Weekend!!

Weekend, weekend, weekend. So many things to do! Like sleeping. And drinking tikis. And reading my email. And being oblique.

Gotta go floss. Bye!

My All-Seeing Eye

LEG, something tells me that you are looking at my blog right now. So I just want to say thanks for coming over tonite, I had a great time!

And never forget that Sept 9 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

One more thing

And I also want to add, since I have had two gin-n-oj's, that I am very disappointed that no-one commented on my Rachael Ray entry!! I worked so hard, and got that pic with the red colander and everything! Sob!

The Unbearable Awkwardness of Being

So I am on the hunt for a therapist. Since my boss is a psychologist, I asked him for some referrals!

Though a friend suggested I could just cadge some free therapy by simply asking him vague what-if questions like, "What if this girl broke up with this guy, what would be the best way to deal with it," or, "This person I know has a phobia. What's the first thing she should do? Uh huh? And then what's the next thing? Yeah. Yeah. OK, so what should my friend do next? Here, wait, hold that thought, I'm taking some notes for my friend."

But seriously. So my next step was to call some headshrinkers. Here's how my voicemail went yesterday:

Uh, hi, I'm Hilltroll? And I'm, like, looking for a therapist. Ummmmmmmmmmnnnnn...yeah. Dr N gave me your name and um, yeah. Ok. Can you um call me um back? Uhhhhhh....

The most awkward ever. The only way it could have been worse is if I had thrown in some sort of non-sequitur such as "Oh, hang on, the peanut is up my nose."

When she called back it was even more awkward, and I won't bother to go into the details. Suffice to say that I was not my usual debonair self.

The Winnah!!!!

Tiffky Doofy will soon receive a gorgeous, highly collectable poster of Jean Claude the Vampire with his hands down his pants. She guessed correctly that Anita's favorite animal is the penguin!

I will send this poster to her shortly at the same address I used to send her christmas card last year. Uh, you did get a card from me, right?

I got this image at www.funnypics4all.com. Look out for popups, though.

Anita Blake Graphic Novel Contest!!!

Did y'all know that Laurell K. Hamilton's infamously badly-written yet strangely alluring and addictive vampire series is now a monthly comic book? It's all very exciting; I found out when I was chatting with the comic book store lady, Paula, and then I was ON FIRE I thought it was so cool--though not as cool as it would be if, say, Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan novels were put in graphic form (which is actually being done now in France, and I wonder if an English translation will follow quickly)

So I was babbling on about how fun Hamilton's novels are even though they are so badly badly written and I noticed that Paula kept referring to her as Laurell; so then I was totally embarrassed since it seems Paula knows Hamilton personally and here I am badmouthing her writing...I thought Hamilton lived in Missouri or something, how was I to guess? Or maybe everyone calls her Laurell, just like everyone calls Mercedes Lackey "Misty." Just goes to show, it's never a good idea to badmouth a person, even if you mean it nicely and there seems to be no way it could get back to them...

But what can I say? The writing is dreadful, and she has the most bizarre pacing I have ever encountered. I keep waiting for her to come out with a 500 page novel where the entire plot takes place in Anita's bathroom while she takes an epic 15-minute piss. If you have read her books, the previous sentence will possibly make sense to you.

So since they are promoting the series, I scored on a POSTER of that hot master vampire, Jean Claude. AND I am willing to send it to the first person who can tell me:

What is Anita's favorite animal?!?

Porn on the Bus

This afternoon I was riding the bus home and reading a book, which today happened to be "One Kiss from You" by Christina Dodd; the sun was out, the bus was packed with a variety of folks, and after some time reading I happened upon a steamy scene.

Which of course all romance novels have, but it's sorta wierd reading one on the bus because there's all these people around and I start to wonder if someone is reading over my shoulder or do they suspect that I am reading porn? Does it show on my face?

And then I just got distracted by the passengers around me, so I put the book away since I was getting embarrassed anyhow. There was this immensely fat guy sitting across from me, reading a Louis L'Amour novel, and he was wearing a really grimy red baseball cap with a brass pin in the shape of an alligator. Every once in a while he would tell his kid sitting next to him to be quiet--I'm not sure why, since the kid wasn't really making any noise. He was about 7 or 8, and he had a small toy revolver that made a loud click when you pull the trigger, and he kept shooting himself over and over and over: in the side of the head, in the heart, the eye, the neck. I think he might have been bored. Dead bored.

The Burden of Fame

I'm really worried about Rachael Ray.

I don't know what's holding her together, what with the cooking show, her own magazine, constant magazine & television appearances, and of all things, a talk show. I don't think there's enough speed in the world to keep someone going through all that (and never mind the Nat Enq stuff about her cheating hubby.)

The other day I was at my best friend's house, and over the piercing, clarion voice of her four-year-old we were sorta watching Rachael Ray on the food channel. And I have to say, she seems much more stressed out than she did a couple of years ago. The whole time she never looked at the camera, she was too rushed! Poor thing. She was cooking this pizza, it's like a pizza salad where (and I'm guessing a little here because it's hard to pay attention with little Jacob sitting on the couch with me, relentlessly kicking my leg) she chopped up a LOT of herbs & greens (like arugula & stuff) and put it on this pizza right when it came out of the oven, so the heat wilted the greens a little. And the pizza wasn't super cheesy, so it would be more light.

In fact, that is similar to how I make my own signature margherita pizza: as soon as the cheese and tomato/garlic-sauced pizza comes out of the oven, I fling generous handfuls of chiffonadededed basil on top so it sort of relaxes onto the cheese with a soft sigh: Aahhh. Then I eat it all.

To restate my concern, I am worried about Rachael Ray. And I haven't even mentioned all those fucking Triscuit and Wheat Thin boxes with her face on there looking kinda scary.

But that pizza still looked pretty darn good; almost as good as my pizza.

OK, gotta go floss. Bye!

Revisiting the Thrill of Twill

Just so y'all know, the really expensive & beautiful silk half slip I bought at Nordstrom's to combat the creeping twill skirt...didn't work. My solution: no pantyhose, ever, with that skirt; instead I am waering knee socks and tall boots (and it looks super cute).

Squeaky Clean

I like to blog and floss at the same time.

Hilltroll Reveals All

I was thinking how sometimes one can blurt out something in mixed company that says a little more about oneself than intended. For example, at this memorial thing on Saturday: I made some idle comment to Tricia about the superstition that if you put your purse on the floor your money will all run out; and then she responded with the trivia tidbit that "they" recommend that women sterilize the bottoms of their purses every couple of weeks because of the bacteria which accumulates when purses are set down on the floor in public restrooms.

"Eeeww!" I squeal, "I would never set my purse down in the bathroom!" (and I hope you wouldn't either; it's yucky.)

Which is quite innocuous until one realizes that I was sitting in a crowd of psychologists, half of whom no doubt immediatly diagnosed me with misophobia and possibly OCD (I'd better be careful about mentioning my ritualistic hand-washing habits).

Gotta keep my guard up in this place, lest I become some sort of test subject or social experiment....

Oh, did I mention that the president of the school was sitting right behind me? I think it's cool to squeal involuntarily at memorial services.

Memorial Update

We had to leave early because my ride had an appointment. So we missed out on the speeches and stuff, but ate some excellent food & had a chance to extend condolences. Felt guilty for leaving early. But glad at the same time.

Pray for the Dead and the Dead Will Pray for You

I am going to a memorial service today for someone I have never met. She used to be head librarian at the school where I work, but she became sick 3 days before I started. Then she passed on 3 weeks later.

I generally don't care much for memorial services anyway, but this one poses a special challenge for me. I want to go out of respect for my coworkers, who were very close to L; but what do I say? It's not as though I have anything personal to share...I wonder what Miss Manners would think.

OK, Miss Manners does not have a website. So I looked at Etiquette Hell, which wasn't really helpful but had some great/terrible stories to tell.

Halfway through these tales of woe, I recalled a funeral service I attended with my ex a few years ago for C, who we met through our friend A, his grown stepson. They were very close, and lived together, along with A's son. C was a wonderful man, who told great stories, cooked for the household, and really held the family together; so it was no surprise that a lot of people attended the service.

There was a non-denominational sermon given by a friend of the family, and then they asked friends to come up and speak a few words, all very standard. But there was this one guy who insisted on speaking even though he didn't know C at all! Worse, he rambled painfully on and on and on about the meaning of death in general, and on the fact that he thought, based on what people were saying at the service, that C was a great guy. He talked for a REALLY LONG time.

Very uncomfortable. So I'll be sure not to do that, yeah.

Evil Pantyhose II: meat grinders from HELL

So this morning I was running late and donning my cute little outfit for the day and I'm like, "Fuck, I have to wear tights again to cover this fucking tattoo."

So I put on black tights and they're really uncomfortable but I'm late, so I just go.

Slowly, the pantyhose became tighter and tighter, until I thought my legs were going to fall right off behind my desk at work, and people would be asking me, "Hey what's that big pool of blood creeping out under your desk," and I'd be, like, "Oh damn, I thought the fucking nylons would hold the blood in, here, wait a second while I pick up my legs from off the floor."

Hate hate hate the pantyhose. I threw that pair out the instant I got home. Vengefully. I think they must have been the l'eggs I bought the other week that were really too small (even though the manufacturer claims they should fit me.)

Hey, pantyhose marketers! Listen up: THEY DON'T FIT.

The Thrill of Twill

My new clothes arrived last night, so today I wore a cute outfit that included tights and my new black twill skirt.

Sadly, I did not realize until I was halfway to the bus stop that the twill skirt clings with great ardor to my black cotton tights. So all day my skirt would cling and then ride up my legs as I walked along; every little while I would stop and do a little dance so that my skirt would fall back down.

Pretty funny. I think I will go shopping for more half-slips this weekend.