Entries from September 2003 ↓

This afternoon I was driving down the street with the window down, the sunroof open and my new mix CD blaring when a bird took a shit in my hair.

The mix CD, I am thrilled to announce, is all finished up. I’ve obsessed long enough. I’ve got a cover designed, a track listing typed up; I just need to burn and print the artwork for 30 CDs. (Thanks again to Sir Mildred Pierce for the materials to make the entire batch. SMP, your envelope will recieve a bonus CD, as you requested. I’ve hand-selected you the finest 74 minutes of happy hardcore I could locate.*)

So, e-mail me those mailing addresses if you’ve been promised a shiny, happy (and a little bit sad) disc thingie. And if you haven’t, well, I’m feeling generous, so if anybody else thinks they can dig Phil Collins covers (okay, just one, but it so rules) then say so below. I’m gonna mail out five more. First five folks to speak up, I guess. I want to spread the gift of my favorite songs to all and sundry.

Because, dammit, I worked hard on it. I consider it a little letter to your brain from me to you. It isn’t perfect. Not even close. There are some beautiful songs on there though, songs that make me hurt every fucking time. Songs that make me giggle. Songs that make me wince and sigh and laugh. And I have to say there is just enough cheese to suit my needs, which I assure you is extra cheesy, so here’s hoping your tolerance runs pretty high.

However, I did spare you the all-male a capella choir version of the “Growing Pains” theme song. At least there is that.

*Just kidding. I like SMP and don’t wish him permanent brain damage.

Amazon says Artisan isn’t releasing Twin Peaks: Season Two on DVD, even after Season One had astounding sales.

And no one on the interweb knows why. Goddamnit, I want to know why!

The Twin Peaks Gazette has only this to say:

As some of you may know, the Seattle Times had a blurb recently indicating that Artisan had lost their rights to Twin Peaks Season 2. I don’t know about the exact contractual issues going on with season 2 or when the series will be out on DVD, but I have been told that the paper is wrong. I’m still digging around to see if I can find more information on what is going on. [The Seattle Times bit.]

I don’t have much else to say about it right now, but I’ve got my feelers out for any new news.

Motherfucker.

ALERT: If you eat a whole sleeve/row/package of Oreos it will fuck your stomach right up.

Ten Things I Hate about the South:

1. Nearly 85% of the population pronounces the word “crayons” as “crowns.” Southerners really, really dislike syllables and try to say as few as possible. (See also, “prolly” for “probably” and “su’m” for “something.”)
2. Witnessing some old fart in a liquor store cursing out two innocent, non-English-speaking Latino gentleman for “fucking up his goddamn country and stealing his taxes”? Not all that unusual.
3. Nothing but Super Wal-Marts and strip malls. Makes me want to cry.
4. Little to nothing in the way of public transportation. Everybody drives. And like shit.
5. The public school system blows so hard. It’s incredibly sad.
6. Reading the NY Times in public elicits questions from folks such as, “So, what’s happening in New York?” and “Our news ain’t fit enough for ya?”
7. Country fucking music.
8. It’s so frustratingly hot in the summer–feels like being swathed in a velvet blanket fresh from the dishwasher for three solid months–that you stay indoors constantly to take advantage of air conditioning and to avoid punching strangers in the throat.
9. Everybody is a Christian, no matter what, amen. Say otherwise at your own risk.
10. People around here smile all the time. It’s fucking creepy. You cannot walk down a sidewalk (where there are some) and not avoid eye contact and a totally fake smile from every person you pass. You either fake one back or struggle to avoid their gaze, but either way, what the fuck are these people smiling about? This place sucks.

Ten Things I Love about the South:

1. Sweetened tea.
2. Church signs.
3. Fall. No one, and I mean no one, does it better. I live in a whole state full of deciduous trees that change and drop and turn the entire countryside into a breathtaking tableau. Trucks full of pumpkins and fresh squash line side streets. The crisp air of southern autumns is unmatched in its ability to comfort and remind.
4. Libraries are usually pretty empty.
5. Biscuits. Chicken and dumplings. Peach cobbler.
6. I tried and tried but I can only come up with six. Five, really. This place sucks.

Have I mentioned how ridiculously happy I am right now? It’s totally sickening. Oh my God, I gross me out. When people ask me how things with the VCB are I say things like, “Beautiful. Fucking amazing.” Because they so are. It’s thoroughly disgusting, and you should be glad I’ve spared you as much as I have, because I know how little people like to hear about other people’s perfect romances. It’s been hard, though. I sit down to write these days and all that I accomplish is a stupid grin at a blank page.

Work has even been kind of cool. At least Friday night was. At about 6:30 I’m in the kitchen when another server says to me, in passing, “All the lights in the 20s just went down.” I thought nothing of it, because they always dim the lights at dusk and occasionally somebody fucks it up. But then the kitchen got about 50 degrees hotter in about five minutes and it filled with stifling smoke. The saute and flat-top grills, the fryers, the dishwasher, the air conditioning–everything was down. The only lights in the dining room were on thanks to a generator. I watched my mangers’ eyes widen and their hearts sink. This was some Fucked Up Shit.

Before long the electric company was there asking everyone to leave the building. After waiting in the parking lot for close to an hour, they finally decided to shut down the restaurant for the night. I was home by 8:30. Sure, I only made $30, but coolest day at work EVER. In six years every time the lights flickered, the hot water went, the tornadoes came–we’ve never had to close down. It was incredibly gratifying in a way to be there when the machine collapsed.

I am, though, sad about my new keyboard. I bought a new one after ruining yet another with mere water. I was standing on the other side of the room when a glass of water tipped over and soaked my entire desk. I can burn through peripherals like Snoop Dog through a quarter sack, and yep, I had to fucking do it again. New mouse, new keyboard. [Please read the next line in as whiny a voice as possible.] And the keys are too tight. It makes me want to cry. I’d rather write in crayon on toilet paper in the rain than on this thing. The backspace button is as big as the ‘q’ or ‘4′ button. What the fuck is that shit? When I fuck up I do it BIG; I needs me a big ol’ fat delete button.

I’m gonna stand across the room and see if I can make water spill with my eyes again so I can justify buying another keyboard.

In other news, one of my all-time, most favorite bloggers in all the land has moved and gotten her own domain. Using Movable Type. Swanky. I wish I was smart enough to do Movable Type, so I could helped her and gotten my own hams against glass pics. Those would be a hottt commodity.

Also, BIG LOVE to Sir Mildred Pierce for hooking a girl the fuck up. He sent me enough CDs, cases, envelopes and postage to mail out 30 mix CDs. Isn’t that entirely too generous? And the package is already here, too. Which means I should whip that CD into shape, which I plan today on my day off tomorrow. It’s the order of the songs that has me snagged. It needs to be just so. Anyway, those who will recieve mixes based on their reasons for wanting one (and the real reason they were picked) are as follows: Sir Mildred Pierce (he funded the project), Mikro (since he made me one and he knows a whole shit-ton about music and I expect a full review, mister), yiekes (because I haven’t written about how life changing it was to meet her yet), Cooky (because she’ll be crazy about it), Mus (’cause I ran over her foot), yezbick (for getting naked) and battletapes (because he never, ever gets laid).

Oh yeah, and don’t sneezes feel fucking great?

No writing for now, just pictures.

Tonight, though. Word frenzy.

Seriously. Best Flash intro ever.

(Props to Zeldman for the find.)

See, I told you the VCB is a problem solver.

Me: I can’t believe you left those condoms at home.
VCB: …
Me: Well, I’ve got Saran Wrap.
VCB: And…a butthole.

The VCB (which, for those of you half-heartedly playing along at home, is my relatively new, excrutiatingly cute boyfriend who rocks in more ways than I know how to say) is good with his hands. He is a problem and puzzle solver. He loves grammar and likes to point out split infinitives and dangling participles and run-ons. He is a dissector of all he encounters. Not only does he want to know how things work, sometimes he just does. He can look at just about anything and make some sense of its elements. (As much as we are alike, the VCB and I differ exponentially in this arena. Simple, silly objects like yo-yos and lighters and staplers remain a mystery to me. I need not know how they work, just that they do.)

So, it was no surprise to me that he was able to fix the problem I’ve had with my CD burner for over TWO YEARS, which was that I couldn’t burn CDs. Which, ya know…fairly big problem.

But not now. No sir, not anymore. I know I said it before, that I had it all fixed, but I lied! Not really, I just jumped the gun, but this time, I swear it, I mean what I say. I can finally burn CDs! Hooray for everything!

I got all excited and already promised, no shit, 23 people mixes, which I totally can’t afford. But I can’t stand to leave you all out, so I figure I can make at least seven more. It’s not like I’m mailing all 23, so it’s not so bad, but really. Seriously. I need to calm the fuck down.

So, here’s the deal, yo. If you think you want a CD, this is all you gotta do. Below, in the comments, tell me why you should be one of the seven people to recieve My First Mix CD. The best seven answers/reasons/compliments/promises/threats will get a headful of Hall and Oates.

And 23 other kick-butt ditties to rock your titties.

You have until 5 p.m. CST on Monday. No late entries. Because, I can’t go for that. No can do.