Thursday, March 27, 2008
I've always felt that it is GROSSLY irresponsible to buy a $2300 hand bag, but let me assure my readers that if I could even remotely afford to spend that kind of money on something that could absolutely not be nudged or even stretched into the category of "necessary or at least practical or at least an entire vacation", I would be on the phone to Terry begging him to go to the Prada store there in NYC and put me down on the list.
I like the square one. Not the round, for what that is worth (answer: significantly less than $2300). (Photo discretely borrowed w/o permission from comics212 with great thanks.)
Also you (people who are not interested in bits of over-priced leather) will be glad to know that Journey (replete with very good new lead singer) will be playing the White River Amphitheater with Heart and Cheap Trick on September 19th. So I hope someone (Steve) is free to join me (Steve) for this awesome opportunity (Steve, I am not kidding, no price is too high to pay to see Journey, Heart, and Cheap Trick.) that will probably not come again (Steve, seriously, I will sell an egg if necessary).
Tickets not yet on sale, due to there being no justice in this life.
It is about how there are men working hard to retain their nerdy aesthetic while building sexy bodies... to hide under argyle sweaters and girl pants.
I'm just going to assume that under Dean Kamen's ubiquitous blue button-down shirt is a body made to please a much younger woman.
It was a cool fall evening in the mid to late 80's in Eastern Washington. My mother and I had come to a stand off about something. She told me to go to my room. I said "no". Years prior I had determined that she could not force me to do anything. Since she wouldn't hit me and wasn't likely to physically enforce Time Out, I declared that she could not "boss me around" anymore.
But this time she caught me by surprise. She actually grabbed me by the arm and tossed me in my room.
This was a HUGE shock and could not be endured.
I immediately pulled my Rainbow Brite bag from under my bed and went straight to work packing. As I recall, I grabbed only the necessities:
Blanket (baby sized)
Collected works of A.A. Milne
Small cast iron real working sewing machine (for work?)
Hamster carrier containing: hamster and hamster food.
I changed into my best adventure outfit (replete with boots, overalls, and pith helmet) put the bag on my back and the carrier under my arm and climbed out my first floor window.
I walked across the lawn and down into the ditch along side the road. I would guess I made it 2 blocks (though it seemed really far at the time) and it started to get dark. I decided to make camp for the night. There was a culvert over the ditch (to accommodate spring flood water) and that seemed like a good place to hide out.
I can't remember if the man was already there, or if he came in after I was in there, but he did have white hair and a hat.
"Shouldn't you go home?" the man said, stooped over in the short culvert. "It's dark now though," I feebly protested.
"Well, I'll walk with you then."
And we walked all 2 blocks back to my window. I climbed in, he handed me my bags and a while later mom brought me French toast.
I told her that I left and that some man told me to go home. I even showed her my packed bag. But she didn't believe me- which was for the best, because I would have been in for the whupping of a lifetime.
I remain convinced to this day that this occurred- I can remember the light during sunset, the damp smell of the ditch, and the fear of being alone.
I'd like to think that some kind homeless man rescued me, though he was more likely just an old man on a walk through our tranquil small town neighborhood.
Having now discussed this story at length with various people I wanted to write a couple of things:
1. I am absolutely positive this happened- it is my mother who categorically denies this occurred.
2. I declare that this is a happy story:
I didn't get molested or left for dead in a ditch.
I didn't get in trouble, because my mom didn't believe me.
The hamster got to experience some invigorating travel (and live to tell the tale).
And in the end, everyone (except the hamster) got French toast (which is arguably the best thing my mom knows how to cook).
This is a story about a plucky little kid doing funny things. These are the exact sort of crazy things that I would do all the time.
Enjoy my cute story, damn it.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
You recall 7 Minutes in Heaven, with the awkward smooching, this is just like that but with non-reciprocated oral sex.
Can you imagine? (Of course you can, Pervert.) When I was in junior high I was still attending sleep overs where we were illicitly watching... don't tell... Dirty Dancing. Considered too racy for us to watch.
I am all about children not being raised to think that sex is dirty, but I can't understand how this came to be common place. Obviously teenagers have sex, but I can't imagine being persuaded to give a blow job at age 12. I wasn't even sexually interested in men at that age.
I've been wondering if sexualized girl-figures like Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera are a symptom of early sexualiztion in girls or a cause. Everyone is craving acceptance, and maybe becoming a dispenser of BJ's make these girls think that they are being desirable or cool?
I just would like any young person reading this know that sex acts should make both partners happy. Sex is reciprocal.
Also you should know that there is such a thing as gonorrhea of the throat, among other dangers.
Jezebel has an article up about the decline in (girl) scouting, which is how I got onto this topic in the first place. The point of which is that Girl Scouts doesn't resonate with our youth today because interests have shifted. (To Cock?)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Becoming a boring woman at work that tells stories that go like this: "blah blah blah my dog blah blah blah, BARK BARK BARK HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Touching my own eye.
Leaving the oven on.
Becoming my mother.
I have no idea what the Bible says about porn, but it is all about the smut. Which is just word porn, right? I've read the Song of Solomon. (Rawr)
If I can get my ass in gear this weekend, I'll let you know what my (get your fainting couch ready) gay black pastor says the Bible says about porn.
I kind of understand religious people being scared of the repercussions of not believing in a God and even in politics changing people's votes could be significant.
But why are atheists evangelical? Why does an atheist care if I want to worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster? It is a mystery to me.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Dean Kamen + Stephen Colbert on screen together? Would it be too far out of line to say that is a nerd sandwich that I could really get into? Yes?
Well let me just say that they are two not-that-great-looking guys with whom I would totally have sex. Separately or together. Kidding! (Not really. Call me, Dean!)
Big thanks to Drew for the heads up on this critical science news. I will assume that Drew also shares my unnatural Dean Kamen related urges....
Thursday, March 20, 2008
I was babysitting children in million dollar homes. I was babysitting but wasn't allowed to the dishes, "because sweet-heart that is what we pay Elaina to do."
And the kids were amazing; the children of predominantly well educated, intelligent, and well mannered people. Sometimes bratty, but I just think back on Miniature Quiana and praise God that they were better behaved than I ever was.
Just one little example of the awesomeness of these kids... just one... I promise:
I babysat a little girl named Eleanor. She was 6ish at the time. We used to have adventures picking up garbage in the park, riding the train to the good ice cream place, making found art, and playing pirates.
One day she was describing the differences between Montessori and her current school- and I am absolutely not shitting you- she used the word 'dichotomy'.
If that is not the most adorable thing you have ever heard, you're crazy.
Later I told my boyfriend of the time that story and he said, "What's 'dichotomy' mean?" And I broke up with him within the week.
You may contrast the experience of talking about environmental stewardship in the sitting room whilst sipping KoolAid from actual Tiffany china with the occurrences of Wednesday.
Last night Angie and I allowed someone to cash in favors and thus we ended up herding children for nearly 5 hours (after my normal work day). The kids trickled in a few at a time, but by 7 pm it was abject chaos.
Now in college my friend Megan and I did group babysitting gigs for parties all the time. We played tag and Simon Says. Never did any of them decide that 'let's all stand on tables and jump off of them like complete idiots' was an ok game.
How close was I to the Lord of the Flies?
- three band-aids on one arm and one paper airplane in the eye (THIS WAS THE SAME KID).
- five small children all bellowing my name at the same time "KEY YAN NA!"
- one little girl "I want to be it!", "I want the red airplane" etc. which led to my declaration that "There's no such thing as a snozzberry!" Woosh, right over her head. But I thought it was hi-larious.
-Jack (you remember in The Lord of the Flies, he wanted to hunt pigs and wrenched the leadership from Ralph aka me) was played twin six year olds who arrived while we were all playing with blocks and drawing and whose parents arrived to fetch them just as I was telling them to "get off of that table or I will impose 10 second penalty to your whole team."
-A few parents were surprised when they returned to find that their children had all "grown mustaches" in strange colors. Could we have prevented these children from an evening of multi-colored Snidleys? Yup.
-Someone cheated at Pokemon and called someone else a "dumbo" (then stole his glasses to set fire to the entire island... kidding). Said "dumbo", "That boy called me names AND he cheated at Pokemon. That wasn't very nice." Indeed not, Dumbo. Indeed not.
I guess all was well in the end. The twins left and order resumed. When the parents arrived the kids cried because they had to leave, which is always gratifying.
Best of all, afterward I got to go home, scarf a baked potato and watch Men in Trees.
I have no idea if it is illegal, but holy crap is it seriously dangerous.
Googler: DO NOT FEED RACCOONS. THEY CARRY RABIES. THEY ROUTINELY EVISCERATE HOUSEHOLD PETS.
THEY WILL STEAL YOUR RUGS AND LEAVE YOU WITH COLD BARE FLOORS.
I just pray that I'm not too late.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Never turn your back on the French. Shifty people, not to be trusted.
Look at this great picture of the Space Needle.... La la la, let's just scroll on down...
And now for something completely different:
A&E is doing a mini-series of Michael Crichton's Andromeda Strain; which was super fantastic. In fact, I feel like the original movie was actually pretty good too.
Here, just watch the trailer.
I am really looking forward to this. The casting seems pretty good and A&E seems to make consistently high quality mini-series. Also, alien virus + Ricky Schroder + Daniel Dae Kim + Benjamin Bratt = Happy Quiana.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Congratulations and all the best of luck to you- though something tells me you will not need it.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Now I see that he has written the TinTin movie, which is super-exciting if you are a huge cartoon nerd. Which I am.
Looking further on IMDB I noticed 3 other shows written by Moffat: Chalk, Press Gang, and Murder Most Horrid. None of which I can get my hands on.
I guess I will just have to wait for TinTin. Stupid not getting whatever I want when I randomly google search for it.
Kicking off my spring/summer movie extravaganza:
Harold and Kumar on April 25th. (Mysteriously not April 20th.)
Movie nobody will want to see with me:
The Happening on 6/13.
Movies tied for "Most Looked Forward To":
Iron Man on 5/2 and Dark Knight on 7/18 (the day after my birthday- surely not a coincidence).
Is it crazy to put movie release dates in your Outlook calendar? Hope not.
Seriously. It is awesome.
There is a vat of cornstarch and water... that is all you should require.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
1. Sexy shoes and the outfits that go with them.
What cords, gap sweaters, and New Balance sneakers aren't sexy?! Well shoot.
2. Being barefoot.
I hate wearing shoes, and now I wear them all day. I used to love to go to the beach and scrunch my toes in wet sand.
I miss the relaxation. I miss the feeling of sprinting at top Quiana speed.
4. The being skinny.
It was nice to look hot naked. I'd like to think that if I became a skank who takes strange men home that when it was naked time they would be excited as opposed to disappointed.
5. Being strong.
Riding my exercise bike will never be as challenging as sprinting at top speed into a flock of Canada geese like a golden retriever. Could I have beat up a would-be attacker? Not likely, but I could outrun him.
6. Going where ever I want.
Now I have to consider my foot. Can I go on that hike then go shopping (answer: no)?
7. Never having to explain my stupid foot.
8. Pretty feet.
I never paint my toe nails anymore since I have to wear shoes all the time.
9. Flip flops.
I miss flip flops so much.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
2. Today a client sent an email that was all rude and accused negligence and wanted to know specifically who is at fault. The thing that is killing me is that she is a middle aged mommy and a crazy-pants evangelical (who- I shit you not- 'blessed' me at our meeting in December and -still totally not shitting you- gave me a hug for being so helpful... so I'm thinking maybe a little bi-polar? hopefully not of the stabby stabby variety...).
This is when I should throw a smoke bomb and run away. (I am not the negligent one, but I am the bearer of bad news, which will probably suck more.)
3. I think I will take a Mental Health Saturday this weekend. I can mop, watch cartoons, and maybe bake something extravagant- all in my pjs. And if I am lonely by evening time I will just go out looking for trouble all spontaneous-like. So hold all the fun for another weekend just in case. Seriously, guys- NO FUN SATURDAY.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
My friend Terry writes about Spitzer.
Tired of political discussions? Next time some obsesses about Obama tell them that you are more concerned about Harvey Dent's political career and have them listened to his impassioned plea for law and order. Then punch them in the face.
Monday, March 10, 2008
This evening I will venture to Northgate Mall to try to determine what the hell needs to occur in this whole phone process... including choosing a new phone.
Which reminds me that you guys are all NUTS. I can't believe that after I asked for phone recommendations all I got were emails from a bunch iPhone whores. (Side note: Come on guys, leave a comment instead of sending an email- this is a blog for Pete's sake).
My iPod pretty much has never functioned to a suitable level and as I've previously stated Apple has terrible customer service; so buying the iPhone from AT&T is like buying Ann Coulter and Dick Cheney's (Jabba the Hutt and Darth Vader's?) love child as far as I'm concerned.
This phone isn't out yet, but I am filled with lust for it. (Which is precisely how I ended up with the world's most useless POS RAZR- meaning that I should know better.) I am seriously looking at the LG Shine (I've had great luck with LG) and the W580i by Sony (which solves the barely working iPod problem nicely) (Yes, two parenthetical sidenotes in a row. Isn't that against the rules? Probably, but that is just how I roll: I also trust Sony to make a durable product as my old Sony TV is old enough to have faux-wood paneling and still works great. Ok, great-ish.).
2. Things that do not mix: Spring Forward and mild hangovers.
3. Due to a series of other people's screw ups I had to be in the office at 6:30 am. You know who is in the office at 6:30 am? Pretty much just me and my burning resentment. Resentment further inflamed by my noting on my un-spring forwarded clock that I was up at 4:30 am.
4. It is funny to me how common place pedicures are. On Saturday I paid a woman $25 to scrub dead skin off of my feet and calves and paint and shape my toenails. A woman who (I'm guessing from her age) probably fled Vietnam in a row boat as a very young woman, with hopes of a better future. A better future scrubbing my toes?
5. I've always prided myself on my lack of complexity. There are no additional layers. I read comics, watch discovery channel, and think poop jokes are funny. I don't catch signals, expressions, or really any non-verbal form of communication more complex than a middle finger.
I know that sounds crazy, as I'm not a complete flaming idiot, but I have spent the majority of my adult life trying to honestly portray who I am with no smoke and mirrors; so I can't tell what other people are doing if they don't just say what they mean or what they're thinking/feeling.
Lately I've been dealing with tricky interpersonal interactions (both in the office and in my personal life) and I'm beginning to think that perhaps having spent more time worrying about appearances would have trained me to be better at people stuff.
Make sense of that- if you can.
Quiana: now 100% more awkward and confusing.
6. Two Quiana-Bucks to the person who can take a guess at the song that I gleefully reference in the Title without Googling it and why.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Item the second: my boss's former boss's adult son (whom I've never met) passed away and his funeral is today. I was not friendly with my boss's former boss.
I get a phone call from the receptionist who got a call from my least favorite coworker asking me to bring forks to the funeral.
I am not lying.
Then when I said that I wasn't going to the funeral the receptionist said, "Well-uh!" As though I am so exasperating because I am not going to my boss's former boss's son's funeral in the middle of a Thursday, in spite of the fact that I never spoke with her and didn't even know she had children.
So what I'm supposed to crash this guy's funeral with a box of embezzled office forks? That would be great.
Recently NPR had a story about the author and the book, and news has been breaking that this woman is either detached from reality (possible) or a big fat liar. In light of all of the recent 'memoirs' being busted as flat out fiction I'm even more suspicious.
I had been nervous to attend Leigh's book club for the first time last night and give a mixed review of the book, but was utterly relieved when the others agreed. This led to a discussion about whether part of the allure of a memoir is that it is true, or whether all these fake memoirs could have been just as popular if they were released as fictional memoirs instead of non-fiction. We were pretty split on the issue.
My only opinion on the matter is that any memoir that deviates from the truth should be marketed as a separate genre LBOATS (loosely based on a true story). Then everyone is happy. I read an article once saying the Dave Eggers ruined the memoir genre with his loose interpretations of his past. I read his first book, and having read the foreword and publishers notes etc. I was aware that liberties were taken. And I still loved it.
I read a lot of non-fiction and to me the real problem in first person non-fiction writing is that authors tend to include a lot of extraneous detail; as though leaving out details of someone's life will cause hurt feelings. Which they probably would. However, when I'm reading a book I don't want to know the entire back story of every guy on the ship (Thank you very much, Frank Pope). Perhaps this is the best way to tell a fake memoir from a real memoir, just ask yourself, 'am I just a little bit bored?'
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Monday, March 03, 2008
1. A piece of my car fell out of my car door yesterday. Can cars have leprosy? Also is it bad that I just shrugged and threw it in the back seat?
2. Yesterday I bit my lip tripping over either a root or my own feet. I guess all those dance lessons have paid off big time. Today I look like I have herpes. Let's make out! What, no?!?
3. I really need to buy a new phone. I am switching from Verizon to ATT, and have no idea what to purchase. I have done research and I (1) am still completely unable to pick a phone and (2) now feel like an idiot. I have about two weeks to evolve (side note: it took me TWO YEARS to learn predictive texting) and it appears that I need help.
My only two criteria thus far have been:
Do the buttons look like they will fall off and get stuck in my hair?
How much talk time/stand by time can I have?
The previous criteria of: (1) is it pretty and (2) could I accidentally inhale it have been discarded since the last time I purchased a phone. (Thank you RAZR, replaced TWICE while under warranty and a third time later in which I used some very threatening language with a high school kid at the Verizon in the Alderwood Mall, which has probably turned him against all women.)
4. I have still not responded to my father’s request to call the house. My photo essay idea feels increasingly immature/crazy and pathetic… although not as pathetic as hiding from my father…. This is how this conversation will go:
Step-mother whom I have never met and may be new, but details such as keeping track of my parents’ various spouses have never been high on my list of priorities, or “Marilyn”, as I expect she prefers to be called: Hello.
So that will go great. Options:
A. Fake own death.
B. Move to
C. Be a bad person and continue to leave my father and brother hanging like the countless victims of my “I don’t five” campaign against confusing aerial hand gestures.
D. Send the photo-essay that does not give much impression of who I am OR make a better one- either way risk seeming completely insane.
E. Man up and call. Then (1) find rock, (2) crawl under.
5. Today is one of those days at work where I am daydreaming of the private sector as my computer has crashed approximately five (trillion) times, my Outlook is on the fritz, and whatever the heating device “controls” the climate in my building is not working and I am typing this with batman-gloved fingers and a space heater under my desk on the space heater equivalent of ‘11’, coming dangerously close to setting my slacks on fire.
I feel very strongly that I should be the boss of my own hooha.
And as far as I am concerned, so long as you are not a danger to others you can cram a ham sandwich up there, for all I care (though we here at SUC do not recommend it.) Just don't forward me the pix.
I think a fun approach to this law would be to open a store that sells an assortment of non-specific items one could misappropriate. I'm thinking "Crazy Al's Banana, Washing Machine, Back Massager, and Melon Emporium."