This is a dragon curve. I don’t understand any of this Wikipedia article. Last night, I had a dream I argued with a former co-worker over independent clauses, so this isn’t my strength.
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I’ve gone ginger!
It’s super red when it’s straight, and I cut off 2 inches. I’m inclined to let it go curly, since this is what it wants to do anyway. My friend Dan tells me redheads are nothing but trouble, so you might want to back away from the blog.
I would have brought a keg, but that might have seemed rude
My friend Saul and I visited the cemetery last Monday to note Dad’s one-year deathaversary. When we visit mom, we hang out under a nearby tree for several hours and make a picnic of it. But Dad was really inconsiderate and died in the middle of January, so he’s going to have to deal with us checking out the headstone for a while and then sitting in the car. Still, it was better than last year, when we buried him in the slush and sleet.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a whole year. At the risk of sounding like an asshole, I’ve always been less sad about his death than mom’s. His life felt done. It’s like finishing a great book that ends as it should. I’m sad that it’s over, but it was time for it to be over all the same.
Saul brought Mom and Dad a bottle of wine, and I let them have a little — in part because Dad loved to booze it and in part to celebrate with them. I wanted to let them know they were going to be grandparents again. Devon and I found out the previous week. I know they would have been excited, especially mom. My brother has two kids, but people who took in 350 foster kids would have gladly welcomed more. When Mom was in ICU, two months before she died, Devon and I told her we were getting married and that if we had a kid and it was a girl, we would name her Aurelia, after my mother’s mother. She cried.
So I poured some of the wine into the dirt and told Mom to go easy, because she’s a lightweight. I sat by the grave for a bit and talked to them about the future. Then I went home.
Two days later I miscarried. It wasn’t very painful and there’s wasn’t a lot of blood, and I’m fine.
Devon took Friday off and we spent a long weekend cooking and watching movies and playing video games. I drank the wine I couldn’t drink at the grave site. We lit the candle over Fitz’s tiny urn and enjoyed the amazing lamb and ratatouille Devon made, along with my cream of mushroom soup and vanilla-chocolate pudding.
A lot can happen in the first three months. We were aware I was pregnant for only 10 days. The embryo would have been the size of a lentil bean. But it was a wild 10 days. We’re not devastated, certainly not like we would be if one of you died. Sad and subdued is more like it. But we’re OK.
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Jay-Z promises to hold on to bitch
Well, that’s a relief. Here we are, with wars raging, pollution wrecking our environment and me not getting nearly enough cheese, but at least we don’t have to worry about Jay-Z abandoning the b-word. Which I assume is bitch, because it would be really strange to stop saying “breakfast” or “bocci.”
I’m glad I’m not famous. More importantly, I’m glad I’m not famous enough that anyone would care if I stopped saying bitch. I don’t even know what I would do if I had to stop saying bitch. I couldn’t say things like, “Bitch, please,” and “Wassup, bitches?” and “I’m gonna cut a bitch.”
It’s clear I couldn’t function.
So good on you, Jay-Z, for sticking with such a versatile word. Don’t let those bitches tell you what to do.
This blog entry isn’t real
Instead of a real blog entry, I will be participating in the Internet blackout today in protest of SOPA and and PIPA. For more information, click this link.
Don’t let ass clowns make the Internet lame.
You totally need this. Totally.
If you’re an alcoholic, that is. This multivitamin claims to support liver health and other crap that might keep you from keeling over when your liver finally stiffens into a decrepit paperweight. I have no idea whether that’s true. I’ll verify it after I finish this whiskey.
The Force watches you masturbate
My friend Donna and I were playing SWTOR and we decided to name The Force “Ceiling Cat.” It started with a discussion of the powerful nature of The Force and how it intervenes in your life, at least according to the dippy master Jedi in the baby consular area. That led to the realization that The Force watches you masturbate.
It’s true and you can see where this is going.
Pretty soon, we declared that we could sense a disturbance in the Ceiling Cat. The Ceiling Cat is with you, always. May the Ceiling Cat guide you. You’ve fallen to the dark side of Ceiling Cat.
And all of this is retarded, but it was hilarious to us. Donna was drinking excessive amounts of hot-buttered rum at the time, which I may or may not have provided for her. I was drinking egg nog without the booze, so I have no excuse.
The egg nog was probably the last time I’ll see egg nog until Christmas, which is why I had to beat that old lady down. I promise, the bruises will fade in a few days. I’m not a total monster.
Devon, upon creating his toon: “Twi’lek, really? A fucking cultural dance? That’s your special power? Fuck you!”
Craft Friday: Unicorns don’t just fart rainbows
Their shit is also magically delicious!
For a while, Devon couldn’t stop talking about the wonders of Colorado. The air is cleaner! There’s more space! Housing is cheaper! Leprechauns wash your windows for free! It was getting pretty ridiculous, so at one point I said, “I know, I know. Colorado is a magical land where unicorns fart rainbows.” Now I can have unicorn shit, too. Awesome.
Good news and some not so good news
I’m getting a tablet! It’s gonna be awesome! It’s coming soon! I’m running out of exclamation points (also known as exclamation marks, bangs and dembangers, in case you were wondering, and I know you were)!
Devon won’t tell me what kind he got me because it’s the only part of my delayed Christmas gift that’s going to be a surprise. The only thing I know is that it’s not an iPad, because he’d rather stick hot pokers into his eyes and sing Nazi marching songs while he skips around the block naked than buy an Apple.
Also, our ceiling is leaking again. It’s not even raining that hard. This bullshit usually happens during hurricane season. I’m going to cut someone.
+++++++
This shit’s cool. Trust me:
I finally drank the Jedi Kool-Aid
Yes, I’m playing Star Wars The Old Republic.
So far I’m fairly impressed, although my toon is still in newbie land, so there’s a lot more to see before I decide whether it’s going to be my new boyfriend. I need to roll a Sith and see what it’s like to be eeeeeevil. In a video game, I mean.
My Jedi Consular is kind of a dick. In one quest, I bust two young lovers for doing what they do. Jedi are not allowed to fraternize. I felt bad for about a minute before I realized two things:
1) This couple is so cutesy they make me want to vomit, and for that they need to be stopped.
2) The last time a Jedi got his groove on, it led to Episodes 1, 2 and 3. The Jedi are right. Love is a threat to galactic peace and should be squashed beneath my cynical boot heels.
Sorry, kids. You’re gonna have to go back to masturbating like the rest of the Jedi.
Maybe I’m more temperamentally suited to Sith. But that can’t be true, because busting those crazy kids is a light-side choice. Maybe the light side of the force is just an asshole, like me.
