… er, trolling.
On People and Their Professions
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/285337887.html
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/pdx/345840046.html
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/341815502.html
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/328561120.html
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/dal/316206178.html
And…
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/den/306153825.html
I couldn’t keep this one to myself much longer… So effing hilarious, I’m sorry it’s someone’s life.
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/273595054.html
Deb
another one of my favorites
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/32010873.html
I’ve been visiting the doctor a lot recently, mostly for this nasty cold, and also to revel in the joys of full-time benefits, but today I actually went for a legitimate issue. It was my first venture into specialist-land: the ear/nose/throat man.
Turns out the ear discomfort I’ve got is common and most likely due to allergies. The doc says I’m going to live. And I should take some allergy medication.
But that’s not why I’m here today, making this announcement. I’m here to tell you that I’m pregnant. Just kidding. Okay. I’m here to tell you I had a nearly perfect hearing test, so much that the technician of five years was astonished. She said no one’s ever done as well as I did… Which means I haven’t gone clubbing nearly enough for my age.
So anyway, the next time you see me donning the beautiful orange or yellow sponges in my earholes and decide to make fun of me, think twice, buster. These perfect ears don’t want to hear any more of your lip. When I reach into my pocket or suggest you ask the bartender for some earplugs, you just remember who I am… the friend with massively effective hearing. No lip!
And I’m not dying, so that’s good too. Hope you all are well, and hi, Ray, I’m back. 
peace,
d
This is dedicated to someone named Buck. Not necessarily created for him, but perhaps inspired by him… with him in mind, let’s say. This is not the “piece” I’d mentioned in 011.
Dedicated to Buck.
It’s what I’ve always known and what I still pick at with uncertainty.
It’s the thrill of the ride and knowing dizziness might make you throw up when you disembark.
It’s knowing your mortality–but!–knowing this isn’t the end-all-be-all–but!–if you were to die tomorrow, at least you died trying. Smiling.
It’s hoping for the best as you watch most of your hopes either crumble or morph around you.
It’s letting go but strangely, too, holding on; I don’t get it.
It’s telling someone, “I love you,” without fear or consequence, feeling without overanalyzing, knowing the words no longer do harm and only help.
- pace, me
… if you want to laugh: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/min/108415870.html
and
… if you want to make yourself useful: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/122543727.html
enjoy!
pace,
d
(Well, New York is cool for, like, The New Yorker and all, but they deliver that to my house.)
H&M is here, you guys. I figure, why spend cash on the x-country airfare when I could repopulate my entire closet?
This post is actually a little late, because I was lucky enough to be selected by Peter to attend the pre-opening opening on Thursday of last week. We actually almost didn’t go, because the H&M people were a bunch of buttmunches and invited 2,000 people to a 500-person capacity place. Yeah. You can imagine. It was like waiting outside City Nights ca. 1994, except I wasn’t wearing a half-top.
So we went. We drank. We ate. We (almost!) rubbed shoulders with Miguel Migs (who, btw, for ONCE, had no resident groupies around him—he wasn’t spinning, no—and I’d left my groupie membership card at home, so). We shopped. We goaded eachother into unnecessary purchases. We told strangers trying on clothes that they should buy things that maybe they shouldn’t have. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Did I mention Miguel Migs was there?
And of course, a couple days later is when I finally figured out what I would’ve said to Mr. Migs ("Heehee, I grew up in San Jose, too! I mean, not that I know you grew up there," "I was standing right next to you in line at RESfest two years ago," "While shopping for shoes for my exboyfriend—my EXboyfriend, hee hee—at Zara in Florence this summer, and I heard your song… I was singing along…," "I had this really weird dream last night, and… you were in it!" Oh wait, that’s from Sixteen Candles.)
Oh yeah, so then I got sick. I’m a phlegm-bot right now.
Didn’t stop me from seeing my goofy script read by two actors in front of a green screen with Jono on Saturday. That was fun. I’ll post pics later, when I’m less lazy.
And yesterday, after brunch w/ Mikeeeeeeeee and Alan, hit up Amoeba and came home with:
My star quote of the day was directed at Alan, who complained that spending $9.99 on a used CD is just too much, considering that he usually "gets" all his music free, and shit, they should be paying HIM for his extra effort to rip the CD to MP3. Me: "Hey quitcherbitchin’. Quitcherbitchin." Needless to say, he still left the record store empty-handed.
Last but not least, am I supposed to respond to my commentators?
Like to Rick, who thinks his blog supplier is radder than this. Well, it probably is. Problem is that I’m already all established here in Fsterland, and I’m either too lazy or too creative to go reposting all my real stats on another service. I’ve got profiles all across the Web, babe, and no two are the same, hahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
Or to Charles, who’s trying to hate on my choice of cans. No, I actually don’t care that they match my iPod. I just thought the white headphones would look super cute with my hair and my clothes, and that they’d be a neat accessory to me, not my iPod. Dang.
Sorry for the spam. Happy Monday. It’s sunny still.
pace,
d
