bam! biff! pow!

I was in a wreck on Friday.

I was coming back to work from my lunch, and I was turning left into my parking lot. I had to slow down to wait for a car to pass, and after it passed, I started to turn. And then BAM! The giant van behind me slammed right into me. Apparently, the driver wasn’t paying attention. At all. I was in shock for a bit, and then my neck started to hurt. The ambulance came and took me away – they didn’t even ask, they just started strapping me to a stretcher. They even taped my head down. The worst part about the whole ordeal was being restrained whilst having to pee… very badly!!

I’m pretty much okay now, but my car is not. I drive an Accord, but now it looks more like a Civic. I have no trunk, and my rear bumper is touching the ground. The van belonged to a company in town, so theoretically they have good insurance. We’ll see what happens, but I’d kind of like a new car…


stuffed meats.

Found item # 35: Kitty Paper Shopping List.
I love this item for 2 reasons:
a) “sausage” is misspelled, but spelled the way it might be pronounced in certain regions of the country.
b) it reminds me of a Bill Swerski’s Superfans sketch on Saturday Night Live.

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happy birthday, baby.

Exactly three years ago today, I was exactly where my dear friend Rilah is right now: in the hospital, giving birth.

It was a Thursday. I went to the hospital very early in the morning (around 4 am, to be precise), thinking my water had broken. After spending an hour watching The Waltons and trying to convince the nurses that yes, I was indeed leaking fluid, they finally admitted me. The dam had burst. But I wasn’t having contractions, so I had to be induced. I got a Pitocin drip at 9:30 AM. I wasn’t dilated at that point, and I wasn’t in any pain whatsoever, either.

One hour later, I was unable to move without screaming and dilated six centimeters. That’s when I got the epidural. I never at any point tried to convince myself that I could be Wonder Woman and go without the drugs. I knew there were risks – the main one I had heard about was nerve damage in the back. But at that point, I didn’t care – it fucking hurt. Ouch. So hooray, anethesia!

At 11:00 AM, the anethesiologist showed up. They tried to needle me up in between contractions, but there was no in between. This took about half an hour or so. Right as I had lain back down and the welcome, warm numby feeling was setting in, the nurse came back to check my progress. It was at this point that she informed me that I was fully dilated and asked if I was ready to push. What? I just got here! I just started not to feel anything and now I have to push! Gah!

But who am I to argue?

At noon, I started to push. Twenty-three minutes later, I had a wailing, dark-haired, purplish-white-skinned baby girl laying on my chest and peeing everywhere. And I was so overcome with every emotion ever that I couldn’t do anything but cry, too.

And now, three years later, here we are. I have a daughter who knows all the words to “Yellow Submarine,” would be perfectly content with eating mozzarella string cheese for the rest of her life, and who has the most charming smile ever in the world. I love you, Kitten. I’m so proud to be your mommy, and I can’t wait to watch you grow up into a mad scientist ballerina.

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study of baking as an art form.

The Artist:

The Masterpiece:


weekend forecast: ladybugs.

Today is Robin Williams’ birthday. It’s also Josh Harnett’s birthday, but I don’t care about him.

This weekend should be interesting. Manny and I finally get a night to ourselves, which should be very nice. We’ll be shopping for bookshelves and watching Jesus is Magic. On Saturday, my mum is coming to visit, and she’ll see our new house for the first time. Which should be fine, as she isn’t an overly-critical mother or anything. Well, she’s critical in her own vague way, but it’s nothing intolerable. My mum and I have a fairly good relationship – well, now we do, anyway. She’s quite a fun person when it’s just her. She’s conservative and religious, of which I am neither, but she’s become more open-minded these days. She went with me not long ago to an art fair downtown, and we had a blast. And she bought me a very cool mug.

Anyway, after her tour of our new house, we’re going to do some birthday shopping for the girls. C-Rex turned 5 yesterday, and Kitten’s 3rd birthday is next Monday, so we’re having a party for them at my parents’ house on Sunday. I’m going to be staying with my parents on Saturday evening so that I can begin working on a cake that will eventually look like this:
I’ve been looking everywhere for a bodywash that I used when I stayed with a friend last weekend. It’s made by Dial and smells of cucumber and yogurt (but nothing like tzatziki sauce, interestingly enough). Has anyone seen this?

Okay, now, off to work… happy Friday!



I am normally a very charming, intelligent person with decent social skills.

However, when I meet someone who has even the tiniest bit of celebrity status, I clam up and turn into a complete retard. Luckily, this has only happened a couple of times. Unfortunately, one of these times was last night.

The Dresden Dolls are, without a doubt, a fucking incredible couple of musicians. I play the piano, and I aspired to be Tori Amos – that is, until I saw Amanda Palmer play. Jesus. I’ve never seen anyone play with as much passion and madness as that woman does. Somehow, the tripped-over notes and discord and her raw, crazy, haunting voice make their music even more satisfying. And Brian Viglione? It takes a very impressive performance to reduce me to the status of starstruck twelve-year-old. Drummers are not typically erotic.

Anyway, so the show last night was good. It was not nearly as good as when I saw them with Devotchka back in November ’05, but that’s because they weren’t headlining this show. Who the fuck had the idea to have the Dresden Dolls open for the little boys from Panic! At the Disco? Who thought that was a smart thing to do? We were surrounded by little emo kids and their very patient, tolerant parents. The Dolls only played a half-hour long set, but it was a strong one. After they were done, I bought their new songbook/sheetmusic book, and IndyGirl and I waited in line to meet them.
While we’re in line, I’m trying to think of witty things to say. Of course, I had nothing. I get to Amanda, and she is very fascinating close-up. Her hair is like a pretty little bird’s nest, her eyebrows are, of course, painted on in swirls. She’s standing there in a Debaser t-shirt with her raggedy stockings, and she smiles at me. She has very cute teeth. I hand her my book and she says, “Do you play?” and wiggles her fingers, mimicking piano keys. I nod vigorously and say, “Yes, and you make me want to keep playing.” She takes my book, and writes in very big letters inside the cover, “PLAY HARD.” I say, “I will.” And I want to touch her hair, but I don’t, because that might seem strange.

So then I move on to Brian. Brian is much shorter than I expected, and I think he’s cuter with his makeup on. He has a very friendly smile, though, and reaches out to hug me. Brian Viglione reached out to hug me – I did not initiate this hug! But it is a nice, real, long hug, and I all I can manage to say is, “Oh, I love you, you are beautiful.” And he says, “Thank you.”
Honestly, could I have been more generic?

Anyway, all in all, it was definitely enjoyable, despite the emo kids and my momentary nerdiness. And I can’t wait to torture my parents when I use the piano at their house to pretend I’m Amanda Palmer.


peek into my life.

From the new house:
the kitchen

the new couch

reason alone why this house is worth it
those boxes are full of dvds. really.
and that’s my closet. i am messy sometimes.