Mighty Girl
My face.

contact: maggie at mightygirl dot net

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You'll also find me here:
Mighty Goods
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ReadyMade Magazine Blog
The Morning News

I read:
Bryan Mason
Heather Armstrong
Matthew Baldwin
Sarah Brown
Heather Champ
Matt Haughey
Eden Kennedy
Jason Kottke
Merlin Mann's 5ives
Obscure Store and Reading Room
Post Secret
Andrea Scher
Melissa Summers
Evany Thomas

Just got back from ladies' night where we traded mom stories. I told Amy that my mom sends Christmas cards to people she met in the dentist office waiting room. Amy told me that she caught her mom talking to strangers on the bus about her parents' illnesses. This reminded me of yesterday morning when I was sitting next to a guy on Muni who looked just like Prince William. I was actually turning toward him to tell him so when I realized that if I did, I'd be that woman on the bus telling a perfect stranger that he looked like Prince William. Sobering.
11:44 p.m.
From the "Yeah, I've done that" department. Words of wisdom from Booboolina:

"Note to self:
When picking the jeans that you wore yesterday up from the floor in preparation for putting them on today, check to see that the underwear you were also wearing yesterday are no longer in them... BEFORE YOU PUT THEM ON."
1:44 p.m.
I just finished Michael Cunningham's The Hours. I wanted to hate it, because it's loosely based on Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. I loved Mrs. Dalloway and expected Cunningham to ruin something essential. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised. Some excerpts:
  • "In school she was one of several authoritative, aggressive, not quite beautiful girls so potent in their money and their athletic confidence they simply stood where they stood and insisted that the local notion of desirability be reconfigured to include them."
  • "Men may congratulate themselves for writing truly and passionately about the movements of nations; they may consider war and the search for God to be great literature's only subjects; but if men's standing in the world could be toppled by an ill-advised choice of hat, English literature would be dramatically changed."
  • (And a pug quote for Swen.) "Viginia's eyes met those of one of the pugs, which stares over its fawn-colored shoulder at her with an expression of moist, wheezing bafflement."
8:53 a.m.
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I buy some daffodils on my way to work. As I'm walking, I realize that I'm carrying flowers and a book of poetry as I trot along the Streets of San Francisco. Suddenly, I'm the over-the-top "sensitive girl" and my life is a bad undergraduate play.
1:26 p.m.
Subject: Cynicism kicks in.
"I swear I used to think everyone kinda had a similar life to mine, but anymore I'm sure they have a lot less fun, eat a lot more bran, have a lot more low quality sex, and mail each other inspirational cards that they actually read."
12:04 p.m.
This guy fights with his girlfriend. A lot. So much that he has a rather lengthy page devoted to the subject, "Things my girlfriend and I have argued about." A sampling:
  • I eat two-fingered Kit-Kats like I'd eat any other chocolate bars of that size, i.e., without feeling the need to snap them into two individual fingers first. Margret accused me of doing this, 'deliberately to annoy her'.
  • She pours water into the back of my monitor every time she waters a plant, which she refuses to have moved to another, less overtly stupid, location.
  • Margret doesn't like to watch films on the TV. No, hold on - let me make sure you've got the inflection here: Margret doesn't like to watch films on the TV. She says she does, but years of bitter experience have proven that what she actually wants is to sit by me while I narrate the entire bleeding film to her. "Who's she?", "Why did he get shot?", "I thought that one was on their side?", "Is that a bomb" - "JUST WATCH IT! IN THE NAME OF GOD, JUST WATCH IT"!
  • She wants to paint the living room yellow. I have not the words.
  • Margret thinks I'm vain because... I use a mirror when I shave. During this argument in the bathroom - our fourth most popular location for arguments, it will delight and charm you to learn - Margret proved that shaving with a mirror could only be seen as outrageous narcissism by saying "None of the other men I've been with" (my, but it's all I can do to stop myself hugging her when she begins sentences like that) "None of the other men I've been with used a mirror to shave." "Ha! Difficult to check up on that, isn't it? As all the other men you've been with can now only communicate by blinking their eyes!" I said. Much later. When Margret had left the house.
(Thanks, Kevin.)
8:41 a.m.
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According to Pop Bitch:
"Ricky Martin has approached Barry Manilow about recording a version of Copacabana. This will be the best record in the history of the world. Ever."
(via Geno who's just completed a redesign over at Disenchanted Prince.)
3:39 p.m.
My smart, amusing friend Bryan and his smart, amusing friends just started a promising blog called Right On America! One of Bryan's recent posts:

"I just finished All The President's Men and have 3 observations:
1.) If every American was forced to read the book, it would be the end of the Republican party
2.) The real winner in the 2000 election is Richard M. Nixon and Gerald Ford - their Administrations are back in force in W's cabinet
3.) Nixon's 'dirty tricks' group did some damn funny things:
* disributed all over Harlem "FREE BEER" flyers for a McGovern (Democrat) rally - no beer made lots of people real, real mad
* Sent 100 pizza's to several Democratic Rally [frat-boyish, but funny]
* followed Ted Kennedy's campaign and kept calling the owner of the rally sites to cancel the event - then the Kennedy campaign would show up to a locked building
* infilitrated the Amish [no shit]
God bless us, each and every one."
11:44 a.m.
One of my friends at work sent me an email titled "Fun with Press Releases."

Turnstylz attracts plus-size teenage girls, an ever-growing segment of the fashion industry, as well as their guardians who often influence their purchasing decisions.
9:02 a.m.
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Spent Saturday night on the Haight. Mad Dog in the Fog had an "Irish band from outer space," and Molotov's was dank, but Nickies featured a relatively sober girl mesmerized by her own reflection. I say sober because she managed to balance on one of the benches that circled the room, and she perched there dancing with the mirror. She would grind seductively and cast furtive, flirtatious glances at.... herself. Huh. Then someone threw up on my friend's pants and we had to leave.
8:46 p.m.
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Subject: Dating woes of a friend in med school.
All the girls I want to sleep with are not returning my phone calls, and some of the ones I have slept with now call for free medical advice. Favorite one of the week: How much can you drink on Lithium?
2:31 p.m.
Sometimes things annoy me more than they should. For example, the small blue signs someone has taped in our bathroom stalls.
Flush early!
Flush often!
Flush freely!
Help prevent traffic backup.
Yeah. Those are coming down.
11:44 a.m.
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Looking for an unclean experience? Tune in to "Temptation Island."
The whole show went something like this: Closeup of a guy rubbing salt on his nipple in preparation for tequila body shots. Cut to the wide-eyed, buxom girl he's on a date with, "He's so so DEEP."
Yeah. He's the Grand Canyon of humility and spiritual enlightenment. Perhaps he'll engage in rabid monkey sex with you.
Then again, who am I to talk? The show was so embarrassing that it made my eyes water, but I watched the WHOLE thing. Sure, I showered a few times afterward, but I can still feel the dark stain on my soul.
11:44 a.m.
I've unwittingly misled you. One of the Americans for Purity informed me that all of the pages I link to below are spoofs (except the Biblical action figures). I was pretty hard hit until Jason sent me a link to the Church of Latterday Saints' Steps to Overcoming Masturbation. Mr. Kottke favors step 19, "In very severe cases it may be necessary to tie a hand to the bed frame with a tie in order that the habit of masturbating in a semi-sleep condition can be broken." I'm a fan of the Church's take on aversion therapy: "If you are tempted to masturbate, think of having to bathe in a tub of worms, and eat several of them as you do the act."
10:03 a.m.
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So my friend Kristi sent me an URL. "God hates it when men waste sperm, no matter what the reason." Finally, a site addressing the self-abuse epidemic. But after poking around a bit, I realized that the site had so much more to offer. As far as I can tell, none of these sites are spoofs. Oh man. Crackpot Jackpot:
  • Biblical action figures.
  • The force is a tool of satan. A Website dedicated to rooting out the evil in the Star Wars series. (Note the fantastic URL.)
  • Virigaurd, a combination athletic support and chastity belt. I highly recommend the Installation and Testimonial links. "When young boys from my congregation come to me with sexual inquiries, I counsel them to let God take care of them. If that doesn't work, I ask them to try the Purity Athletic Viriguard for a few months. Sometimes they resist at first, but once they get used to it, they become more manageable, attend church more often, and show the signs of improvement you'd expect from those who do not pollute themselves through self-stimulation.
  • Ban breastfeeding! "Women who breast-feed enjoy an erotic experience that offensively imposes oral gratification on innocent infants. This reprehensible act teaches children illicit sex that subsequently manifests promiscuity, homosexuality and addiction to cybersex."

2:19 p.m.
Walking home from work, I had an absurdity attack as I passed 24-Hour Fitness. The huge windows and frenetic step-class activity combined for the effect of a giant jar full of panicked bugs. The guys running on the treadmill were the bugs that keep climbing up to the top of the jar, falling, then climbing back up again. Glah.
9:27 a.m.
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Lego porn via Little Yellow Different. Man, I love that guy.
1:56 p.m.
Gratuitous Blogger/Web Techniques Plug: Have I mentioned I love my job, and my boss? The magazine I work for just donated a new server to Blogger, the exceptional and free service I use to update my page. Here's the announcement from the Blogger home page:
Woohoo! Remember I mentioned there would be more good news about the Server Fund? It's this: on top of the huge contributions you all made, WebTechniques magazine bought us another server. That brings our total Server Fund contributions over $15,000 and gives us enough fire power to last a long time -- or enough to hurt ourselves, we'll see. Here's the official press release. Yay! WebTechniques rocks.
-Ev. [1/23/2001 10:43:23 AM]
10:58 a.m.
The best headlines from this month's Martha Stuart Living:
  • Collecting Pincushions
  • Remembering Brioche
  • Finger-Puppet Master
  • Crocus: A little flower packed with big surprises.
  • President's Day Pretzel Log Cabin
10:19 a.m.
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After you've had your aura cleaned, consider having your ass read. You send Jaqueline "a fanny gram," she tells you what your buttprint says about your soul. Well, at least now you have an excuse when your boss catches you perched on top of the photocopier. (Click on the "rumpology" button in the upper left corner.)
3:14 p.m.
This is creepy Web art. Childlike drawings with hostile-man score. If you're at work, bust out the headphones before you click.
12:36 a.m.

Subject: College friend reminisces about his youth.
My mother would frequently record tape cassettes and send them to my grandparents, uncles and aunts, et al. to mark our progress (this was before the invention of the motion-picture camera). On one these tapes, my mother tells me "stop that" seventy-eight times in a matter of fifteen minutes. One of my favorite lines is when she yells, "you better NOT pee on the couch."
9:55 a.m.
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Watching a kid's infomercial about a spectacular new mechanical toothbrush, the voiceover exclaims, "BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!" My five year old niece turns to me smiling and says, "They always say, 'that's not all.'" Smart kid.
4:01 p.m.
The last week has not been so good. A few days ago, I managed to upset one of my closest friends. Last night, a violently crazy homeless woman charged at me while I was trying to find someplace to eat on Valencia. (She also called me a bitch, which--I think you'll agree--was really just uncalled for.) In a few hours, I'm off to have several needles inserted in my currently unperforated arms, so some sleepy little diseases can have a party with my immune system. What wonders will the weekend hold? It could be anything, really: severe food poisoning, mugging, drive by, or a friend could visit and demand that I take him to Pier 39.
10:33 a.m.
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Amazing article about an abandoned National Security Association spy station.
5:20 p.m.
My friend Sam blogged about a bumper sticker he saw that said, "Shake Your Ass for Jesus." That's fairly in line with my personal philosopy, which is that Jesus is a big fan of joyous booty motion.
2:44 p.m.
I cut this out of Newsweek a few years ago, and just came across it again:

"A mistake was made by a junior staffer who is no longer with the campaign."
Dole for president deputy press secretary Christina Martin, on a letter Washington DC resident Irv Rastin received thanking him for his contribution, which began "Dear Cheetoh Breath"
9:49 a.m.
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"It is no coincidence that you cross your fingers when you say 'ready' in sign language."

From "Unrelated Individuals Forming a Group Waiting to Cross" by Melanie Bogue.
2:56 p.m.
Another reason I love Jane magazine, this review of the "Buttkicker Shaker":
A $700 device you can attach to your couch to electrify your movie watching and music-listening experiences. Let's say you rent Vertical Limit. When snow roars down the mountain, your Buttkicker-enhanced sofa will shake like you were actually in an avalanche, except without the death part. When I watch movies, I never think, "I'm missing out because when the bombs go off onscreen, I don't feel anything in my butt."
12:20 p.m.
I had a dream last night that a '50s-dad type was telling me about taking his family on a trip out to California: "Yeah, we went to Silicon Valley to see the Internet. I thought we'd be able to just walk right up close enough to touch it, but they kept it behind about five feet of glass. The kids were disappointed."
10:39 a.m.
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Yes, it's a poem, but it's a good poem. Besides which, there's a link to pornographic balloons below it. So humor me:
Sentimental Moment or Why Did
the Baguette Cross the Road?

     Don't fill up on bread
     I say absent-mindedly
     The servings here are huge

     My son, whose hair may be
     receding a bit, says
     Did you really just
     say that to me?

     What he doesn't know
     is that when we're walking
     together, when we get
     to the curb
     I sometimes start to reach
     for his hand

     Robert Hershon
1:12 p.m.
You thought clowns were scary before. Wait until you check out these balloons (via Boing Boing).
9:55 a.m.
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Great post from Metafilter:
Four out of Five Americans Know Earth Revolves around the Sun. I certainly wish this was an Onion Headline. Should we all know this? I'm inclined to think so. Elsewhere in the article, 2% of Americans believe that Independence was won from France. Shoot me in the face.
posted by liquidgnome at 11:00 AM PST
1:09 p.m.
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Today's not-good thing:
My fly has been open for several hours. My pants are tan. My underwear is red.
5:03 p.m.
Thanks to this what-happened-on-your-birthday-type site, I now know that the first shipment of fresh oysters came overland from Baltimore on the day I was born. Well, about a kazillion years before I was born on that day, but still. Crucial.
12:57 p.m.
This is a seven-year-old body builder. I've been there once, I'm never, ever going there again.
10:42 a.m.
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I'm reading Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, a short story collection flavored with lots of details about Indian life. I don't usually like short stories, but Lahiri is an uncommon writer. My favorite passage so far is a child's description of what "sexy" means:
"It means loving someone you don't know."
4:43 p.m.
Subject: Friend tells me to use his car while he's gone.
You are perfectly welcome to drive my car around. Just remember to turn the lights off and you should be fine. Oh, and I'd probably prefer it if I could say that I've had sex in it more than you have, so try to keep the numbers down.
2:04 p.m.
My dentist supplies headphones for her patients. When you've got some quality tunes playing, you hardly notice the smell of burning tooth enamel while she drills. I selected Louis Armstrong.

Two masked dentists leaned over me, backed by a glaring, operating-table light, while I tried not to gag on the spit collecting at the back of my throat. At the peak of my discomfort, Louis sang, "AND I THINK TO MAHSELF, WHUTTA WONDERFUHL WAHHHLD… (cue strings)." I swear, it was like stepping into a Quentin Tarantino movie. I found it so absurd that I had to control the urge to laugh (funeralsbreakupsthethingsIwishI'dknown). But the more depressing things I thought about, the worse the juxtaposition became. When "Life is a Cabaret" came on, I lost it. With my mouth stretched open like a gasping trout, I started to guffaw.

They, mercifully, assumed I was choking. I tried to cover my lunacy with a few well-placed coughs, and hit stop on the CD player while I was sitting up. I shoulda gone with Korn.
10:55 a.m.
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Tantara-- The blare of a trumpet or horn.
3:13 p.m.
Best responses from a magazine blurb about what women call their knockers:
  • The Pointer Sisters,
  • Laverne and Shirley,
  • and, my personal favorite, MacNeil and Lehrer.
Still can't believe no one suggested the Olson Twins.
11:34 a.m.
I recently bought some lipstick because it was named Jezebel. I mean it's a good color, but mostly the name cracked me up; also, it came in a container that looked like a bullet cartridge. Somewhere in New York, a marketing team is slapping fives. They changed the name from Crimson Punch to Jezebel, took it out of the tortoise-shell tube and packed it in a form of weaponry, and sales rocketed among urban twentysomethings. I am yet another unwitting victim of their plan to dominate the red-lipstick market. Anyway, it was totally worth it. Tomorrow night a bunch of us are getting together to run off a cliff, and I want to look hot.
8:39 a.m.
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This is a calendar featuring women with beards. Friends, family members: if you have a birthday in January, you know what you'll be getting from me.
2:15 p.m.
I'm wearing a new lemon perfume, and a friend told me I "smell like dish soap." In guy-speak that means, "I want to rip your clothes off with my teeth."
12:21 p.m.
I booked tickets to Indonesia yesterday because my life is rad. The only problem is, I'm terrified of the vaccinations. I know no one likes needles, but I don't like them more. One of the most embarrassing things I've ever done involved a blood test when I was 14.
In the waiting room I swallowed repeatedly trying to conquer the excessive panic-saliva. When they tried to take me into the room, I grabbed either side of the doorjamb. It took three men to pry me off and hold me down while they drew my blood. My mom was stunned and mortified. "I can't believe this, you're practically a grown woman! What are you doing? This is really out of character, I'm so sorry. This is really out of character." To this day, I have no idea what I was thinking, I guess it hadn't occurred to me that they'd fight me.
So, yeah. The vaccinations will be a highlight.
10:45 a.m.
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It's time for my very own personalized action figure. For $250 I could have a mini Mighty Girl with a tiny little cape and tiny white go-go boots. That's some serious first-world livin'.
3:51 p.m.
As I was rummaging for breakfast this morning, the cupcakes on my counter started to look suspiciously muffinlike. I had an internal debate: Muffin? Oatmeal? Muffin? Oatmeal? Then the inevitable self-reprimand: "MAGGIE. Muffins do not have sprinkles."
9:52 a.m.
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I took an Italian art history course in college. The whole class could be described by something the professor said absently one day, "Today we're going to talk about another... big church."
My second favorite art-history moment was when my modern art professor spent half an hour talking about a Mondrian painting before realizing that the slide was in upside down.
6:15 p.m.
Subject: A reporter's post-holiday laments.
I am sick at work and awaiting an excruciating article assignment, which will probably be a New Year's resolution, man-on-the-street story. I will have to go to gyms and ask people why they decided to get slim for the New Year or track down smokers who may be willing to quit for the New Year. This is akin to the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping stories I've had to do the last two years. If we still used pencils or pens, I would commit Hari-Kari with one as we speak...maybe this keyboard is sharp enough. Nope.
11:29 a.m.
Going through old magazines, I came across the stupidest headline of 1999: Are Your Nails Ready for Y2K?
"Yeah Bob, I'm out on that Y2K nail compliancy call, and we've got a few problems over here. Looks like she's got on a little Revlon Wine With Everything, but she used an incompatible top coat so it's chipping. Yeah, and her cuticles are all messed up..."
10:25 a.m.
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Just got back from vitamin shopping. The One-a-Day Calcium Supplement recommended "serving" is… two-a-day. Better yet, the side of the bottle said, "Two One-a-Day Calcium supplements offer 1,000 mg of Osteoporosis-fighting calcium. For pregnant women three One-a-Day Calcium supplements offer 1,500 mg of Osteoporosis-fighting calcium." Because, as you know, pregnancy does render one incapable of doing simple arithmetic.
8 p.m.
Philosophical note to self (and you too, since you're here):
People who are good to know are also sometimes hard to know. If you want sparky friends in your life, you have to accept all of their eccentricities--not just the cute ones. The things you have to work for are usually better anyway.
7:28 p.m.
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I just had my first feature article published. Super sweet.
9:31 p.m.
I like Caterina because she reminds me of a quirky girlfriend I had in highschool named Heather. People thought Heather was weird and pretentious, but she was actually just genuinely surprised when the guy next to her in Driver's Ed didn't know what contumacious meant. So, in honor of the girls who don't dumb themselves down for public consumption, I present these Caterina moments.

My cousin Andrea sent me something: a man named William Miller surveyed people who were dying. In his research, he discovered most of them would basically do three things differently if they had the chance to live their lives over:
1) They'd take more risks,
2) They'd assert themselves more, and
3) They'd have a lot more self-discipline.
3:35 p.m.

Cooking, cleaning, thinking, taking baths, going for walks are things I hardly have time for anymore, or don't remember to do. Funny how these things used to be the stuff of life, but have been replaced by driving on freeways, conference calls, showers, chinese food delivery and answering email. Like we want as little contact with our lives as possible.
8:55 p.m.

Jouke told me that "patatipatata" is French for "yadda yadda yadda."
2:24 a.m.
12:55 p.m.
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Found a post on Small Japanese Notebook that struck me as a concise description of being 16:
"i suddenly don't like my friends. or a good majority of them."
5:14 p.m.
I was on the Haight awhile back and overheard a conversation between three men. Two of them had been fighting and one asked the third man his opinion: "I don't know Jim, you were servin Tommy with some pretty aggressive tones."
3:34 p.m.
Subject: Friend from college writes, filling me in on the friends he saw over Christmas break.
...And I swear my friend Mike smoked about fourteen acres of hash down in Brazil. Like I don't know if he's got a complete sentence in him anymore. But 99 percent of my friends are tops. Including Mike, who may well be able to read without moving his lips by April.
10:40 a.m.
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My friend Katy is 5'2", beautiful, and blessed with a tangle of curly black hair. I spent New Year's Eve with her, and every ten minutes or so a new guy noticed her:

"Awwww, I like 'em petite!"
"Ooo. I've had wet dreams about that hair."
"Hello there, little girl. Wanna sit on my lap?"

Like she was going to saunter up, plop down on his lap, and wrap her legs around him. "Oh, Romeo. Don't…be…so…coy. (Insert bubbling laughter.)" Glah! By the end of the night I felt like my brain needed a shower, and none of it was even directed at me.
2:32 p.m.
My friend Sam is leaving San Francisco, and he made some good points in his farewell note. Another one bites the dust:

WHEREAS, despite the greatly-exaggerated demise of the New Economy, housing prices in San Francisco are still the second-highest in the world, and
WHEREAS the Bay Area is swimming in cultural events which are all within driving distance, but which lack parking anywhere within the same zip code, and
WHEREAS we spend over two hours commuting each day, and
WHEREAS we and two cats would like to move in together and have a front porch for something under $1000 a month, and
WHEREAS it might be nice to purchase a house within the next five years without a Tokyo-style mortgage, and
WE THE UNDERSIGNED (to wit, my girlfriend and I) do hereby declare:
YEA, VERILY, we are getting the Duck out of fodge.
12:07 a.m.
Oooh…Virtual Bubble Wrap. Such satisfying pop-like sounds. Must move hand away from mouse to wipe moronic drool from chin.
10:27 a.m.
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Jesus Dress Up is an online paper-doll of Jesus on the cross. Ever so tasteful. (Thank you Mr. Justin.)
1:25 p.m.
Characters: Me and a friend-of-a-friend, who I'd never met outside of email.
Subject: I had just figured out that our common friend was trying to set us up.

Me: Amy is, of course, trying to set us up. I didn't realize that until now, but it's become apparent. To make this more comfortable all around, let's mutually agree that it would never work between us. We're just different people. Besides, with my hideous deformity and your overbearing mother, we'd only be punishing ourselves.

Him: Wow, a pre-meeting rejection! How progressive and efficient of you. You're really going to be kicking yourself when you find out I'm the sole heir to the substantial Huggies fortune. Not that you're a shallow gold-digger, of course, I just find that everyone can always use more diapers.

Me: I try to be cutting edge when it comes to rejection. Can't get behind the technology, or suddenly your apartment is filled with belching morons, grabbing at their crotches and eating all your Klondike Bars.
10:49 a.m.
Nearly all of Jeff Druzba's posts are interesting. Then again, he hasn't been at this too long:
"Morning radio DJ's are the processed cheese of people. Every Monday it's the same, "Oh ya hate to get outta bed this mornin' but ya grab yer cup-a-joe and start the week off right." Then, every Wednesday they're out there with "It's hump day" and "Here's hoping the week is almost over." And, every Friday, you've got your "TGIF baby, let's part-ay!"
When I was at a younger awkward age, I used to hear them say "hump day" on the radio and I thought it was some kind of adult joke I didn't get. I knew that humping was what the big dog up the street did to your leg if you dared enter his tethered neck radius and it seemed odd to me that they would talk about something like that on the radio. The usage of "hump" meaning "middle" is not so obvious."
9:27 a.m.
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