Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Two-toed Tuesday (Except I'm three-toed)

Flower close-up. Portland, Maine. Good morning peeps!! What is it about listening to John Hiatt in the morning that makes me feel so at peace? The weather is crappy, I'm still not packed for the move, I'm up to my chin in work, but it's all ok. I saw a little old lady doing little old stretches in her driveway this morning and I don't why but I just kind of fell in love with her. Between her and John, I'm a very Zen-like sloth today. I will respond to comments when I get a chance later. Right now I am busy preparing for a big scary meeting/presentation thingy. HOWEVER, I did want to tell you all that thanks to April, who probably thought I didn't even read her comment, I have finally managed to put up a photo page! The downloads are not complete, but a good chunk of the photographs are there. You can find the collection at Slothville's Galleries. It's nothing fancy, but it works just fine for an amateur like me. That's all I have time for at the moment. For now, please entertain yourself with the following list from McSweeney's that I have shamelessly nabbed off of their website. Variations on "Spanking the Monkey" That Enable It to Apply to Female Masturbation. By Emily Lloyd - - - - Applying consistent pressure to the monkey Lightly flicking the monkey Rhythmically washing the monkey Rubbing the monkey against the Pottery Barn sisal rug Spanking the monkey with a vibrator Gently pinching the monkey Sometimes just thinking really, really hard about the monkey Writing the monkey's thesis

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Monday, August 30, 2004

Firsts

Dragonfly II. Good morning, residents of Blogland! Some entirely unprecedented occurrences have......occurred since the last time I updated. Over the weekend I: 1. was nice to a Mormon. 2. met Dave Eggers. 3. did not tremble with icy-hot rage when someone touched my arm on the bus. Anyone who knows me knows that I hold a peculiar animosity toward Mormons. Perhaps it is their annoyingly self-righteous do-goodery. Perhaps it is their homophobia and racism. Perhaps it is those prissy flight-attendant-looking outfits they wear. Whatever it is, I can't stand them. Yes, I know I'm offending legions of people right now, but I don't give a shit. Mormons disapprove of feminists and scholars and gay people so I don't feel the slightest bit bad about disapproving of Mormons. Mormonism is a cult the same way that Scientology is a cult and people get hurt from it and ignorance reigns and the stuff they believe is downright laughable. (......let the shitstorm begin.........) At any rate, I generally shoot them disdainful and/or dirty looks when I see them, perhaps explaining why no Mormon has ever spoken to me. On Friday night, however, one of the little buggers snuck up on me when I wasn't looking and sat next to me on the bus with a, "Hey, how ya doin'?" I was horrified. I was about to have to cause a scene on the bus in front of everyone. I told him I was fine in a terse little snarl and started fishing around in my bag for my headphones. Then he asked me if I had a good night. Yep, I said - the most clipped "yep" in the history of yeps. Am I from around here? Ok, that was about as much as I could take of Wonderbread Boy. I thought, he's going to start proselytizing at any moment and I'm going to have to kick his little God-fearing butt. And then... I don't know what happened. I really don't. I just kind of looked at him and thought, this guy isn't trying to hurt me. He's not trying to steal my wallet, he's not trying to ask me out, he's just asking me a question and I'm acting like an asshole. He doesn't deserve this. And all of a sudden I didn't hate him any more. It was so weird, it was like right then this kid turned into a real person instead of a representative of all things obnoxious. So I put my headphones away and asked him where he was from (one guess) and we talked for about twenty minutes until he had to get off the bus. Oddly, he didn't even try to convert me. I got the feeling that he was just really happy to be talking to someone who wasn't rude to him. As he stood up to leave he handed me one of those Jesus cards and I thought about telling him that I'm an atheist and no thanks, but decided at the last second that it wasn't worth it. He's just one kid, you know? He's just one kid in a sea of Mormon kids and I guess I didn't feel like disillusioning him right then. So that's the story of how I was nice to a Mormon. On Sunday night I met Dave Eggers who is every bit as sardonically funny as one would imagine even if he is a bit thinner and paler than I expected (although still entirely, unbearably smoochable). If you don't know who Dave Eggers is, he wrote A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius which is everything the title declares and so much more. A runner-up for a Pulitzer a few years ago, he has since had his hands in a bunch of projects including one-on-one tutoring programs for kids and my most favorite website, McSweeney's from which I steal the "Daily Reason to Dispatch Bush" every once in a while for your edification. He and a few other authors were at Wordsworth Books in Harvard Square to promote the new McSweeney's anthology Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans which is so funny that I seriously could not catch my breath from laughing so hard. If you buy this book, do NOT read it on public transportation and be thankful that someone else learned that lesson for you so that you don't have to. And finally, a horrifying development. I have now reached the point that I am so desperate for the touch of another human being that when someone rubs up against me on the bus I no longer mentally annihilate them. I am so starved for any kind of physical intimacy that the upwelling of unfettered rage that used to greet even the slightest accidental brush by a fellow commuter has been not only tamed, but entirely transformed into a humiliating, breathless yearning. And on that note, I wish you a very happy Monday with much touching. Ciao!

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Thursday, August 26, 2004

Mutate or Perish

Mangos at Haymarket, Boston North End. On the bus this morning I saw a young woman with no hands and no feet. She had some flesh and partial phalanges above the wrist and full wrist mobility which she used to hook herself into one of the handhold straps as she politely refused a seat. Her legs were not built to resemble actual legs, but more for efficiency of movement - black rectangular rods ending, incongruously, in black Converse sneakers. She wore her dark jeans with the cuffs rolled up, a black t-shirt and a messenger bag. With a scrubbed clean look and freckled cheeks there was a sweet buoyancy about her, but also a tinge of something else. Something friendly but tough. Independence born of necessity. I was not at all surprised that she didn't take the offered seat - I doubt she can afford those small compromises. Usually I would look at someone like this, someone unusual in my space, in my field of vision, and wonder what their story is. But I didn't have to wonder about this woman because even though she has no idea who I am, I already know her story. The woman I'm talking about, let's call her Terry, used to live across the courtyard from my ex-boyfriend in the same complex of buildings. I would sometimes see her walking her dog, the looped end of the leash wrapped around her wrist, or walking to her building with a basket full of laundry balanced on her forearms. I finally asked him if he knew her and he said he didn't but our friend G. did and had told him the story of how she came to lose so may parts of herself. I grant you it's second hand, but I've heard from several people now that these are the facts. Terry used to be a stripper for a club around here. Unfortunately, she was a stripper with a problem. She couldn't make as much money as a lot of the other girls because although she was lithe and pretty, she was flat chested. Eventually, the owner of the club offered to buy her some breast implants. Fabulous day! It was the answer to her monetary woes. The word is that the owner had a contact in Canada who would do the implants on the cheap, so he sent little Terry up north to get her boobs done. By the time Terry got home after the operation, she wasn't feeling so hot. Sick, nauseous, ouchy. But with no health insurance, she wasn't about to go to the hospital. So she waited. And waited. And didn't get better. I don't know how long it took her to seek medical attention, but whatever the time frame, it was too long, and it was too late. She had a massive systemic infection caused by her botched implants. Her extremities were rotting from gangrene and there was no way to save them. She lost her legs below the knees, all of her fingers, most of her knuckles and, of course, her breasts. About a year after I first heard this story, my ex-boyfriend called me one night to tell me that he had just found out that Terry had a website. As it turns out, there is a hefty market out there for people with amputee fetishes. Her website features nude pictures of herself in all her partial glory. Good for her, I say. What is the old adage? Mutate or perish? Seems as though Terry has found a way to adapt to her situation and exploit a niche. From the look of her on the bus this morning, laughing with a friend and flipping her ponytail, I'd say that after a long haul she's doing just fine.

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Wednesday, August 25, 2004

A Call To Arms Deux

Hey cutie-pies. Slothra needs your help. I am soooooooooo short-bus when it comes to making anything computer-related like, oh, I don't know, a blog. My pathetic baby-steps are linked here but it is not AT ALL what I want!! I need a template for my photoblog that is simple, attractive and easy to navigate. What I want is a page of thumbnails that you can click and the picture will get really big. I need to be able to separate them into groups of sizes because some photos are only available in certain sizes. Also, some will be limited editions. So there has to be a way of grouping and labeling the categories. Anyone willing to make a template for me gets any matted photograph they want up to 11x14 or up to whatever size that particular picture is available in (I have some that are only available in 5x7). If more than one of you is willing to help, then the person with the best design gets a large photograph and each of the 2 runners-up get a matted 5x7 of their choosing. Any computer smarty-pants out there that have a hankering for some wall art? I'll make it worth your while!

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Prickly! Glowing! Slothy!

Woo hoo!!!!!!!! I am SO not fired. I got a glowing review. Yay! I am currently working on another blog, yes ANOTHER blog. It's a photoblog inspired by all of your suggestions that I do something with these pictures and finally pushed into fruition when I visited Airek's homepage with all of his paintings. The photographs will be for sale but they are also there just to be seen and enjoyed and for me to have a place to collect them all. It probably won't come together completely for a few days but when it does I'll link it over there to your right. I don't know anything about html or web design so if anyone who does sees my finished photoblog and simply can't stand how plebeian it is, it's all yours to design anew! For a cool page design I would be happy to send payment in the form of a matted photograph of your choosing (but not one of me naked). Finally for this afternoon, did anyone see John Kerry on The Daily Show last night? He was so great - totally relaxed and low key, funny and friendly and not preachy at all. It was a fantastic show. Then I switched to CNN where they were of course talking about the Swift Boat Fucksticks for Bush. There I got to hear an anchorperson asking a couple of commentators, "There are a lot of real issues that Americans are concerned about at the moment - the economy, the war in Iraq, the environment - that aren't being addressed because of this controversy. Any idea when the candidates might go back to talking about these important issues?" I wanted to take that anchorperson by the neck and shove his media credentials down his hypocritical throat. Wake up, you unintentionally ironic asshole!! The candidates ARE talking about the issues - they ARE talking about the economy, the war and the environment!!! It's YOU, the RABID MEDIA who aren't LISTENING. And when you don't listen to what the candidates are saying, you don't allow US to listen either!! Get off the fucking swift boat and get back on the campaign trail, you scandal whores!!

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Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Winna Winna Winna!!!!

The following people were first with comments today. Congratulations on your quick typing skillz! Big love also to all who participated in Short Attention Span Day. Who knows, we may do it again tomorrow... Firsters (NOT to be confused with "fisters"): The Pink Princess, also known as Mandy. The Grown Up, also known as Catt. The Pink Bee, also known as Barrie. The Cootersnap, also known as Ang. The World of Crush, also known as Cybele. The Guy Who Likes All the Same Stuff As Me, also known as Luke. The Alaskan Evergreen, also known as Kerri. Thank you all and we'll see you tomorrow! Edit/Update - As a final thought a la Jerry Springer, I will add that Haloscan is a dirty whore. Beatdown with my pimp hat!!

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Review Update

Boss Lady: "So, we'll do your review tomorrow morning, is that ok? Because we have so much to talk about with the student orientation coming up, I don't think we'll have time today again." Sloth: "Uh........ok." Boss Lady: "Is that ok? You're the last to get reviewed!" Sloth: "You're just waiting because you're scared to fire me." Boss Lady: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Oh, honey, you do NOT have to worry being fired! YOU??? Please!!" Hehehehehehehehe. Sloth happy.

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El Dastardo

The Dastard kind of looks like this guy. Posted by Hello

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Wee Bitty Fetish

Suede. Do you realize how cute these are going to be with jeans? They were totally worth $120. Posted by Hello

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Sticks and Stones

There is a guy in my department whose last name is Stapon. Every single time I write his name I want to stick an "r" in there. Also, my sister went to school with a guy named Woody Fagg.

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Not fair!

Why do the female gymnasts have to prance around and stick their rib cages out and do stupid little dances in glittery costumes while the male gymnasts get to just go up there and do their thing and leave? I SO prefer the male floor competitions. Well, for a couple of reasons, but mostly because they don't have to do dumbass prancing and flitting. Um, also they're...uh... Where can I pick me up one o' them Romanian gymnast guys? I got a hankerin'.

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Pffftt!!

Ok, which one of you searched Google for "Slothville pants?" Tell me now. Comply.

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Short Shorts!!

I have decided to take a page from Dan Tobin's book. Today will be a day of wee-mini posts. I will be updating throughout the day so if you want to comment you'd better do it fast. First, I shocked the hell out of the Dastard this morning by giving him a kiss on the cheek when we ran into each other on the bus. See, the Dastard thinks he can administer beatdowns to the Sloth, but he is so easy to foil....Ladies, take it from me. If the Dastard is coming after you in beatdown mode, all you have to do is be cute and you will turn him into the mushy cutie-pie he really is. Ha HAA!! Who's the dastard now, sucka??

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Monday, August 23, 2004

Blabbity Blah - Short Attention Span Theater

Green bud vase on my parents' kitchen counter. 1. Scary: someone found my site by searching Google for "unconscious frat drink." I don't even want to know. 2. Also scary: I have heartburn all the time. I told my doctor but she is a sucky doctor and never listens to what I say. I tell her I can't sleep, she just kind of nods at me. I tell her I have heartburn all the time, she tells me to take Zantac. Plus, she has the grossest fingernails. Some are really long and some are just stubs. Pick one or the other, you piece of white trash!! That's right. My doctor is white trash. Except she's Jewish, so I don't know if that's even possible. Anyway, I had pain in my stomach and esophagus so bad on Saturday night that I almost went to the hospital. So I'm switching doctors. Does anyone here have an ulcer? Can you tell me what the symptoms are? 3. Happy: my parents called me at 11 o'clock on Saturday night. I was not having the heartburn pain yet. Now, when I get calls from family late at night it is generally to tell me that someone has died so I HATE late night calls. I answer the phone all nervous and it's my stepfather saying, hey I have news. So I get all tense and say, what's wrong. Your sister's getting married, he tells me. Yay! This is fabulous news! I say. And it is fabulous news. Very exciting. But there is so much emotional stuff that goes along with it for me and it sucks so bad that I am thinking this way, but of course I'm all, well, she's got such a better life than me. She graduated college on time and now she's a doctor and now she's marrying into a wealthy family and she's going to have babies and I'm over here still trying to getting my degree and working a dumb job and I can't even keep a boyfriend and no one will ever marry me and I'm a huge disappointment to my parents because I don't want kids and blah blah blah. See how I do that? See how something great happens to someone else and I make it all about me and how much I suck? Yeah, that is definitely something I need to change. It's not about ME. It's about HER and she is very lucky and happy and that is what matters. Not my stupid whiny problems. Jeepers! Anyway, I need advice (once again) on bridal showers and whatnots. Is it my responsibility as the sister to do the bridal shower? And how am I going to swing that since she lives in Philadelphia and I live in Boston and our parents live in Maine? Any advice or knowledge on this is appreciated. 4. Scary again: my review is not until this afternoon so lucky me I get to poop my pants from nervousness all day long. 5. Informative: looks like I'm taking Comparative Religious Ethics, Principles of Editing, and The Madness of Crowds for classes this semester. 6. Stressful: I've been packing for the move on the 1st and I keep running into stuff that throws me into emotional turmoil. Letters from my grandmother, letters from my aunt, both passed. Letters and postcards from old boyfriends and all kinds of stuff. It's very trying and I'm crying all the time. I will be glad when I'm all packed. 6. Soothing: I was so freaked out and sad all weekend that I spent over a thousand dollars on handbags and shoes. And you know what? It really made me feel better. Posted by Hello

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Friday, August 20, 2004

The Way to My Heart

This is a picture of some fruity fruit at our local vegetable bazaar which sets up in the North End on Sundays and makes a great big mess. It's hard to get pictures there because everyone is jostling and bumping and no one has patience for straggling lollygaggers. It was being harassed at Haymarket that first tempted me to get a nice camera. If you look professional, like you could maybe be with the press, the vendors don't generally mess with you. But try walking around there snapping pictures with a teeny tiny silver camera like a tourist would have, and you're done for. The following is a letter I sent to my local food delivery service today. As you will see, I am very fond of them. Dear Dining-In, Do you know how much I love you? Can you possibly know? You feed me when I'm hungry. You are always there for me when I call. You hold me so tenderly. Actually that's someone else...but it could be you if you asked. That is how much I love you. When I call on a Saturday night and order enough food for five people, do you judge me? No, you do not. You know that all of the food is for me. You know that I have nothing to do on Saturday night except sit at home and stuff my maw with heaps of delicious food. And yet you are kind enough to not point out my wretchedness. I love you, Dining-In. You never neglect me. When I need you, you always answer on the first ring, as though you were sitting by the phone just waiting for my call. I don't even have to read off my credit card number to you - you always know it already. It is a wondrous relationship that we have!! Last night I called you around 9 o'clock to order mounds of food from Zaftig's and you were so extra nice to me that I swooned with even more love than I knew I had for you! In fact, you were so nice to me that I was laughing too hard to remember to ask the operator's name. When I looked at the slip that came with the food (only 25 minutes later!) it said "operator MONKT." Well, let me tell you, Dining-In, your man Mr. MONKT was not only professional and efficient, but he made me laugh and he made my night. Thank you, Dining-In for hiring Mr. MONKT and for putting him right near the phone when you knew I would call. Dining-In, do you know what I have learned from our relationship? Well, I will tell you. I have learned that diamonds are for suckers. YOU are a girl's best friend. Your loyal and loving fan, Sloth Posted by Hello

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Thursday, August 19, 2004

Indians, Shmindians.

From McSweeney's Daily Reason to Dispatch Bush: DAY 98: President Bush praised an American Indian housing program during a speech last week but did not mention that he plans to cut almost 80 percent of its funding. Speaking to a crowd of about 1,000 in Albuquerque, Bush said of the program, "Doesn't it make sense to have public policy aimed at helping people own their own home? I can't think of a better use of resources." Bush's proposed budget, however, reduces the Indian Housing and Guarantee Fund's funding from $5.3 million to $1 million, and seeks the return of $33 million in additional funds. Chester Carl, the chairman of the National American Indian Housing Council, said that the cuts would cripple the program. "It's going to go backward," Carl said. "We're just now starting to see tribes understand that there's another way and banks understand that they can make loans on trust land. You're pulling the rug out from under them." Arnold Reano, whose family was the first from Santo Domingo Pueblo to take advantage of the program, stood with Bush on stage in Albuquerque while the president said that the program showed that the American dream of home ownership was "valid for everyone." Reano was not told that Bush had chosen to cut back funding for the program. "If I had known, I would have asked the president about it," he said. (Sources: "Bush to Cut Indian Housing He Praised," Associated Press, August 14, 2004. See article at: latimes.com. Leslie Linthicum, "Bush Sends Mixed Messages," Albuquerque Journal, August 13, 2004. See article at: abqjournal.com.)

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I feel compelled to mention...

...that someone found my site by searching for "giving slow masturbation." Sweet!

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Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Ex-Poet

This is a picture of some kids standing on the "greasy pole" in Gloucester. When I snapped the shot there just happened to be a huge boat behind them. Someone asked me recently if I write poetry. I don't, but I used to. As some of you may remember I am moving to a new apartment on September 1st and as I was doing a little packing last night I ran across an old poem that I wrote when I was in high school. I had totally forgotten about it but there it was, in among some old yearbooks. At the time I wrote this piece I was doing a lot of thinking about terminal illness, not because I had one or anyone around me did, but because when you're young and figuring the world out you sometimes latch on to one thing or another and think it to death (so to speak). I was fiddling with the concept of blame - the idea that if someone you are in love with is dying, it might be natural to be angry with them for doing so, or to believe that if they just tried hard enough they could get well. After a while I started to feel that my poems were really just stories that I was being too lazy to write so I began to focus on prose. But this is a story that never got written. It just stayed a poem. So here it is and I hope you enjoy it. I guess after a decade it's ripe enough. Marrow It started in the winter months. You told me about the first dream The tomato skin filled with blood Like a hot, fragile water balloon. And you had to eat it, you said. They made you eat it Still warm in your hand. It was on the morning you looked old That my own dreams began Of you floating in the bathtub, Of you walking out of pungent rainfall, Losing pieces of yourself in the road Or on the windowsill. I feared you then As I watched you grow ill Deliberately With a savage glare I was swathed in your malice, safe and afraid As you struck down everyone Who was not me. When the spring months came You were almost gone. You dreamt only of the young cousin Raping you As the moon flew fast overhead And I knew that even the water would not stay down anymore. In your weakness your voice became huge, Your laughter a wall of sound And my fingers played on your new sharpness Finding here and there A cold gulf where flesh had been. When the summer months came You left me. I had watched you break it down Meal by meal. Down to water. Down to death. Stunned...I watched you. So when the trees bleed I grieve again. Soon the dreams will begin, The ones you gave me. Salt and pain. Blood and shame. The rape lives on In my bed. Posted by Hello

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Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Clean Dirty Clean

Let's take a break, shall we? This blog has been too serious of late and could use a little cheering up. A lot of people have been doing lists recently and although I love to imagine myself an utterly unique and special (not in a short bus way) kind of person, I'm really not. So here is a list for you. There's sex in it so you should read it. 1. Housework strategy: if you cannot muster the motivation to clean your house, call your mother, invite her over, hang up the phone and take a good look around. 2. People who do not brush their tongues are probably dirty in other places too. 3. Bladder infections have a purpose. They make you take a long look at the person you're sleeping with and ask yourself, "Is this worth it?" 4. There is nothing grosser than a man with long fingernails. Deal breaker. 5. Ok, smegma is grosser. 6. My friend S. got herpes from oral sex. So, you know. Watch out. 7. Since we're on the subject of herpes I will just say that I am more afraid of herpes than anything else on earth. More than a terrorist attack, more than spiders, more than nightmares, more than fucking ebola and smallpox combined. But if my getting herpes would keep W out of the White House for the next four years.....I'd consider it. 8. Current list of items in shower includes but is not limited to two scrubbies, two shampoos, two conditioners, apricot facial scrub, lavender face wash, relaxing body polish, invigorating body polish, foot pumice scrub, pumice stone, apricot soap, grapefruit soap, organic Trader Joe's soap, clay soap, shaving cream, shaving gel, avocado shower gel and hair mud. I also have an enormous array of powders and sprays and creams and lotions, all of which I could live without but would rather not. 9. My ex-boyfriend's shower contains one single, solitary item. A bar of soap. The only cream he owns is called "Oil Driller's Hand Salve" and I have a sneaking suspicion that he only "moisturizes" one thing with it. I am convinced that this disparity is profound and could come close to explaining the fundamental difference between men and women if I could just figure it out. 10. Pet peeve: when someone asks to borrow my chapstick and then says, "Would you rather I use my finger?" Please. Like your finger's clean. 11. Speaking of which, I feel that chapstick manufacturers should be drowned in a vat of petroleum jelly for the life of addiction in which they have enslaved me. (My lips are very soft, though.) 12. If you want to see something really sickening, check out the bottom of the silverware holder on your dish strainer. Where does that shit come from? 13. I once kissed a guy whose breath turned out to smell like rotting garbage. But here's the really disturbing part he had just brushed his teeth and his mouth was all minty. The rotting garbage smell was coming from inside of him. 14. Confession: I own a pornographic video. (I know you're all like, "so what?" but hear me out.) It takes place in L.A. and it's one of those pornos that supposed to be all about the plot, like you're not going to fast forward through all of it. One day a few weeks ago I was having lunch at a restaurant in the Back Bay with a friend and one of the guys in the video walked right by my table. 15. I once dated an uber-delicious Cuban triathlete named Rob. I cannot begin to describe how yummy yummy yummy this man was. Dual problem: he shaved his legs and he glommed. Leg stubble that is slightly annoying and sort of feathery is one thing. 5 o'clock man-stubble shadow on the stems is something else entirely. And because he was a glommer, every night it felt like I was going to sleep wrapped in industrial-grade sandpaper. We had to break up. 16. The last time I bought a sex toy the woman behind the counter said, "You know, you can boil this kind." What do you say to a thing like that? 17. Speaking of sex toys, I have never used a vegetable for that purpose, but I'm still vaguely embarrassed every time I pick out a cucumber at the super market. 18. The first time I ever got food poisoning was from a vegetarian sandwich. The possible causes are truly appalling and possibly related to the reason I feel shy about picking out cucumbers in the supermarket. 19. I would also like to say that the phrase "ribbed for her pleasure is the most meaningless grouping of words in the English language. I once had a vibrator that was ribbed for my pleasure and I found to be the most unpleasurable toy, sex or otherwise, that I have ever owned. Which moron decided that ribbed was supposed to feel good? Are penises ribbed? Is my finger ribbed? What is with the ribbed? They should just say "chafing and painful" or "designed by men for her pleasure." 20. In case you were not aware, virtually every man on Earth has attempted to fellate himself. 21. Be leery of those who do not floss. They're broken. 22. A joke for you: how do you know when a porn star is done filling up his gas tank? He takes it out and sprays it all over the car. And that's the list for today. All suggestions for additions are welcome. Posted by Hello

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Monday, August 16, 2004

I Dream in Color

This is a photograph of a bridge on the Chesapeake Bay. I took it from a sailboat. This post is about nightmares and is NOT for the squeamish. Consider yourself warned. My dreams generally fall into one of two categories - 1. Bad bloody 2. Worse bloody Bad bloody dreams are usually recurring, like the one in which all of my teeth fall out. I have this one all the time but have yet to figure out that it's a dream while I'm dreaming it. Every single time I'm completely convinced I have a mouth full of my own teeth, rattling around on my tongue, tasting like blood. Scary, gross, hate that dream. Then there are the Worse bloody dreams like the one in which I was standing in the lobby of a large building under a glass awning, looking around at all the people milling about and knowing that they were all about to die. There was nothing I could do about it. And sure enough, at that moment these huge metal maces (you know, the medieval weapons with spikes) bigger than wrecking balls came swinging through and tore everyone to pieces while I watched. There was blood splattered all over me and I could smell the insides of people and the screams were so loud but I couldn't do anything except wait for it to be over. The glass awning was green. The blood was red. The giant maces were dark metallic gray. Or the one in which the Devil came and took my aunt away. I hunted them down and found them in a gallery in SoHo. She was crucified on a stage in front of an audience that sat quietly, thoroughly entertained, benign smiles on their faces. The Devil saw me and as soon as I walked in he gutted my aunt with an enormous curved blade. All of her insides fell out into a big metal bowl. My sister was with me and ran up onto the stage. She tried to stuff my aunt's insides back into the gaping hole of her abdomen, crying, begging me to help her, steaming, bloody viscera in her hands. But I couldn't move and I couldn't stop screaming. A few weeks later my aunt died unexpectedly in real life and I couldn't get that horrid dream out of my mind. I still remember my very first nightmare. It was after a friend of mine was raped. I dreamt that I was being stalked by a rapist who had followed me into an apartment building. Long story short, I killed him by sawing his spine in half with a pink plastic letter opener. It took forever, but I did it and he flopped in half like a marionette, blood pouring from the jagged slice in his back and pooling on the floor. Do you ever have dreams that are so disturbing that you can't even believe your brain created them? I'm not a violent person. I'm not mean or crazy or bloodthirsty. My waking thoughts are about politics and what am I going to eat for lunch and where are my keys and I wish I had someone to smooch and what am I going to eat for a snack and crap I have to do laundry and ooh I like those shoes and what am I going to eat for dinner. But then I go to sleep and people are screaming and blood is pouring and the next thing I know I'm awake and checking to make sure my teeth are still there. I think I'm so slothful and tired all the time because my dreams are exhausting they wake me up every few minutes. I'm so groggy today. I just want a good night's sleep with no blood. I don't think that's too much to ask. Posted by Hello

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Monday Mini - Chimp Sr.

Good Morning! Today we begin with McSweeney's Daily Reason to Dispatch Bush: DAY 95: In his memoir A World Transformed (1998), George Bush Sr. wrote: "Trying to eliminate Saddam ... would have incurred incalculable human and political costs. Apprehending him was probably impossible ... We would have been forced to occupy Baghdad and, in effect, rule Iraq ... There was no viable "exit strategy" we could see, violating another of our principles. Furthermore, we had been consciously trying to set a pattern for handling aggression in the post-Cold War world. Going in and occupying Iraq, thus unilaterally exceeding the United Nations' mandate, would have destroyed the precedent of international response to aggression that we hoped to establish. Had we gone the invasion route, the United States could conceivably still be an occupying power in a bitterly hostile land." (Sources: Thomas M. DeFrank, "Book: Poppy Opposed Dubya's War," Daily News, April 6, 2004. See article at: nydailynews.com. David T. Pyne, "Not Too Late for an Iraqi Exit Strategy," military.com, Nov. 19, 2003. snopes.com.)

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Thursday, August 12, 2004

Thumb-sized mini-post

This is a picture of a garden spider as big as my head. Ok, in actuality its body is about the size of my thumb. And I have a very small thumb. But still. In case you are wondering I did, in fact, get my noggin all up close to the big fleshy scary spider even though I really really really didn't want to. But I couldn't very well pass up a shot like that. I'm pretty sure the little brown dude next to her is her boyfriend. See how he is touching her lightly with one leg? Having seen similar behavior in some sea creatures, I think he does that to remind her that he's there so that she doesn't accidentally eat him. But maybe she will anyway. Here's hoping. My big (not) office move is tomorrow so I'm not sure how much time I'll have for blogging. Possibly none. As such I'm afraid I will have to leave you for a little while with this arachnid. She is here to keep an eye on all of you in Blogland and I expect you to behave. Have you ever had a huge spider fall down your sleeve hole and land smack inside your shirt? I have! And she had babies! Good times, good times... Posted by Hello

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Grumpy Grouchy Sloth

It's been a while since the last softhead photo, so here's another one. Boy, I am grou-CHEE today! I growled all the way to work. Several people nearly lost their lives. The man who was sitting next to me on the bus doesn't know how lucky is. His elbow was lightly grazing my arm as he read his book and although the infraction was slight, the RAGE it inspired in me was crazy powerful strong!! Grrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!! In honor of my current grouchiness it is time for another pet peeve list. As you may remember but very likely don't, the last pet peeve list covered the following: 1. People who wear too much cologne/perfume 2. People who STAND on the LEFT of the escalator 3. Panhandlers at the door of the ATM machine 4. People who act like my not wanting babies is just a "phase" that I'll grow out of 5. Milling behavior that blocks the sidewalk 6. Clipboard scammers 7. Ruffle skirts 8. "So I says to her..." 9. Cell phone abuse 10. Ann Coulter Today's list is shorter because that's 10 things already and how many pet peeves can one sloth have? 1. People who clamber onto the bus before others can get out. How LONG have you been living in this city?? How LONG have you been taking public transport? How can you NOT KNOW that if you get mangled and squished by a stampede of commuters, it is YOUR FAULT. And once you realize that you are in the path of a commuter avalanche, don't SQUISH UP next to the fare meter and think that you are getting out of the way. YOU ARE STILL IN THE WAY. GET OFF THE FUCKING BUS YOU FUCKING TWERP. 2. "Customer Service Representatives" who resent me before I have even dialed the goddamned phone. You know what pissy-pants? I AM NOT YOUR PROBLEM. YOU ARE YOUR PROBLEM. Take some yoga, eat some chocolate, read a book, and if you still can't be nice to people, get a job where you DON'T HAVE TO BE. You can put me on hold for half an hour but I'm not going anywhere, bitch. And when I ask for your name, you better give it to me real nice and sweet-like if you don't want to start something you can't finish. 3. Anyone who expects me to act even vaguely human before 10 a.m. can kiss my ass. 4. People in their twenties who act pissed off when they get carded. Yeah, ok. First of all, the person HAS to card you if you look like you're under 30. Liquor inspectors are sneaky, dangerous creatures and they can pop up and snatch a liquor license faster than you can you can program your pastel IPod. Second of all, you should feel LUCKY that you're still young-looking enough to warrant an I.D. check because you know what? Someday you're going to WISH that someone would card you. You're going to be old and crinkled and you will never be carded again. Is that what you prefer? Stop being an ASSHOLE to people who are just doing their fucking jobs. 5. Ann Coulter. Posted by Hello

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Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Technical Difficulties (Retardation)

Post Deleted - thanks for the technical support AJ. Please put any comments...wherever you want. It's a loose ship around here.

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Mini-Mini Post: Peaches n' Cream

I lifted this quiz from Jay's site and tried it myself. I only post the results here because they ring eerily true... The Peach Random Gentle Love Master (RGLMf) Playful, kind, and well-loved, you are The Peach. For such a warm-hearted, generous person, you're surprisingly experienced in both love and sex. We credit your spontaneous side; you tend to live in the moment, and you don't get bogged down by inhibitions like most women your age. If you see something wonderful, you confidently embrace it. You are a fun flirt and an instant sweetheart, but our guess is you're becoming more selective about long-term love. It's getting tougher for you to become permanently attached; and a guy who's in a different place emotionally might misunderstand your early enthusiasm. You can wreck someone simply by enjoying him. Your ideal mate is adventurous and giving, like you. But not overly intense. Your exact opposite: The Nymph DREAD: The False Messiah CONSIDER: The Loverboy, The Playboy, or The Boy Next Door

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Mini-Post: Rick

This is a picture of a stained glass window in a crypt at Mount Auburn Cemetery. Two nights ago I had occasion to meet one of my very favorite authors, Hendrik Hertzberg. He was holding a discussion about the Constitution and democracy at a local bookstore. (Yes, he was also there to promote his book.) Rick, as he's known to his friends, has been writing for The New Yorker for a long time and was at The New Republic before that. I have long had a crush on his brain and now that I've seen him in person I officially have a crush on everything else about him too. He's a handsome, scarily intelligent, salt-and-pepper-haired writer who is completely comfortable in front of an audience. Unfortunately he was also wearing a wedding ring. I spoke to him after the discussion while he was signing my copy of his book. You may not know this, I said, but your work is wonderful to read out loud. My friends can attest. His face broke into a huge grin and he asked me if I was serious. I blushed so hard it felt like my face was going to spontaneously combust. He wrote in my book, "For Sloth (except it was my real name) - Suitable for reading aloud. I had no idea!! Thanks... Hendrik Hertzberg." I smiled at strangers all the way home. Posted by Hello

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Monday, August 09, 2004

Baby Killer

This is a photograph that I took from the deck of my parents' house in Portland one day when I lucked out and the clouds were just right. Good afternoon boys and girls - today I want to tell you a story about a foolish sloth. As many of you will recall, I am a volunteer escort for Planned Parenthood. We get a gaggle of protesters every Saturday, sometimes more, sometimes less. The story begins with a few examples of the people who populate that particular piece of sidewalk every weekend... Ruth: For sheer volume, no one can compete with Ruth. She is an older woman with dyed brunette hair, bright red lipstick on thin, crinkled lips, a waifish figure, and a voice that could compete with a fog horn. She stands in the middle of the buffer zone (no, it is not enforceable), bible in hand, and hollers at the top of her lungs, "MOTHERS DON'T KILL THEIR CHILDREN!! MURDERERS KILL THEIR CHILDREN!!" Or, paradoxically, "YOU WILL BE A MOTHER FOREVER!! BUT YOU WILL BE THE MOTHER OF A DEAD BABY!!!!" Or, as if she would know, "WOMEN NEVER RECOVER FROM ABORTION!! YOU WILL BE A SAD EMPTY SHELL OF YOURSELF FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!!!!" Sometimes I want to say, "Actually I feel fine," but I'm not that stupid. The Nuns: These women (in full habits) come rushing at us in a swirl of black, like a great, dark blanket flapping in the wind, screaming "MOTHER!! MOTHER!! MOTHER!! Let us help you! We can help you, mother! What do you need? Just tell us what you need, mother!! You're a MOTHER - DON'T DO THIS, DON'T DO THIS!!!!" Rock For Life: The gang leader of this group is a kid who thinks he's punk rock and expresses that by having a green mohawk and a chain wallet. He also wears a shirt that says, "I Would Die Tonight For My Beliefs," which for some reason always cracks me up. They are all teenagers and they spend a lot of the time goofing off but they give me the creeps because they're the next generation of these people. Freak Family: This is two parents and a daughter who looks to be about 12 or 13 years old. She has long dark hair, a pixie face and precious freckles on her nose and cheeks. The parents shout at the patients while the daughter sits on the sidewalk and cries. For three hours. Does anyone comfort her? No. Does anyone touch her shoulder and try to wipe away her tears? No. What they do instead is stand a few feet away and watch this little girl as though she is Joan of Arc, sobbing for the dead babies in a state of martyrdom to rival the most pious saint. It's obvious that they would be thrilled if she suddenly started bleeding from her hands and feet. They whisper among themselves about her goodness and bravery to come and mourn for the dead babies. Obviously they missed the time she looked at me like Linda Blair and called me a bitch. Not very saintlike after all, hmm? Susan Collins: Wench. She's one of the worst. If she's not standing in front of us holding a poster of dead baby parts covered in blood or floating in formaldehyde, she's punching an escort in the stomach with an umbrella handle as she muscles between them and a patient. All of the other protesters are in awe of her because she wears Chanel suits and enormous fancy hats and she has run for office (like she would EVER win in Massachusetts). She knows she's smarter than the rest of them and it's obvious that she enjoys being the Queen Bee. She's the only one I'm actually sort of afraid of. Or she was. Until now. There are lots more people but you get the flavor. The last person I'll tell you about is a man who my friend R. calls the FBI Guy. The FBI guy doesn't yell at anyone or say anything. He doesn't even come near us. He stands under a tree in a suit and sunglasses, holding a rosary and praying quietly. He looks like he's on a stake-out. I've always kind of liked the FBI Guy, mostly because in contrast to the other protesters he's downright sweet. No elbowing, no shoving, no nasty names, no "they'll rip your bowels out in there," no threats, no nothing. He just stands under his tree and prays. Now, because I am a sloth and have a peculiar nature, I am always looking for a shred of humanity in everyone. It's hard to find, believe me, in any of the people who scream and stomp and spew vitriol in front of Planned Parenthood. But I crave it, you know? I want to see it. I want to have hope that they aren't ALL bad. And maybe because they are so angry and ignorant and aggressive, I had sort of come to appreciate the FBI Guy for being the antithesis of that. I thought, maybe he really just believes that abortion is murder and he comes to pray for the souls of the mothers and babies he thinks are going to Hell. Maybe he is just so concerned for their well-being that he comes here, stands under his tree, and prays his little heart out for their well-being. Maybe he's a good guy, you know? Maybe he's just trying to do what he thinks is right. Maybe I'm a fucking idiot. When the FBI guy showed up at the clinic this past Saturday, R. noted his arrival as he made his way to his shady spot and pulled a maroon rosary out of his pocket. I mentioned idly that I sort of like him in a he's-not-as-much-of-an-asshole-as-the-others kind of way. She just looked at me. What? What? I wanted to know. Do you not know why he stands under that tree? she asked me. No, I don't know anything, what do you mean? He stands under that tree, she said, because he is under a restraining order. He's not allowed within so many feet of the clinic because he did jail time in the south for his involvement in a clinic bombing. She couldn't remember which state. I don't know why I felt so sad right then. It was like this optimistic veil I was trying to lay over the world was in tatters. Everything was crooked and cracked and I just felt so stupid and defeated. Hollow. Naive. At that moment I turned my head to look at him. He was looking right back at me and for the first time in all the years I've worked there, he pulled a camera out of his pocket and put it to his eye. We stood facing each other and I waved as he took my picture. Posted by Hello

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Monday Morning Mini

Well, happy Monday morning, all you sleepy peeps. Just a few thoughts for the 3rd mini-post in a row and then an update with a real post later today. 1. Saw the "Bourne Supremacy" on Sunday. Excellent. Really fun and fast and sophisticated. No cheesiness, no lameness, no eye-rolling lines or scenes. Best car chase since "Ronin" - so good it actually gave me a headache. I mean that in a good way. And let me just say that Matt Damon is uber yummy even when he looks like shit. 2. Every time I mention online dating, the person I'm speaking to says, "Oh, I'm doing that." 3. I was called in to my boss's office. This is never pleasant. He's perfectly nice, but you know how it is when you get called into the head honcho's domain and they ask you to close the door. Yikes. Yikes!! It doesn't help that he looks exactly like the abominable snowman in the "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" Christmas special. My insides felt like curdled cream soup. I sat down on the edge of the seat in case he was going to say something that would make me cry and I could run out of the room dramatically. But no. Instead of making me cry, he offered me a prime piece of real estate. Corner area, huge window, three desks and best of all...privacy. Because privacy is CLEARLY what my work flow needs right now, you CRAZY PEOPLE. Who offers privacy to a blog addict? Who? And what blog addict turns it down? Not me!! This does not bode well for my job retention. Posted by Hello

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Friday, August 06, 2004

Mini-Post II - The Sanctity of Marriage

And with a big ol' FUCK YOU to 71% of voters in the great state of Missour-uh, from whence hails our loathsome Attorney General, I present you with this photograph of a couple of godless heathens that I took at Boston Gay Pride a couple of months ago. These two clearly know nothing of the sanctity of marriage, unlike Rush Limbaugh who has now been married and divorced three times, yet still has the nerve to crow about morality and family values. What a guy! Posted by Hello

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Mini-Post

This is a photograph of my stepfather's accordions. He's quite a talented player, actually. Some thoughts for the morning: 1. "Help is on the way!!!" "We're turning the corner!!!" I'm gagging on the bolus of cheesy propaganda tag lines being shoved in my maw!! 2. The Daily Show sucked last night. 3. It's jacket weather in Boston! Yay! 4. Today is one of those days when I just really like being single. Clearly I am irreparably fickle. Posted by Hello

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Thursday, August 05, 2004

Results!

This is yet another photograph of the famous Felix. On the bus this morning I saw: An Asian woman wearing a blue surgical mask thing that really looked more like a pot-holder. It was sort of quilted. I've seen this before, but I'm not sure what it's all about. The thing was, her nose was peeking out over the top of the mask. Doesn't that kind of defeat the (presumed) purpose? Do I have this all wrong? Why do they wear the masks? A beautiful woman wearing a yellow polk-dot shirt that criss-crossed over her breasts. She had a belly that stuck out but she didn't bother to suck it in. She looked fantastic and I wanted to squeeze her tight and say thank you for not sucking in your belly! A middle-aged woman who had a grouchy, pinched look on her face. I see her all the time and she always looks put-upon. I've never seen her smile. I wanted to squeeze her tight and say have a good day today, pinchy-lady! The votes have been tallied and I have a new theory about why our environment is in such disarray. No one cares about it. Thank you all for voting and here are the results: The Bible and Politics - 12 votes Advanced Fiction - 11 votes Introduction to Buddhism - 10 votes Microbiology and Infectious Disease - 6 votes Religion, Liberalism and Democracy - 6 votes Genocide - 6 votes Biology of HIV/AIDS - 5 votes Comparative Religious Ethics - 3 votes Political Trials 3 - votes Current Topics in Medicine - 3 votes Environmental Management - 0 votes! Posted by Hello

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Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Medium-sized Post: Project!

Cheers! It's hot today and my long hair has been annoying me lately. That's as close as I can come to a reason for posting this fuzzy picture of me with short hair. Also, I wish I were on vacation like a certain Michael we know and in this picture I am in London drinking Pims and Lemonade at 11 o'clock in the morning instead of sitting in my cube pretending to work. The following are some things I am interested in. They are also the classes I have to choose from this semester (I have weeded everything else out, now I just have to make up my mind). I have already decided to take Latin and with a full-time job I can only pile two more classes on for a total of three. The two I pick cannot come from the same group (time conflicts). If you would like to play the game, please vote for two classes from different groups. If not, that's cool as it is not a very exciting game. Group 1: The Bible and Politics Group 2: Introduction to Buddhism Religion, Liberalism and Democracy Group 3: Environmental Management Group 4: Advanced Fiction Comparative Religious Ethics Group 5: Microbiology and Infectious Disease Political Trials Group 6: Biology of HIV/AIDS Genocide Current Topics in Medicine Posted by Hello

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Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Chimp!!!

You know I can only ignore the ignoramus who calls himself our Commander in Chief for so many days in a row. I have been selfish lately and it has gone on long enough! From McSweeney's Daily Reason to Dispatch Bush: DAY 87: Since George W. Bush has taken office, his administration has significantly weakened the country's central toxic-waste-cleanup program, Superfund. For 20 years, Superfund identified the country's largest polluters and required them to pay for cleaning the sites they contaminated. When President Bush took office, he did not renew this "polluter pays" program; as a result, taxpayers have been forced to pay for this cleanup. With its limited funding, estimates show that Superfund will run out of money by the end of the year. Without adequate funding, the rate of Superfund cleanups has fallen by half in comparison with the 1990s. An EPA report published in July found that 111 Superfund sites do not have human exposure to hazardous toxic waste and ground-water pollution under control. A Sierra Club report found that these sites threaten to expose 1 in 4 Americans to such dangers. Congress passed Superfund in the late 1970s, in response to an incident in Love Canal, New York, where residents discovered that their homes had been polluted by 20,000 tons of toxic chemical waste discarded by the Hooker Chemical Company in the 1940s and 1950s. This discovery coincided with a slew of miscarriages, birth defects, respiratory ailments, and cancer diagnoses in the region. (Sources: Frohman, Jessica, Ananda Hirsch, and Ed Hopkins, "Communities at Risk: How the Bush Administration Is Failing to Protect People's Health at Superfund Sites," The Sierra Club. See article at: www.sierraclub.org. www.epa.gov. David Hopkins, "Superfund Waste Sites Endanger Human Health, Says Report," Environmental Data Interactive Exchange, July 30, 2004. See article at: www.edie.net. www.news-journalonline.com.) How in the HELL can anyone think this bullshit is OK????

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Monday, August 02, 2004

A Call to Arms

This is a photo of a "Comma" butterfly that I took in my parents' garden last weekend. It got its name from the little white comma-shaped mark on its wing - see it? I got some color shots of it with wings open as well but they don't show the little mark so I chose this one. Today's post was inspired by several people - mostly Regan, Abra and J5. I broke up with my last boyfriend just before Thanksgiving last year after a 2-year relationship. Since then my love life has been the emotional and sexual equivalent of an icy tundra. The reasons are complicated and include the following 1. I've gotten to a point where I don't want to waste time with flings that are clearly only casual and have no hope of becoming more. 2. I know what I'm looking for, I know who I am and I won't settle for something that doesn't have at least the possibility of turning into "the L-word." (No, the L-word is not lesbian. But who knows, I don't like to discriminate.) 3. I'm not a flirt so I guess I'm not really "putting myself out there." What it boils down to is this - if I still haven't had a date by the time November rolls around again (when I will have been single for a year), I'm going to take the plunge and place a personal ad online. This is completely terrifying to me as a (as you all well know) very private, don't-talk-to-strangers kind of sloth. I don't even know how to begin. Do I include my picture? Should I just browse the guys' ads and not put one of my own? Where should I put the ad if I do it? What should I say? What are the pitfalls I should look out for? How can I tell if a guy's a creep? How do I politely weed people out? Help!! I know some of you have had some experience with this and I am asking for advice. You can comment it here, or you could do a post about it on your own blog and comment here to tell me to go read it. Which I will. With much fervor. I appreciate your assistance with this and am hoping that in the end it will all have been for nought as my man will drop into my life before the deadline. He has three months to get here. If you see him, tell him to hurry the hell up. Posted by Hello

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