Monthly Archives: September 2009

gone firenzin’

Ciao, bitches!

As most of you know, Ty and I are doing the ol’ hitcheroo on Saturday, followed by what ought to be a hot-damn, kick-ass vacation in Roma e Firenze.  So I’ll not be blogging for a bit.

Not that I’ve been blogging much lately, anyway. But now I’ll have an excuse.

So hugs to you all … and look forward to posts about foreign escapades in a couple weeks.


Is there no shame?

New from the neighborhood listserve:

Subject: [PEN] boys’ briefs up for grabs, size 2-3T

About a dozen and a half pairs. Lots of pirates, some dinos and
characters; some fading, no stains. First claimant gets the lot; if
unclaimed, they’ll go to TPPC bazaar.

sending a message!

On our way home from my fabulous birthday dinner, Ty and I found ourselves behind a truck driver with a very important message.

Subtext: I eat puppies.

Subtext: I eat puppies.

Note that his anti-animals message is even larger than his CB radio call number. Also note that it includes italics.

You know. For emphasis.

“Shit My Dad Says”

No, not my dad. This guy’s dad.

A highlight:

“Your brother brought his baby over this morning. He told me it could stand. It couldn’t stand for shit. Just sat there. Big let down.”

(Thanks to Patty O’Toole for the assist.)

Do I dare to eat a peach?

I’m 30 today, bitches. Yeehaw!

The shock, followed by the resignation.

The shock, followed by the resignation.

I guess I’m supposed to say how it seems like only yesterday that I was a bright-eyed college student with my whole world-oyster ahead of me, but that would be a goodly bit of bullshit. A lot has happened since then–good, bad, and in the middle–and sometimes I barely recognize 21-year-old me. Other times I wonder if 30-year-old me would even like 21-year-old me.

Then I wonder if 30-year-old-me and 21-year-old me would get in a cat fight, and, if so, who would win.

(I think 30-year-old me would kick some ass. I work out these days, you know.)

my Icelandic boyfriend

With the wedding right around the corner, I feel it’s time for me to come clean about my Icelandic boyfriend.

This is Sindri Mar Sigfusson:

I love it when he pretends to be American.

I love it when he pretends to be American.

Sindri is the fellow behind both Seabear and Sin Fang Bous, two of my most favorite bands of late. Seabear’s music is warm and crackly and wistful. Sin Fang Bous’s music is diaphanous and fluttery and dark. Both spatter random haunting lyrics throughout their lovely, lovely songs.



Just because your headphones prevent you from hearing the excessively loud gas you are passing does not mean your fellow commuters can’t hear it, either.