Wednesday, January 30, 2013

And Now A PSA. Also a PSA: Delta Airlines Sucks Ass Cheeze.

So, Delta Skymiles was all, like, "Hey Leslie, you have 6000 crappy, useless points with us that will never amount to anything because you avoid our airlines like the plague with total good reason!"

And I was all, like, "Huh? How did I get even that many miles with you douchebags?"

And they were all, like, "I know, right? Must've been from the time you got stuck waiting in line to check in because we were too busy gossiping about the manager and so you missed last call check in by literally FOUR minutes and we wouldn't do anything to help you so you ended up missing your flight, almost having to pay an extra $400 to rebook, AND having to spend the night sleeping in the lounge area of the airport with a bunch of people inexplicably wearing surgical masks but not deodorant. Anyway, valued customer, so that we can speed along the termination of our relationship like an ugly divorce, why don't you just spend your pathetic amount of mileage on a bunch of magazines that you don't need and we can try to call it quitsies 4-evahs?"

Then I was all, like, "Sure, if it means you will go to hell and stay there all day."

But then they were, like, "Well, no, we've got a shitty airline to run and millions more customers to make miserable, so while we're busy manufacturing hell for travelers, unfortunately we can't actually just go there ourselves, no matter how much we deserve to. So just get the damn mags or we will keep killing trees uselessly and sending you these irritating mailers, ad nauseum, recommending that you do."

So I was TOTALLY, like, "Fine, you jackholes. Die a painful, abscess-filled death and also send me the following..."

Up for grabs: recent issues of People Magazine, Glamour, InStyle, Entertainment Weekly, and Martha Stewart Living. Um, except for the one with Ryan Gosling. I should probably hang on to that one for a while. Or forever. ("Hey Boooy...")

Ultimately, I got a bunch of magazines that take me 20 minutes apiece to read and now I have an f-ton of them, sitting sadly, waiting to be recycled. Unless someone in the Seattle area knows of somewhere I can donate them? Which I would happily do because I know that I hate going to <insert office here> and having only "Sweatpants Monthly," "Potato News," and "Golf Digest" -- all from three year ago -- to read.

I'd also take recommendations as to where I should look into donating them. 

BTW, have I mentioned that Delta Airlines (slogan: "Ready To Screw Your Day No Matter Where You Are") can SUCKIT?!? Bastages.//

Monday, January 14, 2013

5 Things I Wish I Had Not Done Today.

1) Cleaned out my closet.

2) Found surprise trap door to under-house crawl space in closet.

3) Opened surprise trap door.

4) Looked through surprise trap door into the crawl space.

5) Realize that I can never un-see said crawl space and acknowledge now all the forthcoming nightmares and horrific daydreams that are the very reason why I can't watch scary movies, not even crappy The Blob or The Crypt Keeper on Nickelodeon for kids or, or, or -- YOUJUSTSHUTTHEHELLUP NOW, INNER IMP!

I was going to take pics of the crawl space, but then realized that doing so would just make things worse, like 


taking a picture of a Weeping Angel which would then cause that image to become real as well, and who the hell needs TWO creepy-scary crawl spaces for one house?!?

Not me.

Ergo, I did the totally sane thing and did not photograph said scary area.

I did, however, find this for your viewing pleasure:

And also to scare the pants off of you. Assuming your pants are Scaredy Brand(TM) pants. Like mine. 

Great. Now I'm publicly both a nerd and a 'fraidy cat. Good thing I don't believe in the existence of self-esteem. (But scary sci-fi stone angels of death? Totally.) 

Mebbe now's a good time to move on to "5 Things I'm Glad I Did Today," starting with Item #1: Reinstate Liquid Lunch practice. 



Wednesday, January 9, 2013

THIS. This Is Why Punctuation Is. SO. Important. And. Underutilized. A. Lot.

Real tag from my local Fred Meyer super store:

Although, you gotta admit - the price IS right.

See, now, this is just confusing - are they selling cheeze made of ass cream or is it ass-y cream cheeze? Or is it Kroger Ass-brand cream cheeze. And why is it "cheeze"?!?

C'mon Kroger folks! Don't you care enough to spare a comma?

(Recycled from my Facebook page, because it's funny. Also because apparently I am an 8 year-old boy.)//

Monday, December 3, 2012

In Which I Get Bitch-Slapped By An Airbag.

Why hello there, Page Viewers -- lovely to see all the Ones of you again!

Soooo...whatcha been doin'?

Okay, I know it's been a looong time and I know I owe several entries, but it's been a very difficult few months. Not to whine, I know my life is still a cakewalk compared to millions of others in the word. And I realize that, for the most part, my problems are ridiculously first world and urban in nature -- but still, things have been tough.

For example, on Halloween, I was in a car crash. I'm more-or-less physically okay and no one else was injured, Praise Ralph! (<-- How come no one ever gets this reference? Am I really that old...and the only person who ever watched "Good Times"???)

The fun car crash ocurred thusly:

So, in case you've missed my whingeing about the weather here...because you've never read anything else I've written, apparently,'s been raining non-stop in the Seattle area, lately.

     "What? Rain in the Pacific Northwest?? The hell, you say!"
     "STFU, Inner Imp. Not today, you jackhole."
     "Huh. Someone's a moody litt--HEY! Lemme outta this Jar of WTF!!"

Ahem. So yeah, it's been rainy and I was on my way to a volunteer meeting, that, due to Acts of God, had been rescheduled for the third time.

You know, I'm starting to think that The Universe doesn't want me to volunteer for this really good cause. I'm also starting to think that The Universe is kind of a douchebag.

Anyway, I'm getting onto the freeway interchange, which is a single lane road around a bend. I felt my front right tire slip and the next thing I know, I'm doing 360s on this single lane interchange and banging off the cement rail guards like a pinball in the hands of a wizard.

Gawds, that was AWFUL, Leslie -- there's got to be a twist!
(Thank you! I'll be here all night. Try the lamb.)

It kinda happened in slo-mo, like in the movies. When the airbags went off, I remember thinking, "Ha-ha, I'm probably going to die, but wouldn't it be funny if they really were full of popcorn, like in the SNL skit?"

Airbags stink. I mean that literally. The gasses used to inflate them is noxious. I thought I was more likely to die from suffocation than from the crash. Plus I was seriously disappointed that they were not filled with popcorn.

It was actually much worse than it looks here, it was totaled out. BTW, my poor car was named "Deathmobile." The irony of which is underwhelming.

I was shaken and luckily no one else drove past until I could get the car mostly off the road, as I was just past the bend in the road and couldn't be seen until too late. A very nice lady stopped and helped me make the necessary calls. Eventually a highway state patrol officer showed up and then a DOT guy, who was able to get my wrecked car fully out of the lane. Because it was raining, the officer had me get in the back seat of the patrol car to take my information. I couldn't stop crying, which made things even more awkward. The officer printed out a copy of my accident report and then the fucking fucker GAVE ME A FUCKING TICKET. For unsafe speeds due to weather conditions, even though I specifically remember slowing down before hitting the curve. And even though NO ONE WITNESSED WHAT HAPPENED! He said that the fact that I spun out where I did was all the proof he needed. never mind that there has been ongoing construction in that area for months and months and that before I spun out, it felt more like I hit a patch of something slick. He was not interested in hearing that. Just printed me a ticket.

Then, even though I was still shaky and confused, he apparently he had somewhere much more important to be (I heard him on his cell phone that he was going to meet some guys for some football-related event) or just didn't feel the need to take me someplace safe, so he told me that the tow truck was on its way and to WAIT FOR IT IN MY WRECKED CAR. He said to put on my seatbelt and wait, that the tow truck would be there in 5 minutes. Of course, the cop was wrong about how long it would take the tow truck to show.

It didn't show at all.

So there I was, in my wrecked car, just past the blind spot on a single lane freeway interchange where I was trapped because I couldn't safely leave the site as there is nothing but brush on either side of the road. Finally, after waiting over an hour, I called my insurance company to help me out and they got me a tow that arrived in less than 15 minutes. The whole time I was freaked out that another car would spin out and hit me but I was so disoriented, I didn't know what to do but wait as I was told.

The view from my death trap. Nice, yes?

When I got picked up for my rental car, the driver told me that I was the third person just that day that she picked up who had crashed in the same place that I had! She said that one customer told her that the cop who took her report said that there was probably grease on the road due to all the construction and did not give her a ticket! Great. So, my cop was just an asshole. Ugh.

P.S. Asshole Cop -- It turns out I also had a concussion. A. GODDAMN. CONCUSSION. AND YOU JUST LEFT ME ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD ALONE IN MY WRECKED CAR!!!!!

I think I may still have some unresolved anger issues.

Also, something they never tell you about in the safety ads -- I got a weird burn from the airbag:

It's kinda hard to see in the pic, but the burn is that reddish patch just under the nail, over my thumb-knuckle. Is "thumb-knuckle" even a real thing? Anyway, it stung like hell.

I don't know if it's a chemical burn or an abrasion-type burn, like when we were kids, we'd give each other "twister" or "Indian" burns. If felt like that, only it hurt more and was not so racist-sounding.

Anyway, the ER doc I saw a couple of days later was really cute. He actually laughed a bit when he realized from my chart that this was the second car-related concussion I'd gotten since moving up here. (The first was exactly one year and one week prior, when I got rear-ended while completely stopped at a light. I swear this place is trying to kill me!) I guess I should've been affronted at that, I suppose, but the absurdity of that statement was not lost on me and besides, he was really charming in a nerdy kind of way, a/k/a "Leslie's Kryptonite."

So, honestly, things have been going kinda downhill since then, but I'll spare you the uninteresting details and instead concentrate on posting those things I've promised and haven't gotten to and maybe other, more interesting things. Like how I plan to win the lottery and commission a "rain-only-when-I-want-it-to-rain-DAMNIT" machine. It's a thrilling tale.

What? It could happen! Don't bring a sistah down, H8ers! 

Yeeeeaahhh, I'll be going now. Lates, bizzatches!  //

Thursday, August 23, 2012

A Mostly-Awesome Night! Alternate Title: “Hi Bloggess, I Love You, You Make Me Pee.”

Or maybe I should title this one: "What NOT To Say When One Meets One Of One’s Favorite Bloggers. (Or DO You?)"

NOTE: Sorry, this ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, so you might want to read it in bits. Or while in the loo. Which I recommend because that would actually kinda tie in to this post. But then you'll have to read it to find out why. A-HA! See what I did there?? Go me.

Heya Pageviewers! Miss me? 

So, because I promised I would post deets and pics (I'm SO hip, ducka-ducka) of my adventures when attending Jenny "The Bloggess" Lawson's book signing of Let's Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir), here is the thrilling tale of “When Leslie Met The Bloggess…And Then Wished She Could Find A Table Under Which To Crawl. Preferably Not The One At Which The Bloggess Was Already Sitting.

Um, minus the thrills, really. Maybe just kinda sad? I dunno, you be the judge. And, because it's long—and I got to meet her twice!—I'll post this in two parts. You're welcome.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Leslie: Hmm. I bet tons of people are going to be giving her gifts. I should probably bring something too, because that’s just polite, right? Also, as I already purchased the book, finances dictate that I not buy another copy at the bookstore* where she is doing the signing, so I will need her to be on my side when the employees figure that out and try to give me the boot. 
(P.S. That totally did not happen. The good people there were just as nice to me as if I were a paying customer. Props to you Elliott Bay Book Company! You is classy.) 

*SO sorry, Elliott Bay Book Company! You are a mighty fine bookstore that even The Limey, who is more a computer/electronics store kinda guy, wants to come back to explore. So I promise I’ll be back soon to actually purchase something! In the meantime, please enjoy this marketing blurb of your fine establishment to my ones of avid readers for free! Because I support you. Also, I don’t want you to spit in my latte when I do finally come back. Thanks.

Leslie: But what should I bring? I have zero crafty skills. Best go to Michaels.

Three hours later...

Leslie: I really should get to Michaels before they close.

Another three hours later...

Leslie: [on phone] Hi, what time do you close tonight...?
(You should probably never ask me to go to Michaels for you, especially if you need something ASAP.)

Yet another three hours later…

** I totally could not.

After losing my schnit and picking up about 48 projects that, let’s be honest, I would need to hire a classroom full of 3rd graders to complete—and learn to do in the first place—I finally settled on one thing and put back (most of) the rest of the stuff.

(What? I so can make handmade 3-D greeting cards! I won't need to use the really sharp scissors, right? And I mean, yeah, I forgot to buy glue, but I can use squashed cooked rice. It’s what we used when I was a kid and we ran out of glue. Plus, it's a good excuse to make sticky rice for dinner. With furukake. Yum. Anyway.)

This is what I decided on:

Because nothing says "Fun!" or "You must pay the rent!" like a spiffy candy 'stache.

Yeah, you should probably not let me run wild in Michaels. 

But also, my little niece's birthday party was that weekend so I rationalized, Seriously? What's cuter than a bunch of little kids wearing mustaches?

You should probably not let me plan your kids' birthday parties, either.

Thursday, August 16, 2012
Of course it’s 90-bloody-degrees the day I’m making candy mustaches! Argh.

After calling the Elliott Bay Book Company, um, maybe once or twice...or verify the process for that night (I'd heard that other signings required either wristbands or tickets or both) and to check the status of the line...and parking...and the line...again (you really are espectaularrrr, Elliott Bay Book Company!), I finally showered and carefully packed up the mustaches in a cooler with a card and some twine (but of course!) and a pair of scissors and some sticky notes and my insulin and some tape—you know, I really don't know what I was worried was going to happen. Like maybe a crafting emergency at the bookstore?!? Anyway, it was a fairly roomy cooler and I like to be prepared. But only for crafting emergencies, apparently.

As is my style, we got there but only justintime. We ended up being in the way back. Like so:

That's me at the bottom, taking video. And that's Jenny The (Tiny) Bloggess waaaaay up front. Hello Bloggess!

She read from her book—her last reading, sayeth she—the chapter "The Psychopath on the Other Side of the Bathroom Door" and she read it so that for the first time ever, I actually wanted to buy an audio book because it was that fucking funny. (I don't like audio books because, strangely, I become car sick whenever I listen to them, even when not in a car. Not joking. And no, I have no idea why.) Bonus: even The Limey laughed out loud in public. So yeah, I am totally getting the audio book, if nothing else, for him to enjoy.

After her reading, she did a short Q&A that I greatly enjoyed because 1) She willingly answered everything asked and B) SHE SAID I WAS SO PRETTY!!!!11!!omg!ponies!!

Here's how that happened:

(After answering a few other questions.)
Bloggess: Next question?
Me: [Raising hand and jumping because everyone is taller than me, including the couple of tweens ahead and to the right of me.]
Bloggess: Yes, in the waaaay back.
Me: So how much weight did you lose?

Now, before you e-slap me for being rude, you need to know that the chapter she read is about an attempted home colon-cleanse to make her meds work better and to also lose three pounds quickly but instead ends up about explosive diarrhea and an imaginary home invasion/predator who passes her notes before imaginary-assaulting her. Seriously, read her book. It’s some funny shit, literally. Now where were we? Oh yes:

Me: (Jumping like a cricket in line for the port-a-potties at a concert) So how much weight did you lose?
Bloggess: I'm sorry, I couldn’t hear you, but you're so pretty! [<-- My italics, not hers.]

I don’t remember much what happened during the next four minutes.

Y'all, I got called "so pretty!" In public. As in, in front of a lot of people who could physically turn around and look down and verify said statement. Made by this. woman.


I guess I should be honest and tell you that before she started her reading, she did mention that she took a lot of anti-anxiety meds prior to this appearance. Plus I really was pretty...far back. Which makes sense, because this is what I looked like that night:

Hey Baby, want a piece of this cheesecake? That's right, I’m talkin' to you, HUGH JACKMAN. Hugh? Hey! Come back!!

Yeah, she was probably on a LOT of meds that night.

Still, it was super-de-dupity unexpected and made me feel a bit giddy. A stranger publicly said that I was "so pretty" even though I was really looking kind of a schlump. And she didn’t want anything. And we aren’t even married.

All too soon, it was time to stand in line. A very long line that, because of the way the crowd was managed, didn’t start moving for us at the back until well after 40 minutes. As I neared, I opened up my cooler to ready my gift and immediately dropped the contents of the abbreviated craft store contained therein.

Of course.

As the nice people in front of me helped me pick up the string and scissors and tape, all I could do was sputter, "I swear, I’m not a freaky weirdo!" to which they kindly replied, "Look who we all are, this fits in perfectly." Which is a clear indication of the types of lovely people who get The Bloggess.

The Limey, however, although also helping, just giggled at me. Which is a clear indication that he is clearly not of the Race Who Knows Joseph. Bad Limey.

Finally, it was my turn to meet The Bloggess! So what did Leslie do?

She ran straight for the stuffed toy capuchin, shrieking, "I LOVE YOU, COPERNICUS! I LOVE MONKEYS!!"

Oy vey.

I am a mess. But a happy mess because I love monkeys. Even homicidal ones, like Copernicus. Really, just read her blog already. You'll be glad if you do. Even more so than if you fed the birds. Now go watch "Mary Poppins" too.

I want to believe that I did that because I was nervous. How nervous? Well, the first thing I said to The Bloggess was, "Your blog makes me pee."

Oy fuck.

Then, while I tried to back-pedal, I handed her my book and while she was busy signing it, I also handed her my gift, which made her have to triple-task. She probably should have clocked me with my book at this point, but she didn't. Instead, she did this:

Yes, I touched her monkey—twice! Jenny, you're a goddamned goddess. (Wait, what...?)

She is incredibly nice to her fans. And also very understanding of her peeps.

She took some normal pics with me and as I left her table, I asked her,"Would you think I'm a freaky-stalker if I also showed up at tomorrow's signing?" As soon as I heard myself saying that and realized how creepy it sounded when said out loud, I internally smacked myself. She just smiled and said, "No, please do come! You may be the only one there!" She sounded sincere and not creeped-out. Well, not very creeped-out.

After that, The Limey and I got some Mexican food at a slightly questionable establishment next to the lot where our car was parked. The quesadilla was not so good and they didn’t seem to know what champurrado was even though they claimed to sell something called "Mexican Hot Chocolate" (I'm guessing it was really Yoohoo with a dash of Tapatio) but their tamales were pretty tasty. The Limey even ate one, which is amazing because ever since The Great Burnt Tortilla Food Poisoning Event That Affected Only The British GI Tract of 2006, he generally avoids Mexican food.

Wow. That was a lot longer than I anticipated. Probably because I can’t seem to write a straightforward narrative. But that’s the joy of keeping my own blog, I can do crap like that. Teehee.

Stay tuned for Part II of "Leslie Meets The Bloggess Who Surprisingly Did Not Run Away" to be posted, um, later. Until then, please to enjoy this picture of Copernicus…because I also forgot to post a pic of my mustache gift earlier and this is probably the best one I have.

The Bloggess seemed to like it and appreciated that it was presented in a ball of twine. I don't know for sure, but I'd like to believe she went back to her hotel room and staged a Victorian conversation on literature and the weather and did NOT just throw them away, although that's probably what happened, realistically, as it was so. damn. hot. and they likely all just melted before she even got to her car.

Also, I hope a stranger calls you "so pretty" in public too, Pageviewers! Especially if, like me, it doesn't happen that often. And by "that often" I mean "never." 

And maybe then I won’t sound like such a freaktard.

Ciao for niao! (<-- Great googly-moogly...) //

Tuesday, August 14, 2012


The Bloggess is doing a book signing at a Costco near me!!!!11!!!omg!wingedponies!!

"It's like The Never Ending Story, part 12." - The Bloggess.
P.S. That kitten is Hunter S. Thomcat and he is not stuffed. At least, he wasn't to my knowledge and as of this posting. 

A freakin' COSTCO

     "Even I am quite excited."

     "Bet your sweet patootie you are, Inner Imp!"

     "Still not as dorky as you, though."

     "Whatevs. w0000000000t!!!!"

I am in ecstatic raptures. 

Okay, well, maybe this pic isn't quite...rapturous...but I am pretty friggin' happy there!! Just like I will be on Friday. In line. AT COSTCO!

Stay tuned for pics. Hopefully not of me falling down in front of her. Or on her. Or on any of her ethically-taxidermied pals. (<-- See? She's also conscientious. How can one not love her??)

That is all. //

Friday, August 3, 2012

Geeking Out, Whovian-Style


This looks really fracking cool too:

Aaaand love this as well:

Which also explains why there will never be a female, Japanese-American, 5-foot-haha, thirty-mumble-mumble-year-old -- okay, why I could never be a future Doctor:

They run too. damn. much. 

Apparently, you gotta be okay with the running to be The Doctor. Unless Steven Moffat decides it's okay to have a Doctor who saunters, I am aces at sauntering. (I also mosey pretty well, too, but that might just be too American.) Oh well, c'est la bummer.

But I could totally be a Companion!

"Doctor, lookout -- we're being followed by an anemic Dahlek! Or it might be just an alien disguised as a water-cooler intent on taking over our spleens! Whatever, YOU RUN WHILE I SAUNTER AWAY!!!!!!!! "

And just in case you you need one...

It's where I would've put 'em too. Maximum privacy. Except for that damn Roman soldier mooning about. Heh - I said "mooning."

In case you need a toilet, that is. Not a Pandorica. Although I kinda wouldn't mind one of those too. I have a old kindergarten nemesis to find and lock up. Then I'd totally be all "I'm coming for you, Brian J.!"