You’ll notice that I brought the old layout back. There’s Chubby Tink, back to her normal job of sprinkling the title bar with fairy dust. Wave at her. She likes attention. She’s a diva.
Much thanks to everyone who signed up for the Diaryland coolness. I hope that we took some of the heat off of Andrew’s server bills. I mean, thirty bucks for a year? That’s like, one movie with popcorn and soda. Seriously, I would think a year’s worth of Diaryland is more fun than an evening spent with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (which, by the way, blew major amounts of ass). And if you are already Supergold, maybe buy 10,000 banner ads or something. Right now, you can buy 1000 ads for just 99 cents. It’s a good deal and you’ll gain new readers too. Hey, SquirrelX has about eight gazillion readers, right?
According to the comments, the following people have moved from being freeloaders (yeah, I said it) and are now upstanding goldly Dlanders, or upgraded to Super Spiffy Gold:
Girlsdontcry
Leiascully
Windylady
Teralyne
Emiline220
Jessmess818 (Who promises to go gold on Friday)
Big thanks to Cruel-Irony and Dichroic, who have both offered to sponsor a gold membership. So you have no excuses. Go. To quote Cruel-Irony, ‘Save the words’. And it’s not like you’re not getting something out of it. Comments! Banner ads! Images! Statistics! Super secret membership stuff that we don’t talk about with non-gold members! Go! Hurry! Run!
I’m beginning to feel like National Public Radio. And now back to A Prairie Home Companion, where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are look suspiciously a lot like Carl Krepsbach.
There is a tiny little dwarf with a pickaxe who has somehow gotten into my skull and he’s going at the gray matter like there are diamonds to be found within the wrinkles.
It’s migraine time again, kiddies. Oh happy day. I went home mid-morning yesterday, after fighting the burgeoning pain with caffeine and Advil liqui-gels and the Etoys song. Most music actually makes my headaches worse, but the Etoys song, with the ubiquitous humming of the crazy man going through a medley of songs made famous by muzak, it gives that white dull throb something to chew on. It’s like Ritalin music. I don’t even understand it. But even a heady dose of Oooooh Hooo Hooo couldn’t stay the migraine from its course and by 10:30, there were white spots of light and nausea and my face was a study in grayscale. Thus, I gave up, went home, piled up my down comforter into a comfortable nest, and broke open my new pack of Crayolas. Then spent half an hour sorting the colors into blues, purples, reds, orange and yellows, browns and other ucky colors, and the oddities (white, black, shadow, copper), because hi, I’m anal retentive. Then I sat there and colored graceful little arcs of pacific blue, manatee, and indigo until the vise loosened around my head. Then I drew the portrait of a mermaid with blue skin and then tragically gave her this magenta hair (ok, it wasn’t magenta, it was ‘mauvelous’. And now I want to die. Mauvelous. ) And then I drew a very lovely sign for the men using big Tonka trucks to tear up the road next to our house. I taped it in my dining room window, so they could look at it all day. It said ‘Love you!’ and there was a picture. Only instead of the word ‘love’, I used a different word. And I think what I drew broke the laws of some southern states.
And did you know that there’s a crayon called Beaver? I didn’t. But there is.
Things started getting better when around 6 pm, I realized that my nausea had slowly turned into a growling stomach, which was understandable, since I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours. The prospect of food still was a little iffy, but the bland thin-crust pizza of a local deli sounded good, so I put on my darkest pair of sunglasses and made a quick jaunt out into the light. And called the construction workers a bunch of punk assed bitches, but then karma smote me with a blinding throb of pain. I tried to be clever and take a back route to the deli, but a large semi truck decided to pull out in front of me. Slllloowwwwllly. I honked on my horn five times, yelling inside my car ‘Would! You! Fuck! Ing! Go!’ He then punished me by making the next stop sign the Longest Stop Sign In All The World. Which I rightly deserved. I still hate him though. I shall color a picture of his truck falling over a cliff into a sea of dirty hypodermic needles and crack whore mermaids. And the color of his shirt will be mauvelous with horizontal stripes. The kind of horizontal stripes that aren’t flattering. And he will be wearing an asshat. A Beaver colored asshat.
Today, the migraine is still with us. It did not take a swan dive into my unconscious last night. I growled at Esteban when he came to bed and then blamed him for the fact that I had to pee.
I had more to write about but this little window is too bright.
The migraine does not need a prop.
