Category Archives: borrowed from myself

I forgot to say…

After re-reading my old entry from way back regarding my long hair, I must now say that I totally shaved my head.

About a month ago.

And it looked like this:

Okay, so it wasn’t completely shorn off (and I seriously don’t really care if you know what I look like), but DAMN was it liberating!  This will probably become a regular thing with me, especially since I’ve begun bleaching the hell out of it.



Because, that’s why.

My all-time favorite movie genre is horror.

One of my all-time favorite websites is the site for the Archie McPhee store in Seattle.

When the two come together, I get a new posse.

Here are my new posse members:

And here I am with them:

Don’t hate.  Even the people at work who think I’m a total weirdo were enamored of them and honored when I passed a few of them out.  They decorate quite a few computer monitors in the R&E department now.

p.s. my hair is all done up because I had just gotten home from a wedding.  A wedding that started THREE AND A HALF HOURS LATE. True story.  I don’t make this shit up.

This is my favorite wedding photo of all time:

yes, that is me making demon face on the right, while my sister makes a cute “i’m getting married” face


Over lunch, I came up with another great theme day: DEVO.  Dress in all black, wear my glasses [they are black and plastic and mighty, mighty thick]

I’m almost embarassed at how awesome the idea is.

Or Mike Myers’s “Sprockets” character.

I might need to compile a list into fives, then plan a theme day for each workday, taking weekends off.

If anyone knows where I can get a Devo hat to complete my new idea, let me know.

I feel I must share this with you.

Because a photo of myself that is THIS good cannot be kept to my family alone.

Behold, me in my bikini-wearing, pacifier-chewing, baby-belly, wearing my dad’s working-in-the-garden-shoes glory at age 2:


That’s me on the right.  My sister didn’t [and still doesn’t] have the poochy belly that I had/have.

Go figure.

The second time I had sinus surgery, all I got was a scab and one larger nostril to show for it.

I’m on vacation, so here’s something I stole from myself. Again. It’s an account of the post-surgical scab i had chilling in my nose following sinus surgery late last year.

The sinus surgery that i’m STILL paying for.
The sinus surgery that has ALREADY stopped working.


scabby mcsnoterson

i have never had a scab like this before.
no other scab can compare.
i never knew what scab was like before.

now that i’ve finished my celine-dionesque ode to my scabs, lemme tell ya: i had no idea i could seriously have this much clotted fibrin in ONE nostril. ever.

it feels like, after you’ve been REALLY sick with the snottiest cold of your life, and you wake up one morning after spending an entire night with a semi-runny nose. you know, where the thick mucus just kind of sits there, threatening to escape, but never does.

you wake up with your nose hairs [of which i have an unfortunate amount for a girl] clotted together with this glue-like substance produced by your own body. it hurts to wrinkle up your nose in disgust at the feeling [which you do anyway because your own nose grosses yourself out so much] because you can feel the dried parts sticking together then ripping away from the nostril wall.

try that times ten, add blood, a heap of fibrin, and you have the scab that will not die.

i actually sat in my bed last night picking at it until i got a fairly sizable scab chunk, but it is still lingering.

hopefully the doctor will poke and prod at it friday morning long enough to loosen it so i can yank it out of my nose.

blowing doesn’t help. i tried so hard that i had to take a demarol after all was said and done. just a little bit of snot came out, but ixnay on the abscay.

The tale of the shady shitter

Not to be confused with the “covert third-floor shitter” because, well, that’s me. (I don’t like the bathrooms on my floor at work because they are old and stinky and always broken, so I go up two floors any time I need to drop a deuce.  It’s clean in there and smells like bleach)

The tale of the shady shitter is one that, at first, I would not share.

Until the shit became a stain that was never taken care of.

Then, I began regaling people with details.

The following began as an email to my future brother-in-law, and it’s been posted on blog version 1.0, and that silly little site called myspace.


Oh. My. Gah.

It was horrible. 

There was this really guido-like dude, Bryan, that liked my friend Jenny.  Jenny and I shared a bedroom in an apartment with two other girls. 

One night, Bryan was over at the apartment drinking… 

Wait. Did I mention that he was like 32 and had three kids whom he lived eight states away from and never saw? And we were all about 20? Yeah. 

Anyway, Bryan was over at the apartment drinking in the living room.  The room Jenny and I shared was right off the living room, and a little further down that hall was the shared bathroom. 

I was using the master bathroom since the shared bathroom was already being used by two people and the girl in the master bathroom was just an idiot so I insisted on it being fair, basically to get on her self-righteous, holier-than-thou nerves. 

Anywho, I was in the master bath washing my face, etc, before bedtime.  I was meeting some friends in Myrtle Beach the next day. 

I come out of the bathroom and Jenny stops me in the living room.  I look past her to see Bryan hovering around the floor and Jenny sat me down on the couch. 

This exchange took place- 

Jenny: “don’t go back there right now. Bryan had an accident.” 

Me: “oh, crap, did he puke?” 

Jenny: “noooo. He didn’t puke.” 

Me: “whoa, he didn’t pee did he?!?!” 

Jenny: “no, it’s crap.” 

Me: “what?!?! WHAT?!?!” 

Jenny: “he has stomach problems and he couldn’t make it to the bathroom.” 

About that time, Jenny and I decided to head to the shared bathroom where we chatted with our roommate. 

We were incredulous. We were dumbfounded. We were grossed out. 

Apparently, Bryan had liquid shit THROUGH his basketball shorts because he couldn’t make it to the bathroom that was FIVE FEET AWAY. 

Later I would deduce, because of shit patterns, that Bryan had not only shit, but had begun shitting and run around, unsure of what to do, since there were splatters in different areas of MY BEDROOM and doorway. 

While my roommates and I were in the bathroom talking, Bryan knocked on the door. I couldn’t believe it. “Hey, guys, can I come take a shower?” he said. We cleared out as fast as we could.

After Bryan got out of the shower, I assumed he’d check the soupy poopy area to make sure he had thoroughly cleaned it, and then he’d hightail it home, never to show his face again. 

Not true. 

Bryan ended up SPENDING THE NIGHT IN THE APARTMENT HE JUST SHAT ON and acted like nothing was wrong. 

The next morning, I woke up to bright yellow spots on my carpet. That’s right: his shit had changed the pH levels or something scientific in the carpet and altered its color. 

Weeks and weeks went by, and Bryan never came to assess the damage and see if he could rid my floor of the stain.  He began getting belligerent whenever someone would mention it.

“After all the shit I’ve done for her!” he said. 

Right, Bryan. All over my floor.

p.s. he had actually never done ANYthing for me.  He bought Jenny a washer and dryer and gave her a chair and couch WAY before I ever moved in. 

And that, my friend, is the story of the shady shitter.