May 30, 2004

Sunday Fasts

All I'll say is this: After 14 hours or so, you get really friggin' hungry.

But it gives me an opportunity to clean myself out, take some charcoal and chlorophyll, let the body cannibalise some of its sick and deformed cells, and reduce my calorie intake. If I wasn't an all-or-nothing person, I'd have an easier time reducing my calories during the week, but it seemed to me that rather than use methods that don't work, I'd try something that might. I would be very surprised if an 18-hour fast sent my body into calorie-hoarding mode. If I wasn't drinking herbal tea with honey and lemon, it probably would, but I think if I keep my blood sugar fairly stable I should be just fine.

4 hours to go.

And after purchasing a disk of Atari games [you can even have the cabinet art with it, which is very helpful in Pong, since otherwise you don't know where the edge of the board is], I realised why I didn't get into video games as a kid: Back then, all they had was Atari, and Atari games are friggin' hard, especially if you're playing them on any of the Pentium processors instead of the gerbil-powered model that the games originally came with. [I am quite sure that the only reason I scored as high as I did in Pac-Man is that I was playing it on a Commodore, and when I came to a corner, I could make up my mind which way to go faster than the ghosts could.] Plus they have no pause feature. So the end result of that is that I suck weenie at Asteroids [sometimes losing 2 ships in 4 seconds], and I have to turn Pong down to total moron level so that I can win about 5-10% of the games instead of 0%. But I have 2 bitchin' Atari fonts from the disk, so that's all right.

I also found out [did I mention this?] that I CAN do shoulder stands if I don't wear jeans. I suppose PJ bottoms would be okay, but jeans and yoga just don't go together. Denim doesn't allow your body to move to its fullest extensions. I can also do the one where you sit and grab your toes so that your body forms a triangle, with your arms as one side, your legs as another, and your torso as a third, and then balance on the vertex of your ass. But I have to have gone through most of the routine, in the order they appear in the book, so that by the time I get to that one I'm limber enough to stretch that far.

And there's something itchy in my ears, and it's driving me batshit.

I also found out that you can draw smiley faces on your fingernails in Sharpie, but if you try to polish over them, the solvents in the polish dissolve the marker. Poo.

It occurred to me just now that if I'm drawing smiley faces on my fingernails, I probably don't need Effexor. I think my natural immunity to depression is sufficiently developed.

Oh, and there's new stuff over at my account.

It's getting ready to storm here. I hope. Time to get offline and find something to scratch my ear canals with.

same itch time, same itch channel...

Lyric for the day:
I stumble into town
just like a sacred cow
visions of swastikas in my head
plans for everyone
it's in the white of my eyes...

--Bowie, "China Girl," which was originally an Iggy Pop song

Posted by Frida Peeple at 12:18 PM | Comments (0)

May 17, 2004

off the radar

I have taken a peek at Movable Type 3.0. I am not happy with the features [or lack thereof] of the free version, nor am I happy with the price of the paid version that includes their world-famous half-hearted tech support. I will most likely use different software to set up

In the meantime, efforts to discipline myself to get offline have failed. I'm going to disconnect my modem for a few weeks and see if I can get some things done in the studio and around the apartment. Since almost nobody reads this blog except by accident anyway, I doubt there will be much tearing of hair or gnashing of teeth.

Check back in a fortnight.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:54 PM | Comments (1)

May 16, 2004

art update

Go see this gal's work. I like. You might too.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:34 PM | Comments (0)


Topic not covered yesterday: Flyers evened up the series with a 3-2. More damn broken sticks than a forest after a tornado. I have a feeling I'll be watching a very bloody game 7 next Saturday.

New topics: Movable Type 3.0 is out, and I haven't been over there yet, but Ardellis doesn't sound happy with it. Hopefully, though, as cheesy as the new version is, it will still be good enough for me to move WB over to Otherwise I'll have to go with GreyMatter or something. I don't wanna pay $60 for blogging software on top of everything else I've had to pay; that's just bogus. I don't mind buying the domain name and the space, but if all you have is a choice between paying out the ass and having the blogware equivalent of MS Paint, that's not very fortifying to one's brand loyalty. So I'll decide sometime soon after I investigate it further.

And now the Sunday Brunch.

1. Is your hair its natural color right now and do you wear your hair long or short?
Yes, it's its natural colour. This summer, as I spend more time outdoors, it'll lighten up a couple shades, at least in places. I wear it to the longest length that it'll grow, which is about halfway down my back [2/3 of the way when wet].

2. Shirts: long sleeves or short?
Short unless it's really nippy.

3. Do you wear a belt?
At 215 lbs? I think not.

4. Tell me about your favorite bottom wear (pants/jeans/shorts/skirts).
Well, I hate having to wear anything, unless I'm cold or in a social situation, so my actual favourite bottom wear would be skin. But if you're talking clothes, I'd have to say jeans. Skirts and large thighs don't mix, and skirts are too femmy anyway. When men start wearing skirts, I'll start owning more than one. When I'm hanging around at home in the winter, my first choice is velour slacks. Stretch velour looks very very bad on heavy people, unless they're wearing girdles, but it makes the warmest pajamas; and since my apartment is old and drafty [and my bedroom is not heated], I have come to love velour pants.

5. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
Um, lemme go count. I have 8 pairs of boots and shoes that I can actually sorta wear. I have another pair of boots that's totally beat up, a pair of short black snow boots that are about 2 sizes too narrow [how can such ridiculously skinny feet be considered "medium"?? My feet look to me as though they're proportioned just fine, but I have to either buy wides or double-wides, or go with men's shoes] and, I think, one pair of brown boots that was almost shot when I got them at the thrift shop and which now are beat up beyond repair [the soles are falling off the uppers]. Note that the total of 8 includes a pair of pink yard-sale Pumas that barely fit, and would fit better if I lost the last two toes on each foot, and a pair of high heels that I really don't want to wear again under any circumstances whatsoever. I agree with Mrs. Doubtfire that the inventor of high heels had to have been a misogynist. I don't care what job I'm in or how formal a function I am attending: I will not wear high heels again until men have to wear them too. People that think I should...well, they can just go suck it.

That's about all for the Sunday Brunch, but that leads me into another rant...

I saw a lot of this when I was going to high school in Tennessee, and although some of it may have been a result of the adolescent drive for conformity, it still baffles me: Why the hell do people care what I wear? This preoccupation with other people's dress was so ridiculous to me that I sometimes went out of my way to dress weird, just to rattle them, because it's a completely unnecessary attitude to have and if they'd just mind their own business like they're supposed to, they wouldn't get their knickers in a twist about it. It tickled me pink to be able to punish people for having stupid attitudes in a way that only applied if they HAD the stupid attitude in the first place, meaning that the distress I caused them, they were really inflicting on themselves for caring about something that wasn't any of their damn business.

I'm aware now that that's a technique similar to one that psychopaths use to torment people: they find other people's buttons and just mash the living bejesus out of them for the fun of it, not because those people have stupid buttons, but because the people have buttons at all; psychopaths have a very low arousal level compared to most people, so nothing in the world upsets them, and so they think people deserve to have their buttons pounded on as a punishment for being stupid enough to have buttons in the first place. It's like, "Ha ha, you moron, you have feelings and I don't! So I'm going to use you for entertainment because you're so easy to manipulate, you're practically asking for it." So I try not to do that much anymore, even though it is fun, because I'm not really qualified to judge which buttons people have a right to have. But when I see people demanding that everybody dress a certain way or that the laws be changed simply because they don't like women dressing in any other way than high femme, or because they don't happen to like gay people, or whatever, it's very very tempting to rattle their cage, because the cage is made mostly out of selfishness and poorly thought out opinions.

But even though I know that the preoccupation with what other people are wearing, and the mandate that all vagina-bearing humans must look as though Dolley Madison personally threw up on them, comes partially from the Southern chauvanistic culture and partially from adolescents' feeling that they're worthless if everybody doesn't dress like them, it still baffles me that these people are too feebleminded to ...

Jesus Fucking Christ, if I hear one more motorcycle, I will personally find the location of every Harley Davidson factory on this planet and blow them all to kingdom come. I CANNOT HEAR MYSELF THINK. I have half a mind to run for President when I get old enough, just so I can pass a Constitutional amendment banning loud engines on anything, including commercial airliners. Hell, if the Christian Reich can use the Constitution to boss everybody else around, why can't I?

ANYWAY, before I was so rudely, stupidly and completely unnecessarily interrupted...

oh yeah. Look, I know why people complain about what other people wear. It's culture, it's adolescence, it's fitting in, it's all this stuff. What I wanna know is why people don't recognise that culture, adolescence, and fitting in are totally goddamn irrelevant. So somebody dressed different. So somebody came to school in clothes that didn't look like the typical clothes for their gender. Or they came to work dressed Goth-y or whatever. What effect, precisely, does that have on your life? It's not the same as, say, motorcycle noise, which actually affects your ability to concentrate. The reason it's upsetting to these people is that somebody is doing something unnatural, and possibly immoral, in their presence. Of course, these things are only unnatural in the context of their religious beliefs. It's perfectly okay to be as unnatural as you like, according to Christianity, as long as that unnaturalness doesn't spread into your sex life or gender identity. But Christians can wear eyeglasses and synthetic fabrics, and take synthesized drugs, and use hair products created in labs. And when you combine the Christian doctrine of "everybody in the universe should be Christian so that we can all be saved instead of going to hell" with the idea of "anything that suggests that you might not enthusiastically embracing the gender identity that matches your genitals must mean that you're a sexually immoral person who's displeasing to the Lord, because that's the only reason people don't conform--they're pathological deviants", it gradually develops into the attitude that people who don't make a point of dressing in complete accordance with unequivocal sexual dimorphism might be going to hell, and that makes baby Jesus cry because Satan's going to win at the end of the world.

I'm aware that I'm not being very coherent. This isn't a damn senior thesis paper. And everybody's entitled to their opinion, but my opinion is that using your religious beliefs as your primary basis for being worried about what other people do is stupid. That's different from observing the damage that people actually DO cause, worrying about that for legitimate humanitarian reasons, and making your opposition to that damage an article of faith as part of a system of humanistic beliefs. I also think that hell or no hell, a person's insistence that everybody follow their rules, when they're the only person to whom it matters if their rules are followed or not, is much more damaging than whether I wear men's shirts to algebra class. Those are your standards, fine. Follow them to your heart's content. And if my not following your standards causes some real harm to be inflicted on you, then fine, I'll consider following your standards when I'm around you. But if the only harm that's being caused is that you worry that I'm going to hell or that I might be a dyke, then I don't fucking feel sorry for you, because my salvation status and sexual orientation don't have any damn bearing on your life anyway, and you're being just as silly as the person who loses sleep over the death of a soap opera character.


I guess that's what gets me about official Christian doctrine--not the beliefs of individual Christians, most of whom don't swallow the official doctrine whole but instead live by the bits they think make sense and ignore the rest--this attitude that since they're the only real religion, everybody's business is their business, and they've been charged by God to boss everybody around and make them behave like Christians, using legal action if necessary, in order to keep them from doing anything that might send them to hell. It's as if they can't distinguish fact from belief, or they think that their beliefs are enough justification to go bossing everybody around. Well, for those who weren't aware of it: It isn't. So knock it off, because you're not going to convert anybody that way except people who are gullible and easily cowed. And as far as I'm concerned, any heaven that's filled with feebleminded and overly credulous people is no heaven at all.

So that about does that.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 02:45 PM | Comments (0)

May 15, 2004

Because They Love Grey Ratty-Looking Armpits In Their Undergarments

That's the only reason I can think of, besides dye allergies and possibly stupidity, that women continue to buy white bras. Not just that they buy white bras, but that they buy SO GODDAMN FUCKING MANY WHITE BRAS that half the styles of bra that you find in the catalogs only come in white and beige [which is practically white except that it doesn't look quite as vomitously horrid after 10 wearings, because the beigeness keeps the grey from showing too much]; and when bras DO come in more colours, those colours are only made in sizes C, B, A, AA, AAA, AAAA, and My Boobs Are So Small They Are Actually Concave And You Can Use Them For Cupholders. If you have tits that anybody would actually want to look at, all you get is white. Maybe you get black.

Well, hot fucking damn. I don't know about you, but that's precisely the two colours I want: black, so that the bra shows underneath anything lighter than pool table felt; and white, which, if you wear any colour shirt under the sun BUT white, gradually turns a squalid and thoroughly disgusting shade of grey--leaving the impression that somebody has attached your bra around their car tire and driven several hundred miles over newly blacktopped road--and sometimes several shades of grey depending on how the different materials absorb your sweat and the dye from your shirts.

Wouldn't it make sense to have medium-grey bras to start with? And I'm aware that there are fewer of us in the larger sizes, but is it really too much to ask to just make a few bras in the larger sizes in the colours everybody else gets to choose from?

Last time I went to buy bras was around New Years', at Herbergers, which has a great selection of bras. There were few styles that went up to my size, however [38DDD], and every stinkin' one of those things was white, beige or black. If there'd been anything else, believe me, I wouldn't have come home with 3 black bras and 2 beige ones. Now, if I made $50K a year, I could call up Lane Bryant and order bras in a few colours. Lane Bryant actually has a selection, if you're able to pay $25-35 per bra. Well, in their catalog they do. Their stores don't have crap. [I'm sorry...if you only carry bras with cup sizes B-D and one style in DD, you are NOT a full-figured apparel store. Maybe a 3/4-figured apparel store.]

Where the fuck did they get the idea that the default colour for bras should be white anyway? Is it that bras were invented in an era when women wore white blouses, so that was the most sensible colour, and then nobody thought to change with the times when clothes became more colourful? Or are underwear manufacturers just retarded? Or is the foundation garment industry secretly run by a mad billionairess who has ludicrously tiny breasts and is getting back at all the better-endowed women by having manufacturers make an obscene plethora of styles and colours for the women who don't have anything to PUT in a bra [if you don't believe me, go to Vic's Secret, which doesn't carry anything above a D, the hypocritical monkeyfucks, or MallWart's lingerie department, which carries 47 000 types of bras in over 600 materials for sunken-chested trannies but 4 types for actual women with actual breasts] while mandating that bras made for the large-chested only come in colours that show through clothing and/or turn hideous colours in the wash unless you hold your arms out like C3PO all goddamn day so none of the moisture from your armpits causes shirt dye to leach into your bra fabric.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me. I do have frustrated childhood memories of wanting brightly coloured underwear and always ending up with white panties, or light pink, or those unbelievably ugly white ones with the little flowers on them that were so hideous you'd much sooner take them out and burn them than put them next to your crotch. But we could never afford the coloured ones. Too expensive. And my mother talked about fancy panties in a way that made it sound as though wearing anything but white cotton panties with a white cotton crotch was about as healthy for your downstairs region as douching with SARS. Naturally, this isn't true, and I now own about 2 pairs of white panties and, literally, about 25 pairs of coloured ones. And bras, too, were always white. It was like, if your underwear was ANYTHING BUT WHITE, you were going to get terrible diseases. Plus we couldn't afford them. So it could be that my affinity for coloured foundation garments is a result of being, in my opinion, wrongfully deprived of them as a girl.

But I don't think that's all of it. I like brightly coloured underwear. A common response people make to my complaints about white is, "Well, who's gonna see it anyway?" Hm, let's Coloured underwear is one of the few things I can actually afford that feels even remotely like a luxury [mainly because I grew up without it]. Also, if you're like me and you wanna get all New Agey about it, coloured undergarments can be an important part of your personal feng shui or chakra activation. You get a different kind of energy flow with different colours. So let's say you need blue to stimulate a certain kind of energy, but you don't look good in blue shirts, or you don't have any, or you're required to wear red shirts to work or can still wear a blue bra. It works under the same principle as wearing a particular kind of stone over a chakra. And if you think about it, undergarments lie over some of your most important chakras. Bras go over the heart chakra, and panties/shorts cover your pelvic area which contains both the root and splenic/reproductive organ chakras. Having the right colours for the garments that cover these chakras can aid your energy flow; and wrong colours, or colours that have strong negative associations for you, will restrict it.* [White is supposed to work as a substitute for any colour, according to some traditions, but for me it restricts energy.]

Again, maybe it's just me, but I can't understand why anybody, aside from people who break out in a rash from fabric dye, would buy a white bra when they can get coloured ones. Obviously, a lot of them wouldn't, which is why MallWart HAS 47 000 kinds of bras in 600 materials, including holographic vinyl, camo, velour, marabou, and pleather. And some of them you can't even call bras, because bras have cups. A set of hooking straps with two flat triangles of material on the front is not, in my opinion, a bra, because it can't hold breasts. It will barely rein in a pair of small spider bites. So, to you undie manufacturers out there: Look at the market. If flat and medium women have such a strong preference for coloured bras that the market supports such a panoply of colours and styles of bras...WHAT MAKES YOU THINK LARGE WOMEN DON'T WANT THEM TOO??? It's not like you have to carry them in 10 different colours. Just, I don't know, red, green, blue, purple, pink, stuff like that. Something that's actually interesting. Grab 3 or 4 swatches of material at random out of a hat, and those are the colours for that style. Then give each style a slightly different set of colour choices, so that people who buy several styles of bra end up with a variety of colours.

Damn. This always happens. I get half to 2/3 of the way through a good rant and I run out of steam. I'm too tired to be that mad anymore. Anyway, my final verdict: White bras and underwear are for nuns, grandmas and people with extremely sensitive skin. Actually, I don't even see why nuns and grandmas should have to wear boring underwear, but I suppose they might think green bras and fuschia undies are sinful or something. [Hey, maybe that's what it is: Perhaps the Christian men who ran the underwear companies, and probably still run a good many of them, thought that making women wear white over their naughty parts would make them purer or something. It just seems terribly Victorian to me.]

In other news, there was much yard-saling done this weekend. Purchases included candles, candleholders, a pyramid-shaped votive holder [the votive goes inside, and the light glows out through star- and moon-shaped holes] a spice rack, a shelf, picture frames, an HP scanner with the software, a CD purse for my niece, some silver-plated coasters, a tap light, CD's, a CD storage unit, a couple collectible Avon thingies, a plaster owl with a very sage expression, a little light that clips onto a book so you can read in the dark, and a copy of the Reader's Digest cookbook Secrets of Better Cooking, of which my mom has a copy and which I've borrowed many times in order to learn how to cook veggies or make white sauces or whatever. It's from the 70's--you can tell not just from the photos [which resemble Lileks' collection], but also from the inclusion of an entire chapter on jellies and aspics [blecch]--but it's an excellent, comprehensive cookbook for the person who likes to [or must, for food allergy reasons] make lots of things from scratch.

And now I'm extraordinarily tired. Good night.

same bitch time, same zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

*An interesting side note: The heart chakra is associated with, as stated in the page to which I've linked, "the integrat[ion] of opposites in the psyche--which is part of the meaning of the Chariot, which is "my" card in the Major Arcana, my birthpath number being 7. So perhaps proper stimulation of this chakra is part of my means of achieving the level of spiritual growth I'm aiming for in this lifetime.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 10:18 PM | Comments (0)

May 13, 2004

Never in my life...

...have I been so ashamed to be an American.

This is just disgraceful. But you know what they say: people are people.

I hereby move that we rechristen our species Homo stupidus.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:33 AM | Comments (0)

May 12, 2004

How have I screwed the pooch? Let me count the ways...

What's On your 'OOOPS' (why did I do that???) list Right Now?

I don't make lists like that because everybody makes mistakes, and I think it's better to learn from them and move on than to count them; moreover, there aren't enough 1's and 0's on the Internet to even make a dent in a list like that, and many of the things on that list are too personal even for this desperate cry for attention called a weblog. So I'll just say roughly 2/3 of my life, including the entire year of 1997. Actually, if you want to get really technical about it, there would be nothing on the list, since I never really need to ask why I did a particular thing: I did it because I'm me. Any other reason I could attribute to my behaviour would ultimately boil down to the fact that I am what I am and I do what I do.

And right now, I'm gritty and covered in dried-up sweat, and if it doesn't rain soon I'm going to kick the Jesus J. Johnson out of something.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: If I were ever asked to come up with my own rainmaking ritual, it would probably consist of waving a gun at the sky in a threatening manner and shouting things like "Rain, you miserable assbasket, or I'll come up there and kick your ass!"; and, subsequently, trying to get myself discharged from a mental hospital. If I were ever asked to come up with a sensible rainmaking ritual not involving firearms or coprolalia, I'd just laugh. Everybody knows the only way to get things done is with a gun and some four-letter words. Now if they'd just let me have a gun at work...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 09:02 AM | Comments (0)

May 11, 2004

Quick! How many balls have I got?

8. And they're magic, too. :D

What's the chances of that lump turning out to be something benign but interesting?
Outlook not so good

Are the Flyers gonna pound the jesusmaryandjoseph out of Tampon Bay tomorrow like they did Monday night?
As I see it yes

Do the hockey players beat each other up because of all the periods going on during the game? That would explain a lot, cos, y'know, they practice and travel together, so they'd all be on the same cycle, and then there's Tamp--
My reply is no

oh. Never mind then.

If this mind is not Buddha, and learning is not the path, how then is one to become enlightened?
Better not tell you now

sigh. I just don't get people.

There are quite a few great people in Gen Y [my student springs to mind :) ]; but is it just me or is there a greater preponderance of psychopaths among them? Or is it just that the crack babies have all come of age and are now trolling the chatrooms looking for people to abuse because their brain damage keeps them from feeling normal human emotions? I really don't want to think I'm turning into a fuddy-duddy at 27, especially since I'm still a liberal, and I don't see how one can be a liberal fuddy-duddy. I mean, I've always thought even the people my age were a bunch of amoral little shits, from preschool on up, so maybe it makes sense that I'd think that of people younger than me. I just don't see where anybody anywhere gets the idea that going online and telling a total stranger you're going to hunt them down and rape them, for no good reason, is humourous or entertaining or in any way okay. But I see it all the time. What makes people like this? And mustn't it be due to brain damage, if it never occurs to them that abusing people just creates more mean people? They seem to want to get back at the human race because they think everybody sucks. To what end? So they'll feel better, of course. Only if they really felt better from doing that, they wouldn't need to keep doing it.

I also wasn't surprised at all when I looked up antisocial personality disorder in my abnormal psych text and found it has a 55% comorbidity with narcissistic personality disorder. Most of the abusers I see online have excessively grandiose views of themselves to go along with their abysmal opinion of everybody else, which they seem to use to justify to themselves their abuse of others.

I've said it many, many, many times, and I'm going to keep saying it until somebody listens [which may be a very long time, if ever]. If you are not absolutely sure that you have the patience and the compassion to raise children, do not have them. It's better that you devote your energies to being a good aunt or uncle, or to something else entirely, than that you risk fostering a hostile and mean environment that will cause you to raise a monster. We have enough goddamn monsters. "But I wanna have my own kids," you say. Well, I'd like a house in the country, a purple Lambourghini and a 3-way with Orlando Bloom and Hugh Jackman, but sometimes we don't get what we want, babycakes. Think of somebody besides yourself. If you're still in the "I wanna, I wanna, I wanna" stage, you're in no shape to be a role model to anybody.

I'm going to go make a phone call and hope my eye stops twitching.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Lyric for the day:
do unto others what has been done to you lamb and martyr
you look so precious
won't you come a bit closer
close enough so i can smell you

i need you to feel this
i can't stand to burn too long
released in this sodomy
for one sweet moment i am whole

do unto you now what has been done to me
do unto you now what has been done...

--Tool, "Prison Sex"

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

May 09, 2004


It's Mother's Day and I don't have a card and it's hot out and my teeth hurt and I think I have a lump in my breast and I'm starting to suspect my chiro is gouging me.

So here's the Sunday Brunch.

What Would You Do?
Everyone has different reactions to different situations. So, what would you do if you came upon the following...

1. A person obviously struggling to keep their head above water in a pool or lake.
I find the nearest phone and call 911. [I haven't started swimming lessons yet.]

2. You find a $100 bill on the floor in a store.
I take it to the clerk and tell him/her that somebody must have lost this and may come back looking for it. If it was a fiver or something, I might keep it, depending on how weak my ethics are that day. But I couldn't keep a Franklin. I wouldn't be able to sleep.

3. A dog or cat with a broken leash wandering aimlessly in your neighborhood.
Depends on how it looks. If it looks like it might be rabid, I call Animal Control or the police. If not, I might try to approach it and see if it's got a tag, and if so, return it to the owner. If there's no tag, I call the police and see where I should drop the animal off.

4. A person you don't know knocks on your door in the middle of the night claiming they have an emergency situation and want to use your telephone.
This isn't so bad because I have a chain on my door and a cordless phone which fits nicely in the space afforded by the chain. I hand the phone through the space and tell them to leave it outside when they're done, then shut the door [it locks automatically]. When they leave, I wait a bit, come back out and retrieve the phone. If they're a predator and they try to kick in the door, I at least have a few seconds to dial 911 myself, unless they do it in the second between my handing them the phone and closing the door, in which case I still have a few seconds to arm myself before the chain breaks. The likelihood of this situation happening at all is small, considering where I live; and the likelihood of it happening AND being a pervert or something is much smaller yet. And you're gonna die sometime anyway.

5. You see a car veer off the road and into the ditch.
I pull over to see if anybody's hurt or needs me to go for help. If they're okay, or if they have a cell phone and are okay enough to dial 911, I ask if they'd like me to stick around until help arrives. If they're drunk, I try to deal with their drunkenness as best I can [though I don't have a good history of being patient with drunks].

Yeah, I'm a wussy do-gooder. Sue me.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Bizarre kitchen concoction for the day: Quasi-Italian Something-Or-Other. Chopped Italian turkey sausage, spaghetti sauce, whole wheat pasta, steamed stir-fry veggies and chopped black olives. Serve hot in a bowl with parmesan cheese. Not bad. Watch out for the giant chunks of asparagus.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 11:13 AM | Comments (0)

May 07, 2004


The Friday Five has called it quits. Moment of silence, please.

Time to change the index pages...

I think the Daily Double is gone too. I can never get to the website anymore, and Saturday Scruples hasn't posted since January. Just like me to get a meme blog going right when meme blogs are dying out.

I don't see any other Friday memes except Photo Friday, which I don't think I ought to try seeing as I don't have a digital camera or a darkroom, and am not about to run out and buy either one; and Free-For-All Friday, whose instructions I'm having a hard time understanding and in which participation seems to require having one of those little mini-text-buttons on your blog, which I have always refused to have on my site because they're just ugly in the same way that road signs are ugly. [Apparently a regular text link to their site isn't good enough, you have to have one of their buttons. I'm not gonna do a meme where I'm required to have something ugly on my site in order to participate.] Also it involves having other people post or something, and nobody ever reads this blog, so that's sorta out.

So, eh.

I feel like calling up the city and asking that they stop putting dessicant packets in the water. I can't get my hands anywhere near water without them drying up like a goddamn mummy. In January, that might be understandable. Not in fucking May.

I'm gonna go kick something. At least you don't have to be able to put words or letters in the right order to do that.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 05:37 AM | Comments (2)

May 06, 2004

One Depo, please. And make it snappy.

Less than an hour before I can have my shot. Oh, sweet, sweet sanity...

The supervisor took some melted purge from one of the presses and made a foot-long dildo with it. I would have asked for it, except it was 2" wide and really rough. Oh well, can't have it all. Later I asked if it was a Mother's Day present for somebody. Super said he was gonna give it to the plant manager. I told him that'd be a Motherfucker's Day present. I'm not sure when that is; they'd have to check the calendar.

Well, enough of this.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:05 AM | Comments (0)

May 05, 2004

Games People Play

What's On your 'favorite games' list Right Now?

Depends on the type of game you're talking about. There are several kinds, so I'll try to be thorough.

Fave Apartment Games
~Find the Smell
~What Should I Vacuum Today?
~I'm Late For Work, Where The Hell Are My Keys?!?

Fave Work Games
~How Many Bites Of My Lunch Can I Eat Without Somebody Bothering Me?
~Do As Little As Humanly Possible
~Office Manicure Salon

Fave Computer Games
~MahJongg Master 5
~Why Did The Icons On My Desktop Change Themselves To Ones I Don't Recognise?
~Figure Out Which Hidden App Is Causing ScanDisk To Restart Every 5 Seconds
~Fun With Master And Slave CD Drives

Fave Board Games
~Chinese Checkers
~OW!! My #@*$!&% foot! Where'd that @?#$*!+ board come from?!?

Fave Card Games
~Crazy 8's
~Speed [which my niece taught me]
~Hey, Take That Back, You Cheater! You Know A Jack Of Clubs Doesn't Go On A Three Of Hearts!
~Okay, I Know My License Is In Here Somewhere...No, That's A MasterCard...No, That's AAA...Dammit...No, That's A Library Card...Hang On...

hm...I think that's about all I can think of.

I'm going to take Thursday night off and have a long weekend, because I'm 10 1/2 weeks into my Depo cycle and counting, and I really shouldn't be around people right now if I can help it because I don't have any good places to hide bodies. Maybe I'll get my shot Thursday instead of Friday so it'll have an extra day to take before I have to deal with humans again. I want my estradiol! :(


same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Spell component for the day: CD's--the reflective bottom side. They're great for putting candles on, especially if you're doing any type of mirror magic or anything where you need to deflect energy away from yourself or reflect it back towards somebody else. Also, they just look cool. And you can draw and write on them with markers. They are easily gotten for free at MallWart. Just pretend you really want the new version of AOL [snicker snicker snort].

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:19 AM | Comments (1)

May 04, 2004

Runes, Moons & Tunes

Plllllllllay ball!

Did the IRS process my return and get my refund in the bank yet?
Yes definitely

That refund is gonna be gone in a week and a half, isn't it?
Signs point to yes

I'm betting most of it will end up in the dentist's and optometrist's pockets, eh?
It is decidedly so

Should I tuck a little away in savings?
Most likely

eh. You know what they say...easy come, easy go.


Well, I got a set of runes made, after trying several Dremel bits and finally settling on the sanding cone tip, which is about the only one that actually drills glass decently. Hooray for Mom's spare Dremel bits and for inexpensive blue glass globs from the craft department of Target. Now I just have to make a bag for them, which shouldn't be too hard as I have thread, needles and black velour-like fabric [of the same type as my altar cloth, only that's green--well, the parts that haven't got black wax spilled on them are green]. It's just a matter of getting off my hineyhole and doing it. That can be done this morning, though, and both the bag and the runes can be charged tonight, since the moon will be full.

The yoga book I bought is teaching me some interesting things. For one thing, I really can't do a shoulder stand without using the wall. I can, however, do about a dozen other relatively simple poses, which hopefully will tone some of my back and leg muscles enough to prevent further injury and make it easier to do other kinds of exercise. Also, some of the poses increase circulation to the head [especially the ones where you're upside down], which is good for one's mood.

I think I might take Thursday night off. It's the last week before my Depo, which I'm supposed to get Friday, and I have a feeling that minimizing my contact with other human beings until the shot has been administered and has had time to set in might be wise. I had several instances last night of almost ripping somebody's face off for just walking into my personal space [which increases in direct proportion to my hormone levels and currently extends for about 8 feet in all directions, or earshot if I'm mumbling to myself]. So perhaps a nice long weekend with a good book and some productive time in the studio will keep me from murdering anybody.

My throat hurts. And my chest feels like it's full of crap. Most of the year I'm happy to be around trees, but not when they're blooming, thank you all the same.

Better go stitch my sack...

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Lyric for the day:
momma was an opium smoker.
she light it with a red-hot poker.
she would never take a bath.
we would ask her--she'd just laugh.
because our momma was an opium smoker.

Rasputina, "Momma Was An Opium Smoker," Frustration Plantation [2004 Instinct]

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