The best thing about being in a band with the same guys for nearly 15 years is that I can walk into practice, play some shit on my guitar just to test my amp and get a little warmed up… and then 5 minutes later shotcopter and dopplegang3r have joined in and FMGreen has written a new song on a whim.
Jesus: Hey, guys? Does anyone know how to calculate a 20% tip? Judas (muttering): Of *course* he can’t do math. Peter: Yeah, gimme the bill, I can work it out. Jesus: Great. Oh, and one last thing: Truly, truly, one of you will betray me. Peter: Carry the 1… Guys how many cubits are there in a dozen? Judas: Wait, wait — hold the phone. Jesus, you know that one of us is going to betray you? Jesus: Um… yep. Judas: And do you know *who* it is? Jesus: Oh, bigtime. Peter: I think I’m doing this wrong. Should we be tipping a Benjamin on an eighty dollar bill? Judas: And you’re not going to do anything to stop him? Or her. Jesus: I guess it’s kind of the plan or something. I wasn’t really paying attention. Real Housewives was on. Judas: So this person who’s gonna betray you, they’re kind of doing God’s work, right? Jesus: I don’t know. Apparently one of those New Jersey wives is a *mobster*. Judas: Yeah, no shit. Seriously — there won’t be any punishment for the betrayal, right? Maybe just a slap on the wrist, or something? Jesus: Oh, no, I think I heard something about an eternity in hell. Judas: Shit. Matthew: Hey, Judas — are those new shoes? Judas: Shit shit shit shit shit.
Sweet lord. It just keeps getting better and better.
Wow. It’s hard to work to manage all of these crushes. You are all so damn cute, funny, nice, sexy, sweet, silly, tasty…. um, I imagine anyway. ROFLSAIDTOOMUCH.
I had so much fun yesterday doing a whole lot of nothing, buying my kid a new bike, lazing, dicking around on the internet, standing on my head, breathing, sleeping and testing out my bicycle bell. Sigh, this job is totally going to get in the way today, sorta.
I’m really excited aboot tomorrow. I mean, it’s not like we do anything really beyond herding the beaver, saluting the Queen, talk […snip…]
That’s about as far as I made it through Angela’s post because HERDING THE BEAVER?
I don’t know what the hell that means and I’m too lazy to google it but I bet it’s fun and you Canadians are so freaking lucky and I’m jealous!
Jesus: And let us not forget the eighth commandment — And lo, ye shall ensure you take your vitamins. Judas: *Sigh* Does someone else want to handle this? Matthew: What are you talking about? Judas: Oh, right, of course. We have no problem with Jesus, the Son of God, sent here to die for our sins- Jesus: -sent here to what now?- Judas: We have no problem with the Son of God telling people to load up on B-12? Peter: Well, it’s sensible advice. Matthew: Yeah, you don’t want to get scurvy. Judas: Oh yeah, because scurvy is a real problem in Jerusalem. Jesus: You know, Judas, I’m beginning to get a little sick of your attitude problem. Judas: Alright. Fine. I’ll shut up if you can tell me the *real* eighth commandment is. Jesus: …vitamins? Judas: No. No. It’s “thou shalt not steal”. A rule ever so slightly higher on the morality scale than “take your pills so you don’t get rickets”. Especially since the nearest pharmacy is 2,000 years away, and the nearest thief is 2,000 inches away. Jesus: You’re a faggot, Judas. Peter: Did you guys hear Jesus? Turns out Judas is gay!
Even. It always has to be even. Odd numbers make me feel…odd. They’re hard and jagged where even numbers are soft and smooth. Odd numbers get stuck in my throat, even numbers roll off my tongue. Odd makes me feel uncomfortable. Even makes me feel safe.
I see colors as odd or even, too. Green is odd. Brown is even. Brown is also four, though I guess that makes sense to no one but me. Three is green. Pink is even. Yellow is odd. Nine is black.
I absolutely agree that green is an odd, because green is awesome and odd numbers are also awesome.
These cookies are absolutely delicious, but I can’t possibly eat anymore of them.
They are quite fresh; their buttery cookies are still crisp and snappy and the chocolate fudge filling is soft and smooth.
I was challenged and attempted to finish the entire package within 15 minutes but I just couldn’t do it and I can’t bear to see the evidence of my failure sitting here on my kitchen table.
Let me know if you’re interested. You must agree to thoroughly enjoy them. I reserve the right to refuse sale if I don’t think you’re worthy of taking over the care of these magical little Elven delights.
I’ve included two pictures to show that these cookies are in mint condition.
I guarantee your satisfaction and will offer a 110% refund if you are not completely thrilled with your purchase. Thanks for looking!
She’s been threatening suicide in one way or another since she was born. I wasn’t there, but I’ve known her since she came home from the hospital. She has carried a black cloud close to her the entire time, and everyone could see it.
She was always frightened easily. She would lie, she would hide, she would stall, but she would never come clean. She just couldn’t. Not for anyone. She was tormented at school, even stabbed with a pen in third grade. Our home was not conducive to sensitive.
In her twenties, she carried a hand gun in her briefcase. She carried that box everywhere she went, even to the gas station. There was no telling when the time would come to pull into one of the driveways in the national forest near her home and finally finish it.
I got tired. I got tired of hearing the threats and the lies and feeling the visceral pain of never knowing what was coming and so I told her to go ahead. Just fucking finish it. Because part of me had died each time she said it, each time I saw the gun or the stockpile of pills that she pulled out at every visit, as if to reassure both of us she was still ready. I told her to go ahead, because it would be easier than spending the rest of my life waiting for the call.
Her husband will have cancer surgery next week. He is something. I wouldn’t wish either of them on anybody, and how it works is beyond me. He was to work and work during the run up time to the surgery, because there will be no money for a while. Instead, he insisted, like the demanding child he is, to do what he wanted.
I have his DNR here. It’s been here for days. I walk by it and I give it the stink eye. I move it from table to counter to chair to bed stand, glaring at it with each move but not yet reading and signing. Aren’t we all too young?
Today, I hear the phone through the water I’m running. It is quacking, so I know who it is. I rush around, looking for the damned phone which is muffled in my pocket. It is her. I assume she is calling with a surgery time, because I have said I will drive the two hours out to sit with her and wait.
They are going to a biker thing. They will be riding out of state tonight with one tail light on the bike, after dark. She is calling to tell me about her will. She tells me where the important papers are, who the farm will go to. She tells me about the spreadsheet in the computer and she emails me a contact list.
Just in case, she says.
When people give me shit about not having more of a social life, or not going out and spending my weekends hungover and in a haze, I would like to point them to this post by the wonderful monkeyfrog, and to any of the others that I’ve liked tonight or will like tomorrow night, as evidence to the fact that I do have a social life, and that life is made better by these posts, and tweets, and conversations that I am involved with.
I just carried my 83-year-old neighbor into her house.
She collapsed onto her walker in front of her house when her knees gave out during her daily walk.
Her in-home caretaker (not sure if that’s the term) started yelling for help.
I didn’t know what to do. I imagined her as being made of glass, and I didn’t want to touch her because I just imagined all kinds of things breaking. But her caretaker (a tiny asian girl) was trying desperately to support her weight to keep her from going to the ground completely, and I had to wrap her up and lift.
I got her inside and onto her couch, where she started laughing about the whole thing.
But it’s haunting me now.
It’s so messed up that we get so frail.
Why can’t we just stay in young bodies and fall down dead instantly when it’s our time?
I fear getting old far more than I fear death. I fear that I’ll become a burden on those that love me and care for me. I fear that my problems will become someone else’s problems, and I already feel guilty about this. It doesn’t matter if you take wonerful care of your body and are the healthiest person you can be, because eventually you’ll age, your body will deteriorate, and someone will feel emotionally burdened by your existence, regardless of how much they love you or whether they choose to admit it to themselves.
If you’re not familiar with the 3 album career of that dog. then do yourself a favor and go get some of their music. (iTunes, Amazon)
Fronted by Anna Waronker and supported by Rachel Haden (bass) and Petra Haden (violin) (two of the triplet daughters of the great jazz bassist Charlie Haden) and Tony Maxwell on drums, that dog. wasn’t just another mid-90’s girl band, they brought something unique to the table with quirky rock, gorgeous harmonies, and vioin solos.