Archive for July, 2007

Watch This

July 11, 2007

Fun with paint. Lots and lots of paint.


Time to Kill

July 11, 2007

Britney Spears: 9,880,000
Britney Spears nudie: 2,630,000
Britney Spears nekkid: 42,100
Britney Spears birthday suit: 889,000
Britney Spears nekkid pics: 33,600151,000
Britney Spears shaking her money maker: 276,000
Britney Spears al naturel: 81,600
Britney Spears sans clothing: 177,000
Britney Spears easter bunny: 274,000
Britney Spears Kfed easter bunny: 18,200
Britney Spears obsessed adoration: 19,000


July 11, 2007

The Incredible Hulk of Dogs. Ew. But also nifty.

Polite Cows Help the Environment. Who knew?

Some dude floats 193 miles in a law chair carried by helium balloons. There’s a picture!

27 Things Men Apparently Need to Know About Women. Um, duh.

A bride attacks her groom with her shoe. Divorce?

The dinner guest found the dead bodies in the freezer. It was the husband, with the chain saw, in the bedroom. Or something like that.

Drugs, or the Best High Is the Legal High

July 11, 2007

I would like to offer an Official Apology to everybody I called Thursday when I was high. If you did not receive a Drug Dial, well frankly, you missed out. On Thursday, I started taking a new medication which had a particularly interesting reaction with my body chemistry. After about 20 minutes, I was woozy; after an hour, I was adoring life. That’s the point where I became especially amusing and since I live alone, there was nobody around to explain cell phones and medication don’t mix. Several of the Lucky Recipients of a Special Phone Call have let me know that I left “highly intriguing” and “better than the best drunk dial” messages that night. In one, I apparently described my previously unacknowledged love for a friend’s pedicured “fourth toe on the right foot not that I wanted the left foot or the other right foot toes to feel, like, left out or anything because I am sure all your toes are great but that one particular toe…” While my dignity insists she’s making that up, the voice on the machine sounds familiar.

I continued on the medication Friday morning and wisely let the Place of Lawyerly Things know I wouldn’t be there. By about 10:00, my Not High Mother became concerned by the excessive phone calls where I shared details of my love life. Knowing this was a clear indication that I was no longer in my right mind, she took me to the ER. She tolerated the next six hours by exploring what secrets she could get me to spill and otherwise laughing at my random stream of thoughts. While I think that’s generally against the Mom Code, she should still be sainted for staying with me while the medical professionals decided I was in fact high and it was in fact legal and it was in fact caused by a very bad drug reaction.

Anyway, when we arrived at the ER, I was not able to walk in a straight line so the Very Nice Man at the entrance put me in a wheel chair. I kept insisting he push me at Mock Five speed, but he let me know that his top speed was Mock One. While understandably disappointed, I made up for his lack of Mockness by making Zoom, Zoom sounds similar to those on the Mazda commercials. Only faster. And louder. Also, I felt it was important to try to counteract the pain and suffering of the others in the waiting room. In order to spread my little brand of happiness and cheer, I waived at every person and acknowledged their wound. “Hi Man With The Swollen Foot!” “Hi Woman Who I Don’t Know What’s Wrong But I Am Sure It Hurts!” “Hi Person With A Big Black Eye!” The Man With an Arm In a Sling wanted to know if he could have some of my drugs. Not High Mother wouldn’t let me share.

The triage nurse and I had an engaging conversation.
TN: So, could you please describe what’s wrong?
Me: I’m HIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHEEEEEE! But legally! Really, legally! Mom! Show her the paper! The paper from the doctor! I have medicines! Medicines that make me HIIIIIIGGGGHHHHHEEEEE! I don’t think this is right but I liiike it!
TN: I see.
Me: I see, too!
TN: How much do you weight?
Me: A lot!
TN: I need a number.
TN: No, the number of pounds that you weight.
Me: One and other numbers!
TN: Um, we’ll just use the number in your file. Are your allergies are still sulfa and citric acid?
Me: And boys. Definitely allergic to boys right now.
TN: *Sniggers* Do you hurt anywhere?
Me: Are you kidding? No way, Jose! Because I’m HIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHE!
TN: Can you walk?
Me: Zoom! Zoom! Zoomzoomzooomzoom! *and then I decided it was a good time to reenact Britney Spears: The Videos From the Early Years

Phone Gems

July 2, 2007

My phone sent me a nasty gram yesterday. Apparently, my text message sent box only holds 100 messages and the good folks at Verizon saw fit to let me know I was approaching the magic number. It was time to clean phone house, so that I could let the texting fingers fly once again. Some of the special moments I cleaned off (probably written under circumstances of martini related alternation):

It’s 2 am, where is the nearest Border? I must run
Pee. Priority.
They’ve got to be hair plugs.
Saving Liberty on one channel and Beethoven 3 on another. What’s a girl to do?
Dawg. Pass the salt
What would Nina Simone do?
What would Kelly Clarkson do?
What would Bullwinkle do?
I think the member is throbbing.
I have a finely honed ability to locate mullets, toupees, and women with mall bangs
Kiss him. NO! FRENCH HIM!
Square gum is amazing.
Then I decided I hated human beings so I went to WalMart
Pick up the phone, Texty
Ditto, Kiddo
My opinion: he’s secretly gay. And unusually dumb.
Drunk with co-workers engaging in post work madness. Bad Kate! You know the rules!
We all lie, Kels
Do not go near the fairy princess
I just saw Cher. Or her spawn.
Want me to maim him for ya?
Just let me get my magic lasso and the invisible plane
Ok, Abbott
That was a verbal Lorena Bobbit
PS It’s bc you are so f-ing fine
Abort abort!
Power Hour! Eat marshmallows!
You engage in a lot of nefarious acts
Who drew on my hand
I’m telling my mom on you
Should I buy the shoes?
That’s a tangent
Shoes! Focus!
You aren’t supposed to let me have my phone when I’m like this. Confiscation exists for a reason.

I’ve come to the conclusion that drunken text messages are funny. To me.

TTLP Update: The Reunion Tour

July 1, 2007

The Toldeo Luggage Problem finally has another show! On August 6th! At 9 p.m.! NOT AT THE DOLPHIN LOUNGE! I can drink non-Nattie Light products and then pee and not have to look at myself do it! This is venue bliss!

I will be in attendance! Shaking my groove thing! I hope they play Stacy’s Mom because that song is Rawkin’!

I will have unmentionables to throw at the stage! Lots and lots and lots of Haines Her Ways!

I guess they found a drummer! Welcome new drummer!

I am so geeked all sentences must end with exclaimation points!

High School Revisited

July 1, 2007

My high school reunion was last night. I still can’t totally wrap my head around the experience. It was surreal to briefly return to the Land of the Beautiful and Highly Motivated People. I really think the School Board puts some sort of Over Achievement Chemical in the water where I went to high school. Or maybe they lace the diploma with A Shit Ton of Ambition.

Easily three quarters of the people I talked to have a graduate degree or are in the process of completing one. And they are all doing uber-intellegent things in graduate school: International Affairs involving a stint in Brazil/Uganda/Israel/assorted Third World Countries, Ecological Sustenance Exploration and Advocacy (what does that mean?), Water Conservation Engineering, pursuing Neo-Orthopedic Surgery in their residency. My mind hurts thinking about it all; or it could be the hang over. The remaining people were all ready sufficently educated and thus were doing important things in important places: an investment something or other on the Stock Exchange (who I later learned makes oodles of money), a technology developer who works for Apple and entertained me with all the nifty features on his iPhone, fancy photographers and journalists at fancy publications. And there were the few who were Contributing to the Betterment of Their Fellow Man: physical therapists, moms, an artist. And here I was, proud that I finished watching the sixth season of the Gilmore Girls and mastering the ability to cook box Mac and Cheese.

I had the same conversation about 40 times: this is my (very expensive) educational background, I do Lawyerly Things now (thanks for your card, here, have my card too), I am single (oh, I’m so glad to hear you married another person from our high school so the Genetic Drive to Over Achieve will carry on), I moved back here (no, not by your parents’ house), no I don’t plan to ride on the float in the parade, and yes, I am blown away by how beautiful Grace Marion looks, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. As the night progressed, I realized we were never issued name tags and learned how entertaining it was to just start talking to somebody and not actually introduce myself. We could have an entire conversation without exchanging names, high school class schedules, the sports we played or any other information which would have clued them into who I was. I knew who they were because I boned up with my yearbook yesterday afternoon, but generally, they were clueless. I got called Kelly a few times and at points, out came the high school nicknames I’d forgotten about: KJ, Abu Dhabi and Kate. I’ve been a Katherine for so long that anytime somebody who doesn’t share my DNA calls me “Kate,” it takes a minute before the “they mean you” reflex kicks in.

All in all, I’m glad I went. It was nice to see certain people and I was disappointed that others didn’t show up. Most people had become amazing and interesting adults, but there were still a few who strove to become Living Barbie and Ken Dolls. Most importantly, I’ve come away with a few new goals to hit before the 20 year (OH MY GOD, my next reunion is a TWENTY YEAR!):

1. Marry Leonardo DiCaprio (or other suitably identifiably famous and massively wealthy person)

2. Get a personal trainer. If there’s not enough time for miraculous results, have extensive liposuction, a boob lift, and Botox. Also, get my hair died blonde before the next shindig since I missed the Women Must Be Platinum Blonde Memo that went out with the invitation

3. Become an organic farmer in eight years when I have a midlife crisis and realize how fruitless and unfulfilling my career in Lawyerly Things has been. This should be suitably eco-friendly but financially stable and unique so that I am a Success Story Everybody Talks About.

4. Buy stock in Coach. The number of subtly flashy status purses was unreal

5. Never totally become an adult