.

We are not a nation of 6′, 125 lb women, and apparently our print media is starting to take notice. At least a little bit of it. Yay.

Runways are also making a teensy bit of progress, although not everyone is a fan. When Mark Fast, a designer, opted to use size 14 models in his show at London fashion week his designer and stylist quit. Seriously. He used the women anyway and they looked fab, so I seriously hope that designer and stylist are currently kicking themselves. Brats.

Anyway – it makes me sad when everything in the world seems to be trying to indicate that some kind of person is not good enough. I think this helps. Yay.

How do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle

Sunday, September 20th, 2009

So today I ran a little thing called a marathon. You may have heard of it – it’s something crazy people do when they want to punish themselves for … well, anything really. It’s sort of the modern socially acceptable version of a hair shirt.

Ok, that’s not really what I think. Look at how happy I was once the second I crossed the finish line.

WINNER! Ok, not really.

WINNER! Ok, not really. But I do win for brightest whitest shortest shorts.

Anyway. I feel exercised and tired and exhausted and like tomorrow I am going to the sorest woman ever.

Sorest. Ever.

A friend of mine recently posted about training to run the San Francisco marathon, and his very wise girlfriend provided him with this quote:
“IF YOU RAN WITHOUT SACRIFICE, CONGRATULATIONS. YOU JUST JOGGED. Running hurts. It always has. Woolly mammoths didn’t just roll over onto a plate and serve themselves up to prehistoric man with fries and a shake. They had to be caught – and running down woolly mammoths was a bitch. Guess what? Running is still a bitch. But one with a purpose. It teaches us that good things do not come easy. It teaches us that hard work will be rewarded and laziness will be punished. Don’t expect to learn those life lessons from running’s shiftless stepchild; jogging. Next time you suffer on the roads or trails, suffer proudly. It means you run like an animal.” (You can read the whole post here.)

So either I’m an animal or deep in atonement. Either way, I accomplished something today. Fuck yeah. Now, I’m going to bed.