Date Archives February 2008

BEES.

WHAT.

There are bees in my grocery store? Bees in this box? Doing their bee business? HOW DOES THAT WORK? Does anyone else think it’s a PROBLEM that there are BEES IN THIS BOX IN MY GROCERY STORE? What do the bees eat if they never leave their box? Is it connected to some complex bee-factory with flowers in the nearby warehouse? Why don’t I hear buzzing? Why am I nervous about tapping the box to investigate further?

You have no idea how much I want to lift the lid and run.

The good news is that I smell like mint.

What I learned today: taking Tylenol ‘Sore Throat’ with CoolBurstTM is pretty much what I imagine chugging toothpaste would be like. RetchtacularTM!

Also, as part of Project: Flood the Office, whoever signed me up for a bunch of horrible ladies’ fashion catalogs under the name ‘Mellzah, Queen Douchebag’…genius. Please step forward to receive your beating award.

FUUUUUUUCK.

SO SICK. Ugh. I felt a little ‘off’ yesterday, but this morning it’s like I was beaten with the sick stick. I feel like I’m moving around underwater. My throat hurts. I’ve felt nauseated all day. I just want to go home, curl up in a ball, and maybe die. Why, why won’t they let me go home?

I’ve got a meeting tomorrow night that I can’t miss. I have to concentrate on feeling better before then. That, or perhaps I can give the plague to them and start wiping out the population on a small scale. By the time the government figures out that I’m a biological weapon, it’ll be too late and I’ll be Queen.

…of the Lepers.

Le Voyage dans la lune

There was a point in time when my boss told me that nothing good could come of refreshing Livejournal all day long.

He was officially wrong yesterday afternoon, when autonomic_pilot posted that he was taking a plane up to watch the lunar eclipse from 8,000 feet, and since he had three empty seats, the first three people to speak up got them.

Three thoughts shot through my brain in rapid succession:

1. If I want to do this, I have to respond NOW. Ok! 2. I will have to leave work early. Fine by me! 3. Wait, I have dance class tonight! WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN? FUCK DANCE CLASS.

I was one of the lucky three, the trio rounded out by la_roja and aelius27, whom you’ll recall graciously hosted Adventures in Science! Part One: Owl Vomit.

After practically floating out of work, I made a pit stop at David’s Bridal to maybe find something to wear to Kayleigh’s last-minute Prom Party this weekend, and after getting frustrated at incorrect sizing and hot layers of tulle, I have decided that my goddamn animal friends had better kick it up a notch and make something for me.

After all of THAT, I met everyone at Wings Aloft, where we prepared to sacrifice babies to convince an angered God to give back the moon.

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Frankly, I was a little concerned about all of us being able to fit inside. But I’m not the pilot here, so…oh, wait!

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Our fearless pilot.

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As the one with the fancy-pants camera that I didn’t quite know how to use, I got to be the co-pilot. Er, ride shotgun. Er, sit in the front and pray I wouldn’t break anything.

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STOP BLINDING ME, WOMAN.

 

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This was the emergency handle, which, when pulled, launches out a rocket/parachute 1-2 punch combo that destroys the plane but saves the passengers. autonomic_pilot said that since its inception, it’s been used 13 times and is credited with saving 31 lives, which is pretty goddamn awesome.

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Hey, look, it’s the world’s blurriest sunset over mountaintops! Gosh, wouldn’t that be nice if it were in focus? …I’m ShakyHands McGee.

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This is the point where, in accordance with the wishes of our TRULY fearless pilot, who perhaps didn’t know that the first week I had my driver’s license I totaled my car in an act of sheer Stupidity that is yet unrivaled, I took control of the plane. The expression on my face is equal parts ecstatic and terrified that I would kill us all. Doing something stupid that kills myself? Eh, we all have to go sometime. Taking others with me? Not so much!

Note: Although I didn’t make any seatbelt announcements, I was indeed in full control as autonomic_pilot had to use both hands to operate my camera. Or at least, I was granted the illusion of complete control, as it has become clear to me that John can actually control the plane via The Force.

2282211520_2fb6b84d0e The sky reflecting off of my glasses means I’m deadly serious like THE ICEMAN, bitches!

2282211524_72c3a335c4 This is what terror looks like when Mellzah’s got control.

The eclipse and night sky itself was, in a word, breathtaking. There are moments in my life when I’m overwhelmed by beauty, when my heart swells from the joy of it, and I almost feel it will engulf me. This was one of those moments. It was so incredible, and I wish that I could’ve captured even a fraction of that feeling with my camera.

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When I dated Alex, who was a pilot, he said that people often ask how planes know where they’re going without roads, and the joke-y pilot answer is to point out at the wings and say all they do is fly between the lights. This picture has nothing to do with the wings of the plane, but it makes me think of that nonetheless.

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la_roja taking a spin in the mini-plane.

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No, you’re breaking it! I AM NOT!

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Putting the plane back into the garage. There was a gap of MAYBE a foot on either side of the plane, which I would imagine is terrifying every time you put it in the garage–there’s not exactly room for error. Then again, there isn’t a crapton of room for error when your safety blanket is a rocket parachute, so maybe terror is something he’s used to by now.

This was an amazing, amazing experience. I really can’t give enough thanks–words seem insufficient and hollow. Still: thank you, thank you, thank you. The trip might have ended last night, but I’m still walking on air.

WTF

Dustin Diamond, aka Screech, blew off a comedy appearance in Seattle today. Isn’t this the guy who was begging people to donate to save his house a couple of years ago because he couldn’t pay his bills? Can he really afford to miss more work?

…Really?

Destruct-o-thon 2K8

Last night I went to The Stranger’s 11th Annual Valentine’s Day Bash–a night where people bring treasured mementos from failed relationships and they’re destroyed onstage in a burst of healing cathartic activity.

This wasn’t my first Bash–I first attended in 2006, when I had something of my own to destroy, and it made the news.

(Sorry it’s hard to read–since LJ scrapbook is blocked, I have to use Facebook, which resizes photos. Crappily.)

Although I didn’t have anything to bring this year, it’s a show that’s always worth attending, even as just an audience member. This year, in addition to the tar-and-feathers, blowtorch, paper shredder, and sledgehammer, we had a blender, a circular saw, a machete and liquid nitrogen.

I made sure to arrive early and staked out a spot right at the stage–it’s worth the prospect of getting some feathers in your hair or sprinkled with ‘tar’ in order to see the action up close.

While I waited for the show to start, a nifty lesbian with pink hair taught me how to swing dance AND do the charleston, and I was hit on by a bald dude in a Utilikilt with braces from Edinburgh who is a…(wait for it)…pole dancing instructor. Yeeeeeeeeeah.

Anyway, the show was a blast, it’s always neat to see Dan Savage (whose column I’ve read religiously since I was 15 and he was going by ‘Hey Faggot!’ in the Shepherd Express), and since I know that my experience there REALLY helped me get past my anger and move on, I also know that I witnessed a lot of awesome people who got fucked over by assholes and heartless bitches get a fresh start in life.

How great is that?

It’s like….fabio in a fursuit? *retch*

Yesterday, I opened my mailbox and found this:

GOD, NO. Why would you do this to me, people of the science fiction book club? Why would you send me mail with a scandalous cover that implies that perhaps I’m into skanky werewolf sex like some sort of goddamn sci-fi FURRY? Why would you put this ‘art’ on the cover, through the mail, for my klepto mailman and in FULL VIEW OF THE NEIGHBORS? This could well ruin my political career! NO ONE IS GOING TO VOTE FOR A SCI-FI FURRY.

Which I’m not.

I’M NOT.

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OH GOD THIS IS ALMOST WORSE. Don’t call me ‘changeling’. I’m not a ROLEPLAYING sci-fi furry. I don’t put on capes and costumes and howl at the moon! Why did you do this to me, science fiction book club? WHY? What made you think that this was a swell idea, that I would respond to this sort of thing in a favorable manner?

BECAUSE I WON’T.

NO.

The one thing we *have* learned from this is that my klepto mailman is clearly ALSO not a sci-fi furry or this would’ve disappeared as well, just like matadin‘s cthulhumas package.

The politics of failure have failed! We must make them work again!

I’ve also discovered that this post fits right in with ‘Lupercalia’ which is what the Christians transformed into Valentine’s Day–a festival about werewolves, blood, and fucking. So….uh. …yay appropriateness?

A Vote for Mellzah is a Vote for Awesome

Since I was denied entry to the caucus on Saturday by a snotty old man who told me I’d get another chance ‘in four years’, out of spite I have decided to run for benevolent dictator. Vote for me, and I will rule you gently with my iron fist!

Platform:

*Insurance companies will be summarily firebombed. The jillions they have in the bank will be seized and used to rebuild the areas ravaged by Hurricane Katrina and some swanky new levees. If there’s any money left over, use it to get socialized health care rolling.

*You heard me. Socialized health care. If Canada can do it, goddamnit, so can we.

*Abortions for some! No abortions for others! Miniature American flags for all!

*Reinstate corporal punishment in schools. If bullies got the shit kicked out of them regularly, and knew their teachers were packing stun guns, they’d think twice about driving angry loner children to the point of hit lists.

*Minor drug offenders will be set free. Violent offenders, however, will all be shipped to Utah for a ‘last man standing’ gladiatorial match. Weapons will be dropped inside at random–a sock full of pennies, a sharpened broom handle, and giant sporks. This will be televised on pay-per-view.

*Opposing politicians? Sorry guys. You’re all going to be shot. Goes for the House and the Senate, too. You’re useless, and the money we were paying you is better spent elsewhere. Except Russ Feingold. You’re cool, you can stay.

*The war? Done. Fuck that shizz in the EYE. The Sunnis and the Shiites want to blow each other to kingdom come? Have a blast, guys. Here, have a giant spork.

*Paris Ho-lton, Lindsay Ho-han, and Slutney Spears (and potentially more) will be shot on a rocket to Mars. For science. Riiiight.

*True freedom of religion (and non-religion!) and absolute separation of church and state. You can worship any invisible man/blue man/ blue man group you want, but don’t you dare tell anyone else what they should and should not be doing.

*Scientologists will be free (read: forced) into another rocket ship to go battle Xenu. Let me know how that shit goes.

*Illegal immigrants will be granted amnesty. Have YOU ever picked blueberries? Awful, awful work. But I’d still like blueberries on my cereal, so, y’know, amnesty.

*Cuba? Sanctions lifted, y’all. Quality cigars should be plentiful and cheap.

*Drunk drivers will have to walk home naked from the point where they are pulled over. Second time, with a matchstick squeezed in between their butt cheeks. Third time? You’re GOIN’ TO UTAH, BABY!

Doesn’t my mustache make me look like a natural born leader/dictator? I sure think so!

Napoleon, don’t eat it!

Napoleon was one sick puppy last night. It seems clear to me that he devoured something he shouldn’t have, much like a goat or a tiger shark. One day they’ll cut him open and find a license plate and a G.I. Joe. This week on “NAPOLEON, DON’T EAT IT” featured a pad wrapper, a cardboard tube, and stuffed animal stuffing. Past episodes have revolved around dropped chocolate, tissues fished out of the trash, and insects. This time I’m not sure what exactly he got into, but I should’ve known that anytime he’s not attaching himself like glue to the back of my leg, and he’s in another room and that other room is QUIET, he is getting into trouble. I heard him come out to the hallway and do that sort of constant licking thing that means that a visit from the vomit fairy is in short order. Sure enough, he vomited. And then vomited again. And then started to eat fuzz off of the carpet. I banished him to the porch, where he proceeded to eat dead leaves, moss, gnawed on the door frame and tried to snag a hair tie, and then vomited again. I took him outside to munch on some grass, and he grazed like a cow for fifteen minutes and even tried to strip leaves off of the ground cover, and when I brought him inside, he vomited again. He then ran over to his dish, devoured everything else that was inside, and then ran back out on to the porch and vomited twice more. I tried to lay down the law: NO MORE FOOD, SON, to which he responded by attempting to eat more carpet fuzz. My only recourse was to lock him in his cage with just his water dish. This made him very, VERY unhappy, and he howled his displeasure to the rafters, but he hasn’t vomited since.

Poor caged boy.