I say, how does one undelete oneself?

Eep!

music: Inexplicably, the Zorro theme.

It just seems my luck that I wait forty years for a blind date, and my utterly clueless coworkers set me up with a woman so enamored of one Richard Bruce Cheney that she had reconstructive surgery to fashion herself into a 90-pound version of her hero. Oddly, this did not instantly dawn on me when she showed up at my cardboard excuse for a door with a hunting rifle slung over her shoulder. She doesn't know the area, I thought. She'll relax once I show her my magic trick with the deviled eggs.

Man, was I wrong.

My idea of going to see Koyaanisqatsi before eating was the first mistake, as she swore loudly all through the bit with the Soviet tanks and wound up shooting me in the leg when I tried to get friendly. After we were kicked out I had to resort to riding around in her lap being I couldn't drive anymore.

Just my luck it was free Long Island Iced Tea night at the Jiffy Lube just before the highway turnoff. The idea was that anyone keeping their car--and somehow the entire world--in tune deserved to get 100% shit-faced as a reward. Oh, there had to be ten cars with drivers whose eyes were as glazed as the simonized metal monsters that rolled over us. I lost count after seven, anyway.

Strangely enough, my companion for the evening didn't say a single off-color word as this was happening. At first I thought she was dead, and tried to reason how I would explain this to my husband, but then a kindly vagrant came over and stood the wheelchair up before making off with it, dislodging the gravel from her throat and ensuring she would live to yodel again. Being we were quite squashed into the gel-and-faux-fleece seat cushion, we were treated to an evening of bum festivities, such as seeing who could piss the furthest after chugging bourbon banana smoothies, and then came a midnight recital of drunken poetry.

"Ah rung up the fat barney with toadlicker and marbles corn tingled," I think one toothless gent was insisting. I nodded along best I could with his tale, hoping that as long as I seemed transfixed my date wouldn't get too frisky. The third SUV to go over her head had dislodged the recent nose job she'd had and I wouldn't even know what I was snogging if I took the chance. As it was the man who stole the wheelchair was having his way with it by a flaming trashcan and I had no intention of sitting in it ever again. So my first blind date ended with us all unwittingly eating a poisoned wild bird from behind the airport. It tasted just like bologna.

mood: curious music: Fat Bottom Girls - Queen tags: rabbit hole day, writing

I've been busy, but all I have to show for it is a new strip up on monkey--that updates Monday/Wednesday/Friday, you know. Yes. This week I drew a bunch of theraputic stuff about the time my cat scared the hell out of me with a bowel inflammation. And somehow that made it into a comic!

There's a new post by me every Wednesday on Type Your Culture, which was a neat idea for a communal blog of all people from different backgrounds the world over but seems to be down to two people from The Bronx. This week I let a bit of my political opinion slip out, because from next week on I'm hoping for shinier happier times.

I've been making vlogs each week this year, and so far I've had this idea about cleaning the basement but it's winter and therefore colder than a well-digging witches naughty bits out there. But I keep it short and throw cute furry creatures in there too.

What else...what else...eh...I'm on Twitter, and just about find the time to post there during the week.

mood: busy music: Borneo - Firewater tags: babble, comics, news, politics, video

Many many years ago I came into existence in a land of many bookcases full of adventures, cats, birds, hamsters, fish, and music. Twenty-five years ago we added the greatest dog/wookie hybrid to ever tip a couch. Twenty years ago I adopted the hottest luvman of a cat I had ever known and he helped me write a few books by standing on my shoulders and licking my face. Nineteen years ago I got the Internet…or the Internet got me. Something. Twelve years ago I had to change ISPs and started my first website. Ten years ago I joined a Star Wars usenet group and ended up becoming a worshipper of the great Porkins. Six years ago I joined LiveJournal because I liked the idea of blathering on and on about my angst and aches online while keeping it private. Five years ago I started a webcomic on another account. Two years in a row I won NaNoWriMo and yet haven’t completed either novel. Today I’m joining InsaneJournal because I’m terrified all my friends will miss me if our journals go away…and I CAN’T POSSIBLY STOP TYPING.

Some people don’t get me, they tell me I’m not funny and I write too many words. Others think they get me and prove time and time again they haven’t got a clue who I am. Then there are the people I actually give a damn about. And that is why you’re reading this, baby! ;)

I’m planning to cross-post everything I write everywhere else here. Not sure if that will work out because I’ve had other plans that still haven’t come through. Like being so financially secure that I go back to buying things like the services of a roofer and windows. I haven’t bought new clothes or shoes in years and subsist mainly on peanut butter and coffee. I’m a flaming lefty progressive peacenik and yet I watch American Idol and those dancing shows. I’m cool with just about everything except hate. I hate hate, I guess you could say. LOLcats and QuickFirePool are addictions and yet I’m so obsessively disciplined that I only watch YouTube on the weekends and have e-mail to reply to going back to 1997. I’ve also got a camera. Guess how many photos I have to worry about losing to the great demagnetization? I’ll give you a starting number: 25,000. I have them backed up, but I only make the best ones public on my Flickr account.

I will watch just about any movie and listen to just about every piece of music that crosses my path. Unfortunately I have a terrible memory on account of not having slept properly since the ‘70s. A horoscope I once read said I don’t age, I just keep going. On and on. Like a scratched Philip Glass record playing in the Grand Canyon.

I like it here. The padded walls are cozy.

mood: busy music: Echoes on WFUV tags: babble, confessions, intro, writing