IPOD
RADIO
I'm just so over it.
"It" being everything.
Bah. Just, "Bah".
Or maybe "Pfft".
I don't think the pills are working.
"It" being everything.
Bah. Just, "Bah".
Or maybe "Pfft".
I don't think the pills are working.
I've seen too damned much about the Olympics and how the frigging Chinese are treating their people, their animals, and the athletes involved in this year's Games to support it.
If you want to know more, then Google "Olympics Controversy" and look around on the 'net. I've seen enough that I'm boycotting the thing.
Until the games are over, I am not going to be getting anything from the following companies:
McDonald's
Coca-Cola
GE
Johnson & Johnson
Panasonic
Samsung
UPS
Budweiser
Snickers
Staples.
I'm considering not using our bank cards until this is all over because they have "VISA" stamped on them, and I know that won't make Jason happy, but I don't know. I'll have to call the bank tomorrow and see if Visa gets a little piece of the pie every time we use our check card. If so, we're gonna have to figure something out.
I know that some of you will say this sounds retarded; that one person can't make a difference, and that I'd be causing my husband and I aggravation just because of a few things all the way across the world that don't really matter over here anyway.
They may not matter to some people.
They matter to me.
And I, in good conscience, cannot support something that has a committee that would allow such an event to take place in a country where they commit crimes against their inhabitants just because a few inconsequential athletic events are going to be taking place behind its borders. The Olympic games used to represent athletic excellence and a coming together of nations in spite of war or anything else.
Now they're crap.
If you want to know more, then Google "Olympics Controversy" and look around on the 'net. I've seen enough that I'm boycotting the thing.
Until the games are over, I am not going to be getting anything from the following companies:
McDonald's
Coca-Cola
GE
Johnson & Johnson
Panasonic
Samsung
UPS
Budweiser
Snickers
Staples.
I'm considering not using our bank cards until this is all over because they have "VISA" stamped on them, and I know that won't make Jason happy, but I don't know. I'll have to call the bank tomorrow and see if Visa gets a little piece of the pie every time we use our check card. If so, we're gonna have to figure something out.
I know that some of you will say this sounds retarded; that one person can't make a difference, and that I'd be causing my husband and I aggravation just because of a few things all the way across the world that don't really matter over here anyway.
They may not matter to some people.
They matter to me.
And I, in good conscience, cannot support something that has a committee that would allow such an event to take place in a country where they commit crimes against their inhabitants just because a few inconsequential athletic events are going to be taking place behind its borders. The Olympic games used to represent athletic excellence and a coming together of nations in spite of war or anything else.
Now they're crap.
My honey finally managed to find gainful employment! Yippee!
In other news, I colored my hair. It was black with Pillarbox Red ends, but I'm going to be re-dyeing it soon because it was a demi-permanent dye and it washed out waaaay too quickly, and I'm trying to get most of the red out of the ends because Manic Panic just doesn't fucking last for any length of time. (I wash my hair daily, and therefore it didn't last for beans.) Currently, my hair has settled into a really dark brown and the ends are this weird, wishy-washy reddish-pinkish-orangey color that's just odd. Like a dusty salmon. I'll post pics if people are interested when I make it purty again. I've got different reds that I'm going to be putting in the ends.
Just so you know, trying to dye the ends of your hair a different (and seriously lighter) color than the rest of your hair is a pain in the balls.
But I liked the effect, so...whatever.
In other news, I colored my hair. It was black with Pillarbox Red ends, but I'm going to be re-dyeing it soon because it was a demi-permanent dye and it washed out waaaay too quickly, and I'm trying to get most of the red out of the ends because Manic Panic just doesn't fucking last for any length of time. (I wash my hair daily, and therefore it didn't last for beans.) Currently, my hair has settled into a really dark brown and the ends are this weird, wishy-washy reddish-pinkish-orangey color that's just odd. Like a dusty salmon. I'll post pics if people are interested when I make it purty again. I've got different reds that I'm going to be putting in the ends.
Just so you know, trying to dye the ends of your hair a different (and seriously lighter) color than the rest of your hair is a pain in the balls.
But I liked the effect, so...whatever.
I am pleased to announce that I have now been to my first drive-in theater!
There's one about 25 minutes away from me, and I went last week to see "Iron Man" with my darling.
I had SUCH a nice time. It was pretty inexpensive (6.25 per person) and the concession stand had cheeseburgers! I could smoke during the movie, and I didn't have someone's seven-year-old kicking the back of my chair, and I didn't have someone muttering advice to Tony Stark two inches from my ear! All we had to do was tune the radio to a certain station and we could listen to the sounds in the movie at whatever volume we felt was appropriate. What? The explosions are just too damned loud? That's okay! Just turn down the volume!
We'd brought our own drinks so we got to drink exactly as much as we wanted and exactly what we wanted to drink. It was great.
By the way, if you go to see this movie, sit there and wait until after the credits. Something cool happens.
And the movie was awesome. Robert Downey Jr. IS Iron Man. I never thought Robert Downey Jr. was sexy, ever, until I saw him play this part. It just rocked completely. LOVED it. I just loved it.
There's one about 25 minutes away from me, and I went last week to see "Iron Man" with my darling.
I had SUCH a nice time. It was pretty inexpensive (6.25 per person) and the concession stand had cheeseburgers! I could smoke during the movie, and I didn't have someone's seven-year-old kicking the back of my chair, and I didn't have someone muttering advice to Tony Stark two inches from my ear! All we had to do was tune the radio to a certain station and we could listen to the sounds in the movie at whatever volume we felt was appropriate. What? The explosions are just too damned loud? That's okay! Just turn down the volume!
We'd brought our own drinks so we got to drink exactly as much as we wanted and exactly what we wanted to drink. It was great.
By the way, if you go to see this movie, sit there and wait until after the credits. Something cool happens.
And the movie was awesome. Robert Downey Jr. IS Iron Man. I never thought Robert Downey Jr. was sexy, ever, until I saw him play this part. It just rocked completely. LOVED it. I just loved it.
Yeah, I know it's been a little while since I last logged on.
Not much going on. Still slogging through the paperwork that is required when someone passes away, and likely will be for the next year. But everything is slowly chugging along, and hopefully either my husband or I will have a job soon.
We went to Las Vegas I think last week. Maybe the week before. I don't quite remember. All I know is that Las Vegas is the most depressing place I've ever been, and I lived in Pensacola, Florida for over ten years. And believe me, if living in Pensacola doesn't want to make you say "goodbye cruel world" by sticking an awl in your own eye or slitting your wrists with a wooden spoon, nothing will.
Las Vegas is fake. It's not fake like Disney World is fake, in that kind of delightfully creepy way. It isn't fake in the way that Six Flags is fake, in that wonderful "I can't believe I'm really on this roller coaster and I'm not dead or anything" way. It isn't fake like the movies, where even though you know it's fake, it's okay because it would be kinda neat if it WERE real.
No.
Las Vegas is fake in that Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph-why-the-fuck-did-I-move-from-my-comfy-hometown-where-I-could-have-gone-to-community-college-and-been-a-vet-tech-to-come-to-this-diseased-city-where-my-only-options-for-employment-are-cigarette-girl-bartender-cocktail-waitress-or-hooker way.
If you ever find yourself in Las Vegas and leave your hotel room in the wee hours of the morning (say, at about five-ish when you've had heartburn and are milling about looking for the cafe so you can get a glass of milk for almost three dollars so maybe you can go to sleep before getting up the next morning to go to your brother-in-law's wedding and not look like a goddamned zombie) and have to walk through the casino that you KNOW is there in EVERY hotel, you will find people despondently yanking the arms of the slot machines, obviously having no fun whatsoever, looking like they're kinda wearing their pajamas, and seeming for all the world like they wish they could summon the give-a-shit to ram their faces into the glass.
On the plus side, you can smoke all over the place in L.V. And then they've got "Star Trek: The Experience". I got my picture taken with a Ferengi, and we got our photo taken on the bridge of the Enterprise, in the tunic and everything. I even had pips! (I was the Captain. My husband had no pips. He was Ensign Throwaway! Bwahahaha!) And we blew a shitload of money on souvenirs.
But Las Vegas, in my opinion, is a blight upon the land, if for no other reason than the fucking traffic lights last an amount of time that can only be measured geologically. I cannot tell you how much time I spent sitting at those abominable lights. They are deliberately engineered so that you have to sit there and look at all the cheesy ads that are all over the place, advertising fashion that you cannot afford, shows for which you'd have to sell a kidney to be able to buy, and hotels that you will never, ever occupy for any length of time because the damned public restrooms probably have a dress code.
Everything about Las Vegas says "THIS IS NOT FOR YOU" in big, bold letters. With neon. And LCD. There are LCD screens all over the place, which have taken over the cheesy charm that I think the place probably used to have when it was all neon and Christmas lights blinking everywhere.
My husband and I had toyed with the idea of renewing our vows in Las Vegas at some point, but now we know that we wouldn't want to go back there if we can help it at all.
They have more pages for "entertainers" in the phone book advertising "slim, blonde, eighteen" or some such nonsense to come to your hotel room ("full service!") than we in Arizona have pages for restaurants. Admittedly, it's a HUUUUUUGE freakin' phone book in Las Vegas, but still.
It is a city devoid of hope. Ugh.
It took me two full days to get myself clean from that place.
And I might need another shower just because I reminded myself of it. Sigh.
Not much going on. Still slogging through the paperwork that is required when someone passes away, and likely will be for the next year. But everything is slowly chugging along, and hopefully either my husband or I will have a job soon.
We went to Las Vegas I think last week. Maybe the week before. I don't quite remember. All I know is that Las Vegas is the most depressing place I've ever been, and I lived in Pensacola, Florida for over ten years. And believe me, if living in Pensacola doesn't want to make you say "goodbye cruel world" by sticking an awl in your own eye or slitting your wrists with a wooden spoon, nothing will.
Las Vegas is fake. It's not fake like Disney World is fake, in that kind of delightfully creepy way. It isn't fake in the way that Six Flags is fake, in that wonderful "I can't believe I'm really on this roller coaster and I'm not dead or anything" way. It isn't fake like the movies, where even though you know it's fake, it's okay because it would be kinda neat if it WERE real.
No.
Las Vegas is fake in that Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph-why-the-fuck-did-I-move-from-my-comfy-hometown-where-I-could-have-gone-to-community-college-and-been-a-vet-tech-to-come-to-this-diseased-city-where-my-only-options-for-employment-are-cigarette-girl-bartender-cocktail-waitress-or-hooker way.
If you ever find yourself in Las Vegas and leave your hotel room in the wee hours of the morning (say, at about five-ish when you've had heartburn and are milling about looking for the cafe so you can get a glass of milk for almost three dollars so maybe you can go to sleep before getting up the next morning to go to your brother-in-law's wedding and not look like a goddamned zombie) and have to walk through the casino that you KNOW is there in EVERY hotel, you will find people despondently yanking the arms of the slot machines, obviously having no fun whatsoever, looking like they're kinda wearing their pajamas, and seeming for all the world like they wish they could summon the give-a-shit to ram their faces into the glass.
On the plus side, you can smoke all over the place in L.V. And then they've got "Star Trek: The Experience". I got my picture taken with a Ferengi, and we got our photo taken on the bridge of the Enterprise, in the tunic and everything. I even had pips! (I was the Captain. My husband had no pips. He was Ensign Throwaway! Bwahahaha!) And we blew a shitload of money on souvenirs.
But Las Vegas, in my opinion, is a blight upon the land, if for no other reason than the fucking traffic lights last an amount of time that can only be measured geologically. I cannot tell you how much time I spent sitting at those abominable lights. They are deliberately engineered so that you have to sit there and look at all the cheesy ads that are all over the place, advertising fashion that you cannot afford, shows for which you'd have to sell a kidney to be able to buy, and hotels that you will never, ever occupy for any length of time because the damned public restrooms probably have a dress code.
Everything about Las Vegas says "THIS IS NOT FOR YOU" in big, bold letters. With neon. And LCD. There are LCD screens all over the place, which have taken over the cheesy charm that I think the place probably used to have when it was all neon and Christmas lights blinking everywhere.
My husband and I had toyed with the idea of renewing our vows in Las Vegas at some point, but now we know that we wouldn't want to go back there if we can help it at all.
They have more pages for "entertainers" in the phone book advertising "slim, blonde, eighteen" or some such nonsense to come to your hotel room ("full service!") than we in Arizona have pages for restaurants. Admittedly, it's a HUUUUUUGE freakin' phone book in Las Vegas, but still.
It is a city devoid of hope. Ugh.
It took me two full days to get myself clean from that place.
And I might need another shower just because I reminded myself of it. Sigh.
I come bearing boobies.
My dear husband was looking over my shoulder at the pics I have on my blog here, and he said to me, "Oh, my God, you are SUCH a tease! You didn't put a single full shot of your boobs in there!" and I was like, "Noooo. Come on. How could I..." (scroll, scroll, scroll) "...Holy shit, you're right. No boobies."
He told me to rectify the situation, and he also told me that I should post some of the other ones that I had of me that I hadn't posted previously because I didn't know how easy it could be to do the same thing over and over again to a bunch of pictures.
So, for my friends, under the same picture album as before, I present to you...
My Hooters.
My dear husband was looking over my shoulder at the pics I have on my blog here, and he said to me, "Oh, my God, you are SUCH a tease! You didn't put a single full shot of your boobs in there!" and I was like, "Noooo. Come on. How could I..." (scroll, scroll, scroll) "...Holy shit, you're right. No boobies."
He told me to rectify the situation, and he also told me that I should post some of the other ones that I had of me that I hadn't posted previously because I didn't know how easy it could be to do the same thing over and over again to a bunch of pictures.
So, for my friends, under the same picture album as before, I present to you...
My Hooters.
Nothing new to report, really. I kind of have a lot of financial trouble right now, what with having recently moved and all.
Let's just say that last year was the worst year ever, and this one isn't shaping up to be that terrific, either.
And I just turned 31. Ugh. I hate my birthday. I can feel my mortality ticking away. Every second I'm that much closer to death, and I always have a rotten day in general, especially when my birthday falls on a Saturday. Luckily, it didn't this year.
That's the weird thing. I always have a fantastic day on Friday the 13th, no matter the month. But Saturday the 14th is always horrible. Lately, when the 14th falls on a Saturday, I usually just stay in bed with my protective blanket o' fear wrapped tightly around me. But then, I'm going off on a tangent. Rrgh.
Let's just say that last year was the worst year ever, and this one isn't shaping up to be that terrific, either.
And I just turned 31. Ugh. I hate my birthday. I can feel my mortality ticking away. Every second I'm that much closer to death, and I always have a rotten day in general, especially when my birthday falls on a Saturday. Luckily, it didn't this year.
That's the weird thing. I always have a fantastic day on Friday the 13th, no matter the month. But Saturday the 14th is always horrible. Lately, when the 14th falls on a Saturday, I usually just stay in bed with my protective blanket o' fear wrapped tightly around me. But then, I'm going off on a tangent. Rrgh.
I haven't been cruising the boards lately. I've been playing around in the groups. I've found several that I really like. I'm not hiding from anyone, just kind of trying to see what I really want to talk about. "Asking Anything" is fun, but I've been wanting to try to have actual conversations lately. 
Either way, hope you guys enjoyed the pics. I'm debating whether or not to put some more of them into the album, but I don't know yet. Thanks to Shiny_Metal_Ass for alerting me to the fact that I can make an action to make resizing those sons of bitches a lot easier!
Talk to you guys, soon. I hope everyone has a great day. Or afternoon. Or evening.
Either way, hope you guys enjoyed the pics. I'm debating whether or not to put some more of them into the album, but I don't know yet. Thanks to Shiny_Metal_Ass for alerting me to the fact that I can make an action to make resizing those sons of bitches a lot easier!
Talk to you guys, soon. I hope everyone has a great day. Or afternoon. Or evening.
So I'm cruising around the site, right? And it suddenly dawns on me that I have a) no job, b) a degree in Graphic Design, and c) that SG employs people to photoshop shit for 'em. So I think to myself, "Wow! What a great job that would be! I'm stoked by the very idea!"
And then I allowed my husband to take nude pictures of me. And then I set to photoshopping them so that they'd be viewable. Nothing major. It's not like I have to smooth out huge patches of zits or rearrange my facial features or anything. I don't have yards of bright white stretch marks and cellulite on my forehead. It should be a snap, right?
Not so much.
First of all, I maaaaay have exaggerated a bit in my last blog when I said that there were only about ten useable pictures that my husband took of me. So I have a bunch of pics in which I look pretty good, I think, and so I sit down to go to town on the resizing and stuff.
And then I realize that just to resize these things is BOOOOOO-riiiiiiing. Like, mind-crushingly, stultifyingly boring. "Open..with...Photoshop, Image Size...inches to percent...16.7%...wait...I can just change the pixels to 545 width...constrain proportions checked...yup..awwwrighty. Adjust the lighting, adjust the levels, adjust...WTF!?!! Color. Gotta adjust the color...this ain't Star Trek and I am SO not William Shatner's green squeeze for the episode....save...quality..."
Was that boring to read? Good. Now imagine that being done like, fifty times in a row.
This might take a while. But because I don't want to be branded a tease, I will eventually deliver unto thee pictures of my bosom. And perhaps my butt. Let's just hope I don't get tired of looking at my own face.
So endeth my five-minute desire to ask SG if I can photoshop for them. Nobody's face, ass, crotch or any other part of them can be so fascinating that I am willing to sit there for hours on end Heal-brushing the imperfections off of them.
And P.S. I have the hiccups.
And then I allowed my husband to take nude pictures of me. And then I set to photoshopping them so that they'd be viewable. Nothing major. It's not like I have to smooth out huge patches of zits or rearrange my facial features or anything. I don't have yards of bright white stretch marks and cellulite on my forehead. It should be a snap, right?
Not so much.
First of all, I maaaaay have exaggerated a bit in my last blog when I said that there were only about ten useable pictures that my husband took of me. So I have a bunch of pics in which I look pretty good, I think, and so I sit down to go to town on the resizing and stuff.
And then I realize that just to resize these things is BOOOOOO-riiiiiiing. Like, mind-crushingly, stultifyingly boring. "Open..with...Photoshop, Image Size...inches to percent...16.7%...wait...I can just change the pixels to 545 width...constrain proportions checked...yup..awwwrighty. Adjust the lighting, adjust the levels, adjust...WTF!?!! Color. Gotta adjust the color...this ain't Star Trek and I am SO not William Shatner's green squeeze for the episode....save...quality..."
Was that boring to read? Good. Now imagine that being done like, fifty times in a row.
This might take a while. But because I don't want to be branded a tease, I will eventually deliver unto thee pictures of my bosom. And perhaps my butt. Let's just hope I don't get tired of looking at my own face.
So endeth my five-minute desire to ask SG if I can photoshop for them. Nobody's face, ass, crotch or any other part of them can be so fascinating that I am willing to sit there for hours on end Heal-brushing the imperfections off of them.
And P.S. I have the hiccups.
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