Thank you all for indulging me with my maudlin bullshit yesterday. I’m shaking it off, slowly but surely.
I still think that they’re a bunch of wieners, though.
I went to the doctor for my knee yesterday. She agrees that four and a half months is really a long time. She now suspects that there may be cartilage damage and thus, I’m scheduled next week for an MRI. Apparently, my only other option is to go back to Dr. Lorax who is just itching to stick a big fucking needle in there and see what he can suck out. Obviously, you can understand my decision. If they gave you good drugs to go along with the needle in your knee, maybe I would have chosen differently.
Speaking of drugs, I kind of (totally) want to zip over to Amsterdam when we go to England in a couple of weeks. To, you know, visit the Anne Frank museum. Among other things. Yeah.
The worst fallout from my knee has been the fact that for months I had to sleep on my back with a pillow stuffed under my leg to keep it somewhat bent. Last weekend, when I went to put my 750-thread count sheets on the bed, I noticed that in the spot where the pillow had been, there is a flurry of teensy tiny hard fuzzball things. My lovely sheets pilled because of my stupid drunken sausage injury! You can mess with my body, but do NOT mess with my snobby sheets!
I hate Texas.
Ah, poor Martha. Or rather, stupid Martha. I really don’t have any opinion about insider trader, although, in the famous words of Dr. Martin Luther Cochrane, if she did the crime, she’s got to do the time.
Even though she’s now a convicted criminal, I have a hard time disliking her for being the hardass that the media is playing her to be. According to the above article, she once threatened to stop doing business with a company because she didn’t like their hold music. That’s totally something I would do. Or at least think about. I mean, I immediately dislike people for using the word ‘ain’t’ so who am I to judge?
I’m a little bit curious to see if she shows us how to turn antique milk glass into a very effective shiv for sticking the bishes. Seriously, they wouldn’t even have to send Martha to jail. They could just force her to stay at a Motel 6 on 128-thread-count dingy sheets and live on a diet of Funyuns from the vending machine. She’d probably lose it completely.
The weirdest thing is that Rosie O’Donnell was there showing her support. You just know that Martha wouldn’t normally have anything to do with Rosie O’Donnell. At one time, I think I wrote here that people are either Marthas or Oprahs, but I think there’s another segment’ the Rosies. The Rosies think they’re Oprahs, but they’re just wishful thinkers.
Although, I may be bitter because a few weeks ago, Horatio Sans was doing Rosie O’Donnell on SNL and he was wearing one of my favorite fleece pullovers. Which is dead to me now.
Do midgets have normal sized sexual organs? Or is it all to scale? Because somehow I’m having a hard time imagining Mini Me hung like Ron Jeremy.
Which rhymes. Damn. That SO needs to be a rap lyric.
Esteban comes home tomorrow at some point. He’s not sure when. His flight isn’t due back until well after 10 pm, but he said he’s going to camp out at San Francisco International and hope to stand by on an earlier flight to Chicago.
I’m totally ready for him to come home. Time drags when I’m alone in the evening. I’ve made myself some incredible gourmet meals this week, watched two movies, and straightened everything but the dining room. I think it’s making me a little crazy, as last night, I was certain that when I looked up in the darkness of my bedroom, I was going to see the Klaatu Beratu Nicto robot about to suck out my brains (brains? Why brains? Robots don’t eat brains?) Also, I’ve begun to have conversations with the cat. If someone doesn’t save me soon, I will start saving aluminum foil in balls and knitting toaster cozies with big pink pompom balls on the top. Or become one of those people who talk excitedly to the hosts of the home shopping network about my collection of Marie Osmond porcelain dolls.
Last night, I was wandering around taking random pictures to experiment with the camera settings. Must get this right before Europe! Anyway, because I really wanted to get yesterday’s entry off the index page, you get to be a voyeur and see random glimpses of my house.
This is our phone cubby in the living room. Our house was built in the late forties, and thus has several little cut outs in various places. The little slot underneath was meant for a phone book, however, not even the Sc-Sh section of the Green Bay phone book would fit in that little slot anymore. The cubby looks into the hall and then into the kitchen, where you can see the dishwasher (aka The Clutter Catcher) is rolled over to the sink and you can also see my dinner in progress (spinach, mushroom, and feta salad followed by chicken tortellini with marinara), our Wusthof knives, our random knives, my auxiliary utensils (ie, the stuff that doesn’t fit in the two utensil drawers), our rice cooker and the corner of the stove. Exciting!
Turning 15 degrees to the left, in the hall, is the new frame I got at Eddie Bauer a few weeks ago, filled with my Japanese flash cards that I found last June when Patsy Cline and I wandered around the bookstores in the Mission. I love the one for Many, which looks like sperm. It’s not sperm, though, but tadpoles. Except that really, it’s sperm.
The whole thing is a big double entendre, with the cock and the kitty and the cherry and the big wood versus small wood. Don’t look at me that way. I didn’t put the porn on the flashcards.
The toothbrush is there because it hangs right next to the bathroom. And the thing on the bottom isn’t a flower, it’s a lotus. In case you were confused.
Speaking of flowers, this is the orchid I bought at Home Depot so people wouldn’t think I was a lesbian. You can also see a corner of the blue rug I dragged out storage to hide the wood subfloor, and the English ivy that I’ve had since 1992.
By the way, I hate our refrigerator, because everything in our kitchen is white except for that. And you know how much I need things to match.
Going into the bathroom, this is one of my biggest shames. My product whoreness. Sure, it looks normal, except that you can’t see the second cabinet, the one on the opposite side of this one (which contains my OPI fetish and even more hair gunk). The two baskets on the top two shelves are pushed halfway or more into Esteban’s side of the cabinet, which gives me more room for my hair gunk. The top basket is where beauty products go to die. I can see gold mascara hair stuff for putting gold streaks in one’s hair (makes a sticky mess that you can’t see on dark hair) some really awful hot pink Estee Lauder lipstick, and every bit of Gift With Purchase makeup that I’ve ever received. In the little green makeup bag (also a gift with purchase), there are several eye shadows, tubes of Body Shop Vitamin E eye cream and Clinique Moisture Surge Eye stuff and also most of the jewelry that I wear all the time. And also loose change. I’m not sure why that’s there. And also a thing of dental floss. There’s another thing of dental floss in the basket on the 2nd shelf too. Compulsive about my teeth? You think, considering that there are two different toothpastes too? You see, I use the whitening stuff at night (which gives me an enviably blue mouth while I’m brushing) and the Super Clean stuff in the morning, so that I’ll not have the breath of a corpse after my morning Sbux.
On the middle shelf, I see a black Tweezerman poking up from one of the baskets, but wait, is that a blue Tweezerman poking up out of my brush cup too? Is it because I’m terrified of sending my precious Tweezerman to be sharpened, so I have two. Or, um, three. Ahem. The cup that I store my brushes and eyeliners in is one that we used to take camping when I was growing up. It’s got rust spots on it where the enamel cracked, but I can’t bear to get rid of it. I decided this was a good place for it, since if it fell, it wouldn’t shatter in a room where we often are barefoot. There are more eyeshadows sticking up out of the basket here too, along with my Prescriptives foundation (in Real Vanilla, because in the winter, I am pale like the undead). You can also see my precious Soap, in its gilded container, next to my Clinique Moisture Surge face gunk and my Coty airspun powder. Normally, there would be Prescriptives Magic Powder here, but I ran out and forgot to get some while in Milwaukee. The Coty smells exactly like my great grandmother.
The bottom shelf contains my hair gunk. I can see at least five Tigi products here, as well as at least two Aveda things. And sadly, on any given morning, I’ll use at least three: either the Rock Star or the Sexxed Up, the Cat Fight or the Bed Head, and the Pure-fume hair spray. I don’t see my Aveda Volumizing Tonic or the Redken Spray Starch, so those must be in the other cabinet. In the lower left, also pushed mostly into Esteban’s side, you can see a plethora of ineffective rosacea medicine.
Being a girl isn’t hard. You just have to be able to make payments.
I’ll spare you the rest of the photos. Have a lovely weekend.
