August 10th, 2008
August 12th, 2006
August 8th, 2006
For now: *cavorts in new icon*
August 2nd, 2006
Lemme tell you--a twelve may look only a hair or two bigger than an eighteen to the naked eye, but boy howdy, when you hit the middle of that curve you feel it, and it is not a pleasant feeling by any stretch (no pun intended) of the imagination.
I managed to get the taper halfway through and I let it hang until I got home, where I proceeded to use more lube than a bottom boy on his prom night (as I so wittily [or not] announced to Tasha) to get it the rest of the way through.
Surprisingly, my left ear was more cooperative. Generally my left side is my angry side. My left eye does not like contacts, my left leg is prone to arthiritis pain, and last time I gauged, my left ear was screaming in agony. But the taper went right through.
Tens next week! ARGH.
* I couldn't find any cheap fourteens or sixteens.
August 1st, 2006
July 9th, 2006
July 2nd, 2006
Are you one of those people that gets gas and doesn't look at the pump number?
I don't mean forgetting occasionally. I mean never, ever looking for the number, never going back out to look at the large freaking numeral emblazoned in contrasting colours on your pump in some location; I mean: do you have a habit of slapping your money on the counter and saying, vaguely, "the blue car" and running away--when it's pitch black outside or, worse, when there's four blue cars in the lot?
Do you expect your cashier to magically know what pump you are on? Do you honestly think that it's going to hurt you to locate a fucking number that in most locations is in the exact same place on every pump and is quite often several inches high? Are you going to get pissed when the guy on pump five (you are on pump two, by the way) drives away with the twenty fucking dollars you gave the cashier because you were too much of a dumbass to specify which Cadillac you were in (when the cashier doesn't know a Caddy from a Hummer, especially at midnight) and she was too busy with a line of eight people to watch you to your car, metaphorically holding your hand?
If you said yes to any of these questions, then I don't care who you are--my brother, my father, my best friend, someone I have known and loved for years, the pope, someone I am secretly madly in love with, Marilyn Monroe, Jesus Christ, whothefuckever--
I hope you die a terrible, painful, agonizing death and spend an eternity being yelled at by rich, arrogant fuckers in expensive cars screaming at you because they were too stupid or lazy to look for their pump number, because you, my friend, are a total fucktard.
June 24th, 2006
June 12th, 2006
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
( And my answers so far.Collapse )
If you don't mind, could you tell me some things? Yes, you. It doesn't have to be everything on the list, just whatever strikes you, even if it's just one thing.
But everything would be better. :D
I don't care if you meme this into your journal, s'cool. I am looking particularly at Tasha and Dara and Katie and Allie for filling this out, ahem.
Can you tell me:
- the last book you bought.
- the last book you read.
- the last movie you saw in a theatre.
- the last movie you saw at home.
- the last album you bought.
- the last song you pirated.
- the last song you listened to.
- the last time you got turned on (oh, come on, be mature).
- the last book you read that majorly affected your outlook at the time, and how it did?
- the last song you heard, ditto, and how.
- the last movie you saw, ditto everything.
- the last song you heard that made you cry.
- the last movie you saw that made you cry.
- the last movie you saw that made you really laugh hard.
June 6th, 2006
For your perusal, I've accumulated a list of the sort of people that approach me with thoughts of wooing while I am at work. Illustrated.
( For an abbreviated list of my many suitors, click hereCollapse )
My piercing is not red and nasty any more. Pictures coming, I swear.
March 26th, 2006
So the rules are, once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog with "6 weird facts/things/habits about yourself", saying who tagged you. In the end you need to choose the 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Oh...no tag backs!
1. I don't think anyone knows this, but I love Cinnamon Toast Crunch. To an obsessive degree. And I eat it maybe once a year.
2. If I could speak any language in the world, I'd choose Swahili.
3. My highest recording typing speed was just under 120 GWAM, on my final exam during keyboarding class.
4. My favourite aesthetic is that of steampunk.
5. I can recite the alphabet backwards faster than I can forwards.
6. I have about half of a novel written in my head, with all the little between parts unfinished. I am just too lazy to get it out onto paper/screen and refine it. I know the climactic scene word-for-word. This is how I keep myself entertained on slow nights at work.
Most of these aren't weird, but you know, whatever.
I don't tag anyone. I am the anti-tag. The meme ends with me.
Last night a woman came into work with a child named "Armani." I wanted to ask if he had a caucasian cousin named "GAP."
( I also stole this RP character meme from CluricaunCollapse )
March 9th, 2006
Sayid and Eko are totally not my type in any way, seeing as I prefer frail-looking Scandanavian boys, but CHRIST, every time they come on screen it just sets a mad fire to my loins. They have some kind of sway over women. The island is an evil HORMONE TRAP.
Okay, I'm done this time, really.
Later, the same guy was getting coffee while I was trying to restock the area, and he asked me if I had kids.
"Not old enough?"
"Not stupid enough."
"You just say that now. Your maternal instincts kick in at around 25. What're you, 22?"
"Twenty. And I know plenty of people over 25 who have no desire for children."
"You're a woman. You'll want kids."
Later, the same ring was, coincidentally, brought up again. Towards the end of my shift, a guy was buying a bottle of chocolate milk, and jokingly, I asked him when he was going to buy me one.
He took me seriously (really, where do they find these people?) and asked if my "man" wouldn't get pissed. I said no, probably not. He asked why, and I explained that I didn't have one, although I was reluctant to do so because I felt he might take it as encouragement. He asked me about the wedding ring, and not wanting to jump through lesbian circles again, I told him it was a long story. He offered to buy me one, and I thought, what the hell, Linda gets free stuff by flirting with the truckers, why not me? And damnit, I got a free chocolate milk and this African man wants my phone number.
I am apparently irresistible to black men. Jamaicans and Africans hit on me every single night. None of them are hot like Mr. Eko or I might take them up on it.
Why is this? With z_mochachino, we can blame her bombastic ass. I have nothing. Maybe I just radiate "unattainable white woman" or something.
God, this post is sounding really racist. I'll change the subject.
Hung out with Matt in the office before the shift, shooting the shit about Lost and Roswell (via Claire, see). Briefly discussed my taste in TV, or lack thereof. Matt's a good person to break into a shift with, cos he likes to smoke while you count the drawer in, and therefore, you start the shift on a ten minute break.
Matt, at one point, rapped on my head to prove a point. Ungently. Matt is an asshole, that's why I like him. Anyway, before I could even react, he said:
"Wow! Your hair is really soft, Nicole!"
Gee, thanks, Matt. That's only the second nice thing he's ever said to me. What a weird thing to say. XD
Gogol Bordello = impossibly awesome.
March 8th, 2006
Today, my cousin woke me up at two-thirty in the afternoon (when, as the worker of a graveyard shift, I should have been sleeping) to take me to the emergency room for his panic attacks. Feeling sorry for myself (and not for him), I went and picked up some new music, as well as some old music that I don't have any more: The Tain by the Decemberists, Mutations and One Foot in the Grave by Beck, and Gyspy Punks by Gogol Bordello (!).
More love letters:
zanitica: For being you. ♥
z_mochachino: For being tolerant, witty, and damn near unbearably hot, I love you.
cluricaun: For having a mind that works on some more golden and weather-beaten plane, and for giving us windows into that place, I love you.
March 4th, 2006
Here's a post I made to a dream-related community. I haven't updated in a while, so in lieu of real news:
I've had, over the past year or so, a number of dreams involving fish, primarily goldfish. I am not sure what fish represent to me personally--the ephemeral, maybe; the easily-lost (I have had bad aquarium luck). I know that I consider goldfish in particular to be symbols of beauty.
They have grown increasingly bizarre. They started as very mundane dreams with fish as a motif, but the focus has shifted more and more towards the fish, and the general atmosphere has become increasingly sinister. So here I am, presenting them to this community, because I am at a serious loss as to what these could mean, and I've picked at them for a while now. Maybe some outside help would be a good thing, and maybe you guys will just find them interesting, particularly as one of them is one of those rare "third person" dreams in which I do not actually appear.
( Fish in bags, on screens, in the walls, in an angel's face, and screamingCollapse )
December 6th, 2005
December 4th, 2005
First thing I did was read the letter. And giggle profusely.
And then I peeled off the dust jacket, and, yes, the book is as beautiful as described. I counted Anansi's legs although I knew there were seven.
And then I found the dedication page and I think I fainted, temporarily blacked out, something.
I love you Dara. ♥