Stop laughing. That's what my apartment looks like.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Gettysburg: Part Uno
We've been home from Gettysburg for a week now and I still haven't really had a chance to write about the trip, even though I'VE BEEN DYING TO. We had such a fabulous time and we both felt like we squeezed a week long trip into two days. Which is a good thing. At least in our opinion.
Anyway, since there are a weeks worth of stories to tell, I'll try to break this up into a few parts. I can be pretty verbose as it is and I don't want anyone's eyes to drop out of their heads before we get to the part about the ticks. So here, for you, is Gettysburg: Part Uno.
Day one in Gettysburg was AWESOME. We couldn't have asked for better weather, really. It was raining when we first arrived in town, but it didn't matter because the first thing we did was hit the brand new Visitor Center which is home to a HUGE new museum. We got to see tons and tons of relics - relics that were known to have personally belonged to famous generals as opposed to just, you know, random relics. Have you ever seen this flag?
Badass, right? It was carried into battle by - uh, I totally forgot who - but it's pretty cool, huh? Each star represents a Union state or territory.
This is the very stretcher that carried Stonewall Jackson from the battlefield at Chancellorsville when he was accidentally shot by his own pickets. The blood stains you see? Totally his blood. Does that mean we could theoretically, potentially clone Stonewall Jackson? I wonder how he'd wear his facial hair nowadays
We finished up at the museum at about 2:55 p.m., but before we headed to the B&B I wanted to stop by the Visitors Information booth to ask about any special events that might be happening in the next two days. Poompy sort of went along with me because he couldn't go to the B&B without me, but he wasn't really interested in knowing about any special events. We ended up talking to the COOLEST park ranger EVER for about a half an hour. This guy had to be in his seventies, is a TOTAL Civil War buff and had some really cool suggestions for things we could do that most people don't know about. We had to endure a lecture on NOT hunting for relics, because I made a joke about a metal detector, but other than that it was super awesome. He even told us all about the history of the Iron Brigade - the brigade from Poompy's hometown. The brigade he would have been a part of if he had been born in the 1840's or 50's. Weird, huh?
TO BE CONTINUED....
Anyway, since there are a weeks worth of stories to tell, I'll try to break this up into a few parts. I can be pretty verbose as it is and I don't want anyone's eyes to drop out of their heads before we get to the part about the ticks. So here, for you, is Gettysburg: Part Uno.
Day one in Gettysburg was AWESOME. We couldn't have asked for better weather, really. It was raining when we first arrived in town, but it didn't matter because the first thing we did was hit the brand new Visitor Center which is home to a HUGE new museum. We got to see tons and tons of relics - relics that were known to have personally belonged to famous generals as opposed to just, you know, random relics. Have you ever seen this flag?
Badass, right? It was carried into battle by - uh, I totally forgot who - but it's pretty cool, huh? Each star represents a Union state or territory.
This is the very stretcher that carried Stonewall Jackson from the battlefield at Chancellorsville when he was accidentally shot by his own pickets. The blood stains you see? Totally his blood. Does that mean we could theoretically, potentially clone Stonewall Jackson? I wonder how he'd wear his facial hair nowadays
We finished up at the museum at about 2:55 p.m., but before we headed to the B&B I wanted to stop by the Visitors Information booth to ask about any special events that might be happening in the next two days. Poompy sort of went along with me because he couldn't go to the B&B without me, but he wasn't really interested in knowing about any special events. We ended up talking to the COOLEST park ranger EVER for about a half an hour. This guy had to be in his seventies, is a TOTAL Civil War buff and had some really cool suggestions for things we could do that most people don't know about. We had to endure a lecture on NOT hunting for relics, because I made a joke about a metal detector, but other than that it was super awesome. He even told us all about the history of the Iron Brigade - the brigade from Poompy's hometown. The brigade he would have been a part of if he had been born in the 1840's or 50's. Weird, huh?
TO BE CONTINUED....
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I Love Dead Things.
ef·flu·vi·um (ĭ-flōō'vē-əm) n. pl. ef·flu·vi·a (-vē-ə) or ef·flu·vi·ums
1. A usually invisible emanation or exhalation, as of vapor or gas.
2. a) A byproduct or residue; waste.
b) The odorous fumes given off by waste or decaying matter.
3. An impalpable emanation; an aura.
nec·ro·phil·i·a (něk'rə-fĭl'ē-ə) n.
1. Obsessive fascination with death and corpses.
2. Erotic attraction to or sexual contact with corpses.
No results found for necroamicus.
Did you mean keramics (in dictionary) or Necromanis (in encyclopedia)?
Poompy says I collect effluvia. But that isn't really right. I don't collect invisible emanations or vapors or odorous fumes. That's what he does, sure, but only when he eats too much dairy.
I collect dead things. I have just spent the last twenty minutes doing an online search to try to find out if there is a name for what I do, something along the lines of "necroamicus" ("necro" being Latin for "dead" and "amicus" being Latin for "friend") but that doesn't seem to exist. I am certainly not a necropheliac even though one could call my fascination with dead things a little bit obsessive. Sure I might be obsessed with dead things, BUT I DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH THEM. YOU SICKO.
The night before we left for Gettysburg, I found a newly dead baby bird on the sidewalk. Poompy and I were walking to Jen's apartment to drop Theo off for the next couple of days (the Bitch was staying with our friend Stef) when I found the little gem. This bird was so perfect and so beautiful. It's little body wasn't even cold yet. I crouched on the sidewalk, Poompy waiting impatiently behind me, admiring this perfect specimen and bashing myself for having left my camera at home. Again. And since I couldn't take a photo of the bird, I decided to take the bird home with me and take a photo of it there. So I used a poop bag and carefully picked up my little treasure and that was that.
We arrived at Jen's apartment and got Theo all situated and chatted for a little while and then went home. And it wasn't until I walked in my front door that I realized I'd left my bird on Jen's kitchen counter. YOU CANNOT IMAGINE THE CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT. I picked up my phone.
"Hi, Jen? It's Frosty."
"Is this about the dead bird you left on my kitchen counter?"
"Um, yes. It is. Would you - "
"Oh god."
"Would you mind just popping it in your freezer for me? So I can pick it up from you when I get back from my trip?"
"No. No, I will not. That is just too much to ask."
When I was about 12 years old I returned from a week at Horse Camp with some interesting souvenirs. A few days after I came home my mom started noticing a foul odor emanating from my bedroom. The smell got worse and worse until she couldn't stand it anymore.
"WHAT IS THAT HORRIBLE SMELL?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"SOMETHING IN YOUR ROOM IS STINKING UP THE WHOLE HOUSE."
"No it's not! I don't know what you're talking about!"
She walked over to my bookcase where I'd prettily arranged my Horse Camp souvenirs. She gingerly picked one up and sniffed it.
"OH MY GOD. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS."
"Horse toe-nail clippings."
"WHAT?"
"Horse toe-nail clippings. They're pretty. I bet you didn't even know that horses need their toe-nails clipped."
Then there was the time my father confronted my mother in their kitchen with a grim expression and a paper bag.
"What? What's wrong?" she asked.
"This is not funny."
"What is not funny?"
"This. This is disgusting. I thought there was a special treat in here for me. This is just mean."
My father dropped the bag on the kitchen table and stormed upstairs. My mother, completely mystified, opened the bag and found a little frozen mouse. A frozen mouse I'd left in their freezer probably four years before, since it had been at least that long since I'd moved out. All I have to say is, maybe they should clean out their freezer more often?
But you know, my family kind of encourages this little hobby of mine. A couple of years ago my parents vacationed in Kauai, Hawaii. They hadn't been there since the time they'd taken me as a child. The year they took me to Kauai, I spent the whole week running ahead of them to admire the hundreds of flattened frogs laying dead in the street. I was probably 7 or 8 at the time and I just couldn't get enough of these dead frogs. It seems that the frogs would come out at night and get flattened by cars zipping past. Then they would dry in the sun and turn into these perfect, frog-shaped pancakes. I wanted to take one home SO BADLY. But of course my parents wouldn't let me. So, now the year is 2006 and my folks are in Kauai without me. They've been there a couple of days when I get a box in the mail. It's marked "Fragile" in my fathers handwriting and my mother has written, "This is a special souvenir your father picked out just for you." I was so excited. What could it be? I eagerly, yet gently - minding the "Fragile" warning - ripped open the box. It was a frog-shaped pancake. I still have it. I'm trying to grow the balls to bring it to one of those framing stores to have it professionally framed. I will hang it in a place of honor.
Currently, my apartment is home to a box of rabbit and deer bones which I discovered on various hiking trips through the Santa Monica mountains when I was a kid, a box of snake shed sent to me by my dear friend who is caring for my python while I live in NYC, a box of cat whiskers which I add to whenever I find a stray one laying around somewhere, and of course, the flattened froggy. Oh! and let us not forget my Dead Things photo set on Flickr. It would really be awful if I were ever accused of a violent crime. People would come forward to testify: "She keeps dead frogs in her closet! And she collects animal bones! AND SHE ENJOYS TAKING PHOTOS OF DEAD BIRDS."
1. A usually invisible emanation or exhalation, as of vapor or gas.
2. a) A byproduct or residue; waste.
b) The odorous fumes given off by waste or decaying matter.
3. An impalpable emanation; an aura.
nec·ro·phil·i·a (něk'rə-fĭl'ē-ə) n.
1. Obsessive fascination with death and corpses.
2. Erotic attraction to or sexual contact with corpses.
No results found for necroamicus.
Did you mean keramics (in dictionary) or Necromanis (in encyclopedia)?
Poompy says I collect effluvia. But that isn't really right. I don't collect invisible emanations or vapors or odorous fumes. That's what he does, sure, but only when he eats too much dairy.
I collect dead things. I have just spent the last twenty minutes doing an online search to try to find out if there is a name for what I do, something along the lines of "necroamicus" ("necro" being Latin for "dead" and "amicus" being Latin for "friend") but that doesn't seem to exist. I am certainly not a necropheliac even though one could call my fascination with dead things a little bit obsessive. Sure I might be obsessed with dead things, BUT I DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH THEM. YOU SICKO.
The night before we left for Gettysburg, I found a newly dead baby bird on the sidewalk. Poompy and I were walking to Jen's apartment to drop Theo off for the next couple of days (the Bitch was staying with our friend Stef) when I found the little gem. This bird was so perfect and so beautiful. It's little body wasn't even cold yet. I crouched on the sidewalk, Poompy waiting impatiently behind me, admiring this perfect specimen and bashing myself for having left my camera at home. Again. And since I couldn't take a photo of the bird, I decided to take the bird home with me and take a photo of it there. So I used a poop bag and carefully picked up my little treasure and that was that.
We arrived at Jen's apartment and got Theo all situated and chatted for a little while and then went home. And it wasn't until I walked in my front door that I realized I'd left my bird on Jen's kitchen counter. YOU CANNOT IMAGINE THE CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT. I picked up my phone.
"Hi, Jen? It's Frosty."
"Is this about the dead bird you left on my kitchen counter?"
"Um, yes. It is. Would you - "
"Oh god."
"Would you mind just popping it in your freezer for me? So I can pick it up from you when I get back from my trip?"
"No. No, I will not. That is just too much to ask."
"WHAT IS THAT HORRIBLE SMELL?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"SOMETHING IN YOUR ROOM IS STINKING UP THE WHOLE HOUSE."
"No it's not! I don't know what you're talking about!"
She walked over to my bookcase where I'd prettily arranged my Horse Camp souvenirs. She gingerly picked one up and sniffed it.
"OH MY GOD. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS."
"Horse toe-nail clippings."
"WHAT?"
"Horse toe-nail clippings. They're pretty. I bet you didn't even know that horses need their toe-nails clipped."
Then there was the time my father confronted my mother in their kitchen with a grim expression and a paper bag.
"What? What's wrong?" she asked.
"This is not funny."
"What is not funny?"
"This. This is disgusting. I thought there was a special treat in here for me. This is just mean."
My father dropped the bag on the kitchen table and stormed upstairs. My mother, completely mystified, opened the bag and found a little frozen mouse. A frozen mouse I'd left in their freezer probably four years before, since it had been at least that long since I'd moved out. All I have to say is, maybe they should clean out their freezer more often?
But you know, my family kind of encourages this little hobby of mine. A couple of years ago my parents vacationed in Kauai, Hawaii. They hadn't been there since the time they'd taken me as a child. The year they took me to Kauai, I spent the whole week running ahead of them to admire the hundreds of flattened frogs laying dead in the street. I was probably 7 or 8 at the time and I just couldn't get enough of these dead frogs. It seems that the frogs would come out at night and get flattened by cars zipping past. Then they would dry in the sun and turn into these perfect, frog-shaped pancakes. I wanted to take one home SO BADLY. But of course my parents wouldn't let me. So, now the year is 2006 and my folks are in Kauai without me. They've been there a couple of days when I get a box in the mail. It's marked "Fragile" in my fathers handwriting and my mother has written, "This is a special souvenir your father picked out just for you." I was so excited. What could it be? I eagerly, yet gently - minding the "Fragile" warning - ripped open the box. It was a frog-shaped pancake. I still have it. I'm trying to grow the balls to bring it to one of those framing stores to have it professionally framed. I will hang it in a place of honor.
Currently, my apartment is home to a box of rabbit and deer bones which I discovered on various hiking trips through the Santa Monica mountains when I was a kid, a box of snake shed sent to me by my dear friend who is caring for my python while I live in NYC, a box of cat whiskers which I add to whenever I find a stray one laying around somewhere, and of course, the flattened froggy. Oh! and let us not forget my Dead Things photo set on Flickr. It would really be awful if I were ever accused of a violent crime. People would come forward to testify: "She keeps dead frogs in her closet! And she collects animal bones! AND SHE ENJOYS TAKING PHOTOS OF DEAD BIRDS."
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Like A Record, Baby
We left Manhattan via Zip Car at about 8 a.m. on Monday morning. It was stressful driving out of the city because we had to change highways about a million times and neither of us are familiar with anything west of the West Side Highway. I was a touch worried at that point because, you know, it's never a good sign when you start a vacation by bickering with your travel mate. I mean, is it really MY fault that he prefers a map over written directions? If he wanted a damn map, he should've said so. It's not my job to read his mind. HE'S SUPPOSED TO READ MINE.
So we were pretty grumpy as we started out towards Pennsylvania, but our icy demeanor's melted fast when the guy driving the big rig in front of us decided it was a good idea to put his truck in reverse. Because driving backwards on the freeway is perfectly safe. Just picture it: Poompy and I are sitting in our little rented Toyota Matrix, waiting our turn to merge from one highway to another, when the reverse lights on the Mack truck in front of us come on and the truck starts moving backwards. Quickly. I lay on the horn because I'M ON THE FUCKING HIGHWAY SO I CAN'T BACK UP and Big Rig Asshole starts driving faster. In reverse. On the highway. And, by the way, the sound my horn makes is this pathetic little squeak. So now I'm pushing both fists into the horn and the horn is going, "ssssssqueak?" and I'm screaming "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" and the truck is still moving backwards and by now I am envisioning the rear tires coming up onto the hood of the Matrix on their way to crush our skulls. And just before the sound of crunching metal pierces the air, just as I begin to see my life flash before my eyes, I glance into my rear view mirror and realize that the guy behind me is changing lanes and there is no one behind him, so I shove the automatic-gear-shifter-thingy into reverse and GUN IT backwards, while simultaneously swerving into the far right lane. I know, right? But I managed not to kill/maim/injure anyone and no damage was done to the vehicle and I still had time to flip off the driver of the truck as he sped backwards past me.
It's hard to stay grumpy after you survive a probably-would've-been-fatal-car-crash-if-you'd-actually-crashed close call. You know? After that we were both pretty breathless and giddy. I was certain I'd lost at least five years off my life. Poompy insisted that I'd maneuvered beautifully and that I should take up stunt driving.
So we were pretty grumpy as we started out towards Pennsylvania, but our icy demeanor's melted fast when the guy driving the big rig in front of us decided it was a good idea to put his truck in reverse. Because driving backwards on the freeway is perfectly safe. Just picture it: Poompy and I are sitting in our little rented Toyota Matrix, waiting our turn to merge from one highway to another, when the reverse lights on the Mack truck in front of us come on and the truck starts moving backwards. Quickly. I lay on the horn because I'M ON THE FUCKING HIGHWAY SO I CAN'T BACK UP and Big Rig Asshole starts driving faster. In reverse. On the highway. And, by the way, the sound my horn makes is this pathetic little squeak. So now I'm pushing both fists into the horn and the horn is going, "ssssssqueak?" and I'm screaming "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" and the truck is still moving backwards and by now I am envisioning the rear tires coming up onto the hood of the Matrix on their way to crush our skulls. And just before the sound of crunching metal pierces the air, just as I begin to see my life flash before my eyes, I glance into my rear view mirror and realize that the guy behind me is changing lanes and there is no one behind him, so I shove the automatic-gear-shifter-thingy into reverse and GUN IT backwards, while simultaneously swerving into the far right lane. I know, right? But I managed not to kill/maim/injure anyone and no damage was done to the vehicle and I still had time to flip off the driver of the truck as he sped backwards past me.
It's hard to stay grumpy after you survive a probably-would've-been-fatal-car-crash-if-you'd-actually-crashed close call. You know? After that we were both pretty breathless and giddy. I was certain I'd lost at least five years off my life. Poompy insisted that I'd maneuvered beautifully and that I should take up stunt driving.
"Really?" I wanted to know. "I wasn't the crazy one, right? That guy was totally fucked up, right?"
"That guy was nuts. Or something was wrong with his truck. Either way. You handled that really well."
"Except for the part where I just sat there screaming."
"You're on the freeway! What else were you supposed to do?"
"Yeah. The horn on this thing SUCKS, huh? I bet he couldn't even hear me honking."
"But he saw you flip him off."
"Awesome."
And then we turned up the stereo and blasted "Road Trip Uno, Deaux, 3", a mix-CD I'd made especially for the occasion, and sang along to favorites like Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round" and Bangkok Five's "Straight Fell Off" and Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher". We stopped at a McD's in Jersey to pee and get some greasy hash browns and we were surprised to find the place staffed entirely by little old ladies who were not impressed with my belching. But mmmm.... hash browns.
Two hours later we stopped at a McD's in Harrisburg, PA for lunch where I got to share the restroom with a young daddy and his little girl. Because there wasn't any toilet paper in the men's room, isn't that ridiculous? By the way, you know you're really broke and on a road trip when you eat at McD's twice in one day. But it was awesome. Our horsing around gave way to some new in-jokes (Damn New Yorkers!) and we spent so much time talking that we rediscovered why we're so crazy about each other. We talked and we talked and we talked and we talked and seriously, who knew I was married to such a cool, smart, funny guy? I mean, so what if he needs a map to go on a road trip? I can forgive him that flaw because he kept me laughing for over three hours. And he shares his french fries.
Two hours later we stopped at a McD's in Harrisburg, PA for lunch where I got to share the restroom with a young daddy and his little girl. Because there wasn't any toilet paper in the men's room, isn't that ridiculous? By the way, you know you're really broke and on a road trip when you eat at McD's twice in one day. But it was awesome. Our horsing around gave way to some new in-jokes (Damn New Yorkers!) and we spent so much time talking that we rediscovered why we're so crazy about each other. We talked and we talked and we talked and we talked and seriously, who knew I was married to such a cool, smart, funny guy? I mean, so what if he needs a map to go on a road trip? I can forgive him that flaw because he kept me laughing for over three hours. And he shares his french fries.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Gettysburg Preview Part 2
Stopped at Ragged Edge for a caffeine pick-us-up. Been tromping the battlefields for 6 1/2 hours. Walked Pickett's charge this morning - a mile through waist-high grasses - it was incredible. Incredible knowing what the men who did it must've endured that fateful day over 150 years ago. Hiked to the top of Big Round Top and Little Round Top. Explored Devil's Den, Valley of Death, and the Slaughter Pen. Walked the Union and Confederate lines along Seminary Ridge and Cemetery Ridge. As soon as the caffeine is keeping my eyelids propped open we'll head on out to Culp's Hill - it's the only thing we haven't explored yet.
THIS IS SO FUCKING COOL.
THIS IS SO FUCKING COOL.
Adventures in Gettysburg - A Preview
Hi folks! We're here in Gettysburg and it is JUST WONDERFUL. Really really really lovely. We're having a great time. I was getting a little ancy, having not checked my email in over 24 hours, so Poompy dropped me off at Ragged Edge - a local coffee shop that has wifi - so I could just make sure the world was still revolving as I'd left it, and then he went on to a local pharmacy to get some bug spray. Hopefully he'll find something strong.
When I get back, and I have time to actually write about this trip, remind me to tell you about the ticks. On my face.
Love,
frosty
When I get back, and I have time to actually write about this trip, remind me to tell you about the ticks. On my face.
Love,
frosty
Saturday, June 14, 2008
World News
This is story is WAAAAAAY more uplifting than the story I was going to post, about the Afghani child prostitutes. That story is a terrible, terrible story. This one isn't.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Uh.... Oh.....
Lately there has been some speculation regarding my gender. Several friends have suggested that perhaps I'm actually male, despite my feminine appearance. Recently I took this quiz to determine what kind of a wife I am and the results were not good. As a Wife, I rate "Poor". Something about red nail polish, vulgar stories and a general lack of ladylike manners.
Today, just for fun, I took Dopey's cue and took the quiz again, this time answering as if I were the Husband. It turns out I really am a man.
I've been wondering what that thing hanging between my knees is....
Today, just for fun, I took Dopey's cue and took the quiz again, this time answering as if I were the Husband. It turns out I really am a man.
 | 111 As a 1930s husband, I am |
I've been wondering what that thing hanging between my knees is....
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
You've been waiting for it....
IT'S UP AND READY FOR YOU TO WATCH!!!!!!!!! (Count 'em, NINE exclamation points. Because I'm THAT excited.) The PREMIERE of the music video for We Love What Kills Us, starring MOI. Check it out here.
And while you're at it, sign up for a FREE account at LiveVideo.com. Because it's WAY cooler than Myspace, Facebook, Friendster and Youtube combined. WAY. COOLER. And then go ahead and leave some positive feedback about the video. So I will feel good about myself.
Seriously. Go. Now.
Oh, and one more thing. BUY THE NEW BANGKOK FIVE ALBUM, IT'S IN STORES NEAR YOU, IT'S ON ITUNES, YOU HAVE NO EXCUSES. It'll be the best fucking album you buy all year. GO BUY IT NOW.
xoxo
And while you're at it, sign up for a FREE account at LiveVideo.com. Because it's WAY cooler than Myspace, Facebook, Friendster and Youtube combined. WAY. COOLER. And then go ahead and leave some positive feedback about the video. So I will feel good about myself.
Seriously. Go. Now.
Oh, and one more thing. BUY THE NEW BANGKOK FIVE ALBUM, IT'S IN STORES NEAR YOU, IT'S ON ITUNES, YOU HAVE NO EXCUSES. It'll be the best fucking album you buy all year. GO BUY IT NOW.
xoxo
Monday, June 09, 2008
The Bangkok Five - CD and Video Release Info
If you're in LA, hit the Viper Room Thursday, June 12th for a party so hot it will make your head explode.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
I am more popular than Kung Fu Panda.
I don't know how long this will last, but as of today, if you go to www.hollywoodpreviews.com and look under "Most Popular Videos" - the #1 MOST POPULAR VIDEO is The Bangkok Five Interview - Patricia Frost. It is more popular than the trailer for Kung Fu Panda. Thusly, I am more popular than Kung Fu Panda.
HOLY BALLS.
p.s. Don't tell me when it isn't true anymore. Just let me live in this moment forever.
HOLY BALLS.
p.s. Don't tell me when it isn't true anymore. Just let me live in this moment forever.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
This is rad. REALLY REALLY RAD.
Wanna see me being interviewed? This is Officially My First Interview. It will go down in history, you know. So check it out. And try not to cry from happiness.
Click here to see the joy.
Why haven't you clicked yet?
Click here to see the joy.
Why haven't you clicked yet?
Dooce. Sounds like moose.
I've recently become incomprehensibly addicted to http://www.dooce.com/. It started out innocently enough. I clicked on a link provided by Kim's Kitchen Sink and read an entry and thought it was sweet and promptly forgot about it. Then one day I was a little bored and went back to see if anything new had been posted and it had so I read that and thought it was cool, whatever, no big deal. Then one day I was more bored and beginning to feel sad and lonely and so went back to the blog and this time, rather than just read the newest post, I started going back and reading past posts and then before I knew it I WAS COMPLETELY HOOKED. Every day now I read a little bit more. I'm reading backwards in time and this woman's life is just so compelling to me. I LOVE HER.
Anyway, now when Poompy asks what I'm doing as I'm sitting glued to the computer, my answer is nearly always, "Living vicariously through Dooce." And when he says, "Maybe you should turn off the computer and change out of those sweatpants" I say, "Dooce is my friend. LEAVE ME ALONE."
Anyway, now when Poompy asks what I'm doing as I'm sitting glued to the computer, my answer is nearly always, "Living vicariously through Dooce." And when he says, "Maybe you should turn off the computer and change out of those sweatpants" I say, "Dooce is my friend. LEAVE ME ALONE."
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