YAY!! Of snowboot superheroes and adventures

My new kick-ass snow boots arrived just as I'm about to go out into the cold on an adventure. And they make me look and feel like some sort of Scandinavian superhero. I feel cool-as-shit right now. And now for an adventure......

That, superreaders, is all.

Theft of spam leaves gap in socioeconomic status of area woman's e-mail account

Chicago, IL (AP--Reuters) An area woman who wished to remain anonymous reported today that all of the spam e-mail saved up in her Bulk folder was mysteriously missing. Police were contacted, but as of yet, there seem to be no leads. She is quoted as saying, "Suddenly, and without warning my collection of 4800 spam e-mails that were just chillin' in my Bulk folder have up and disappeared, and now I only have 15 spams in there. Who has stolen my collection of spam? Why would anyone do such a thing? Bastards! It'll take me at least a week to collect that many again. Shame on you, spam thief, shame on you!"

She was distraught and had to be restrained.
"I've never seen anything like it," said Officer Geraldo Lopez of the Internet Crimes Division. "This has to be the largest theft of junk mail that we've ever come across."
Singer-activist Willie Nelson is reportedly in the studio with Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson recording a song about the societal impact this has on the e-Community; the song is reportedly titled "Where Have All the Spammers Gone?" It will hit stores on Tuesday. The week after this Tuesday, hip-hop artist/producer Diddy will release his version of the single, which is basically the same thing, except he raps over the guitar harmonies, titled "Bitch Where My Spam At?"

That is all.

And the holidays are back... with a vengence

Well, Thankgiving has come and gone and it's officially the Holiday Season, complete in Chicago with our first real stick-to-the-ground snowfall. This T-day was the coldest fucking Thankgiving I've ever experienced -- it was 17 degrees when Bil and I stepped outside to walk the 5 blocks to my cousin's apt. for the big ass feast that awaited us there. It was very nice -- good people who were friends of theirs from their church group. So, as you can imagine, Bil and I were on our best behavior. I think that the swear word tally out of the two of us was maybe only 1 -- Bil said the dreaded sh-- word when he told the story of the crazy Bostonian on the subway with the hatchet and the butterfly knife. I avoided drinking all together in order to not accidentally slip and say something scandalous. And we did have a nice time. But I did miss out a bit on being the godless-heathen-with-the-mouth-like-a-truck-driver personality that I might normally be. And I felt a bit false about it all. (I still felt like godless-heathen me when I mentioned that we *gasp* had lived together before we were married.)
The high/low point in the evening came when we were playing Trivial Pursuit 90's edition that we, the terrible sinners, had brought over at my cousin's behest. One of her married friends was reading a question that asked what show had Shannen Doherty playing both a witch and a bitch. (The answer is Charmed...) But good-Christian-friend of my cousin's got halfway through reading the question out loud and stopped. "I don't---I can't--- well the answer is Charmed. And I'm not gonna read the rest of the question because it has a Swear word in it."
I looked at Bil. He shrugged. If only one of us had read that question, we wouldn't have even thought twice about saying "bitch". hehehe... oh the scandal!
I mean, now, come on! "Bitch" as defined by Merriam-Webster "1 : the female of the dog or some other carnivorous mammals." It also notes these other connotations: "2 a : a lewd or immoral woman b : a malicious, spiteful, or domineering woman -- sometimes used as a generalized term of abuse 3 : something that is highly objectionable or unpleasant"
Therefore, I am most definitely a bitch. A bitch (def. #2a) who uses bitch-words (def. #3) at the bitch (def. #2b) who lives downstairs with her bitch (def. #1). Swear words are such fun! Just like the holidays!

That, bitchy readers, is all.

Mad Props to....

Kimberly for having the only blog updated recently enough for my tastes....
Please plebian readers write something and entertain me! Am currently between jobs and need entertainment desperately or else you'll all drive me into the arms of this guy. Please don't do that to me -- I'm a married woman... Please dear readers, write for me ! Entertain me!! Do it!

That is all.

How many states have you been to?

Apparently, I've been to all the RED states.... har dee har har....


create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

That is all.

Secretly I am a rock goddess. Just FYI. Don't let anyone tell you differently. I am a rock star.

That, screaming readers, is all.

Fucking Hell.... a retrospective...

Okay, so if you haven't guessed, I was a bit of a loser in high school. By that I mean that I wasn't popular. At all. I was a loner, mostly. Except that I was always careful to have a boyfriend nearby to feel like I was normal... It's late and that doesn't make much sense now, but I was sort of brain-addled in my youth. My nickname was Daria, which pleased me because I must be fairly witty and sarcastic. Also, I wore combat boots. I know -- very different from today....

I have made the mistake of reconnecting with the few people in hs that were not total fuckers in the past week via friendster. Can I just vent for a moment? I was always told that the people who were popular and cheerleaders and "cool" were already living out the best days of their lives and that they would end up has-beens doomed to live vicariously through their wild teenage children.

So why is it that THE popular girl has her own couture line? And why is it cute? And she's lost all traces of baby fat. That bitch! As of next Monday, I will once again be unemployed or crawling back to the Gap... I can't seem to find sustaining work as a designer.

On the other hand, I do have a collector husband... but still.... grrrrrr.

rant over

that is all

So I Married an Art Collector...

So, a couple of weeks ago I got married.

And the wedding was great.

But the thing is I never knew a certain side of Bil... an artsy-fartsy side... a hoity-toity side... his inner art collector.

Our honeymoon started out fabulously -- the wedding night on the Queen Mary,

the day at Disneyland rumor-mongering with Mr. Toad,

the perverse things performed in the Disneyland Hotel that night.... hehehe.

And then we got on a cruise to Catalina and Ensenada, Mexico. Fabulous indeed. I had a bit of a cold (leave it to me to get a goddamn cold on my honeymoon), but all was blissful and wonderful.

After a brief fire drill thingy where we had to drunkenly make our way to our "Muster Station,"

we left Long Beach and headed to Avalon. Long Beach, coincidentally, is prettier at night.

Avalon, coincidentally, is prettier in the late afternoon.

After Avalon, we heard a rumor of a preview of the art that would later be auctioned off onboard the cruise. (Actually, to be fair, the part that we heard was "free champagne.")

So we went for the champagne and to see the rumored Picasso that they would be auctioning off on Thursday.

It was funny because there was a shitload of Peter Max crap that they were also auctioning off -- total crap, and really on the same level as the Kinkades they were also selling.

If you have no taste, click here or here. We considered following a dashing fellow who looked like he was still wearing--I shit you not--the tuxedo from his first failed marriage to a woman who should have been a starlet but was really a hooker way back in 1972. We simply called him Disco Stu. Sadly, we were too drunk to capture him digitally to share with you, ceaseless readers. It was then only Tuesday...

Wednesday was spent in Ensenada, Mexico.

A Very Large Flag flies high over the city. It's a Mexican flag. For Mexico. We drank margaritas... loads of margaritas... and then we looked like this:

The rest of Wednesday was a bit cloudy, but we did see La Bufadora, one of three blowholes in the world.

(On a brief tangent, I don't think the tour guide had been to Washington, D.C., where there are a veritable plethora of blowholes...).

Thursday was a day at sea, and the day I was officially in bed sick all day. Bummer.

I sent Bil about the ship to do my bidding... he brought me orange juice, checked out the prices on the duty-free rum (8 dollars for a litre...) and checked out the art auction with the specific instructions to 1. not buy anything! and 2. follow Disco Stu and find out if he lives on the ship... 3 hours later Bil returned with the free $95 art that was promised for going to the thing... and a tale of woe. Disco Stu was not at the auction. Sad.

Also, he accidentally purchased a work by Emile Bellet. He saw it and knew it was one that I liked, but he coughed and missed the price. So he asked the guy next to him what the going price was, and the guy said $160. So Bil thought, "I can buy that for Devon." And he raised his little card (number 434) in the air, and the auctioneer said, "I see the gentleman over there for $1660, do I have $1700? $1700? Going, going... and sold to the gentleman right over there" very fast in that auctioneer sort of way.

And within a week of being married to me, Bil had his first my-wife-is-going-to-kill-me moment.
Ladies and gentlemen, I inspire this sort of terror in my husband already... And that is how my new husband bought us a piece of art. And it is beautiful.

And post-wedding, we can actually afford it. So thanks to all of you who unwittingly made donations to the Bil's Personal Welfare Fund. Our new painting should arrive in Chicago sometime in the next 5 weeks.
As soon as we got home, I told my mother about it,

and she sagely said, "Don't tell your father." Some things never change.

(Additionally, she comforted us both by saying, "You know one day your kids will fight over who gets that painting.")

Coincidentally, the guy who misquoted the price to Bil quickly moved to another part of the room.

I have a very special husband.

That is all.