Mighty Girl
My face.


contact: maggie at mightygirl dot net

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8.31.01
My favorite parts of Stephen King's On Writing:

On writing seminars:
"It seems to occur to few of the attendees that if you have a feeling you just can't describe, you might just be, I don't know, kind of like, my sense of it is, maybe in the wrong fucking class."

On becoming a cub sports reporter:
"I told Mr. Gould that I didn't know much about sports. Gould said, 'These are games people understand when they're watching them drunk in bars. You'll learn if you try.'"
10:01 a.m.
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8.30.01
Ladies night excerpts:

Lady 1: So he said he wasn't gonna date her anymore because she wasn't a good lay. So I said, "I'm curious, what's a bad lay from a guy's viewpoint?" And he goes (spreads legs, adopts blank look).
Lady 2: So it's not that she wasn't a good lay, it's just that "lay" was her only trick.
Lady 3: The Dissected Frog.

Lady 1: Did you guys hear that Mr. Rogers isn't doing shows anymore?
Lady 2: Yeah. That sucks.
Lady 3: I have a signed picture of Mr. Rogers.
Lady 1: No way.
Lady 3: Mmm hmm. My dad met him once.
Lady 4: Wouldn't it be rad to get Mr. Rogers to sign your panties or something?
Lady 5: I wonder if he'd do it.
(Pensive silence.)

Lady 1: He's kind of boastful. We're going around introducing ourselves, and he's saying the exact same thing to every person. I heard it like 30 times. That's OK if you've known someone a couple years, you expect to hear their stories again. But I barely know him. When you've known a person a few years you know all their stories, and when they meet someone new you can kind of settle into doing your own thing while they talk. But this guy I just met, and I'm hearing the same thing over and over and over. Then, I started getting sarcastic about it, like filling in responses for him, and he didn't get it.
All: Ohhh nooooo.
11 a.m.
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8.30.01
Last Friday was Julie's birthday. She wanted to go see "The Vagina Monologues," so we got tickets. For a few hours we listened appreciatively as three women reenacted interviews with hundreds of women talking about their vaginas. When the lights came up, I was entirely too aware that everyone around me had genitalia. Then we went home.
12:05 a.m.
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8.28.01
Overheard: Somebody done somebody wrong.
Characters: Two teenage girls on the bus.

Girl 1: You got to call her.
Girl 2: Well, she say she saw her leave with some man.
Girl 1: Call her.
Girl 2: If she didn't see up close, how she know it was Amid?
Girl 1: Uh-uh! You got to call her.
3:16 p.m.
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8.27.01
The guys over at The Morning News just published a very brief interview with me (bottom right corner, second column).
11:01 a.m.
Went backpacking this weekend, and cursed my lack of penis.

Me: Are you peeing again?
Him: Yep, and I don't even need to.
Me: Damn you.
Him: I'm just doing it because the convenience overwhelms me.
Me: Bastard.
10:49 a.m.
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8.24.01 This guy wants to be a cat. He's filed his teeth down, his nails are clawlike, and he has stripe tattoos all over his body. Now he wants fur. Rowrrr! Hey there, Tiger.

(via preshcat!)
2:35 p.m.
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8.23.01 Ugly Fat Kid summarizes the average American political sentiment in under ten seconds: "I say we should pass a law about all these problems. There. That covers it. Now on to sports..."
3:57 p.m.
Three confessions:
  • I type my grocery list.
  • I had Fritos for breakfast.
  • Last night, I watched the entire Miss Teen USA pageant, even the part where Mandy Moore sang barefoot.

  • 11:09 a.m.
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8.22.01 Tuesday night at Naps is Karaoke night. The hot dogs on the back table may be gray, but they're free. There's also a wholesale-sized tub of relish if that's your gig. When we got there, about five regulars lined the bar, and a fellow named Brian was singing a drunken-scat version of "If You Think I'm Sexy."

"If you beh-dee SEXY
ahn you me-dee BODY
Wee-bby beeh-doo body KNOW."

Meanwhile, frustrated barflies screamed the actual lyrics and made instructive gestures at Brian, who smiled vaguely, raised his arms above his head, and gyrated. Did I mention free hot dogs? Awesome.
11:18 a.m.
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8.21.01 Overheard: My neighborhood (Noe Valley) in a nutshell.
Characters: Three thirty-somethings shift indecisively in the street.

Woman 1: That doesn't make sense, we'll have to double back.
Man: Well, what do you want to do?
Woman 3: Let's go get the dog, then go to Starbucks.
3:55 p.m.

p.s. Go see The Others. Great, great movie. Karma gods were paying me back for Original Sin.
3:57 p.m.
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8.20.01 Top three lines from Original Sin:
  • It's a letter from a stranger. Someone I don't know.
  • You're in the skin trade, baby, the skin trade.
  • (Angelina Jolie to a priest:) Do you believe in forgiveness? Redemption for the human soul?
1:55 p.m.
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8.17.01
More people I wish I knew:
  • The guy in the boyscout ski cap wearing a T-shirt that reads, "Smoke crack, worship Satan."
  • The beautiful girl in the pale pink sweater running back to her construction site with hardhat in hand.
12:42 p.m.
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8.16.01
Just read about a Japanese arcade game called Boong Ga Boong Ga. A description from the linked site: "You, the player, try to cram a plastic finger up a virtual woman's ass. The harder you shove, the more reaction you get from the computerized face on the screen." The world is an odd, odd place.

(via eatonweb)

[P.S. Luke wrote in to point out that the game is actually Korean, and it has eight characters: ex-girlfriend, ex-boyfriend, gangster, mother-in-law, gold digger, prostitute, child molester, and con artist. Quentin says that, "The mission isn't to 'cram a virtual finger up a virtual woman's ass.' The idea is just to poke their butt really hard in a kind of spanking-esque way." Good clarifications. And my new mission is to work "spanking-esque" into polite conversation.]
2:02 p.m.
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8.15.01
I just joined the Top Ten Blog. Stop by, won't you?
3:53 p.m.
Yesterday, I had stir fry for lunch. Last night, there was rice in my bra.
(That could totally be a haiku.)
3:53 p.m.
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8.14.01
"Dictionaryaoke: audio clips from online dictionaries sing the hits of yesterday and today." I favor "Girl From Ipanema" and "Highway to Hell."

(Via xblog.)
11:43 a.m.
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8.13.01
The actual headline of a press release I received a few days ago:

Collaboration and Web-Based Self-Service Access to Brand Assets and Marketing Collateral Enable Tighter Brand Control for Enterprises and their Partners
11:30 a.m.
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8.10.01
Fun trip. My cousin married a Boy Scout troop leader; I fell down a flight of basement stairs in Toledo without breaking any bones; then I drove to Chicago where I met most of the 37 Signals crew--all of whom are as smart and fun in person as they are on screen.

The highlight of the trip was my drive from Cincinnati to Chicago. Indiana radio... how can I say this tactfully?... bites monkey butt. If I hear "I Hope You Dance" one more time, I'm going to find Lee Ann Womac and exchange a few of my own affirmational phrases with her. And who can forget Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam's "Head to Toe"? Apparently not the Indiana DJs, because I haven't heard that gem as much since 1987.

But there were a few things I'll always cherish about the Midwest:

  • Restaurants called Beef and Brandy.
  • Lewd camera poses with Bob's Big Boy statues.
  • The woman in a denim top with a matching bunny-print denim bag.
  • Seven Bucks for a steak, and Krispy Kreme Lemon-filled donuts.
  • The way natives say "Chicahgoh."
I'm home now, which means that I'd have to search long and hard for a country music station on the radio, and I can talk smack about American cars in crowded restaurants without getting the crap kicked out of me.
12:03 p.m.
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8.6.01
Someone once said that Toledo sounds like something winged monkeys would sing. And it does, "Toh-lee-DOH, weeeoh-WHUM." Every corner that doesn't have an Applebees or a Perkins has a funeral parlor. Two brief Ohio related conversations I had with Fred, who is a certifiable Toledo resident:

Me: Rudy's Hot Dogs. Oh, my God. That place only serves hot dogs?
Fred: No, they also have omlettes.

Fred: So I've already taken some hassling because the new truck's an import.
Me: What? Please. [I look around the restaurant and whisper:] American cars are crap.
Fred: You know you're in the Midwest when you have to say that in hushed tones.

Now I'm in Chicago. The humidity is such that I don't need to rewet my contacts. It's like heaven, except with more toll booths.
10:30 a.m.
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