Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Male Friend Denounces 'Beowulf And Grendel' Movie As 'Bad.' Declares 'Long Haired Actors' Not Valid Plot Point.
Ingvar E. Sigurdsson (Grendel), just one of the many long-haired actors that make the recent film 'Beowulf and Grendel' a visual treat.
People are just haters. For example, that guy that doesn't like the movie most emphatically does not have long hair. Nor does he know what it's like to go to an all-girls Catholic high school and live down the block from your long-haired metal-head public school crush who thought you were lame because you went to Catholic school. For the record, he went to Lutheran school. This strikes me as a little funny, his misgivings about Catholic school girls. As everyone knows, Catholic school girls are wild as bison. Just better looking. Plus they've built up higher tolerances to alcohol so they won't embarrass you at the next Metallica concert. Let Metallica embarrass themselves, I say. After all, it's their night.
Remember: every day is just one day closer to November 16. As far as I know, that is the date for the new Beowulf movie. When is not so important, I say. What I really have a burning desire to know after perusing the cast list is: who the f*ck is Ursula? Something tells me I've been through this before. Did I miss that part? Did I forget to read the right poem?
Saturday, September 29, 2007
In Other News, I Can Help You Write That 'I'm Sorry I Drove You To Drink Letter.' In Fact, Let's Do That Right Now.
Just look at what you made me do!
First of all, it's important to address me correctly so I know who the letter is coming from. For example, you might include one of the following as your salutation: 'dear ex-girlfriend' or 'dear ex-girlfriend' or 'dear ex-girlfriend.' You get the drift. Also appropriate would be: 'dear stalking victim' or 'dear stalking victim.' Yes, I am talking to both of you. Just because the first time happened 13 years ago doesn't mean it doesn't count. There is no statute of limitations on driving a person to drink.
In other news, my cat, Stanley, the cat behind the cat that is 'my cat, Gerard Butler,' has spent most of his 15 minutes of IMDB fame (now over) doing exactly what he usually does. Sleeping. Meowing in an annoying fashion. Eating. Chasing chubby co-pet Morgen around the living room. Finding himself confined to the kitchen and back hallway because his chasing of chubby co-pet Morgen is annoying to chubby co-pet Morgen and to others. Meowing in an annoying fashion. Also, he is not an enchanted prince. I have already checked. Nor, do I presume, does he have assets hidden somewhere in a Swiss bank account. That would be really cool if he did though.
In other news than that, an important commission recently discovered that 'job skills' is only one (alphabetical) letter away from 'job kills.'
Just a few more possibly appropriate salutations: 'dear co-worker' or 'dear employee.'
Or, 'dear daughter.' I'd be willing to write this letter myself and just let the guilty parties get away with giving me their John Hancocks. Yeah, we get along fine now. In fact, we get along really well now. But like I said. There is no statute of limitations about driving people to drink!
I feel like I must be leaving someone out. Although I (blah blah) now enjoy alcohol responsibily in small, manageable quantities, I did do a fair amount of drinking back in the day. And I am pretty sure it was always someone else's fault.
In other news, my cat, Stanley, the cat behind the cat that is 'my cat, Gerard Butler' is sleeping right now. I'm just going to go doublecheck and make sure he doesn't have a wallet somewhere that he's hiding from me. Being the core cast member of Disability in the City is really killing me financially. In my case, that's like killing something that was already dead.
In other news, if my cat could write, he'd be writing me that letter right now. I think you should probably take the next few minutes to do a little soul-searching.
First of all, it's important to address me correctly so I know who the letter is coming from. For example, you might include one of the following as your salutation: 'dear ex-girlfriend' or 'dear ex-girlfriend' or 'dear ex-girlfriend.' You get the drift. Also appropriate would be: 'dear stalking victim' or 'dear stalking victim.' Yes, I am talking to both of you. Just because the first time happened 13 years ago doesn't mean it doesn't count. There is no statute of limitations on driving a person to drink.
In other news, my cat, Stanley, the cat behind the cat that is 'my cat, Gerard Butler,' has spent most of his 15 minutes of IMDB fame (now over) doing exactly what he usually does. Sleeping. Meowing in an annoying fashion. Eating. Chasing chubby co-pet Morgen around the living room. Finding himself confined to the kitchen and back hallway because his chasing of chubby co-pet Morgen is annoying to chubby co-pet Morgen and to others. Meowing in an annoying fashion. Also, he is not an enchanted prince. I have already checked. Nor, do I presume, does he have assets hidden somewhere in a Swiss bank account. That would be really cool if he did though.
In other news than that, an important commission recently discovered that 'job skills' is only one (alphabetical) letter away from 'job kills.'
Just a few more possibly appropriate salutations: 'dear co-worker' or 'dear employee.'
Or, 'dear daughter.' I'd be willing to write this letter myself and just let the guilty parties get away with giving me their John Hancocks. Yeah, we get along fine now. In fact, we get along really well now. But like I said. There is no statute of limitations about driving people to drink!
I feel like I must be leaving someone out. Although I (blah blah) now enjoy alcohol responsibily in small, manageable quantities, I did do a fair amount of drinking back in the day. And I am pretty sure it was always someone else's fault.
In other news, my cat, Stanley, the cat behind the cat that is 'my cat, Gerard Butler' is sleeping right now. I'm just going to go doublecheck and make sure he doesn't have a wallet somewhere that he's hiding from me. Being the core cast member of Disability in the City is really killing me financially. In my case, that's like killing something that was already dead.
In other news, if my cat could write, he'd be writing me that letter right now. I think you should probably take the next few minutes to do a little soul-searching.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
In Case There Is Any Confusion Over My Mental Health Status, I Am Clearly Insane. However, I Recently Remembered That My Cat's Real Name Is 'Stanley'
my fake cat, the fake 'Gerard Butler'
Here is a funny thread on an IMDB messageboard about my blog. My cat, Gerard Butler, has now achieved the kind of notoriety and infamy that I previously thought was only available to my friend, Jack Morgan,or other people who post pictures of women in lingerie on their poetry blogs. If my cat, Gerard Butler, looked good in lingerie, I am quite sure Jack would have featured sexy photos of my sexy cat, Gerard Butler on his blog long before now. But. There is something I have to come clean about.
That is not even a real picture of my cat who looks exactly like the cat in the photo. All the 'real' pictures of my cat, Gerard Butler, are on the harddrive of my ex-boyfriend's computer. By 'ex-boyfriend' I of course mean 'my cat, Gerard Butler's, deadbeat dad.' So he has the pictures. I do not have a camera. He remains uncooperative. You figure it out. If my cat were a cat burgler instead of just a cat, we might have a solution. But he is not.
Also, his 'real' name is Stanley Kowalski or just 'Stanley' for short. Up till now, Stanley has preferred to lead his life outside of the limelight that accompanies being the cat my cat, Gerard Butler. But since the hullabaloo on IMDB, I feel that he might like me to share a few fun facts about the cat behind the cat that is my cat, Gerard Butler.
First of all, like his namesake in the Tennessee Williams play 'A Streetcar Named Desire,' my cat is abusive towards the women he loves. My cat, Stanley, is a notorious chauvenist. Believe me, you would not want to be senior pet, Morgen, a rotund calico who really just wants to be left in peace. Stanley is all over her and in her face whenever we allow him in the living room. He just wants to mount her, of course. If she would just let him do it once, maybe he would leave her alone. But no. Constant drama.
Another funny thing about my cat Stanley, the cat behind the cat who is my cat, Gerard Butler, is that he is shy about expressing his true self in front of people or animals that are not me. For example, he refuses to play in the living room in front of senior pet, Morgen, but will tear my room apart trying to catch a feather strung from a stick when it's just the two of us.
Also, Stanley is controlling about his cuddling. Always when he wants to!
So that is just a little bit about the cat that is the cat behind my cat, Gerard Butler. If only the real human Gerard Butler could find out about the hullabaloo then he could play 'Beowulf' and 'Selma' with us. With the stipulation that I get to be Beowulf, of course. And maybe, just maybe, the real human Gerard Butler will be able to answer the question burning its fiery imprint on my mind ever since watching the movie 'Beowulf and Grendel.' Who the f*ck is Selma? As if I don't already know. She is a sensual witch, of course.
That is not even a real picture of my cat who looks exactly like the cat in the photo. All the 'real' pictures of my cat, Gerard Butler, are on the harddrive of my ex-boyfriend's computer. By 'ex-boyfriend' I of course mean 'my cat, Gerard Butler's, deadbeat dad.' So he has the pictures. I do not have a camera. He remains uncooperative. You figure it out. If my cat were a cat burgler instead of just a cat, we might have a solution. But he is not.
Also, his 'real' name is Stanley Kowalski or just 'Stanley' for short. Up till now, Stanley has preferred to lead his life outside of the limelight that accompanies being the cat my cat, Gerard Butler. But since the hullabaloo on IMDB, I feel that he might like me to share a few fun facts about the cat behind the cat that is my cat, Gerard Butler.
First of all, like his namesake in the Tennessee Williams play 'A Streetcar Named Desire,' my cat is abusive towards the women he loves. My cat, Stanley, is a notorious chauvenist. Believe me, you would not want to be senior pet, Morgen, a rotund calico who really just wants to be left in peace. Stanley is all over her and in her face whenever we allow him in the living room. He just wants to mount her, of course. If she would just let him do it once, maybe he would leave her alone. But no. Constant drama.
Another funny thing about my cat Stanley, the cat behind the cat who is my cat, Gerard Butler, is that he is shy about expressing his true self in front of people or animals that are not me. For example, he refuses to play in the living room in front of senior pet, Morgen, but will tear my room apart trying to catch a feather strung from a stick when it's just the two of us.
Also, Stanley is controlling about his cuddling. Always when he wants to!
So that is just a little bit about the cat that is the cat behind my cat, Gerard Butler. If only the real human Gerard Butler could find out about the hullabaloo then he could play 'Beowulf' and 'Selma' with us. With the stipulation that I get to be Beowulf, of course. And maybe, just maybe, the real human Gerard Butler will be able to answer the question burning its fiery imprint on my mind ever since watching the movie 'Beowulf and Grendel.' Who the f*ck is Selma? As if I don't already know. She is a sensual witch, of course.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
High Ranking Commission Rules My Cat Gerard Butler's Deadbeat Dad Still 'Mockable' Despite Passage of Time And Chief Mocker's Emotional Healing
After a break in my important commission work, I contemplate my role as chief mockerMy cat, Gerard Butler, however, would like you to know that my cat Gerard Butler's deadbeat dad's other cat--with whom my cat Gerard Butler shared a home for two years--is a total Prima Donna.
Thank you.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Drama Can Also Occur in a Pharmacy. Believe Me, I Know. I Stood In Line In One All Day
my trusty service animal needed to restock
I finally know how my immigrant forefathers from Romania must have felt as they were herded through those awful winding barriers to have their eyes checked for glaucoma. I waited in line for so long today at Kaiser that I had to take a break just to go and flirt with the guys at the coffee stand near the windows at the end of the hall. Usually I actually buy something. I am a familiar face to them, however, because I am disabled now and always at Kaiser with my best friends Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte. Usually when I swing by they pull out a little salt lick for Herman, my service animal.
Indeed, by the time Herman and I made it back to the pharmacy I could see my name in red lights on the marquee signalling to all the world that my drugs were ready to be softly nestled in Herman's little blue service pouch. I patiently rejoined the endless queue. Then the funniest thing happened. A discrepancy of sorts, you might even want to say.
The service clerk dutifully pulled out my brand new bottle of my brand new prescription pills. They were tangerine-hued and oblong. Oh yeah, I told Herman nostalgically. I used to take these in college and they made me take naps when I was supposed to be studying. Herman agreed with me that those are the best kinds of prescriptions. Did I say 'prescription?' I meant 'excuses!'
The service clerk and I looked at the unusually large pills. Take 1 and 1/2 tabs before bedtime, the directions stated. The service clerk gave me a 'pill cutter' which has a razor blade in it. I was flattered that she trusted me, but Herman looked a little worried.
But then I noticed the discrepancy. A big yellow caution sticker slapped across the amber bottle. Big words. DO NOT CHEW OR CRUSH. SWALLOW WHOLE.
Do not chew or crush? Cut pills in half? Swallow whole? I mulled over my options and decided to consult with the pharmacist, something I almost never do since the time one of the 'pharmacists' gesticulated loudly in broken English that my medicine was for 'crazy people.'
Other people looked at me. I could see the craziness in their eyes but didn't have the same sort of proof about them that they had about me.
This pharmacist was different and solved the problem after only a few growls from Herman, my service animal. For the record, she too believed that there was a discrepancy between the directions on the bottle and the scary warning label and warning pamphlet that always comes with my medicine highlighting potentially lethal side effects to show me exactly how I am slowly killing myself. Of course this meant that I had to wait in line again and I really couldn't go over to the coffee stand again. That would be shameless and although I am completely shameless, I like to act like I'm not. So no coffee stand this time around. Herman was peevish, however, because he was jonesing for his salt lick.
Still it is so weird to me that Kaiser would not have their shit together enough to prevent such a discrepancy from occurring. They are so good at organizing those winding ropes to keep people standing in long, coiling lines. Well, multi-tasking gets the better of the best of us, I suppose!
Indeed, by the time Herman and I made it back to the pharmacy I could see my name in red lights on the marquee signalling to all the world that my drugs were ready to be softly nestled in Herman's little blue service pouch. I patiently rejoined the endless queue. Then the funniest thing happened. A discrepancy of sorts, you might even want to say.
The service clerk dutifully pulled out my brand new bottle of my brand new prescription pills. They were tangerine-hued and oblong. Oh yeah, I told Herman nostalgically. I used to take these in college and they made me take naps when I was supposed to be studying. Herman agreed with me that those are the best kinds of prescriptions. Did I say 'prescription?' I meant 'excuses!'
The service clerk and I looked at the unusually large pills. Take 1 and 1/2 tabs before bedtime, the directions stated. The service clerk gave me a 'pill cutter' which has a razor blade in it. I was flattered that she trusted me, but Herman looked a little worried.
But then I noticed the discrepancy. A big yellow caution sticker slapped across the amber bottle. Big words. DO NOT CHEW OR CRUSH. SWALLOW WHOLE.
Do not chew or crush? Cut pills in half? Swallow whole? I mulled over my options and decided to consult with the pharmacist, something I almost never do since the time one of the 'pharmacists' gesticulated loudly in broken English that my medicine was for 'crazy people.'
Other people looked at me. I could see the craziness in their eyes but didn't have the same sort of proof about them that they had about me.
This pharmacist was different and solved the problem after only a few growls from Herman, my service animal. For the record, she too believed that there was a discrepancy between the directions on the bottle and the scary warning label and warning pamphlet that always comes with my medicine highlighting potentially lethal side effects to show me exactly how I am slowly killing myself. Of course this meant that I had to wait in line again and I really couldn't go over to the coffee stand again. That would be shameless and although I am completely shameless, I like to act like I'm not. So no coffee stand this time around. Herman was peevish, however, because he was jonesing for his salt lick.
Still it is so weird to me that Kaiser would not have their shit together enough to prevent such a discrepancy from occurring. They are so good at organizing those winding ropes to keep people standing in long, coiling lines. Well, multi-tasking gets the better of the best of us, I suppose!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
In Other News, My Cat Gerard Butler Is Doing Well
my cat, Gerard, Butler, doing well
In other news, my as yet unpublished novel remains unpublished. It has also failed to sell more copies than the Da Vinci Code.
In other news, reviewing the Bible with one star on Goodreads failed to generate any controversy that I know of.
In other news, my mother practically begged me not to do the same with a certain other religious text. I honored her wishes. She is right. Practically speaking, that would have been a bad idea. It is probably a bad idea to talk about it here.
I finished most of my grilled cheese sandwich at Ben and Nick's last night instead of just the usual one-half. It was delicious and some nice people picked up my tab. Thank you, nice people.
In other news, I met up with the doctor and we went back in time in the Tardis and I was able to help a stumbling Herman Melville think up an idea for his next novel. A whale of a tale! Actually, I wrote most of the book. The best beach read ever. However, he made me leave out the part that Moby Dick is actually an alien from outer space. It was a great experience, and I'm glad Herman Melville got his book done, but sometimes it still just really hurts not to get any credit.
My attempts to prove that I am a direct descendant of Vlad the Impaler remain unfruitful. But 'Dracula' and 'Draia' are both Romanian names and they both have 2 'a' in them. Their must be a connection! yo vral un pec palinka! Sorry, that is ghetto Romanian, and spelled phonetically. It means 'I would like some schnapps (blood).' I just thought, if I could prove my heritage, I might get free drinks at Death Guild. Not that I go there. But I know people that do. Maybe they could drink for free.
In other news, my cat, Gerard Butler is being lazy and not hunting, catching and torturing the annoying moth that is fluttering around my computer desk. Apparently he is taking a little vacation from being a Spartan.
And finally, DISABILITY! the musical is in the planning stages. Get your jazz hands ready.
In other news, reviewing the Bible with one star on Goodreads failed to generate any controversy that I know of.
In other news, my mother practically begged me not to do the same with a certain other religious text. I honored her wishes. She is right. Practically speaking, that would have been a bad idea. It is probably a bad idea to talk about it here.
I finished most of my grilled cheese sandwich at Ben and Nick's last night instead of just the usual one-half. It was delicious and some nice people picked up my tab. Thank you, nice people.
In other news, I met up with the doctor and we went back in time in the Tardis and I was able to help a stumbling Herman Melville think up an idea for his next novel. A whale of a tale! Actually, I wrote most of the book. The best beach read ever. However, he made me leave out the part that Moby Dick is actually an alien from outer space. It was a great experience, and I'm glad Herman Melville got his book done, but sometimes it still just really hurts not to get any credit.
My attempts to prove that I am a direct descendant of Vlad the Impaler remain unfruitful. But 'Dracula' and 'Draia' are both Romanian names and they both have 2 'a' in them. Their must be a connection! yo vral un pec palinka! Sorry, that is ghetto Romanian, and spelled phonetically. It means 'I would like some schnapps (blood).' I just thought, if I could prove my heritage, I might get free drinks at Death Guild. Not that I go there. But I know people that do. Maybe they could drink for free.
In other news, my cat, Gerard Butler is being lazy and not hunting, catching and torturing the annoying moth that is fluttering around my computer desk. Apparently he is taking a little vacation from being a Spartan.
And finally, DISABILITY! the musical is in the planning stages. Get your jazz hands ready.
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