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

Archive for November, 2010

a short lesson on humor

Saturday, November 20th, 2010

Q: What’s funnier than projectile vomiting?

A: As long as it’s not you actually doing the vomiting, nothing. Nothing is funnier than projectile vomiting.

I established this during a conversation with Crockett’s family tonight. They’re awesome.

snap crackle pop

Friday, November 19th, 2010

Yesterday, I had a few minutes to kill and I was in the vicinity of a Sephora.

I have as much makeup as I need, at the moment, because … well, actually, I’ve basically always had as much makeup as I needed. I don’t have as much makeup as I want, because I have absolutely NO SHINY GOLD EYESHADOW, but since I have nowhere to wear shiny gold eyeshadow, wanting is not even close to translating into needing.

I guess I could wear it to school… I digress.

Since I’m all set in the makeup department, I swung by the hair section. The humidity in Colorado has dropped to  – well, currently it’s 9% here in Louisville. 9%. Do you know what that does to ones hair, if ones hair is even a little bit inclined to be dry?

The girl in Sephora tried to convinced me to buy this conditioner.

Oh, it smelled delicious. It can be used as a leave in, in the shower, whenever. It is apparently a hair miracle in a jar.

It’s also $38.

Six months ago, I would have bought it. I would have been pissed about how much it cost, but I would have paid for it anyway, because I’ve filed my dry hair under ‘a problem that needs to be fixed’. I would have justified the purchase by saying, ‘well, I could buy a bunch of crappy conditioners and waste plastic and money and time, or I could just buy the one that will work’.

That, y’all, was my version of financial independence. Getting to buy minor luxuries that were a little bit ridiculous. I didn’t buy a sports car. I didn’t buy Louboutins. I bought expensive conditioner.

I miss my moisturized hair. I do not miss my job.

Fair trade, I guess.

Inside GOOP

Thursday, November 18th, 2010

Have you noticed all the times that I’m all ‘hey, you guys, I’m starting this new thing!!’ I get all excited and I do whatever it is once, maybe twice, and then it disappears in the morass that is the inside of my covered-with-(REALLY-FREAKING-LONG)-brown-haired-head.

What fell into that category?

At some point, I did it. I subscribed to Gweneth Paltrow’s newsletter, and she’s been mailing me her thoughts every week since. She calls it GOOP because, apparently, those are her initials. If those were my initials I probably would have called it something else, but she’s gorgeous and rich and married to a rock star, so who am I to second guess her?

I’m starting a new thing, inspired by TJ’s Cosmo Cliff’s Notes. I know you don’t want to subscribe to Ms. Paltrow’s GOOPiness. I know I’m not going to stop reading it, because I seriously can’t. So – I’ll read it for you. How does that sound?

I have continued to get these emails at a rate of about once a week, and every time one shows up I think ‘what happened to Inside GOOP? That had promise’.

Honestly, guys, it didn’t have that much promise, but it’s Nablopomo and I got jack all else to write about right now, so. Here. We. Go. (I once read that overpunctuation increases excitement. That’s what I was going for there.)

On this fine Wednesday, our Miss Paltrow is helping us celebrate the holidays.

By spending money.

On stuff that’s personalized.

The ALL NEW Be Like Gwen List of Stuff that You Probably Don’t Need but Can Pay to Put Your Name On This Holiday Season:

  1. Cocodot, for all your Christmas card and Christmas party invitation needs. This year, in tartan! If the tartan doesn’t convince you, the enthusiastic quote from David Arquette that graces the front page might. Unless, that is, you don’t care what the jerk who cheated on Courtney Cox thinks about your Christmas cards – your call.
  2. Do you remember the last time that you got a card in the mail? Remember how you stood outside, next to the mailbox, and enjoyed the stamp for awhile? Oh, yeah, not very many people do that. Among folks who didn’t get that memo are Gweneth Paltrow and the US Postal Service. You can upload your own photo, and the USPS will put it on a stamp for you. If you’ve always dreamed of having your zip code stamped onto a image of your child’s face over and over again, now is your chance.
  3. Leather goods for men. Come on, Gwennie, try a little harder. You recommend this: I bought this for Crockett almost a year ago: I feel so superior right now. Also, a $52 leather flyswatter? ARE YOU JOKING?
  4. Buy your child stripey PJs with his or her name on the front. No, really, do. They are goddamn adorable. This is not sarcasm.
  5. Buy your child a $50 hairclip holder! Perfect for the $15 hairclips sold by the same company! (This, here, is sarcasm. I don’t buy $15 clips for my hair, and I’m (slightly) less likely to lose or ruin things than a little tiny person is.)
  6. Are you a parent? Do you have parents of your own? Do your parents think that your children are the most fabulous artists ever? If so, man alive, is today your lucky day. For a mere $1,500, designer Jan Eleni will take 112 of your kids drawings and put them in a really big frame. PERFECT for grandparents. What’s that you say? Why couldn’t you put them in a frame yourself and save $1,450? Well, see… .she shrinks them. Or… something.

Are you wondering if she stopped at 6? I mean, we’ve covered your cards, your boyfriend or husband, your kids, and your parents. What else do we need? How about $250 throw pillow with a photograph of your choosing silkscreened onto it? No? A $475 portrait of two of your fingerprints?

I literally can’t list the rest. I just.. .can’t. But the next time you run across, say, a life sized zebra that makes real zebra noises and is stuffed with pure joy, you know who the target market is. Our Miss P.


Wednesday, November 17th, 2010

An unexplained pay gap of at least 12% exists between the working men and the working women of America.

Gosh, why the FUCK would we want to do anything about that, Senate?

What is the problem, here? The Fair Paycheck Act would “allow employees and courts to intrude too far into core business decisions”?

If you are a business owner and your business decisions include paying your female employees less money for the same work, you are an asshole and someone sure as hell needs to stick their nose in your business. Sooner rather than later.

Not that that’s going to happen any time soon, apparently.

I am so sad right now.

Let me make this perfectly clear. That wage gap does not exist because of the choices that women make. That wage gap exists because of workplace bias.It needs to be rectified. If a business could prove that that their male employees are better paid than the female ones for a good reason, that business would not have been forced to take any  corrective action.

There’s nothing to be scared of, in that.

So really, what the fuck just happened?

in your love

Tuesday, November 16th, 2010

Roughly 10% of the time, I’m the biggest fucking crybaby you’ll ever meet.

Don’t believe me?

A not-guaranteed-all-inclusive list of things that have made me cry since Sunday morning – each thing mentioned caused an independent bout:

  • Some C++ code that wouldn’t work
  • A woman who got hurt in a Stephen King book (Full Dark, No Stars)
  • An article about they way dogs love people
  • Forgetting to feed my dogs
  • Some Java code that wouldn’t work
  • Crockett helping me with some homework
  • Having to leave the house without my lunch
  • Trying to schedule Thanksgiving
  • A teacher scheduling a meeting to review an application I’m writing for a fellowship


If you’re a man, right now you’re shaking your head and thinking ‘aww, that poor Crockett’.  (Yes, I think that dudes say ‘aww’. If they don’t, they should. It’s the perfect combination of empathy and pity.) Fortunately, I’m hilarious 90% of the time, so it all evens out. Plus, I’m adorable, which makes up for a multitude of sins.

Not that crying is a sin.

I don’t know why it happens. Right now I think it’s a combination of hormones and the rapidly approaching due date of the aforementioned application, but hell, it could have something to do with the position of Jupiter. We’re mysterious, us crying women. What I do know is that I freaking HATE IT. I am not the girl who cries, y’all. I’m the bitchy girl with the big sunglasses who sits at the back of the bus and chews gum despite the fact that the busdriver went to all the trouble of making a sign that says ‘please no gum on the bus’.

I’m NOT the crying girl.

(Except, apparently, when I am.)