Wednesday, August 30, 2006


I LOVE people who have too much time on their hands

So, tonight I learned that if you google (isn't it great how everything has the potential to become a verb?) failure it directly directs you to Dubya's biography at the White House website. Tee hee.

Monday, August 28, 2006


Desperate housewife

One should never ever come between a two-year-old and her dollhouse. Ever. Just so you know. In case it ever comes up...

Wednesday, August 23, 2006


Flashback 1993

I get to work this morning, late, and as I’m sneaking through the 3rd floor door, I bump into a co-worker. I manage a wave, mumble good morning, force my sleepy face into a smile, and make an uncharacteristically chatty remark about the outfit she has on (my rampant tardiness makes me nervous). This in turn draws attention to my own ensemble, nothing she hasn’t seen before since I recycle the same three or four outfits over and over again each week… until she gets to my shoes. Oo! You’ve got new shoes! She says. They’re cuuute. Where’d you get them…? As I’m explaining that I got them on sale last year at Goody’s, she interrupts to ask if I’m wearing hose. I look down at my nekkid, sockless feet, feet that obviously don’t have hose on them. Um, no. No, I’m not, I say. She laughs and says, Your feet are WHITE! You. are. WHITE! (emphasis on WHITE, in case you missed it). It looks like you have white hose on, you’re so white! Yeah (ha ha), they’re white all right, I say. And then I turned to go to my desk.

Suddenly, I found myself back in high school, but with jerk face, unimaginative co-workers in place of all the jerk face, unimaginative kids, the kind who had nothing better to do than point out the obvious. Like that I am white. Really white. Blinded-by-the-white white. Amanda-the-friendly-ghost white. Glow-in-the dark white. And the ever impressive damn-you’re-white white.. Lucky for me I’m so over being hurt by that crap.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006


Secret Miniature Pony

So, I think my dad may have bought little girl a pony. I think this because he told me. He stopped in for a brief visit over the weekend. And while we were visiting, he thoughtfully paused as if he'd remembered something (and boy, had he), turned to me, and casually mentioned that, oh yeah, he got a pony for Maya. A miniature one. As if he just happened to pick one up while he was out garage saling or something. This makes me laugh hysterically until I realize he's actually serious. Now, I know he said he was going to spoil the poop out of her, but I didn’t think the spoiling would entail a pony, at least not a real one. Oh, and possibly a St Bernard, if we think she'd like a dog. Sure, because we all know that kids turn THOSE down.

I don’t remember ever wanting a pony when I was a kid. Trampoline, yes. Telescope, yes. Pony, not so much. I blame this, at least in part, on my best friend at the time who was a horse fan.a.tic. She had two ponies, real ones that she would ride on the weekends. She loved horses so much I think she may have wanted to be one. Whenever we got together I could expect our play to somehow involve horses. Either we had imaginary horses or our bikes were horses or SHE was a horse. So, when you think about it, I didn’t really need a horse. I had her.

Anyway. I kind of figured the day would come when one of the five grandparents would give Maya a pet for a gift, but I thought it would, you know, be a puppy or a bunny or goldfish. Something smaller, and a little less... rideable.

Or edible. We made a ridiculous discovery last night while searching for information on miniature horses. Apparently, some folks consider miniature horses a right tasty treat. So, as soon as Maya has done loved her horse all up, I reckon we can try out some of these here recipes. Chicken fried horse? M'mm m'mm them's good eats.

Monday, August 21, 2006


Zooomr Zooomr Zoom Zoom Zoom

So, Zooomr is offering free (FREE)2.5GB Pro accounts to bloggers. Any ol' bloggers. Even the not-so-pro ones and the slightly technophobic ones. And the ones who think you care that they are rock-lobster red from hanging around film crews in one hundred eleventy degree heat? Yeah, those too.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


Out of Focus


Thursday, August 17, 2006


And.. That's a wrap!

I fully expect King Missile to write a song about Chris one day. He'll make the best fucking films we've ever seen in our life and we'll fuckin love him.

Sunday, August 13, 2006


Self-portrait with the hot sound guy

On Thursday I ditched work to take lots and lots of pictures and be a general nuisance (my camera and I were only shushed once during the shoot) on the set of Indian Girl. Hey, if you're going to miss work, do it for the right reasons. In between takes, I got to hang out with one of the hottest crews ever, and make the occasional run for necessities. But most of the day was spent behind my own camera or gawking or both. And when I wasn't doing that, I was melting. Temperatures topped out that day at 111 with a heat index of 236 (on the Finslippy scale).

The crew took a break from filming over the weekend, but will be hard at it again bright and early Monday morning, this time out at Sooner Land and Livestock. Giddyup!


Welcome to the Picture Show

Thursday, August 10, 2006


Self-portrait with a side of procrastination

What day is it? It's still Sunday, right? Oh. Well, um, let's pretend it's Sunday instead. Yeah. And, oo! Let's also pretend that I am a super computer genius who knows EXACTLY what she's doing and never has any problems wrangling photos sent by email, ever. Better yet, let's pretend I didn't have to give up in miserable defeat and use a different picture and that, if I did, Katie would still heart me anyway. I like this pretending stuff. Pretending is fun!

Tuesday, August 08, 2006



This weekend, Katie's nephew celebrated his birthday. The Big Four.
On Saturday. Although he actually turned a year older on the first, which was Tuesday. The party was lakeside, and I was there as one of the aunties. The melty one tucked away in the corner.

So, Katie's nephew? He's my nephew, too. In fact, it is because of this genealogical oddity, the sharing of the nephew, that we enthusiastically insist the two of us must be related and, indeed, have spent more time than two unrelated people probably ever should trying to work out the particulars of our relatedness. But that's a story for another day.

Early on it was rumored that the nephew would be celebrating his birthday at Chuck E. Cheese's.. where a kid can be a kid. And where a kid can gorge on pizza and laugh himself silly while dying a slow, unsuspecting death in the giant ball pit. Oh, and there's the singing, dancing anthropomorphic rat that puts in a special appearance at your table. Every kid should have a Chuck E. Cheese party! The birthday girl or boy will love you for it (unless they get creeped out by anthropomorphic rats and giant ball pits), and the adults will appreciate the air conditioning. Our birthday rendezvous with the rodent was not meant to be. At some point before the party the venue was switched to the lake, where it would be 107 degrees and I would be sure to not bring a swim suit because swim suits and I? We just don't get along.

And why is it adults (most adults. okay, the slacker ones) lose the ability to function in hot weather? Kids have this amazing ability to go about all their usual super important kid business in triple-digit heat like it was any other day. The sun just. does. not. phase them. I, on the other hand, start to get all wilty and can barely find the energy to breathe while sitting motionless in the shade.

When did summer get so friggin' hot? The day I asked myself that was the day I realized my freakish powers were dwindling and that I was on my way to becoming one of those adults. The kind that doesn't step outside from July through September. Except for birthdays.

Saturday, August 05, 2006


Everywhere a sign

Friday, August 04, 2006



Because work has been so shitty that one of my previous passwords was excrement (well, okay, it was actually poopy), a little disco love for your Friday afternoon.

Happy day, y'all.

edit: Okay, so here's the thing. Turns out I can't directly show you the disco love because I'm just that inept. And lazy. So, if you follow the link and wait a bit, a linkadoo for disco love will pop up on the right side of the screen.


Before you go

J: Oh, I need you to do me a favor before I go..
A: ..I need you to recite Ozymandias for me. (because everyone is ALWAYS wanting someone to recite Ozymandias; it's never ending. Honestly.)
J: (rummaging in a basket for a pen) I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said--Two vast and trunkless legs of stone...
A: Wait, you can actually recite Ozymandias?
J: Well, yeah. (and then gives me this look like pshaw! can't everyone?!?)

And this surprises me why exactly?

Wednesday, August 02, 2006



Dear co-workers,

You are all lovely people, and I know you mean well, but I’m trying to diet, as are many of you (ahem), and, well, dieters aren’t always the strongest of strong-willed folks. So if you wave a cake slathered with delicious homemade frosting in my face (and by ‘in my face’ I mean on a table far far away… in the next room), then I’m gonna take a piece, because honestly it would just be rude not to. And, sure, I start off by just taking one sensible sliver. I even trash the napkin that had been serving as a plate so I won’t be tempted to grab another slice. But I’m a resourceful eater with 28 years of experience behind me, the most important of which being years one through five-ish, so I know hands can masquerade as plates just as easily as that napkin. Soon that single sensible sliver I allowed myself, the one I heartily congratulated myself on earlier (what restraint!) turns into two (award yourself with another!), two into a questionable chunk, and before the day is over half the cake is gone, I’m cleaning off all the excess icing you people thoughtlessly left behind on the cake board, and am giving some serious thought to licking the knife clean. My new pants and I can’t go on like this. So, if at all possible, could you please, please, pretty please with low-calorie artificial sweetner on top, ixnay on the showcasing of your ever faboolous culinary skills? Because I just can’t quit your desserts.

Thank you,


Watching windows

Tuesday, August 01, 2006


Postcards from Cowtown

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