Staring Down the Barrel of a (Hot Glue) Gun

Sometimes your mind can be so open that your brain falls out.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


Ok, so my dream would be to have the deck/yurt done by this fall so that we could go up to El Rancho for xmas. Farfetched at this point, but a girl can dream. But it got me to thinking - I would really like the yurt (hell, the whole ranch) to be tv/internet free. Sort of a west coast MHouse. But can I really take Mags up there and expect her to stay indoors and stay sane without plunking her down infront of the boob tube? Or us, for that matter?

Recently I re-watched "The Piano" with Holly Hunter. There's a scene in which all of the settlers get together at the church and put on a performance of King Lear, I believe. No, that's not right. Bluebeard? Is he the one who beheaded all his wives? Anyhow, that dead guy. At one point, they do a scene where the king - we'll call him Old Blue - is threatening to kill his current wife because she's found the heads of all the other wives. But the whole scene is done with shadows thrown on a sheet, a la Thai? Indian? shadow puppets. I was thinking it'd be cool to do some sort of shadow puppet show, maybe of fairy tales, or maybe a made up story. I'd definitely need to recruit some other insane soul, either to narrate or help drive the puppets (where's snolley when you need her?)

I think I'll go and cruise Amazon right now for a book on how to do shadow puppets!

And then of course do a performance at BMan.


A friend of mine sent this to me today. This was a post I'd sent out to our funny list about two years ago.

For reference:

midge (mj) n.
1. Any of various gnatlike flies [...], found worldwide and frequently occurring in swarms near ponds and lakes.
2. Any of various similar dipteran insects, such as the biting midges of the family Ceratopogonidae.


Some of you may recall the occasional updates I sent from Scotland while we were on our honeymoon. Recently, someone (*cough*Dug*cough*) redirected me to a response I sent about the midges. It made me laugh so I'm going to force you all to read it:

Remember those pesky midges? Well, in the 10 years of my hardcore, smutty, historical romance novels that took place in the beautiful untamed wilderness of the Scottish highlands, not ONCE, mind you, did I ever read about midges. I've yet to read a passage that goes:

"He laid her soft, willing body down on his kilt in the heather. 'I'll keep you
warm,' he growled low in his throat as he exposed her pale, shivering flesh to
the afternoon breeze and pressed his throbbing manhood against her thigh. As she
reached down to guide his velvet sheathed man-rod into her moist, throbbing
space, they were suddenly set upon my an enormous swarm of biting, nasty midges
attracted by the sudden release of body heat and carbon dioxide coming from
their bodies. Screaming, she leapt to her feet and went running into the lake to
keep the icky things off her, while he swatted at the biting insects attacking
his now shriveling member."

Yeah, I can see how that would detract from book sales quite a bit, but way to toy with the imagination of a 16 year old girl! For shame!

Monday, September 25, 2006


Ok, so I got this idea from some crazy good porn-o-graphic graphic novel I recently read. Part of the story was drawn in a very Victorian style: as a cut paper silhouette. Most commonly used in portraits of the head and shoulders during the 1800's, but also used often in illustrating children's novels during the same period. At the very least, you can get one made at the Tragic Kingdom of little Jimmy in rodent ears.

Anyhow, this really appealed to me. I had a book of Sleeping Beauty, I believe, while growing up. I always thought the illustrations were amazingly cool and pretty and portrayed so much, considering they were all just black silhouettes. I don't think these days there is really any appreciation for this art form. Really, I think if most people were walking through a museum and saw a piece of cut paper art on the wall, they'd recognise it for what it was, but wouldn't take the time to really registed what the picture was *of*.

So, here's the idea:
*Get book on cut paper silhouettes from Amazon (check.)
*Learn overnight how to make stunning, intricate and detailed silhouettes. Never encounter any setbacks or frustrations.
*Make said stunning silhouettes of things that would cause people to do a double take and really press their nose to the glass to make sure they were seeing right: silhouettes of things sexual in nature, like female dom propping her foot on groveling man, or couples in kama sutra poses, or two daddies on a harley, etc. etc. Or maybe designs similar in sexual content, but with people in period garb (genteel lady holding a parasol in one hand and a leash in the other... conected to a man in a top hat on all fours. Hmmmm....) Make sure they are done with as much Victorian styling so as not to be obvious at first, complete with oval shape and delicate scroll/floral/period border.
* Get them displayed in a coffe shop in The City. Act suprised when they all sell. Be gracious when asked to do a show in a real gallery.
*Earn quirky notoriety and fame.


"I've got it -- feed mayonaise to the tuna!"


I am a self-professed Idea Girl. I always have been. For as long as I can remember, I've come up with fabulous, incredible, this-is-the-coolest-thing-ever ideas (remember: self-professed.) And 99% of my ideas are creative-artsy-fartsy based. When I was in grade school, I decided to cut the daily Snigglet out of my grandparents newspaper and glue them into a small book. This worked great - up until the point where I got behind on my cutting and gluing. When I was in Girl Scouts, my friends and I were going to enter the lyp synch contest and I had it all figured out: the song, the costumes, the make up. Too bad we spent all of our time lying around watching Little House on the Prarie reruns until it was the night before the contest (we didn't win.) In high school I actually got hired to make three RenFaire-ish costumes for the Madrigal choir. This actually got pretty far, until I realized how much I underestimated how much time I was going to need. Not pretty.

Glass etching, pinhole photography, stiltwalking costumes, calligraphy, stained glass, fiber optics lighting, tree houses - you name it, I've probably toyed with it.

In the past few years, I've really reined myself in: I've got a better (if not perfect) sense of long things take, will cost, and how much stress I'm willing to create to, well, create. I've nearly stopped buying random art/fabric supplies unless it is for an IMMEDIATE PROJECT that I will START AS SOON AS I GET HOME AND NOT START ANOTHER ONE UNTIL THIS ONE IS FINISHED (also another bad habit of mine.) I must say, while I am less actively creative these days, I am a more relaxed and happier person for having stopped the madness.

But still the ideas come. These days my ideas run more to the BMan vein. Costumes, art cars, random art displays, crazed mechaincal creations. I, of course, still think that most of these ideas, while mostly unrealistic on my time/monetary budget, are The Shiznit. Sadly, many if not most of them fall to the wayside, and never even get journaled to paper, much less created. My goal is to start at least writing them down, if only so that in 60 years, I can wet my Depends laughing at myself -- or to document my genius for my very own episode of Biography.

Oh look! A box came for me from Amazon! I wonder what it could be?....

Mirror Mirror

Our truck got broken into last night.

In a way I'm not suprised; twice in the last month we've come out to the blue car inthe am and found our glove compartment rifled through and all of our loose change missing. Irritating, to be sure, but not really a big deal. Husband and I are really good about not leaving anything of value in the cars, which we never lock. The theory is that if they REALLY want to steal something, at least this way they won't break a window to do it, thereby incurring more costs.

We'd come home lateish last night. Husband grabbed Mags and took her sleeping form upstairs to her room. I grabbed a load of crap and locked the doors, because I knew my wallet was floating around in the cab somewhere. Once Mags was down. Husband and I both got sucked into our respective games of online solitaire and left the unpacking for the morning.

Come morning, I asked H to get my meds out of the truck while i got a naked Mags diapered and dressed. He came storming back into the house, screaming. "Those bastards! Those fucking bastards! I'm gonna kill them!" He then proceeded to beat the floor for a while and actually cried out of frustration and anger briefly. TUrns out, yes, we'd locked the doors, but neglected to notice that one window had been left open about 4", or enough to stick your arm in and open the door from the inside. We did an inventory and figured out they'd grabbed his backpack, which had my wallet and meds, and his cell phone, which had been charging. All in all, not a huge take, but enough to make our lives miserable. So, we cancelled the few credit cards I had with me, figured out how to get a new driver's licence, called the cops to file a report (they came out and took prints - very Dragnet!) and cancelled his cell phone. Life goes on. Well, life goes on with a healthy dollop of plotting nasty revenges and tortures.

But I have to admit, there were a few minutes in there - when I realized my day was now filled with all the things I have to do to replace everything in my wallet PLUS all the stuff I had wanted to accomplish before my aunt came out to visit; I'm PMSing, bloating like a beached whale, still feeling run down from my cold, and now it looks like I won't have any of my meds today; comforting H while simultaneously trying to deal with Mags who was whiny for no apparent reason - that all I could think of was, "Well, shit; who's gonna comfort ME?!?" I mean, I'm really proud of the fact that I can hold it together in a (kinda) crisis, but at the same time I resented it. I probably wouldn't have felt quite so put upon had I been a) healthy, b) not about to expode in a bloody flood like the elevator doors in The Shining c) been able to take my meds. Blah perfect storm blah. Anyhow, the feeling passed, and I put on my Big Girl Panties and just dealt with it. H calmed down quickly, Mags got over the fact that her feet were touching the carpet (or whatever imagined trauma she was having at that moment,) most of the details got ironed out, and the ones that didn't? Well, I'll just deal with them tomorrow.

But afterwards, it made me wonder: Jesus. Is that the role H had to play for SEVEN YEARS before I got onto meds? Damn. I cannot imagine. And I mean that completely and seriously - I cannot imagine. Again I realized that for all the times I have and will grumble about my Hubby, he is an incredible man and loves me more than I can still possibly imagine.

Kisses, Hunny Bunny.

Friday, September 22, 2006

A good scout is always prepared

Recently in trolling the web for new and interesting porn, I came across a book called "The Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping With Chicks". As I was tiring of the tomes by my favorite doctor ("Would you, could you, with a goat?") I decided to give it a look-see. Because, y'know, you can never be too prepared. Let's ignore the fact that I still have yet to make our house earthquake survival kit after 6 months, much less started the laundry/packing for the camping trip we're going on tonight. I mean really! I could be thrown down into the sandbox by another mother at the park during a playdate! Or the cashier at the grocery store could misinterpret my basket of bananas, carrots, and cucumbers as an obvious sign that I am in serious lust with her, and might proposition me with some all-natural lotion (made from real hippies.) And then where would I be? See my point?!?

The book is written by a comedienne, so if nothing else, its a funny read:

Think about it. The pussy is a very sensitive lady. Going at her with long
fingernails is about as sexy as going at her with a rake.
Or the ever popular dialogue on sleeves for bullet vibrators:
The sleeves come in a ton of colors and are usually shaped like little rabbits
or bears or something, which is weird, but as long as they're not shaped like my
father I don't care what the fuck they look like.
The book covers everything from screwing up the courage (pun intended,) safe sex, toys, poses, techniques, to vocabulary builders and drink recipes. There are even photos illustrating many of the suggested positions! (man, Barbie sure gets around...)

I'll admit I did pick up a few new tricks in there, got reminded of some stuff I already knew, and yes, there was a fair amount of "Ok, even *I* knew that." All in all, it was definitely worth the $2.50 I paid for it. And even if I don't get to practice paddling the pink canoe, shucking the oyster, or morking the mindy on someone else's panty hamster, at least there is an unexpected bonus: Husband has found the book. Sure, he's reading it for the stereotypical chick-on-chick factor, but hey, expanding his play list might ending up working very well for me too! :D

Thursday, September 21, 2006

More job experience for the resume

I bought Mags a toy school bus at the thrift store earlier this week. It's a nice one; all metal, doors open and close, and about, I dunno, 16" long and 6" across? Anyhow, she really loved it, much more than I expected her to. She grabbed her favorite toys du jour - a plastic mama and baby giraffe - and proceeded to have long rambling conversations with them about riding the bus (and probably something in there about the Muppets, too.)

Anyhow, after a while she comes up to me: "Oh no, Mama, oh no!" Lo, the baby giraffe apparently bought a one way ticket into the bus and was now stuck quite convincingly. And as the mama, it was my duty to extract him. It. Whatever. I pried open the wee doors. Of course it had gone in head first and was presenting all four legs. Jamming my fingers into the windows on either side of the bus, I tried to get the giraffe to turn around so that it would come out head first. And then I had a thought: my god. I've turned into a toddler-toy midwife, and my first patient is a breech. I really had to blink a few times to clear the image that brought to mind, and eventually had to pinch all the legs together to get the giraffe out. I'll probably get sued in a malpractice lawsuit - written in crayon - by Raggedy Ann one of these days for that hack job.

Don't worry - I'm not giving up my day job.

Offspring Story of the Day

"You go upstairs with Daddy now. I'll see you in the morning." *kiss*
"Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, nipples."

Chapter 2

I will admit I am grateful that I don't have anything super-pressing I need to be taking care of right now. it's bad enough being wiped out by a cold *and* tweaking your back, but falling behind on important stuff is insult to injury. Or cold. Or both. On the other hand, this cold has also wiped out 2, and probably a third tommorow of my daycare-mama-is-free days. Definitely put a cabosh on going to the gym, sadly.

We're supposed to be going up to el rancho this weekend. I've got some sort of threshhold for being too sick/injured to go, but I dunno what it is right now. It might end up being one of those last minute 'what to do?' decisions. Husband obviously wants me to go; partly because he likes spending time with me (sucker!) and partly because I know he's not super keen on being on daddy duty all weekend tout seul. He's already been super helpy these past few days.

Urg. My back is getting sore again, and husband has suggested I hop into the HOT TUB (did I mention we - and by we I mean Whiz and Juan - now have the 6 person hot tub up and running? Whoo hoo!) I think I'll take him up on it as he's gonna be putting Mags down to sleep.