I actually played monkey, monkey, william shatner and it was, like, the best thing ever.
Oh, e2. I have such a strange embarassed love-hate fondness for you. You know how you can't remember things that happened when you were 2 until you look at pictures of those events, and suddenly you remember it all? That's what it's like to look at you now, e2.
This homenode is just a time capsule. It seems to amuse others, so I am not feeding it to EDB.
You know you've been here too long when you see the title of a new writeup--one you've never seen before--but you instantly, instinctively know who created the nodeshell. Ugh.
I see the good and the good sees me.
I'm not wimpishquaff.
I'm not gimpishoaf.
I'm not (My personal favorite!) limpishstaff.
I'm impishlaugh!
THERE IS NO GOAT RITUAL!
I don't care how much you love drawing fishies and making cinnamon toast and playing thislittle piggy: You can't be a nanny forever.
How to make my day:
Habakkuk says:
imp: You are my new hero. A braver woman I have seldom met. Godspeed, sweet bibliophile. Godspeed.
sweet, brave bibliophile. You should see me grin.
I realized why I got unhappy: I quit looking at the moon.
Don't let this happen to you.
This is very cool: plants do not absorb green light; they reflect it. That's why they're green. So if you put a plant in a windowless room with only green light shining on it, IT'LL DIE! MWA-HAHA. Because it can't use green light to carry out photosynthesis. Pretty nifty, eh?
I love this place. I write a silly writeup asking "Does anyone know about this band?" And Pantaliamon writes back saying, "Yep. They were on my label." Coincidence is a beautiful thing.
Rock on, e2!
morganlight is my very talented friend. Read her. Love her. Send her tickles.
excuse me.
Our drive home from Los Angeles to Nashville was dreamy. The desert teemed with life and color. A hotel clerk flubbed something up and gave us a supersuite for half price. We rescued a turtle from the interstate. Bugs are bigger in Texas. We saw the broken bridge on I-40 (creepy, creepy, creepy!). My SPOON is too big. I TOUCHED A JOSHUA TREE!
I like drinking expensive wine at a Motel 6 in the middle of the desert.
give me libido or give me death.
igloowhite and his girlfriend Alicia are kind and funny and excellent tourguides. THANK YOU for giving us the desert.
I saw leezardleezardleezards and a little blue tarantula.
something about those spindly little legs...
The porta-potty out at the California Poppy Reserve is remarkably clean. It was like the outhouse in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, minus the Dale Evans picture. It was the OLDEST porta-potty I've ever seen. The first maintenance stamp on the inside door said March something, 1987. I was terribly impressed.
It was eerily quiet there, too. I could hear my hair move. I was so very AWARE of my body. I liked that.
We're THAT SWEET a confection.
Let's stop some gossip, kiddies. If there were Js and Ps in my alphabet soup, I would not gnash my teeth on them and growl. I wouldn't pick around 'em and make nasty faces, either. Js and Ps are sweet.
"I was beaming! Truly! Like someone's mum!"
These Mandy Slade references will come back to bite me in the butt, I'm sure.
The Sandman has stolen my brain.
I've started talking like Delirium.
It's not so bad, really,
except for all the references to telephone ice cream.
"classy broad: oxymoron?"
"We're... we're glamourous bug-catchers, you and me."
hey doodlebug. yes I mean you.
Nifty noders who've sent me neato things:
Chihuahua Grub sent me a CD, a book, and... other stuff.
jessicapierce sent me the best robots in the world and a fuzzy little notebook!
dustfromamoth sent me two letters and lovely ribbons... Velvety green and sparkly irridescence and striped white chiffon.
Gritchka sent me a splendoriffic letter. I actually sniffed it to see if it still smelled like the forest and the pub that he described so tantalizingly. update: He sent me a postcard from Australia!
pukesick sent me a really cool homemade, handpainted postcard with a toaster on it.
Bitca sent me a Legend of the Sand Dollar postcard from Florida and made my day! AND she sent me a birthday postcard! Segnbora-t sent me my FIRST NODER POSTCARD EVER.
And SOMEONE sent me a plain white postcard. I could read every word EXCEPT for the signature! Who sent me smileyfaces that would eat my frozen treats? Please step forward so I can give you credit for making me laugh ever so impishly!
And radlab0 gave me the best chocolate I have EVER had in my LIFE. She gave it to me in person at Cafe Coco. She also tried to give me swing dancing lessons, but I do not remember how. So I used it as an excuse to squeeze a hug out of her!
Thank you all!
when i was six years old, i asked my grandmother why she and all of her friends smoke. she fixed her eyes on a far-away, long-ago place and replied, "when we were young, there was a war, jennifer. back then we women had nothing to do but smoke our cigarettes and pray."i bought three candles and a package of tobacco and rolling papers tonight. take what you will from that.
moonstones and lavender and groves that look like flaming broccoli and swingsets and cold running water and sun-dried tomatoes smeared with blue cheese and bleu skies and homophones and little pink seashell-y toenails and osprey(s?) and drawings of wispy spiderlike little people and music that does pop-rocks things in my ears and emily smirking and hugging me and long-haired boys with swords and plumage and long-distance phone calls with crackly static and laughter and the grr of the gas pedal and windows down and my hair a curtain over my face and i am a shiny little bullet of goodness in perpetual motion.
i saw a boy, a beautiful gelphling-cheekboned boy, wearing a
leopard-print cowboy hat
and my eyes stung so badly. then he turned around. no, he was a stranger. and the air whoooooooshed out of me. i will pretend that it is the hat i miss.
i am not bitter, ohno. if i were coffee, starbuck's would call me bright. i'm marketable, baaaaaaaay-bee.
.
Last night I made him do the hokey pokey
because it is better to see him laugh that to see him cry.
That's what it's all about.
I am in transition.
Once upon a time I sat in a Waffle House at two in the morning, all hopped up on twitterpation and road trip. The man in the next booth was, by all conventional standards, certifiably insane. He refused to perform any miracles that night. "I ain't got no money. Ya can't have a miracle without the root of all evil."
I think he was the sanest man of all.
Guess what!
I have a /msg alias!
/msg impy will be much easier, won't it?
Big bad list o'contact info:
e-mail: OH HECK NO.
Snail mail:OH HELL NO.
Haha. Just kidding.
I love my job. I know that people who work at a smoothie bar/trendy wrap sandwich place aren't supposed to feel this way. But the place's little idiosyncrasies are delightful. My boss has the coolest little hair-plug halo. I think he's the patron saint of Hair Club for Men. And... well, the demographics at this place make me feel like Ellen Cherry Charles. I go to work and sing and eat mangoes and breathe in the falafel. I smile and make the tip jar sing. Arabic and testosterone swirl around me. Life is so good. And it's peach-scented, too.
I am 21 years old. I live in Nashville, TN. I like labradorite and kiwifruit and old 1950s issues of Life magazine. I like reading underneath pianos. I like little green frogs that smell like rain. I have cute eyebrows.