July 31, 2007
The Dark Angel drinking game
Every time Logan says "genetically engineered killing machine," take a drink.
Every time the central story line is interrupted by wacky bike messenger hijinks having nothing to do with anything, take a drink.
Every time the central story line becomes wacky bike messenger hijinks, take a drink.
Every time Max must pretend to be a hooker or stripper to sneak into someplace, take a drink. While you are drinking, consider that in seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy never had to pretend to be a hooker or stripper.
Every time Original Cindy says anything incomprehensible (including her own weirdass name), take a drink.
Every time Max says "gotta blaze," "you're blowin' up my pager, it better be major," "playa playa from the Himalayas," or anything else out of James Cameron's imaginary version of 1990s jargon, take a drink.
Every time you wonder why you traded in your free CDs for this instead of something decent like The Thin Man, take a drink and smack yourself upside the head for being a bad-TV-loving fool.
Posted by didofoot at 01:50 PM | Comments (1)
July 30, 2007
Cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the useless-est girl in the room
Our toaster oven has been gradually dying for a while, and yesterday it gave up the fight for good.
"Can you fix the toaster?" Gene asked me pleadingly. I am pretty sure he was kidding around, but I happened to be re-reading Y: The Last Man* at the time and suddenly I was flooded with vividly-inked empowerment.
"I can!" I said. "I can fix the toaster!"
And before you could say Gloria Steinem, I had that baby upside down on the table and was mercilessly removing screws with a power screwdriver. And IT WAS GOOD. I was in control! I was fixing stuff! I was using a tool! I was...staring at the swarm of wires and circuitry inside, where I had expected to see something fixable. A recalcitrant toaster elf, say, who could be reasoned with.
Gene, of course, knew all along that the toaster does not run on elf power. Gene spent much of his adolescence learning things like how to fix a toaster or program in C++. Me, I spent my adolescence learning to cast spells and read the Tarot. I tried casting a spell to fix the toaster but so far it hasn't kicked in. I think I bought slow-acting eye of newt or something.
If this doesn't work, I may try utilizing the other life skill I learned in my adolescence: shopping. New toaster! I am all over that.
Seriously, though. I am getting tired of being useless. Luckily, nearly everything in the house is broken (toaster, lamps, TV, my phone), so there are plenty of things for me to learn to fix.
*Y: The Last Man is a series of graphic novels about what happens to the world when all the men suddenly die. What happens mostly is that women step up to the plate, both in the useful way and in the warmongering way. My favorite side character is the supermodel-turned-grave-digger.
Posted by didofoot at 10:56 AM | Comments (1)
July 23, 2007
Bachelorina
On Saturday, six of us went on a limo tour of the wine country for Marina's bachelorette party. As maid of honor, Michele was in charge of putting this business together, and -- as you can see from the photos -- she did a bang-up job.
Six hour limo trip, wine tasting fees, two hotel rooms, a pornographic board game: A few hundred dollars.
Hot girl on girl action: Priceless.
Posted by didofoot at 12:33 PM | Comments (0)
July 17, 2007
Tarragon and Five
Last night I dreamed up a skinny Labrador puppy and named her Five. The Moms thought I should name her Tarragon, but when I asked my new dog she told me I had guessed right, her name was indeed Five.
I have yet to dream a dog who stays properly silent. Who are all these dogs speaking for?
Posted by didofoot at 12:14 PM | Comments (2)
July 16, 2007
Still smarting (off)
I went to a party for gay black people on Friday night. Everyone was so nice to me, but I still felt like a sore thumb.
(Willow: But do they really? Stick out? I mean, have you ever seen a thumb and thought, "Whoa, that baby is sore"?
Xander: You have too many thoughts.)
Later on I called the Moms to tell her of my evening's adventures, as I like to do whenever I have adventures of any kind, and to describe my stick-outy feelings.
"Then you might want to consider taking assignments that are more in your comfort zone," she said tactfully, all the while thinking to herself, My God, I gave birth to a sore thumb.
"My comfort zone sort of ends with my apartment walls, though," I said.
Also, I spent the hour before the party trying to rewrite Hamlet using only palindromes, so I dunno. I don't think I'm the sort who will ever be comfortable with any people.
Act I, Scene 2:
Claudius: So sad?
Hamlet: Da.
Gertrude: S.O.S.!
Hamlet (sarcastically): Mom. "Dad."
Exit Hamlet
Posted by didofoot at 11:12 AM | Comments (0)
July 03, 2007
At dinner last night
"So what exactly is the event horizon?" Aaron asked.
"Science," Gene said, using many more words.
"About eight p.m.," I said.
Posted by didofoot at 01:51 PM | Comments (0)
