Tag Archive for 'Elle'

Page 3 of 65

take the elevator

i still heart the rob-its it might sound silly for me to think childish thoughts like these
but i’m so tired of acting tough and i’m gonna do what i please
let’s get married in a big cathedral by a priest
cos if i’m the man that you love the most you could say i do at least

I watched Notting Hill last night. I read some comicbooks. I am sitting at work, and I have too much time to think.

Wrestling
A while ago I fell asleep at my parents house because they have cable and I was watching Howard Stern, and I tried to order the “Best of Backyard Wrestling” tape. That would be a fun present to have, but I didn’t have any credit cards with me. No fear, I wrote the number down. It has REAL boobies, not fake (Mat would like) and BLOODY BACKYARD WRESTLING (I would like). Also, the World Wrestling Federation is changing it�s name to the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment). I think this has something to do with the World Wildlife Federation having their nads twisted for years about them sharing a name or whatever. All I know is, since I heard this on the radio this morning, I can�t get visions of endangered bald eagles wrestling ferns out of my mind.

Disgusting
I love the idea of Olean, but I am pretty sure I hate runny di-ha-rrea-cha-cha-cha, so I stay away from it. (It is a fact that I cannot use any scatalogical word without usually saying “cha cha cha” after it, I think that is an old Beavis and Butthead thing but I’m not sure.) Do you remember that from Beavis and Butthead?

Bored
I have accomplished less than nothing the past two days. Zero, zilch, nada. Wasting the recycled office oxygen and hoping that something, ANYTHING happens.

Like a blue-tinged fire. Or a present sent to me through intra-office mail, or a flower delivery guy tripping. Or the Green Goblin. Or a lunchtime soiree, a 3rd floor office birthday party of someone I don�t even know that I can go crash just to get some cake. Or an unexplained box of mystery substance at the delivery entrance. Or, I don�t know, fuck, a rabid dog.

Anything.

Is it wrong to think evil thoughts when faced with crippling boredom? Never would I wish anything but good to come to most people. But now, even if something bad were to happen, if it would bring me some small respite from this office I would jump up and down with youthful glee. GLEE I SAID. Glee.

I have been working the past few months to get to this point- the point where I could once again enjoy NOTHINGESS. But nothingness hasn�t come, instead it�s tons of little, dumb tasks that make ME grow less intelligent as I complete them. My �to do� list grows longer, and my brain, ambition, motivation all shrink.

Dumb. Why? Because. Because I am a snob, and I find myself chanting a little office mantra under my breath. (�I am more than the sum of this. I am more important than this. I am better than a copy girl. I should not type this. I have skills and talents, many skills and talents. I am more than the sum of this. I am more important than this. I am better than a copy girl. I should not type this. I have skills and talents, many skills and talents.�)

Also
I just bought a Diet Dr. Pepper. It has Spiderman on it. Everything is for sale; tied up together in neat little packages. It�s just like the McGapdonalds theories Sig and I were playing with a few weeks ago. Orange is the new pink.

Because I am so bored, I have become newly obsessed with a three-dolla purchase from the Gap. It is a yellowygreeny teeshirt, probably the most comfortable apparel I have ever owned in my life. It is made from baby-fine cotton, and it is wonderful all over the place. But here�s the thing- the whole shirt is stretchy except for the CUFFS, which are loose on my wrists but kind of rigid, and completely unstretchable although they are made from the exact same material as my shirt. WHY THAT BE? What gives?

(The answer is: not your shirt cuffs, a ha ha ha.)

Oh my god.

How was the Derby?

PS, You’re an Asshole

the symptoms showed early you know Listening to: About a Boy Soundtrack, Gomez, Magnetic Fields, Dis Plan

New Ideas Involving Fishes

I am considering buying more fish and then naming them all after exes. I feel this is funny and charming, and I also (perhaps mistakenly) believe that me attempting to be funny and charming is a turn-on for certain members of the opposite sex, and thusly when turned on will indeed, forget, that I named the fishes after ex-boyfriends.

I [heart] vicious cycles.

In other news, I ate at the BK Lounge yesterday and MY STARS IN HEAVEN was it tasty. I am usually not a fan of the BK�s, but having no choice I would recommend the BK in Sterling for it�s fast service, hot food, and friendly Indian cashier who smiled at me, twice.

Things You Might Not Want to Learn About But Eff It, I am Forcing You To; You Have to Grow Up Sometime Little Girl:

1. If you should at any time use those little band-aid wart remover thingies, and you happen to leave one on part of your skin that does not, in fact, have a wart, then your skin will be bleached from the acid in the little band-aid thing. How do I know? My little toe has a white circle that wo�t go away. No, there was no wart there. Why was it on my toe? I don�t want to talk about it. Sometimes, kids eat paste. Let�s leave it at that.

2. I am suffering from a disease. Oh, do not weep for me my pets of OM land, for I am seeking treatment. Maybe even self-hypnosis. It�s�

It�s�

BRUXISM.

(GASP!)

It�s actually getting worse and worse. I�m thinking even about signing up for yoga. There
is really no reason I should be this stressed, but They�ve threatened me with root canals and future episodes of practical lockjaw if I don�t start wearing a nightguard. Son of a BITCH.

3. Britney smokes.

Gone But Not Forgotten

Dooce has officially retired. Is the web dying? Maybe.

In honor of Graphic Designer�s everywhere, forced out of work:

PowerPoint Me to the Nearest Sledgehammer

You’ve got to be kidding right? You can’t just hand me a 17-slide PowerPoint document and expect me to “make it look good.” You may as well gorge out my eyes with burning sabers of methane gas and ceremoniously sacrifice my body over an open barbecue pit in the name of good taste.

No amount of “creative shaping” or “expandable flow linkage” will save your monstrous creation, which has now grown toes and is eating spare pretzels from the kitchen on the second floor. You’ve managed to breathe life into the Joan Rivers of business documents: an impenetrable fortress of mismatched forms and nonsense, wailing, screeching, unbearable to witness and unwilling to die.

I must have missed the memo, or maybe they teach such flummadiddle in MBA programs, but I can’t comprehend how so many people in positions of authority can possibly deem it necessary to pepper presentations with bulbous basketball-sized bullet points or gradients the width of Texas. What brain-hemorrhaging savant thought it a great idea to arm middle management with easily insertable clip-art seemingly drawn and colored by a four-year-old in a coma?

So, please, just take your blocked-up flow document and shove it down your pipe in the bucket of cycles littering your plate. Genericize your templatized macros until your fingers bleed the color of our profit margin. I’m sure everyone in that meeting will ooh the ahh out of himself over the master slide, altogether comparable to this in scope:

HISTORY OF THE WORLD:

� There was a beginning.
� Something here about stuff.
� Then Britney.

The Lost Speeches of George W.

My fellow Americans: Today I made a J-turn in a Camaro and fired many guns! Evildoers, shudder in fear!

Martha Stewart Accused of Drive By Doilying

LPGA trophy ceremony; I�m a very bad feminist Don�t Mess With

Things one always re-learns in Texas:

1. Guns
2. Guacamoles
3. Beers
4. Mens
5. Crepe paper can be used for anything, including festive headgear.

That�s just how the world should work.

The reason my posting has been NUNYA lately is because I was in charge of a trade show in San Antonio, which happened last week. It was a lot of hard tail-busting. A lot of military men my fathers age who like to hear themselves talk. A �learning experience.� After almost six months of late nights and no lunch hours, though, it was satisfying to see it all come together. And, now, I have accumulated something like 7,000 hours of comp time.

It is highly advantageous to keep your ears open and your mouth shut when you work in the corporate world. You can stockpile all sorts of ammunition that way.

I also had exactly one hour to shop before catching my plane home last Friday, where I turned into a fiery tornado of a woman and rescued much large and lethal Texas turquoise from their jewelry displays. Also, Big Red Soda. AND MAT! Guess what I had in your honor? Some Fat Tire.

And some margaritas. Just some.

And a kick-ass recipe for guacamole, and a young Air Force lieutenant for a friend. �You know, you don�t go to work and you�re a slacker. I don�t go to work and I go to JAIL. So, I�m thinking about running off to Hawaii tomorrow, want to come?�

Who knew the Air Force secretly harbored hippies?

Music

I bought the �About a Boy� soundtrack, controlled mostly by one Damon Gough aka Badly Drawn Boy. Not too bad. Of course, being a soundtrack, there is some transition pieces that kind of cut the flow of the CD. It�s a bunch of happy little piueces of music strung together though, and Sig and I listened to it on Sunday, a day to do nothing and drive around, a day to go to the Air and Space museum to watch IMAX, a day to go to the National Conservatory and Botanical Gardens and sneeze up a small windstorm. I wish all my Sundays were just like this one.

Also, we found a building in Rosslyn that has a wall that is covered in some weird shimmery water tubes. I�ve driven through there a ton of times before, and never seen this side of this building with it�s shimmery wall. It was just like the Matrix. Sig took one look at it and said �Look! It�s the Future.�

Where was I? Oh. So Sunday was the perfect day to listen to Badly Drawn Boy.

Animal Kingdom

Maybe it�s the way the sun is shining at this time of year, the angle of the Earth or whatever, but oh my. The poor birds. Lately bird after bird has flown into my plate glass window at work, and then fallen to the ground, stunned.

If this were a cartoon, they�d be laying on the ground with X�s for eyes, and halos of little people would be dancing �round their little birdy heads.