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On Bob Cesca's "Mandatory Rejection of S.P."
I just had a chance to read Bob Cesca's "The Mandatory Rejection of Sarah Palin" in The Huffington Post. He asks a (rhetorical?) question fairly early on, "They're definitely up to something with their hyping of a tight-race narrative. I just haven't figured it out yet." I feel he (unwittingly?) admits his answer later on:
Nevertheless, we have a ( Read more... ) -
Afternoon Delight
14:41:10
I say: New word: "clusterfrak"
14:45:34
SJC says: That works well. Better than Clusterfrag
14:45:58
I say: Yeah, because that would mean you'd have to de-frak. -
Alternative Lifestyles
I have not written, here, in quite some time. So much so that I am feeling a great distance between myself and my personal writing and my relationships that I've maintained via sharing my personal writing with others who graciously do the same for me. I wonder about this new, shorn up me. Simultaneously I've felt generally happier and more ( Read more... ) -
Ridiculously Gorgeous
“OH MY GOD GET ME OUT OF HERE.” I scream this to myself irrationally because it’s really ridiculously gorgeous outside and I’m stuck in a room for appearance’s sake. For the sake of appearing to be doing work, which I’m not doing because there is no work for me on this late Friday afternoon ( Read more... ) -
Hurry
I have two minutes before I have to leave work so that I can arrive in time at my lovely hair lady's place of employment to get my do done. I rarely leave early or take lunch or do anything to interrupt the usual, 40-50 hour a week, work schedule, so I'm particularly pleased. Giddy. I can see the sun from my place inside this building (I am ( Read more... ) -
Aside
I get to see Night of the Living Dead with George Romero! -
Part of a series (1)
She sits over there and quietly stares at me through the window and I’m pretty sure she wonders if I am the one she should be afraid of. I wonder the same about her. A layer of glass protects us from each other but I can’t help thinking that the window isn’t really a window at all. Instead she’s reflecting all this light back at me, and that’s ( Read more... ) -
Well, you know my name is Holly...
I feel like a misanthrope who never likes to do anything, see anyone, or go anywhere. Freaky dog lady. With a cane. And a beard. And fake teeth. Yellowed. And those tan, knee-high stockings rolled down around my ankles. Oh, and boobs held up by the elastic waistband of my severely unflattering, cotton skirt that I bought at Bealls on the 70 ( Read more... )