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, haha...it'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!

OY, REALLY??

(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!  //

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? 

Me. 

Leslie. 

Remember...?

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…

Leslie: OMIGAWDS THERE IS SOOOOOO MUCH HERE THAT I COULD TOTALLY DOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!**

** 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 3^rd 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 so...to 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.

RIGHT?!?

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...) //

SO. MUCH. ROKKIN' BLOGGESS GOODNESS!!

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. //

Geeking Out, Whovian-Style

OMIGAH LOOKEE THE NEW TRAILER FOR THE NEXT SEASON OF DOCTOR WHO!!!!!!11!!!! 

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.!" 


Awesome.


GEEK OUT. //

He's My New Sean Connery In That I LUUUURVS HIMS And, Even though He Probably Doesn't Yet Need Them, I Would Happily Change His Depends And Follow Him Around All Day To, Like, Cuff His Trouser Legs. And Stuff.

Heehee! Sir Richard Branson has read Fifty Shades of Grey AND posted a relatively thoughtful commentary. Didn't think that was really possible. However, was just a tad disappointed to read that he "borrowed his wife's copy." (C'mon Branson - nut-up and admit you bought it for her in the first place!!)


But otherwise...Gawds, I love that man. I should probably devote a separate post to why. I may, someday but for now, I'm happy to be known as his creepy #1 fan. 


In other bizarro news, apparently there is now fan-fic devoted to Fifty Shades -- which started out as fan-fic in the first place!! I know that there's some kind of physics term that probably describes this, but for now, I'm filing it under "WTF?!? News."


And I'll probably go read some now. For research purposes. Of course. Ahem.//

It’s Only Tuesday And Already There’ve Been Two Ways In Which I Realize I Am Never Going To Get A Giant Phallic Monolith Named After Me.

NOTE: I started writing this post last week and then spent a week feeling all depressed and apathetic. Hence the very belated posting and the very outdated title. Sorry.

Helloooo Pageviewers! Miss me?

So, this past Sunday (which was actually the Sunday before last, see NOTE above), we watched In Time (Justin Timerberlake, Amanda Seyfried, buncha other young Hollywood types). While a very interesting concept and not a horrible film, sadly I don't feel it was done as well as it could have been. Felt too unexplained.

However, it did start an interesting conversation between me and The Limey, namely: What would you do if you had a superhero conversion, i.e., sudden unlimited time or unlimited knowledge or unlimited strength, etc.?

The Limey said that he'd want unlimited knowledge, as in the movie Limitless and if he did, he'd then use it to help solve humanity's problems.

"Really?" says I with incredulity and a couple of other big words of description.

"Well..." he started.

"A-HA!" says I, with alacrity and other possibly-incorrectly-used big words.

Then he admitted that realistically he’d probably go through a short period of time where he'd "play around with it" first. By the way, his idea of being selfish? "I'd want to win figure out how to win the Lottery and then d some good with the money, like give it to charity."

Karma butt-kisser.

I, on the other hand, had immediately decided that should that happen to me, I would first teach myself teleportation so I could go to 7-11 and get a Slurpee without having to get in the car because I really wanted a Slurpee just at that moment. Next, I would figure out the easiest (read, "laziest") way to diet and exercise.

Then of course I would totally get on the solving the humanity's problems thing, I bet. Such as how to get this neighborhood TO GET ON A GODDAMNED SCHEDULE SO THAT EVERYONE GETS THEIR FREAKING LAWNS DONE ON THE SAME DAY INSTEAD OF ON A ROTATING SCHEDULE SO THAT THERE IS ALWAYS A FUCKING LAWNMOWER AND/OR HEDGER GOING, MAKING GAWDS-AWFUL NOISE AND KICKING UP ALLERGY-INDUCING SHIT FROM 7AM TO 7PM EVERY MOTHERFUCKING SUMMER'S DAY AAAARRRRGH!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem.

You know, I'm thinking it's probably best that I don't have a superhero moment. I admit, I don't think I’m to be trusted. And I should probably also get some ear plugs and allergy pills. And also, I should get a Slurpee machine installed in my home because I am just that lazy. 


How's that for honesty?

Anyway, so the other thing was that yesterday (last Tuesday), President Obama came to town and he was actually going to be on this side of the lake. w00t. In fact they were shutting down one of the bridges from Seattle to the East Side just for the Presidential motorcade, so The Limey and I thought we'd try to find a perch somewhere to see if we could watch the motorcade cross the bridge. Figgered there'd be a lot of police escorting and a long line of cars, so even if we were a half-mile or so away, it'd still be something to see, right?

It probably would have, but as luck would have it, we were to never know. While trying to get to our decided-on vantage point—a park to one side of the floating bridge—we actually got stuck on the bridge that they were closing because they closed it off 10 minutes earlier than announced. The kicker? We were stuck on the on-ramp. SO. LAME.

We decided, what the hell, we'll go hang out at the park anyway. It was a beautiful day, finally, and the park had a pretty nice view of the bridge from there. Also turns out it's the neighborhood where all the tech richies live, e.g., Bill Gates and the like. It's also the neighborhood the POTUS was actually in for his first fundraiser. Which we discovered when we got lost trying to get home and ended up with the first part of the motorcade's police escort driving up on our tails and scaring the living crap outta me. So we pulled over to a gas station where a small group had also gathered, then immediately got blocked-in by more police. So we got out and waited with the other onlookers.

After about 100 motorcycle cops—and that’s not even an exaggeration—drove past, the main part of the motorcade passed within 10 feet of us, including the POTUS, who is hard to see in the photos I took, but whom I clearly saw because I could see his skinny arm doing that presidential wave thingy and DAMN! someone give that man a sammich STAT! With extra cheese!

Mmm…cheese.

Yes, we were THATCLOSE to the country's most powerful man! Except that I could probably break him by sitting on his femur. He really needs, like, a Jewish grandmother, a Latina mama, and an Italian aunt to cook him a meal or two.

Here's the text-exchange between my sister and myself later that night:

Me: We got lost in Hunts Point on the way home tonight and ended up seeing Obama right up close as he drove by!!  :)  (<-- Yes, I love emoticons. Breaks up the text. And they’re cute. AND I’M A GIRL.)

Sister: Awesome! Did you moon him?

Me: No way! There were literally 100 cops in the motorcade and one was parked 3 feet to my left with The Limey in between us. Didn’t need to get me arrested and him deported!

 Sister: You should have at least titty flashed him, he would have appreciated it.

Me: What’s wrong with you? If I did that, then I wouldn’t’ve been able to see him as he drove by.

 Sister: This is true, your line of sight would have been blocked.

Now that I think about it, I'm thinking that maybe she didn't believe me in the first place.

Then I thought, Tho' my logic 'tis sound, would he have appreciated it? 


     "NOBODY talks like that, even in their heads, Dork."


     "I do, Inner Imp. Ergo, So. Do. You. Take that!"


     "Augh! Curses, methinks!"


     "A-HA! I WIN!!!!!!!!!!11!!omg ponies!!!!"


     "SUCH the Dork."


Back to my rack and the POTUS. 


Anyway, while I've got fairly bodacious ta-tas, then again, the President might be an arm or leg kinda guy—to wit, Michelle Obama. WHOM I WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING AS STUPID AS TRY TO ENTICE HER MAN 'CUZ I HAVE ZERO DOUBT SHE COULD AND WOULD SHORELY KICK MY ARSE FROM HERE TO SOUTH CENTRAL.

Then I thought, I really, really want a Slurpee.

Then I thought about all that I had thought about in the last 48 hours and came to the conclusion of that is why I’ll never be the President Of The United States. And I’m thinking the world is much better off that way. 

You’re welcome, World. You’re welcome.  //

I Am An Angry Nerd

Today is not a day for funny posts.


Today is a day for showing compassion to and support for our fellows in pain and to mourn a bewildering and inexplicable intrusion on innocence.


I guess everyday should be a day for this, so much bad happens all over the world all the time. But this hit home pretty hard. 


These victims could just as easily have been me or someone I love: I've stood in line for a midnight showing of a movie before, I really want to see this movie, I might have even dressed up for a screening in the past. In fact, seeing "The Dark Knight" is the chosen activity for my husband's and mine's date night this week and yes, we even discussed waiting in line for a midnight showing. 


Because like the victims, I am a fan and I am a sci-fi/fantasy nerd and I am proud to call myself so.


So I send my thoughts and prayers and healing wishes to the victims and their families. I pray for easement of pain and justice for all. 


And my Inner Imp and I both pray for a very small cell with a very large, very angry, comic book-loving cellmate for that sociopath. 


Because NOBODY fucks with my peeps. NOBODY. //

UPDATED: I Swear I’m Not Phoning In This Post—I REALLY Am All Dorky-Excited!! Also, Albanian Hackers Must Have Seriously Low Standards.

So, again, I was looking at my stats page because I am narcissistic and neurotic like that. The Audience page is my favorite because the one thing for which I truly love Teh Interwebs is the ability to connect with people all around the world fairly easily.


Look, you’re reading the musings of the dork whose idea of a fun time during her youth was to peruse the “Pen Pals Wanted” sections of magazines. The thought of making a friend anywhere in the world and via just my words always seemed so awesome-making!


Oh, and FYI, as a kid, I read mostly youth-oriented-type magazines. Thank gawds, or this would be a waaaaay different kinda "blog." If you know what I mean!

     “No, nobody ever knows what you mean. Dork.”

     “O.D. on cranky pills much, Inner Imp?”

     “Um, ‘dork’ was your word choice. Also, you do realize that you are talking to a fictional manifestation of yourself, right?”

     “LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-I-CAN’T-HEAR-YOU!!”

     “Yeah—dork."


I also read a lot of National Geographic, but that’s because for, like 30 years, a good friend of my Dad bought our family a yearly subscription for Christmas. I know, right? What a seriously classy gift! (Mahalo mucho, Miles!) <-- See what I did there? International alliteration. I’m so cosmopolitan. Fukkyeah! 


As it turned out, I did make one lasting pen pal, (Hi Nikki, 31 years and counting!) with a girl from Wales which seemed, like, the most exotic place ever! (Says the girl who, although her father worked for an international airlines for over 30 years and could take the family anywhere in the world for free, never traveled outside of North America until she was in HER. FREAKIN’. THIRTIES (30s). <-- BOOHISS x a google-the-number!)


So yeah, I dig the thought of connecting with people all over the world. Even if you’re just some Albanian hacker trying to get to my fortunes, that’s still kinda-sorta neato. [BWAH-HAHAHA! My fortunes. Note to Albanian hackers—it’s so NOT worth hijacking my identity, you won’t even be able to get credit for a bad joke.]


Here are the areas that Blogger tells me I have pageviewers:

Yes, I know I’ve used this picture before. But it had much less green then and green is the new—OMIGAWDS LOOKY I’M SO POPULAR!!!!!!!!!!!! Ahem.

In all honesty, I really don’t know what “Pageviews by Countries” means in terms of, well, anything significant. I just know that someone in these countries has looked my blog. Well, I think that’s what it mean. So even though this tells me someone has looked at this blog but not necessarily read it, I still feel that I should be a polite hostess and at least give you, my International Pageviewer, something to read, because I think it would be rude to assume you read English. Although chances are, you probably read at least some whilst I am pretty illiterate in everything but. Also, this is more or less where my language hospitality will likely end because sadly, English is the only language I can write in...not even well and just barely, at that. 


But for now, I would like to just say to the...

Russians: Privet!

Canadians: Hi, eh? / Bonjour, eh?

Germans: Guten tag!

United Kingdom-ians: How ya doin’, mate? (Please address disagreements on this to The Limey.)

French: Bonjour!

Irish: Dia dhuit!

Cambodians: Joom reab suor!

South Koreans: Ahnyong!

Dutch (Netherlands): Goeiendag!

And last but not least...

Americans: Hi! / Hey! / Howdy! / Yo! / Aloha! / Howzit? / Alianaiq! / iHola! / 

‘Sup bee-yotches?

Spangles courtesy of my two little nieces, a trip to the craft store, and an f-ton of sugar. I'm such a good auntie. Also, I just realized that I put the apostrophe in "ever'body" in the wrong place. Oops.

Gawds, I love Teh Interwebs.


Again, sorry, but that’s pretty much all the International-language blogging I can do. Unless I do a blog post of just foods and swear words, in which case, I could probably do about 12 other posts.


(I used to work at a language school, where I got free tuition but all I ever learned was the important stuff: foods and swear words. Oh and “Where is the beer?/Where is the toilet?” Of course. So if you ever need to pay someone to create a manual on those topics, I’m your girl. Yes, I’m talking to YOU—LONELY PLANET / FROMMER’S / FODOR’S! You should be so lucky.)


P.S. I call dibs on THAT travel guide, bizzatches! //

UPDATE the First: Just got a hit from Sweden!! So Hej, my Swedish Pageviewer! Där är öl? (I think.)