Friday, December 29, 2017

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Topically-Relevantish-Plus-Kinda-Useful-To-Know Political Vocabulary Du Jour

coup d'état [koo dey TA]: a sudden and decisive action in politics, especially one resulting in a change of government illegally or by force

putsch [poo ch]: a plotted revolt or attempt to overthrow a government, especially one that depends upon suddenness and speed; a failed coup d'état

du jour [dy zhoor]: fashionable, current


I’m working from home on this freezing, snowy day for the first time in my now-vanguard-of-modern-existence life

And guess what I’m not wearing? SHOES!


List of words containing "meow"
• Meow
• Meows
• Meowed
• Meowing
• Homeowner

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Suck it, business majors!


Just you wait, prefab music industry. You'll be sorry you didn't buy, buy, buy these names when you had the chance.


Not only 1) do the two (2) tickets to Pitch Perfect 3 (Three) that I bought with my handsome man-date last weekend earn us only 1 (one) "free" pin set, but 2) that little asterisk after "Free" (fthree) means one (1) of us needs to cough up $6.95 ($6.95) for shipping, PLUS (+) THERE'S NO PICTURE OF THE ALLEGED PIN SET IN THIS EMAIL so they could be a rusty, typhoid-covered safety (+) pins for all we know, AND ('n') WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT DYSLEXIA SALAD OF A REDEMPTION CODE (Achoo!)?

"Gift" my aca-ss.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017


One year ago today, just hours into adding yet another new bipolar med to my ever-evolving cocktail, I stood up from a chair, walked three steps, blacked completely the hell out, fell Timber! onto the tile floor (which I cracked with my face because go big or go home), shredded myself eyebrow to chin on my shattered glasses, bit most of the way through my lip, loosened some teeth, got a concussion, and woke up in my sister's car holding a huge bloody rag to my face too confused to remember that Christmas had happened (or, for just a few glorious moments, that I was even bipolar) as she rushed me to the ER, where I looked so brutally horrifying that the nurses assumed I was the victim of a violent assault and three police officers visited my room well before the doctor showed up to give me stitches.

I came home covered in swelling and bruises and scabs and stitches and glue -- after telling the ER doctor in my foggy haze that my modeling days were over and I didn't care if he left scars all over my face but I vaguely remember him informing me that he still had a professional obligation to do his best -- and filled eyeballs-to-spine with a not-for-amateurs headache that brought crippling new levels to my understanding of pain ... and yet I still found a way to take time out of my busy schedule for a quick selfie to document the occasion for future biographers. (You're welcome, posterity!)

This Timber! event was directly linked to my new drug (called Fetzima, who sounds like a resident of the Anatevka demimonde in Fiddler on the Roof) that, as with all psychotropics, came with an alarming list of ramp-up side effects ... including abrupt blackouts. But I knew from a decade-plus of trial-and-error experience that I needed to tough out the first three or four weeks until the side effects subsided and the drug's level (or not level) of efficacy manifested (or didn't manifest) itself.

And despite its hyperdramatic entrance into the musical of my life, Fetzima more-or-less quickly proved itself to be perhaps the drug that effectively balances my serotonin and norepinephrine and keeps me (more or less) stable and engaged and functional and capable and able to go to work and do shows and take care of my parents and run races and buy shoes and buy more shoes and here I am a year later, scar-free (thanks, conscientiously ethical ER doctor!) (though it took a good six months for the scars to heal and the scar tissue where I bit through my lip to subside to the point that I could drink out of a straw again) and concussion-free (pro tip: you do NOT. EVER. want a concussion), and clearly in possession of an added year's mouth wrinkles and silver foxiness.

So if you're inclined, raise a glass and yell Timber! in my scab-free, concussion-free, fog-free, not-functional-free honor today. I'm gonna go out and keep living. Timber!


The heartbreak of static cling


Monday, December 25, 2017

krumkake (CRUMB caca):

a thin, crispy Norwegian waffle cookie rolled into an unwieldy cone shape for two purposes: 1) to fool you into thinking it can hold ice cream or any other delicious treat without crumbling all over fucking everything the second you try to eat or even hold it; 2) to crumble all over fucking everything the second you try to eat or even hold it anyway

I have one of those on the end of my toilet brush too!

Christmas gifts or Christmas jifts:

Battling autocorrect for the sake of a cheap pun while clearing the last of the unposted holiday memes from my phone