April 29, 2004

you know what I think?

I haven't posted on a Thursday in a long time, so I thought I'd do it today just to be perverse.

I think I broke my phone.

I also think the high blood pressure could be related to the Depo. I haven't seen it listed as a side effect, but hypertension is a common side effect of birth control pills, and there has been no explanation given so far as to why what is essentially the same chemical doesn't raise your blood pressure in shot form but does in pill form. Depo's site has an 800 number that I will call later, but I don't expect a satisfactory explanation there either.

I also think the nasal congestion that goes away when I sit/stand up and comes back when I lie down, making it very hard to sleep, is related to acid reflux.

I also think that the next person who tells me to eat a diet rich in grains, fruits, vegetables and low-fat dairy products as a way of losing weight and lowering blood pressure is going to get chained to the back of my car and dragged all the way to Hy-Vee, then strapped to my cart to witness my purchase of grocery staples: fresh and frozen vegetables, unsalted tomato puree, whole wheat bread, skim milk, fat-free yogurt, 2% cheese, ground turkey, chicken breast and fish. [Yes, this is really what my shopping cart looks like.] I will ask them to take note of the absence of snack foods and soda. I will then use this person as a bludgeon to beat all subsequent people who advise me to eat a diet rich in grains, fruits, vegetables and low-fat dairy products.

I also think that I will refrain from drinking coffee from a pot that's not done brewing. However, I figured out how a pot of coffee that tastes strong to start with ends up normal when it's done: the first cup, under its own power, leaves the pot. I grabbed the first cup [the coffeemaker had one of those spring things in the whozamathingsis that keeps coffee from running everywhere if you take the pot out in the middle of the perc], and had to physically wrestle it into my cup. I replaced the pot, drank ate my half-cup of coffee with a knife and fork and watched as the next 10 oz. or so of coffee chewed their way through the side of the pot, took the break room door off its hinges, and went outside and mugged an innocent bystander. "Now that's good coffee," some people will say. I would like to be able to agree with these people and chew that coffee right alongside them, but I'm rather fond of having a digestive system, and although chestnut is a good colour for stained wood furniture, it's harder to carry off on teeth.

I also think it's time to do dishes. Soon. Before they mount an attack.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Bonus thought for the day: Somebody should make a Magic 8 Ball that swears at you. Answers could include "Go to hell," "No, you bastard," and "Signs point to fuck off."

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:07 AM | Comments (0)

April 28, 2004

let me get up on it

What's On your shopping list Right Now?

An onion, ground turkey, whole wheat bread, tortillas, maybe eggs, C batteries, 9-volt batteries.


[title stolen from a Tom Waits song]

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:41 AM | Comments (0)

April 27, 2004

On the Ball

So this dude whose car I scratched called me back Monday and said we could settle it without getting the insurance company involved, since, he claimed, my insurance would go up for 3 years [which isn't likely from all I've heard]. Was he just blowing smoke up my ass to screw me out of a few hundred bucks?
Signs point to yes

Was I right to tell him to go on ahead and send me the garage estimate so I could send it to State Farm?
Yes definitely

Is the fact that he wouldn't give his addy and phone number over the phone [he has Caller ID Block] an indication that maybe he was bluffing?
Reply hazy try again

In other words, is this jackass even gonna send the estimate?
My reply is no

...well, that's what I suspect, anyway. I think the bastard thinks I'm 17 or something and dumber than a box of felt scraps. That's the way it is these days--always somebody ready to take advantage of any vulnerability they think you might have. Not everybody's like that, but there's always somebody.

And that wraps up the 8 Ball.

I have to go finish and drop off an app, and register for swimming classes.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:54 AM | Comments (0)

April 23, 2004

WB Week In Review

There ain't even words for this week.


~Worked a different shift to fill in for somebody else in my department. If one more person asks me how I liked it on days, I'm gonna sock 'em. That got old after about the third asking.

~Drank entirely too much coffee, and may be about to get drunk. If my nose stuffs up, I'll dump some Clear Eyes up there. I don't freakin' care anymore.

~Went to the doctor and got nagged about my weight. Apparently, a] she can do this because she's skinny and everybody else in her family's fat; and b] if you don't succeed at weight loss, it's because you didn't want it bad enough, which as we all know can be said for everything from playing piano to Christopher Reeve walking. And if I might be perfectly honest? Maybe I don't want it bad enough. I don't want to lose weight bad enough that I'm going to drive myself mad over every calorie [as opposed to just generally trying to eat healthy], subject myself to types and amounts of exercise that are boring and painful [as opposed to exercising in a way that doesn't drive me wacko and doesn't ruin my knees any more than they already are] and, in general, make my life a living goddamn hell now....why? So I can spend more time being old later? So it really pisses me off that she doesn't see that it's not worth living longer if you can't have what you enjoy. I do not enjoy children. I do not enjoy having some horny fucker with bad breath and an overinflated sense of entitlement slobber all over me. I do not enjoy living with people and having them crap up my household. I do not enjoy talking to family members most of the time because, as human beings, they mostly suck and are definitely not people I want relationships with. [Those are the things people usually recommend when you're trying to find some other joy in life to replace food; that's why I mentioned them.] I also can't drink most of the time, and most of the things that people do to unwind I find annoying, loud and foul-smelling. I personally think it's a testament to my self-control that I eat, and weigh, as little as I do, because for every time the food actually goes in my mouth, there's about 5 or 10 times I hold off. A lot of my self-control gets used up in things like forcing myself to work and not screaming at people, so some days there ain't that much left by the time I get to the fridge. And if my self-control isn't any better than it is, then it's not. What the fuck do you want, anyway?

~Said goodbye to somebody who's quitting and going to work someplace else, somebody I'm really gonna miss.

~Scraped my front bumper against somebody's rear quarterpanel while trying to get out of the postage-stamp-sized parking space in the clinic lot. The 3- or 4-inch scratch did more damage to my car than to his, and mostly just dug some of my paint into his paintjob on an obscure area of the car, but apparently this is going to cost him $900 to fix. The insurance company will look at the estimate once he sends it to me and I send it to them, and they can decide if he's trying to screw State Farm or if the garage is trying to screw him. It'll be covered, and my insurance probably won't go up much if at all. So as upsetting as it was, if I look at it as one ding in an otherwise ticket-free 2 1/2 years of licensed driving, often in horribly cramped lanes and lots, I suppose it ain't that bad. And next time it won't be as big a worry [although hopefully, "next time" won't be for quite a while...I need to start paying better attention again, and I really need to get my eyes checked to make sure that's not part of the problem].

~Got told off about a million times in the chatrooms, and dished it right back.

~Asked my one brother to please e-mail me instead of calling because he usually calls when I'm sleeping or about to go to bed. So now I'm a horrible person because...well, I'm not sure why, exactly, because he's dyslexic and doesn't have the best e-mail-composing skills, but it seems to have something to do with my not having an answering machine. Of course, I DO have an answering machine, but it can't be turned down low enough so that it doesn't wake me up if somebody calls while I'm sleeping. Moreover, I have caller ID, so unless the person blocks their name and number [which is their own damn fault anyway], I know who it was and when, and I just call them back if necessary. Moreover moreover, not many people call me, and the calls generally break down thus:

48%: People who have my e-mail address and could just e-mail if they couldn't get ahold of me
45%: Wrong numbers, telemarketers and other people who hang up when they get a machine, thus resulting in false messages
7%: People I didn't freakin' wanna talk to anyway

So frankly I don't think it's worth the annoyance of plugging the damn thing in. I need the wall outlet for other things. What I think pisses him off is that he'll call and I won't call him back even though I know he called, because he fits into both the first and the third of the aforementioned categories. And I know he just wants to have somebody to hear him flap his gums for 2+ hours about computers and throw jargon around to make it sound like he knows what he's doing. And I don't wanna hear it, because I don't fucking care. So his computer has 528 gigaboobies of FDS-RAM and it's so fast it leaves skid marks on the desk. I don't care. I also don't care that he could build me one, although that's what he's constantly offering to do. I don't want a computer built by somebody that doesn't understand the word "no." I said "no" a million times, and he's still asking. If he didn't have kids, I swear I'd beat his brains in. I don't care that he was in the Army, either. He's ten years older than I, fat, slow, and half-deaf, sits in front of the computer all day, doesn't exercise and has a bad back. I ain't scared. Maybe I should just pound the shit out of him to get the "no" message across; he sure doesn't understand anything else. When I move, the rest of the family is going to be under a solemn oath not to reveal my contact info to him. If I got away from him, I could take the self-control I'm using now to keep from killing or hexing him, and devote that to weight loss. I'd be skinny as a rail.

Yeah, that's sick. I really don't give a crap. I just had to say it. I might delete it when I'm done being mad. Or not.

I might call T and see if he wants to do something.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Random desk object for the day: A small flocked mouse with movable arms, head and legs, and no tail.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:06 PM | Comments (1)

April 17, 2004

Sound and Vision

Things I saw today:

~The Punisher: Decent. Violent, but good--or, depending on who you are, good and violent. There are a few parts where you're afraid it's gonna degenerate into a romance, but it never does. Better than a lot of comic book adaptations I've seen, and better than I remember the older Punisher movie from the 80's being. Lots of good explosions, good tension, and good characters. Plenty of murder, too. The only thing I really had trouble with was that he swears on a stack that killing the arms dealer, his whole family and all his associates is not revenge, but justice. True, they're all bad people, but if the director wanted to make that line of reasoning more believable, he could have bolstered it with something more than a 2-minute scene between Frank Castle and the police commissioner or whoever in front of the courthouse where it's established that the cops have sat on their hands instead of investigating the murders of Castle's family. We see the cop getting huffy, but we don't see the whole cops-sitting-on-their-hands that's supposed to motivate Castle to seek justice. So it really looks like revenge no matter what he says. Not that that's particularly material, because the main point of the movie is somebody getting their family killed, having their life transformed by it [there's even an echo of the old water-as-womb metaphor when he's shot, left for dead and blown into the water by an explosion, only to emerge later as the Punisher], and consequently going and blowing a bunch of shit up and shooting people. But from the way the end looked, it sounded as though there would be sequels. I hope so. And I hope [probably in vain, knowing sequels] that they don't suck.

~Rasputina's new CD, Frustration Plantation. Bought it. $16 isn't too bad for a double CD. Haven't listened to it yet, but heard it's good. The artwork and packaging alone are worth $8. If it doesn't totally blow lions, I'll be very glad to have bought it factory.

~A series of kiosks in the walkway in the mall selling rabbits. Not good. At least 90% of the rabbits were displayed in these tiny little cages barely larger than the rabbit. Imagine being stuck in a chickenwire coffin all day. Shame on those people. >:( I got half a mind to send the Punisher after them.

~A dead duck by the side of the highway. Usually ducks seem to be able to get out of the way; that's the first time I've seen one hit. I suspect he was crossing the road [it was a mallard drake] and couldn't take off in time to avoid the car hitting him.

Things I heard today:

~Lots of kids screaming in MallWart while I was trying to pick out curtains and a darkening shade for my living room window. If I ever end up working there as a greeter, I'm gonna give out Valium lollipops to each and every kid that walks in the door until I get fired. Teenagers in home ec class shouldn't be given sacks of sugar or baby dolls to carry around in order to give them the experience of having children. They should be given a crackhead to take care of for a week.

~Tom Waits' Bone Machine, which is good listening after a movie like Punisher, especially "Black Wings."

I'd do the other three senses, but I'm falling asleep.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Lyric for the day:
some say he once killed a man with a guitar string
he's been seen at the table with kings
well he once saved a baby from drowndin'
there are those who say beneath his coat there are wings...

...he can turn himself into a stranger
well they've broke a lot of canes on his hide
he was born away in a cornfield
a fever beats in his head just like a drum inside

well some say they fear him
others admire him
because his steel is his promise
but one look in his eyes
everyone denies
ever having met him

--the aforementioned "Black Wings"

Posted by Frida Peeple at 06:36 PM | Comments (1)

April 16, 2004


Quentin Tarantino was censored for saying a letter on "American Idol." [Sorry, no link yet--heard it on the radio and couldn't find an article mentioning it on the Web, will keep looking]

The story as I understood it from the radio: Tarantino, for whom every day is Talk Like A Sailor Day, was a guest judge on "Idol" and complimented a contestant by saying, not "You're a fucking powerhouse," but "You're an effing powerhouse." Yes, he substituted the horrifying, lethally radioactive F-word with a letter, leaving out, according to my calculations, 75% of the offending word. And the FCC took it out. Stopped the show and edited it, and in the broadcast version Tarantino just says, "You're a powerhouse."

This brings up a few questions:

~Are there any other letters of the alphabet that we won't be able to use anymore? Will the letters S, H and D also be banned from television?

~Does this mean we can't say "darn" anymore because we really mean "damn"?

~How will this affect "Sesame Street"? They use the letter F all the friggin' time. Shouldn't the FCC just cancel the show?

~Won't the FCC have to start calling themselves the *CC, or the Bleep CC?

~What will become of the Friday Five?

Notice: At this point, the *CC has recommended that I re*rain *rom using the letter....er....you know. Don't make me say it. I'll get in trouble, and then I might get *ired.

Oh, I'm sorry, that's the *riday *ive. And what about *rench *ries? And *reakouts? And will I have to call myself *rida?

Oh, by the way, there is no *riday *ive this week. They're busy because it's April, or something.


This cracked me up, and I thought I'd include it, not just because it touches tangentially on the censorship issue, but also because the mouse's quote in the last panel is just priceless. [I just realised I wrote that whole sentence without a single *.] A de*inite keeper.

Get *uzzy 16 Apr 04

Well, it's past my bedtime, so I'm gonna sign o** and wish you a happy *riday. This post brought to you by the letter
oopsie, did I do that?  lol

same $*@&# time, same $*@&# channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 03:44 PM | Comments (0)

April 14, 2004

A Meme Come True

Yay! 2 people did the M8B meme this week! [Besides me, of course.] ~does a little dance~

Now for What's On.

What's On your feet Right Now?

Um...black work socks [men's; I wear a women's 10D/E, so women's work socks my size are tough to find] and some worn, paint-spattered Thorogood work boots with custom-ground metatarsal/arch insoles that probably should be replaced.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:42 AM | Comments (1)

April 13, 2004

the fates move in mysterious ways

I'm not sure whether to feel creeped out about this or just saddened. I think I'm gonna have to settle for some of both.

See, I was at the Mankato show. Third row, right on the aisle. It was a terrific show, too.

Great big hugs to ya, Al.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Lyric for the day:
hair is grey & the fires are burning
so many dreams on the shelf
you say 'i wanted you to be proud of me'
i always wanted that myself...

...cos things are gonna change so fast
all the white horses have gone ahead
i tell you that i'll always want you near
you say that things change
my dear

--Tori, "Winter," Little Earthquakes

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:15 AM | Comments (7)

Wake me when it's Friday.

Le Ball.

So now that Easter's over, can we expect this Passion of the Christ thing to die down a little?
Without a doubt

Will there be any more brutal Easter Bunny beatings, or are those over for the year?
Cannot predict now

Is the ACLU planning any lawsuits on behalf of Easter Bunnies?
My sources say no

Should I perhaps have stopped at three questions this week?


I'm tired.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:25 AM | Comments (0)

April 10, 2004

Five Alive

...which is a relief, since the 29 Mar entry on FF, which professed that there would be no Friday Five that week, stayed up for two weeks. So here's the Five.

1. What do you do for a living?
Quality inspector.

2. What do you like most about your job?
What do I like most? That'd be a tie between the Three Stooges [supervisor, mold tech, and one of the machine operators] and the freedom to swear as much as I want.

3. What do you like least about your job?
The hours [9 pm-7 am, 4 days a week. It's no good having a 3-day weekend if you have to spend a day and a half recovering from your week].

4. When you have a bad day at work it's usually because _____...
Either I was in a lot of pain or I seriously screwed something up.

5. What other career(s) are you interested in?
Criminology, herbal medicine, art.

I'm gonna sign off and go track down the invisible bastard that's pounding on my head. If I can't, I'm just gonna go take some Advil.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: I wanna own a motorcycle shop that makes and sells super-quiet motorcycles. Then if anybody comes in and says, "Dude, motorcycles are supposed to make lots of noise," I'll offer to sell them a saucepan that they can bang against the handlebars as they're going down the road. If you're going to indulge your infantile urges to make shitloads of noise and force everybody else to listen to it when they're trying to concentrate on something else, why even pretend you're being cool? Be honest about it. If you wanna go somewhere, get an efficient vehicle. If you mainly just wanna make noise up and down the street, you don't need a motorcycle. Just borrow somebody's riding lawnmower, drive it up and down the road and bang pots and pans together while yelling as loudly as you can. It sends the same message as gunning your chopper engine: "I like noise, goddammit, and I don't care about other people's sanity!" Better yet, go join Mudvayne. Having somebody get up on stage and bang their Anchor Hocking cookware together would be an improvement. Another thing you could do is get a regular bike and just duct-tape a chainsaw onto the side. If it saws your leg off, good. Then you'll be stuck in a wheelchair and we can have a few more precious scraps of peace and quiet.

Before some alexic chopper fiend who only read half the post leaves a poorly spelled, unpunctuated comment about my mother's sexual habits and how Harley rules, let me direct the reader's attention to the beginning of the statement. If I were against motorcycles themselves, I wouldn't have said anything about wanting a bike shop. I happen to love motorcycles. The absolute only thing I don't like about them is the noise. Personally, I think that if you're riding a motorcycle mainly because it's loud, instead of because it's fuel-efficient or aesthetically pleasing or convenient, you're doing it for the wrong reason, and I direct you to the above recommendations for getting your noise ya-yas out.

I think that's enough thought for one day.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:58 AM | Comments (0)

April 09, 2004

nothing is certain but...

...death and taxes. And the longer it takes to do the second, the better the first looks.

Yes. I e-filed again this year, using a different service. Words escape me [with the exception of "fuck!" and "godfuckingdammit!" and "gnaaaaaaaasnaggafraggaflackasneckaBLAAAAAAAAGGHH"], but this image, stolen from some site somewhere, says it all.


I'm going to go take some Advil now.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 03:48 PM | Comments (1)

April 07, 2004

And now for something remotely normal...

The weather.

What's On your outside thermometer Right Now? (I realize not everyone has an outside thermometer; what's the weather like right now where you live?) What season are you in?

According to the Weather Channel's site, it is currently:

Feels Like 34F

Since I am in the Northern Hemisphere [which is where Minnesota is located, unless it's been moved without anybody notifying me], it is currently spring.

If you want your day to remain normal, don't read the entry below this one. Thank you and have a frabdapulous Hump Day.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:04 AM | Comments (0)

Daddy, where did Dolly's head go?

If you're one of those people who collects Barbies in their original boxes, or displays them on doll stands in a special case in your home, or simply reveres them in any way, you may not want to read this. If you're eating, or if you're somebody's grandma or something, or if you just have a hangup about anal matters, you may also not want to read this. Of course, if that's the case, you probably stopped reading looooong ago.

From News of the Weird:

In a 2003 issue of the American Journal of Roentgenology, two Seattle radiologists described a 35-year-old man with severe abdominal pain but normal vital signs, who was found to have "multiple" heads from Barbie dolls lodged in his small bowel, which he attributed to his pursuit of the pleasurable anal sensation he gets from excreting them. After a straight-laced description of how doll heads show up differently from other objects on X-rays, the authors advised radiologists to "keep in mind that human imagination may not follow clinical algorithms." [American Journal of Roentgenology, April 2003, p. 986]

Once I got done laughing, snorting and very nearly peeing myself after reading this, several questions sprang to mind...

1] Does this guy use the same heads over and over, or does he have a whole closet somewhere full of headless Barbies whose little plastic crania have gone....

2] Where? Does he flush them when he's done, or what? What, exactly, do they get "excreted" into?

3] Does this guy have a personal ad somewhere that reads something like, "SWM, 35, NS, likes fishing, quiet evenings at home, pooping Barbie heads. Seeking SF, 28-37, with large Barbie collection that she doesn't need anymore. Prefer ladies who poop Ken heads."

4] What does he do with the bodies? Are they all in a closet somewhere, or does he throw them out, or rub them against his weenie, or what?

5] Where'd he get them? Did he buy the Barbies in the store, or did he steal them from his kids or something? [Good gravy, I hope this guy doesn't have kids.]

6] How many Barbie heads did he have in there, anyway? It must have been quite a few in order to cause him enough pain to have X-rays taken.

7] Doesn't the defecation of Barbie heads sound exactly like the kind of thing you'd see in a Mapplethorpe photo exhibit, or perhaps a performance art piece in New York or L.A.?

8] What's so special about Barbie heads anyway? Is it the hair or something? Couldn't the guy just glue hair on anal beads? Or better yet, couldn't he shishkebab some Barbie heads on a stick and use it for anal beads so they wouldn't get lodged in places where they'd cause bowel obstruction? Must be a symbolic thing.

I don't know, man. If the time ever comes when I desperately need to feel like I'm normal, all I'll have to do is re-read that article.

By the way, I found the American Journal of Roentgenology online, but to access articles from it, you have to subscribe to it or pay $10 for a 24-hour access period for that article. The search I did, though, provided small fragments of the article that indicated that he swallowed them, which--I HOPE--answers question 1.

I'm going to go think about kitties and butterflies for a while. And then I'm going to do What's On, which will appear shortly in the next entry.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: If I were Weird Al, and I read about this dude, I'd have my name immediately changed to Relatively Normal Al. Also, the Barbie Head Poopers would be an excellent band name.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:57 AM | Comments (2)

April 06, 2004

Converting From Inches To Liters In 5 Easy Steps

From the new and improved 8 Ball:

These dudes are coming to look at the company today; they're thinking about buying it. Are they gonna come in, laugh, turn around and go home?
You may rely on it

So will I still have a job next week?

Should I still be saving money in case we're bought by a huge sadistic conglomerate and forced to wear gerbil suits as a condition of employment?
It is decidedly so

Hm. How about just a nice, big severance package that I can live off of for the next year or so?
Don't count on it

Crap. Oh well, can't argue with the 8 Ball...especially since it doesn't say much beyond variations of "yes," "no," and "buggered if I know, man."

It's supposed to rain this afternoon. I wish it'd hurry up and get started already.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Bumper sticker for the day: God was my copilot but we crashed in the mountains and I had to eat him [from Northern Sun]

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:24 AM | Comments (0)

April 04, 2004

...and if you're really good, the Spam Fairy will visit.

Well, it's nice to know old Fioricet actually reads my blog. He finally got wise and started posting in different entries using different IP addresses. Either that or Fioricet is as stupid as ever and I got spammed by several people in one day. In any case, I'm looking at getting Junkeater as soon as I figure out how to install the fershlugginer thing.

Recently purchased:
~Sparkly felt
~Chocolate cake doughnuts
~Tori Amos's greatest hits record
~Another glow-in-the-dark wizard puzzle
~Richard A. Clarke's Against All Enemies
~The domain name www.witchybitch.com
~50 MB of webspace
~An orange bell pepper
~Another Magic 8 Ball
~4 baby Magic 8 Balls, found in the party favours section of Target

Today is Palm Sunday, which means that in one week we will be celebrating Easter, which as everybody knows commemorates the time Jesus was crucified, died, was buried under a rock, and got reincarnated as a big white rabbit that lays eggs and brings candy. Or something. Hell, don't ask me, I don't keep up with Christian stuff anymore. Happy Pre-Easter Week.

Time to go read and listen to music.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Quote for the day: "Dammit, Beavis, don't talk to me when a chick's panties are on TV! It's like, you mess up my mind and I can't, like, see the panties right."--Butt-Head

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:43 PM | Comments (0)