I really want this chair. Isn't it amazing? I just bought a cute new desk, but now I need something to sit in beside the pillow-topped folding chair I'm currently using. Unfortunately, this little beauty is $2,129.00 and so will not be coming home with me. I mean, that's more than I spent on my computer! Sigh. I know I would be a much better writer if I owned this chair.
Speaking of writing—I've got a lot of stuff out this week. Here's my new Seattle column about National Singles Week. Then there's my Frisky column about those dates a girl just shouldn't go on, and last week's roundup of bad advice. Oh, and a Time Out interview with two daters from elsewhere. I have to say, I'm not happy with the Time Out piece, but hey, that happens. I'll bet if I'd been sitting on that chair I would've done a much better job!
My poor sis-in-law. Baby Judy/Jude—not sure of gender yet—has been cursed with the giant Irish melon head. (My brother and sis-in-law haven't fully come around to naming the kid after me, but they will). My sister-in-law is tiny. I mean, teeny, weeny, itty, bitty. That thing is going to hurt on its way out! Damn.
And while those of you who know me know that, as a rule with a few exceptions, I'm not a big fan of the children, I am a fan of this one. I've never been an aunt before! I get to buy it cute dresses (regardless of gender) and really loud toys! Christmas is going to be extra fun next year. Yay, Mike and Carlita!
The technique has been used mostly to remove gallbladders through the mouth or the vagina.
But at least one group has started removing gallbladders through the
vagina without any external incisions, and the goal is to refine the
techniques and instruments to operate entirely internally.
After having her gallbladder removed through her mouth last November,
Colleen Caddell, 53, of Hillsboro, Ore., experienced several days of
throat pain so intense she could barely swallow and a week of vomiting.
Our refrigerator has been "broken" and I only just this week got around
to getting it fixed. The night before the repair dude was due, I went
to Whole Foods and picked up some cheese to celebrate. We hadn't been
keeping any food around because it just wound up covered in blue fuzz a
day or two later, so this was a big deal.
I bought some Reggiano Parmesan, some not-very-tasty Mexican cheese, and a nice wedge of manchego.
the next day the refrigerator guy comes exactly when he said he would.
It turns out, my nice new refrigerator needed to be defrosted so I
spent $95 for him to tell me that. Yes, I feel like a jerk, but at
least my food will be cold from now on. I decided to celebrate with a
slice of manchego.
I open the cheese drawer and am horrified to
see that the manchego is unwrapped and has a big chunk missing out of
it—and there are bite marks! Naturally, my first thought is to blame
the boyfriend, but first I cut out the teeth marks and slice myself off
a piece. Yum. I call the BF at work to yell at him.
time use a knife and wrap the rest up in plastic," I bitch. He has no
idea what I'm talking about. "The manchego—you just bit into it and
threw it back into the fridge—that's really disgusting."
manchego," he asks excitedly. He then swears up and down that he didn't
even know I'd bought any cheese, didn't bite the cheese he didn't know about, but
wants me to save him some. I'm too busy being grossed out to pay much attention.
Unless Inky and Mabel figured out how to open the refrigerator and then
the cheese drawer, there's only one person who could've gnawed my
cheese: the refrigerator repair man!
What the hell, Mr. Repair
Man!?! I would've happily sliced you off a piece of delicious cheese!
But you had to go bite my manchego. WHY?!!? That's just nasty.
(I know that's a photo of brie, but just you try to find a chewed-up piece of manchego on the internet.)
You may not realize this, but there are a helluva lot of songs written about girls named Judy. As some of my close friends might know, I was tortured throughout my childhood years (and, sniff, this was extremely traumatic, so excuse me if I burst into tears) with this little reworking of the Beatles' hit, Hey Jude:
Hey Jude I saw you nude Don't try to fake it I saw you naked
It never failed to infuriate me to the point of hysterical sobbing. And sure, technically "Jude," isn't the same as "Judy," but had I been a boy, I would've been named Jude—after the saint. Perhaps you've heard of him? Saint Jude was the patron saint of lost causes, and my parents named me after him because they were told it would take a miracle for my mom to get pregnant. Well, five little miracles later, I think the lord showed those doctors who's boss.
So in the interest of nothing in particular, I'm going to post a Judy song each week until I run out of them. Feel free to nominate your favorite Judy song in the comments.
I'm sitting at home in my pajamas (in my defense, I did put on a bra under the t-shirt), writing about suicide survivors, sex on the road and two other stories that I need to invent. I decided I needed a little glamour, so I put on this beautiful rhinestone necklace that a friend gave me for a birthday a few years back. For reasons that remain unclear, she no longer speaks to me (I miss you, Jane!), but this necklace always makes me think about what a funny lady she was and, most likely, still is.
Besides work, there's really not much going on these days. Miss Heather, of NY Shitty fame, put together a nice little ladies night (plus Mr. Heather) this past Friday. I invited her to meet me at the BF's show and she brought along quite the hottie crew (I don't have links for everyone—can you believe I met people without a blog or at least a Flickr page?!?). The band played at Van Gogh Radio, which is a cute little spot, though they could chill the beer a bit better. There was one super wasted guy propped up against the bar who gave every lady there a turn under his perv gaze. His sideways leer certainly made me feel extra-special pretty until I realized I was far from his only girlfriend. Cad.
This is all written to help me procrastinate so I'll stop now. If anyone has any sex on the road stories they'd like to share, please email me or leave your contact info in the comments! Thanks!
Before I lapse into a tear of self-promotion, I wanted to tell everyone that my old pal Valerie Frankel is reading from her new book, Thin is the New Happy, on Monday night at the Barnes & Noble in Tribeca. Be there or be a loser.
My Seattle column about internet trolls is getting a lot of super sweet comments. It's kind of embarrassing and it makes me feel like I was asking for them, but I really wasn't. I also got a bunch of nice emails from people who've also been the target of internet assholes, including a really funny writer from Heartless Bitches International.
The next time I go to LA I'm going to guarantee I don't get lost by slipping into these leggings with an LA County map screened onto them. Though it does appear that Glendale is a one way road to Cameltoe.