Saturday, February 04, 2006


The above phrase has absolutely nothing to do with anything other than I was having a Scarlett O'Hara moment, I'm not even from the south and I'm all fiddle-dee-dee. We are currently in the midst of a lovely storm; wind, rain, no thunder to make me chunder, yet. Aside from trees wiping out houses, our biggest concern is the loss of power, so far all is well, nothing we'll stop us from watching the Super Bowl, nothing! Well, perhaps the backside of this hurricane wanna-be might hinder our ability to watch the Hawks, but until then, all is well.

Time waster of the week:
Get Medieval!

The Bush administrations Fall Guy: "My Bad." In a world where "blame and credit are almost the same" and he's up to his ass in boners, oh my.

And finally, as I'm in the midst of the spring cleaning and wondering where the fuck all this crap comes from every goddamned year, and exactly why did I buy that blouse, those hideous pants and those overly large leisure silk thingy? I leave you with:
Abuse Me! I Like It! The Weirdness of Hiring A Personal Organizer
By Choire Sicha

"If you use anything except an ashtray to put your cigarette out in, I'll come over there and cut your fingers off, and then you'll have to smoke with your penis," she said to me on the phone the next day.

I'm sure that's what she said. I'm sure I couldn't have misheard. Still: Her psychosexual baggage? Mine?

It was the morning after she'll spent 10 hours throwing away everything I thought I owned. "Good, now get out," she'd said to me-in my own apartment! The brute!-the day before.

She was a personal organizer, a life coach, a cleaning woman. And for a full-fledged member of the OCD-riddled, slovenly packrat set, letting this aggressive stranger into my house was like a secret rape fantasy that had been drunkenly, accidentally, horribly, delightfully fulfilled.

So fucking hot! But-oh, yes-so degrading.

Read the rest here. [via]

Have a fantabulous day!