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Looks like an octopus attached itself to my face and won’t let go.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Dec. 14, 2004

I love this colder weather; it makes me want to run around like a frisky pony. I know, that may not be an image that you want stuck in your cranium, deal. I guess the fall was skipped altogether here in Texas and we went straight from balmy to ‘holy shit it’s cold!’

I’m excited about my evening, I have a little get together planned with a few girlfriends that were witness to at least one rump shaking in college. We called ourselves the Kerr Krew due to the dorm we lived in.

Complete with wacky spelling of crew and everything.

Yes, we were fly.

No, no, I do not have one cool bone left in my body, shut it. I can use fly in past tense. Leave me alone. I am reveling in the glory days.

There were, at one point, about 14 of us, and tonight I think about 5 of us are going to meet for margaritas at a tex-mex place. I didn’t get to go last time, so I’m excited that I’m getting to go tonight.

I actually even fixed my hair this morning with a blow dryer and everything. No kiddin.

So, yeah, you can imagine my disappointment when I went to the ladies room a few minutes ago to tinkle and I checked my reflection in the mirror as I was washing my paws and I beheld a head full of flat, static-y hairs.


This will not do pig, this will Just Not Do.

When I left the house this morning I looked (what I hoped to be) pretty darn cute. Long silhouette of tan, cuffed pants, ribbed claret sweater with turtleneck, and the sex boots (Hilfiger stack heel boots… sexy… hence the sex boots). Now, I look like I have been drowned in some sort of scientific experiment in static.

Make up? Gone.

Hair? Nary a curl in sight. What was once curly hair, has been straightened on purpose and is normally flow-y and long (past bra strap) when dried with the blow dryer and curled… strategically, mind you, with the big barrel curling iron… NOW is a long mousey thing that looks like an octopus attached itself to my face and won’t let go.

Wispy things (aka... hair) are flying around my head looking for purchase on anything within grabbing distance.

Fan blades? Check.

Phone cords? Checkity Check Check bitches.

This is awful.

Oh, and… AND, my bra is too big and the girls have decided to go to Mexico for the afternoon if you know what I mean. And I think you do. We’re not talking WAY south… just a little south of the border. More than I’m really comfortable with. Geesh.

Look, let me distract you with pictures Maximillian MacGilliKitty the Third.

Yeah, he’s gorgeous.



I’m Martha Stewart Incarnate… Or Incarcerate-d… whichever… and if by that I mean that I haven’t bought one present yet. Then that is totally what I mean.

Yeah, I got nothing.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

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