Tag: random

Some more random Friday stuff


First lizard of the season sees shadow

Did you know these little lizards can bite? Me, either. I’ve never been bitten by one, but then again, I never touch them. I love looking at them though, and every year a few new photos of them end up in my vast photo archives.

Today I have learned that wherever my LJ friends hail from, they cherish the “F” word. This could be the one thing we all have in common.

I have been reminded that I absolutely love reading Mark Doty.

And if I don’t stop reading, I’ll never finish writing.

But whatever I’m doing today, thanks to FARB, it’ll be to the haunting tune of “The Lonely Goatherd.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RIO! If I could, I’d arrange for Condi to jump out of your birthday cake. =)

And now, Timothy, I’ll shut the fuck hell up before I go after John McCain and his really, really bad attempt at a joke. Because, you know, I think what William Tecumseh Sherman meant to say was, “War is hilarious.”

Messages from a busy writer

Todd, thanks for the Earth Day card. =) You are always so thoughtful. Someday I will have to tell you and Chaos the white ferret story.

Greg–that cover is smokin’!

And Mark. Oh, Mark. Do you have a copy of Comfort & Joy lying around the house? Yes? I think you should find it and check out pages 38-39.

Linda, if you are reading this, thanks for your willingness to help. As I get to that part of what I’m writing, I just may take you up on your offer of information. And you will be added to the acknowledgments that a certain reader in the northeast fears will one day be longer than our novels.

Finally, whoever was the jokester that hooked up one of my e-mail addresses with an anti-gay marriage site, I have unsubscribed and have a bonus button for you:

Five Minutes We’ll Never Get Back

Saturday, during which lunch out turned Seinfeldian…

Laura (to Becky): Could you hand me two of the yellows, please?
Becky (handing them to her): You like the yellow best? I’ve always liked the pink best.
Laura: Pink is bitter. I have to have the yellow.
Lynne: Blue is gross.
Becky: I can’t believe you’d say that. You love Diet Coke, and it has the blue.
Lynne: Diet Coke is good. Blue is gross.
Becky: (muttering) That makes no sense.
Laura: Blue is suing yellow.
Jess: Why?
Laura: Blue says yellow pretends to be the real thing and isn’t, so it’s false advertising.
Jess: If it’s the real thing, why not just use the real thing?
Everybody else: Oh, no!
Becky: You have to use too much of the real thing to get the same effect.
Lynne: Yeah, you only have to use a couple of the pinks.
Laura: Or the yellow. Because the pink is gross.
Becky: (ignoring the insult to the pink) I don’t know why I’ve never liked the blue.
Laura: The real thing is suing yellow, too, because if it IS the real thing, then yellow has no right to diss the real thing.
Becky: So yellow is screwed no matter who wins. Either it’s an imposter, like blue says, or it’s libelous, like the real thing says.
Laura: Right.
Becky: Sucks to be yellow.
Laura: But yellow is the best. It’s the sweetest of the sweet.
Becky: Didn’t Craig like yellow, too?
Lynne: Oh, no. Craig liked the twin.
Becky: Oh, yeah. The twin is gross. It foams up.
Jess: (nods)
Laura: Yeah, that is gross.

For Lisa in IA, with plenty of adverbs and adjectives!

A sad, silly tale of sensible shoes…

I have not worn high heels or sexy shoes since the 1980s. My aversion to said shoes is probably the reason why my chick lit partial was rejected and why Sarah Jessica Parker will never be my BFF.

But in the field of sensible shoes, as I expressed to Lisa, Born shoes rock, and I have a few pairs.

However, the sad truth is:
read sad truth here

Grumpy AND Sneezy

It was uncomfortably muggy yesterday, so I loved it that the temperature plunged during the night. The windows were open, and it would have been a perfect morning to snuggle under quilts with my dogs and sleep in. I wouldn’t be QUITE as bitter about all the equipment that cranked up on my street BEFORE SEVEN A.M. if I didn’t know the end result, after months of noise and dust and a tacky blue portable toilet, would be another CRAPPY THREE-UNIT town house in the neighborhood.

Once awake, I embarked on a fly-killing mission. Today’s last body count: 32 34 38. Nice.

Then I took these to the post office to donate them for NO/AIDS’s use in the Easter parade.

Did you know that I can’t Express Mail from Houston to New Orleans? No, I didn’t either. Hope the beads get there in time. Can’t believe the postal service has not recovered adequately from Hurricane Katrina to be able to guarantee mail delivery by a certain day. I wonder if other shipment services can? It’s not like beads are important, but I think of things like medications that often have to be overnighted. Is this not possible?

I asked a question the other day of authors–whether they went back and reread their old work. I asked because I’d decided to read IT HAD TO BE YOU for the first time since 2001. There were a couple of times I TRIED to read it, but I would start seeing so many things I wanted to change that it disturbed me, so I never reread it in its entirety. This time around, I’ve stuck with it. Things I may have wanted to change at one time don’t bother me so much now. Like the way Daniel is initially mired down in his history. That makes sense, considering his circumstances as the novel opens and who he is (big ol’ Virgo). What I’m struck by is how my feelings about Blaine are different. I see him as much more vulnerable now when I’m reading him. I think that’s because I learned so much more about him in I’M YOUR MAN. Now a whole new set of things is affecting me in relation to WHEN YOU DON’T SEE ME. I don’t know. I’m glad I’m rereading it, but there’s something bittersweet about it.

Note to Shannon: I got the photos. More later.

Note to Lindsey and Rhonda: Y’all are sweet. Sorry about the dentist.

Note to Tim and Rex: The CAR! is home.

Things that are being an asshole this morning

The mosquito who has announced that Houston’s Season of Misery has officially arrived by breaking into my office, repeatedly attacking me, and WHO WILL NOT DIE.

Netfirms, which is being wonky and won’t let me send mail to David, Mark, and ‘Nathan. You’ll have to wait a little longer for the promised Beowulf memory. Try not to let this provoke you into going on a quest for some Old English monster of your own to rip limb from limb or behead.

You are welcome, however, to direct your wrath at this mosquito.