29 July 2003
[Movies to buy, in no particular order]
Scotland, PA: Best Shakespeare parody, ever.
Knight's Tale: Chaucer Makes me hot. As does Heath Ledger.
Big Night: Isabella Rosellini doesn't age.
Stigmata: Okay, Gabriel Byrne is cute, but damn combine him with my priest fetish. Whoa.
Bar Girls: So yeah, mandatory flick I recall seeing at the Real Movies on Race Street a thousand years ago.
Guinevere: My track record for dating artist types way older than myself should explain this.
 
28 July 2003
[Sexmates and Mini-Coopers: What's in Your Wallet?]
I'm planning on changing my LJ username. Preferably something in Latin. Give me some ideas, and I'll translate them into Latin. The word for whore, Meretrix, is already taken; not like I'd use that.
 
27 July 2003
[Fru-Fru Drink Fun]
Cranberry Juice + Vodka + Lemonade + Vermouth = Yum
 
25 July 2003
[Tales from a grocery store]
There's something awfully sexy about pitted fruits. I mean, I couldn't help but grope the apricots; they're so sinfully soft.

Also, people, if you decide to be complete white trash and shoplift at Krogers, don't bring your kids. Because, you'll get caught and your children will resent you even more than they did before because you wear a mullet and think your kids should have mullets too.

Of course, you will deserve this. Especially, if you're dumb enough to scam a grocery with a police substation.

In other news, I have a variety of pitted fruit, two watermelon quarters, diluted vodka, Southern Comfort, Vermouth, lemonade, and cranberry juice. And some fancy toilet paper, because Sean complains that my Quilted Northern just doesn't cut it when it comes to softness. Men.
 
24 July 2003
[Red in Red]
Dean's girlfriend is on Jay Leno
 
21 July 2003
[There's more to menopause than hotflashes and nightsweats]
My apartment is rearranged. And I'm no longer in the shittiest mood ever. I think I want to have a social gathering. Either Friday or Saturday. I have a hankering to make those watermellon martinis I saw on Oprah. Friday would prolly be better. I think.
 
18 July 2003
[Not that anyone knew that I had a problem]
But I got my "O" back. Thank God. I thought I was going to explode for Christ's sake!
 
14 July 2003
[You Know Who You Are]
Okay folks. I don't mind if you take my desktop wallpapers, but for the love of bandwidth, PLEASE do not hotlink them for use as your Livejournal wallpaper. As it is, my Pulp Fiction Quiz pulls enough bandwidth for my website and your momma's crack-whore-animal-farm porn homepage. I have disabled hotlinking for my entire site, except my Pulp Fiction Quiz, and I plan to redirect those who hotlink to a picture of painful-looking gay porn tonight, when I get home from work around 6:30pm EST. So please, for the love of your Livejournal or Blurty account, please remove any hotlinking. I don't mind you using my art. But stealing my bandwidth is fucking my ass, and on top of that, not crediting the source, is not offering the "reach-around."
 
11 July 2003
[Earlier Tragedy Resolved, a bit]
Ok. So I was able to rescue all of my hard drive items, save two very important folders: 1)my "websites" folder, which had every website ever made by moi'; and 2) my "music" folder, which had about 2,500 mp3s. I grieve for the latter, as for the contents of the former, I think, reside in various places (the web, Zip disks, cds . . .). So, I am asking you kind folks to help a girl out: I need tunes. Details will be posted soon.
 
11 July 2003
[So Yeah]
My computer died today, the one with pretty much all of my graduate school work. Luckily, many are saved on floppies and Zip disks. I kept telling myself over the last few months to back up everything on the external drive. I didn't. I was unable to recover my Windows system. And now, the Windows XP Professional disk that I bought for dirt cheap at UC's bookstore is doing something. I will miss all my illegal music downloads. At least I had hard copies of all my grad. school papers. Shit.
 
08 July 2003
[No More Cheerleader Talk]
You know, how when you run into someone from high school, who -- while you haven't seen her in nine years -- looks like she's aged twenty. And even though you hate the fact that you still get carded for tobacco and alcohol products in your mid-twenties, you still revel in the fact that you look damn good, even with your greasy hair slapped back in a bun and you eyelashes bereft of mascara; and you revel more in the fact that what you predicted about that girl's overuse of tanning beds would, indeed, come to show in the lines in her face and spots on her legs, and you laugh, too, at the fact that her habitual trips to the junk-food vending machines, finally, manifested in the dimples of her once-skinny legs, which now are nothing but because she grew full of herself and figured that she'd never have to workout or use the steps, ever.