Friday, July 30, 2004



This post is named after my drink, to which I dedicate my entire day, maybe my weekend, and possibly even the entire week.


In honor of my vastly improved (times ten thousand) mood, here are some pictures of me. As always, click the thumbnail for a bigger version.

1. New hair and... glasses. While Amanda totally made my day by saying I couldn't get any cuter, I believe you will find that it simply isn't true.

2. Puppies! Me and Penny napping.

I think that being as cute as Penny (or me, for that matter) should be illegal.

Now I really do have to finish cleaning the kitchen (at least I started!) because we are having a guest this weekend. It was sort of unplanned and I was all set to be righteously annoyed, but then I got this drink and I feel soooooooooo goooooooood.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

I do not wish to clean.

Yesterday I cleaned the living room so thoroughly that it sparkles. Even the carpet. Today I meant to do the kitchen/entry way (let's be honest here, the entry is just spill-off from the kitchen). But I don't wanna.

Also, I'm kinda depressed 'cause we had money for about five seconds and now it's (almost) all gone.

BUT! I got a very cute haircut. I will post pictures soonish, but not until something that I ordered arrives. Something that will make me even cuter.

But for now, though I am cute, and though I have Nero Wolfe novels from the library, and though I ate cheese fries, which I love, I am discontent. Will isn't home and I don't want to clean my kitchen (especially after making cheese fries).

You know what? I do believe I am grumpy.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004


I killed American Airlines, O'Hare, and the President.

I am in jail.

Please send money for bail. They won't actually let me post bail or talk to a lawyer yet, but hopefully they will soon - and if not, I can use the money to buy cigarettes to trade with Gina, who seems to be in charge here. She looks kinda like Jenette Goldstein in Aliens. I like her. Alas, I think she likes me, if you know what I mean.

I don't know where I am, but based on the smell of the small amount of air we get every morning, I am thinking Guantanamo.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

You go to hell and you die!

American Airlines and Chicago O'Hare are now my sworn enemies.

I'm supposed to pick John up at LAX at 11:08 tonight. Yay! Yeah, not really. Because it is now 9:47 and his plane has NOT LEFT CHICAGO YET. Luckily, he emailed me earlier to let me know it was raining pretty hard and his flight might be delayed. But this does not qualify as a delay. This is SABOTAGE. American Airlines, O'Hare, and George W. Bush have conspired to ruin my night. Every time I check the flight status page, the estimated arrival time has been pushed later. It is currently estimated for landing at 2:11 AM, and since it hasn't left yet I doubt it will be that early.

I have to get up around 7:00 tomorrow morning.

Oh, did I mention that John usually checks his luggage? Oh wait - maybe he doesn't. I can't remember. But if he does...

I am going to murder SOMEONE, as soon as I figure out who.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Hottub party at Chez Dellraven! (With annoying Wedding Crap.)

It feels very strange having people over to a house other than your own. I felt like my parents were away and the whole school showed up with kegs.
Except, it's Meghan and Mark, not my parents, there were no kegs, and it was just Jenn and Roxanne, who are also friends with Meghan.
I haven't been in a hottub in years. My back thanks whoever invented them - I haven't felt this relaxed in for-fucking-ever. I slept like a baby. Er, a baby who sleeps very soundly. Pretty Penny was quite forgiving of me for stumbling out of bed after ten this morning and making coffee before walking her. Such a good dog. It will be very difficult to go home on Saturday and leave her.
I miss my husband. Boyfriend. Fianc´┐Ż. Damn it! Whatever. I can't wait for the wedding so that I'll know what to call him.
Speaking of the wedding, we've sent off the information to our friend Emmy for the invitations. She has a letterpress and does truly gorgeous work. I hope the wording is not too silly - getting married in a movie theatre, we've gone whole hog with the Premiere theme. Formal-ish, but not very wedding-y. Alan, one of Will's best friends, did a line drawing of the theatre for us. I haven't seen it yet, and the anticipation is driving me insane. I know it'll be stunning, as all of his work is, but I don't know just what it will look like.
On Saturday I went to get my dress fitted. Driving back, I realized that This Is It. We're getting married! I stopped feeling overwhelmed by planning (for about five minutes) and was just excited. Delightful feeling. Now if I could just figure out what the hell to do with my hair. (Any suggestions? I will NOT be wearing a veil, but am open to simple decorations.) It also occurs to me that I'd better learn how to put on make-up before October. I'm sure as hell not paying someone to do it for me, and besides which at my age I ought to have some clue what to do with rouge.
I worry that I'm making a mistake not hiring a professional photographer. It's just that there are so many talented photographers in my family, so I feel that we'll be covered. But maybe we should have someone there for just the photos. I don't know!
Can anyone tell me if the home teeth-whitening kits work (Crest White Strips and the like)?
In conclusion, next time we'll just go to an Elvis Chapel in Vegas and skip all this hoopla.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Adventures in Dogsitting

(Hee. If Vincent D'Onofrio shows up, I will be so psyched.)
Miss Penny is a delightful companion, but completely insane. For example, the computer desk is a few feet away from the bed; if she is on the bed and I sit down at the computer chair, she looks at me reproachfully till I pat my lap for her to come over. Not crazy yet, I know. But she will sit at the edge of the bed and cry until I roll the chair over close enough for her to jump. She won't get down on the floor and then jump up onto my lap! Crazy. And I know I am not helping things by giving in, but I can't help it! At least I am making her Sit before allowing her to come up on the furniture, and when it is time to put on her leash, and especially for treats (which have medicine hidden in them, but don't tell her that). She has also been trying to eat leaves and bugs - I think she might have mistaken herself for a cat.
I should say that I am the perfect match for her, being batshit insane myself. This morning I was not yet awake when I walked her and forgot to bring a baggy. She pooped, and I took her back to the house where I got a bag and went back out. But could I find her poop? Let's just leave it at 'no' and be happy no one got my running commentary as I looked for it on tape.
Ahhh, poo stories. I imagine that by the time I have my own babies you will have all stopped reading this in disgust.
Wedding update later if I get my act together. (Speaking of...OK, totally unrelated, my apologies to the folks on my mailing list. I can't send updates because I have no idea what my notifylist password is. I am an ass.)

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Remember the 90s?

Yeah, so do I. Vividly.
So why the hell have I spent the last 72 hours watching I Love the 90s on VH1?!
I have exactly 4 brain cells left.

Friday, July 16, 2004

I am an asshole.

Somehow, I managed to spend all day Friday thinking it was the 14th, despite having spent all day Thursday knowing it was the 14th. And of course, the 15th, which didn't exist in my head, was my dear evil twin's birthday. Maybe if it never happened, you are still 25, my beloved Miss Twist.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Bisy Backson.

In a little while I am heading to Meghan and Mark's place to spend the week with Miss Penny. I am very excited, if a bit uncertain about sleeping away from Will for even one night. I will be online, but I have no idea if I will be able to access my email. It's a tremendous adventure! Also, I have heard a rumor that there will be cable television. I may get addicted - they start you off for free until they hook you, you know. Then it's a million dollars a month just to have more programs that you don't feel like watching. Yikes! I hope I can resist.

All joking aside, it will be interesting to live with someone else's kitchen for the week. I am so very used to my own. I don't even know what to bring! Probably nothing right now - I can figure out what I need and pick it up later. I am so silly sometimes.

Bisy. Backson.

UPS teams up with the maintenance crew at my apartment building.

I got a postcard on Tuesday from UPS telling me that they'd attempted delivery of a package three times and were now holding it downtown.

Knowing that I'd been home on all three days, I called UPS to find out what the hell was up. They gave me the times of the delivery attempts and I was positive I'd been home. They also told me that it was an overnight air package, which means that someone paid for express shipping and didn't get it.

Two weeks ago, the building manager requested our phone number to reprogram the intercom system. The first delivery attempt was one week ago, which is surely more than enough time to have gotten the intercom working (especially when they should have had our phone number in their files to begin with).

So I went down to the office and asked if the intercom was working. The manager wasn't in and the man sitting at the desk was a surly type and told me that if I'd given my phone number, it was working. I didn't believe him at all, and checked myself. It seemed to work, but it was hard to tell since I wasn't home to answer. I called UPS, fingers crossed, and asked them to re-deliver.

As of 9:15 this morning, I am the owner of John Linnel's State Songs. Yay! This lovely gift comes from Mister Simon Ball, who I most sincerely hope did not pay extra for shipping. Thank you, Simon!

The arrival of this CD prompted me to come up with an idea for a bumper sticker: My Other Husband is a John. It has so many meanings! I am brilliant.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004


Dear Paula Danziger,

Thank you for the books.

Thank you for always being so very nice to me when you came to talk at the elementary school. You told me once that I was a great reporter. I must have been , because the newspaper only lasted the one year I was the editor. Thank you for encouraging us all to write.

Thank you for making growing up easier, knowing that we had an ally, a grown-up who really got what it was like to be a kid. Thank you for being honest about your imperfections. It was easier to be pleased with what I saw in the mirror knowing that Marcy was fat and she learned to like herself, and knowing that Cassie had asthma and Rosie and Phoebe were jealous and Kendra's expectations too high, and none of them knew how to behave around boys.

Thank you for capturing the towns I grew up in so perfectly. Thank you for loving them so much. Whenever I think I hated growing up there, I can just read The Divorce Express again and see how much Phoebe's father loves Woodstock, and her mother loves New York, and she loves both, and I remember.

Thank you for loving bad jokes and purple and felt-tip markers.

I'm really sorry that you had to go.


Read this now.

Redsaid: Geek Out!

I know, I know - gratuitous links in place of real entries, boo hoo. But you must read this one! It is better than anything of its sort I've ever written (and therefore, I hate Red).

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Ha ha.

You know my axe-murdering friend on the roof? Didn't exist.

No, I didn't make him up.

But I was right about sound being distorted at night around here - turns out there was a couple across the street, in the complete opposite direction, who deemed 1:00 in the morning an appropriate time to unload their moving truck. Granted, they were doing so pretty quietly and I sympathized (I hate moving), but his furniture dolly scraping the concrete of the driveway was the noise I heard.

Or maybe it was a coincidence and there was an axe murderer as well. Who knows? All I'm sure of is that when Will woke up this morning and opened the porch door, he had to unlock it and remove the bolt (which we never use). Like I said - I'm not stupid.

In other news, I ought to go buy juice.

Moderation itself can be a kind of extreme...

So, my site is back up and I fixed my email account, except for one tiny detail: I am not receiving mail. That combined with the mystery person wandering around on the roof of my building at 1:00 in the morning is enough to make me retreat to the bedroom and bang my head against the wall until I lose consciousness. Wait - the bathroom. That way I won't wake Will up and I can lock myself in, just in case the guy on the roof is an axe murderer. (Of course, the bathroom door would be no match for an axe, so nevermind.)

There's this Tom Waits song. The refrain goes something like, "What's he building in there?" Come to think of it, that's probably the title of the song as well, but I can't go downstairs and check because there is a man on the roof and it sounds like he is pushing around a supermarket trolley and maybe banging it into the air conditioning vents thingies. What's he building out there?

That song always made me think of "The Thing Without A Name."

I should probably be scared, or at least cautious. The phone is downstairs, and the closest thing I have to a weapon is my coffee mug, now empty from a cup of hot chocolate I brought upstairs with me. It's a pretty damn heavy mug, anyway.

But seriously, I am not worried. It is probably a cat - noises are magnified at night. But I did grab the phone. I'm not stupid.

There are times when, as a WD moderator, I would like to reach through my computer and grab certain members of the board and smash their heads together. Though my title has nothing to do with that sentiment, it is apt.

I am thirsty. And it is late. I will probably go to bed shortly.

Monday, July 12, 2004


Email not working. Entire server down. Not informed that everything would have to be redone (except actual site) until AFTER I inquired about the fact that I couldn't log into my email. Very annoyed.

If anyone should need to reach me today, call me. I am not speaking to the internet right now (except in the obvious making-a-blog-entry way). Oh, fine, I am also checking my Watchers Diary email. I'm sure you all urgently need to be in contact with me (not).

But Will is home with a stomach bug, so I might just shut off the computer, turn on the air conditioning, and lay down.

On the other hand, I need the computer because I have to write a letter to Will's dentist explaining why exactly it is that when they say something is covered by his insurance, in fact promise that it is, and then it isn't, they are complete ASSHOLES for billing us for it and even bigger jerks if they think they can have our business anymore.

Oddly, I am in a fairly good mood. I know it doesn't show, but there you go.

Friday, July 09, 2004

We're so pretty, oh so pretty.

Will & Annika at the Devil's Punchbowl

Been playing with Photoshop all goddamn day. This is what I have to show for it. Isn't it nice? I cropped it myself. (The photo is from April-ish, and was taken - I believe - by my friend Jimmy.)

Orchids and Private Detectives.

When I was a kid, I read Nancy Drew stories. It isn't my fault, I didn't know any better, and anyway they are very entertaining and not nearly as awful as the Hardy Boys.

I knew about Sherlock Holmes but never read any of the books because Young Sherlock Holmes had terrified me as a child and I wasn't about to give him any second chances.

I did not know who Nero Wolfe was until I was around 23 years old.

I was living in Chicago and one evening my roommate was either out of the house or otherwise distracted, so I snagged the remote control. We paid for cable (the only time in my life I've done so) because our apartment didn't get reception for Buffy and Angel - and may I just say, it is a sad day when you need cable to watch a Network series. So I flipped around a bit. Usually back then if I was flipping channels I'd settle on Food Network (or Style if Nigella was on) or PBS (I'm not a snob, I just like looking at pretty stuff!), but that evening I stopped at A&E. A Nero Wolfe Mystery was just starting, and I remembered Will telling me it was a great series. Besides, Timothy Hutton. It could have been the Worst Show Ever and I might have been persuaded to give it a shot.

The Episode was The Doorbell Rang, which I italicize because each episode is like a movie. Fans will know that episode as the first, but I caught a repeat airing - it was in fact just prior to the start of season 2.

So I moved to Los Angeles where Will had, er, "borrowed" cable, and we watched most of season 2. Then the cable was shut off and the series was cancelled and that was that.

We've borrowed a lot of the Rex Stout novels from the library, and they are wonderful - and quick reads.

Well, both seasons are now available on DVD, and Will gave me season 1 (only $33 at in the morning on my birthday this past Tuesday. Being cable, it's a fairly short season, and I've watched every episode at least once already.

Around 5:00 on Tuesday a gentleman named Mike called to say he had an orchid to deliver for me. An orchid?! How appropriate! Nero Wolfe grows orchids - they are his passion. It's a Phalaenopsis and is just lovely. I took a picture just now - it is soaking up indirect light on our porch right now.

I'm afraid you can't quite see how truly lovely this orchid is - it's late afternoon and there was backlighting in pretty much every direction that didn't involve a necessity for me to stand on my head or similar.

Hollywood Shocker! Director cannot speak English.

Movie & TV News @ - WENN (You will have to scroll down, but I quote in full.)

Hawke Marriage Meltdown Inspired 'Sunset' Script
Ethan Hawke's shock split from wife Uma Thurman inspired the bittersweet musings of his character Jesse in eagerly-anticipated sequel Before Sunset. According to director Richard Linklater, when he, Hawke and leading lady Julie Delpy got together to collaborate on the screenplay, the Training Day hunk was aiming to 'blur the line between performer and character'. And Linklater admits he found the plot, in which Jesse tells old flame Celine how he is trapped in a loveless marriage because of his children, 'scary'. Linklater explains, 'It was a little scary. Current events had caught up with us. To Ethan's credit, I think it informed the making of the film. It definitely informed some of his feelings.'
Dear Dick,

Read the fucking dictionary. Its definition of "inform" does not match yours. I expect you to issue a retraction and an apology for your butchery of the English language.

Oh my god! A Magic Phone!

I wonder if Adam Dorsey knows about THIS.

Edit: Added Adam Dorsey link as it is v. sad that no one knows who is he.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Is it wrong to feel superior?

I ask because I've been meeting a lot of girls lately who, like me, are engaged and I have noticed one particular trait that their engagement rings have in common: Poor quality diamonds. Now. People may recall that I didn't even want a diamond at first - I asked for a ruby, but it turns out that most rubies these days are man-made and have poor color (as in, fluorescent pink). I also asked, once I'd settled on a diamond, for a quarter carat. I didn't care so much about color and clarity - I'm not perfect, why should my diamond be?

Well, I wound up with a perfect (at least to the naked eye) diamond that is just under half a carat. It sparkles just right and the setting is the loveliest I've ever seen.

Right after we became engaged, a co-worker of Will's asked his girl to marry him. He gave her a three stone ring, and the center stone must be at least a carat-and-a-half. The side stones are nearly as large. I saw it in "mood" lighting at a party, so I have no idea what quality the diamonds were, but I remember thinking that it was awfully garish. Another of his co-workers just got married and her husband bought her a one carat diamond. It's sort of milky white and looks...dirty. A girl in a shop I went to last week wore a nicely sized three stone ring. Again, milky, dirty diamonds.

Why size over quality? My ring cost under a thousand dollars (in fact, around one week's salary - but how vulgar of me to disclose that) and is classy.

I guess I just don't understand the need for a big diamond. It isn't a status symbol, really - is it? And if so, isn't quality just as important as size, if not more so?

I don't get it.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


Thanks to everyone who sent birthday wishes my way. I wish I could say it was a happy birthday, but in large part it was not. I'm still rather depressed and don't want to go into details. Since the only thing that would help is a rather large sum of money, please don't ask if you can do anything.

The good parts: Will and I had a delicious sushi lunch, and spent much of the evening watching my new Nero Wolfe DVDs. In a moment of rare second sight (unless it was coincidence) Will's parents sent me a gorgeous orchid. When I called to thank them, Will's mother assured me that even I could not kill it. We shall see. I'm doing all right in the resuscitation (again) of my fuchsia, so maybe she is right. I also received a miniature rose bush from Meghan and Mark. It is beautiful, and will most likely be the third rose bush that meets its end at my hand. I really don't know what is wrong with me - I had quite a green thumb as a child. My favorite gift by far (at least inasmuch as the giggles it produces from me every time I look at it) is the Punky Monkey t-shirt Jenn gave me. It's pink! And it has a Punky Monkey! I'll try to remember to take a picture. There were also several DVDs and some nice coffee accessories, and probably other things I am forgetting.

Speaking of forgetting, it's time to remove the countdown.

I'm going to go take some more B vitamins and try to force myself to eat now.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

A Cornucopia

The first time I ever ate an egg sandwich was somewhere in the middle of Delaware in March or April of 1997. Melanie and I were driving from her mom's house in Maryland to our house in upstate New York. The kids were asleep in their car chairs in the back seat and she pulled off the highway to stop at a little deli/convenience store/news stand type of place with a sign for egg sandwiches. The kind of store that you can only find on the east coast as far as I know.

I was dubious, as I only really liked my eggs scrambled and particularly disliked them fried. Runny yokes were my enemy. But I was hungry and Mel swore that a fried egg and cheese sandwich was the best food on earth, so I tried one. I think I only ate about half of that first one, and found it to be all right.

Fast forward to fall of 1999. Will and I have moved to New York and I'm working for Melanie again, taking care of Radha and Everett as well as her youngest, David. One day we stop at Cornucopia, a store down the street from Mel's house, for some food. They have egg sandwiches, which I admit I have thought about from time to time. Will has never had one, though I'm sure as a kid he ate a Toad-in-the-Hole or two. We each order one.

Heaven. They cook the eggs just right, in little frying pans over individual burners behind the deli counter. You can have sausage or bacon on your sandwich if you like. I'm sure Will had one or the other. They use white American cheese, which is awfully hard to find in the grocery store but does exist and is very good.

Melanie lived in Red Hook, but we lived about half an hour away in the absolute middle of nowhere, a town called Hillsdale. It's a long story that I might tell someday why we lived all the way out there, but our place was really nice. The second floor of a converted farmhouse, non-euclidean angles and creaky floorboards included free-of-charge. It was a short drive to Hudson or to Great Barrington, Massachusetts, where there was (respectively) a great camera store that we never visited due to lack of funds and a great Japanese restaurant that we infrequently visited for the same reason. The drive to Mel's took us down route 7 past many, many farms and a few cornfields and at least one apple orchard (where we went and picked a bucket of apples for $5 from which I made many delicious pies). The town nearest the orchard was a tiny place with barely anything town-like except for an old, beautiful Opera House with a 'For Sale' sign on it. Will and I dreamed of buying it and living in the shack next to it (fixed up, of course) and showing old movies for a dollar for anyone who wanted to come by. Of course, we never did that. Across the street from the theater was an old gas station that one day got fixed up into a little store that sold coffee and newspapers and egg sandwiches. It was about a third of the way from our place to Melanie's, and I started stopping there almost every morning for an egg sandwich (though I usually brought my own coffee). I didn't think it possible, but theirs were the best egg sandwiches on earth. They, too, used white American cheese, and except for the one time that the girl put ketchup on my sandwich (salt & pepper only, please) my breakfasts were perfect.

We eventually moved away from that farmhouse and lost the easily accessible egg sandwiches. When we were living apart, my roommate Yojo and I used to make them in the afternoons to eat while playing Canasta (we called it Conniption) or double solitaire. We really made Toad-in-the-Holes, but we called them egg sandwiches. We used multi-grain bread instead of white rolls with poppy seeds, but the sandwiches were very good. Occasionally we also would just fry bread and spread cilantro chutney on it.

In the past year or so I've started making egg sandwiches for Will and myself. I use potato hamburger buns and organic eggs and usually American cheese slices (the yellow sort, unfortunately).

Today was a deceptively long day. Meghan and Mark brought Miki and Penny over last night and much beer was consumed (only a small amount of it by the dogs). Poor Will slammed his finger in the door of the trash cute and woke up at 6:00 this morning in a fair bit of pain. I awoke shortly after 9:00 and convinced him to come back to bed, where he slept until about 11:30. A few cups of coffee later, he helped me carry some laundry downstairs. Then we prepared lunch which we shared with Geoff while talking about movies. I seasoned an enormous top sirloin steak which the boys split after Will seared it on the grill. He also roasted corn on the cob, and I made mashed potatoes and a salad. After we ate we enjoyed a glass of fine bourbon that Geoff had brought over. There was a few more hours of conversation (I did finish and fetch the laundry, lest anyone worry) before Geoff left and Will and I sat around, feeling fat and trying to decide what to do with our evening. Will was amiable to the idea of writing up a new (the first in two years!) Grumpy Critic, Angry Cook review, and put in The Last Man on Earth. I came upstairs and wrote my previous entry. When I checked on Will a short while later he'd fallen fast asleep on the couch. I covered him (there was a cool breeze) and left him be until he woke up around 8:30. I asked if he was hungry, which he was. I offered cheese and salami but he made a face, so I suggested an egg sandwich.

I used the organic Colby cheese I'd bought at Whole Foods yesterday. I put away the laundry from earlier while he ate, and he came in to tell me that it was the Best Egg Sandwich Ever. He has come upstairs twice while I wrote this entry to tell me the same thing.

An entry about my girl parts.

So, I have a yeast infection. It isn't that bad. I actually had one a few months ago that went away on its own, but apparently didn't go away completely, so I'm very annoyed. I probably should be annoyed with myself, because I didn't do anything to get rid of it the first time, but I hate unnecessarily medicating myself.

Well, this time I am using the Normal American method of ridding oneself of a yeast infection: over-the-counter suppositories.


I've never used suppositories before. This is only the second yeast infection I've ever had (third if you count the one a few months ago separately) and the first time my herbalist friend gave me natural remedies that took care of it in swift order. Unfortunately I forget what herbs she gave me and I can't find her phone number. Besides, you don't call a friend you've been out of touch with for four years and say, "Yeah, gee, Lara, I miss you so much. How do I get rid of a yeast infection?"

So, the suppositories come with an applicator, not unlike a tampon applicator. I hate applicators for tampons, so I have no idea why I thought that this would be a good idea. Maybe because the applicator was longer than my finger, so I assumed it would put the medicine in the right place better than I could myself.


Let's just say that after one failed attempt, I rammed it up there manually and it worked just fine, but the leakage this morning was fucking disgusting.

And I have two more nights of this. Why didn't I buy the one-day treatment? Oh yeah, this one was fifty cents cheaper.