I haz a coffee table!

It's a great beastly Craftsman-style thing you could stack elephants on, it's that badass. My sister had it and got new furniture and when she offered it to me, I realized I've never had a coffee table my whole married life. Isn't that sad? All these years too. How the hell did we eat in front of the TV, you ask? Well, we had this trough . . .

Not really.

TV trays. Those wooden ones with the bracing crossbar that always comes loose down by your feet and if you turn the tray the wrong way, you dump your Cheetos and beer in your lap from resting your tootsies on it. Of course it was never meant to be a footrest and that's why they come loose.

You aren't going to make anything loosen on my coffee table. Except maybe your belt because it's a damn big table and remember what I said about elephants? Well you put two and two together and you have yourself yet another fun surface for nookies that will be like taking a tango on a cement slab. So maybe if Beth goes to camp this year, we'll flutter out of the confines of the bedroom like released moths and then make a pact to be discreet when my sister asks, 'how do you like the coffee table?'

I can readily see Lucius splayed out on it, his white-blond hair hanging over the end as his buttocks clench in fear and sinful anticipation, his skin beaded with perspiration. I assure him the finish won't be harmed by his moisture due to my sister applying Murphy's Oil Soap recently. He suggests a use for Murphy's I'd never considered. Life gets happy. Very happy. My husband, the next day, inexplicably sells the table to buy a cheap particleboard imitation with a flimsy glass top.


While I'm here and you're a captive audience to my mental meanderings, I want to praise my toilet. It's the best toilet I've ever used in my adult life. If I ever move, I will find a way, by God, to pack my toilet with me. It's that wondrous. My hope is some of you come over to experience it, take pictures and maybe some video too. You American LJ'ers might remember a 'Married With Children' episode where Al searches the mean streets of Chicago for the Holy Grail--or in his case--the Pre Efficiency Toilet. Poor Al wasn't getting one flush per load and he was determined to do whatever it took to change that, even if it meant stealing one from a local restaurant in the dead of night. In restaurants and public loos, they don't kid around, even today. Efficiency toilets are fine for homeowners and grass chewing environmentalists, but for real Americans and the harried staffs in Wal-Marts and Dennys, only the highest volume flush will do. After all, no one wants to clean up after a half ton redneck with 'issues' from last night's abandonment of his strict lactose-free diet. If you or I worked in such an establishment, we would want to win the bet that the u-bend would swallow every creamed morsel without fuss or bother. No sissified efficiency will do anything but lengthen the odds on Uncle Flatulence.

I have no such problems.

I live in a house built in the 50's. It has one bathroom. Whoever designed this house possibly had recent memories of a bad batch of potato salad that made his whole family's bowels erupt as one accord and, perhaps, this same man felt a pang of gratitude that his crapper handled the extra payload without involving a plumbing team. Come over to my place. Test it out. Go to Taco Bell and consume as many bean burritos as you can eat and then stop by to chit chat. Soon the spiced legumes will do their work. You'll want to make a deposit and when you do, boy will you be impressed! One flush and it's away. Gone. And unlike the efficiency, it does not trickle wimpily when you pull the handle. A mighty whirlwind swirls around the bowl in a roar and you can consider your mail delivered. Without extra postage. All I ask is that you open all the windows and light a candle or two. Much obliged.

I feel: lazy

It occurred to me while driving home tonight that I didn't know what the word 'furry' meant five years ago. Today, I know too much. Far too much. But not long ago my mind was in a state of naive bliss concerning that entire subculture, so much so that when I worked at Arby's and had the idea of cartooning my co-workers, I considered drawing them all as animals. I thought of it from the viewpoint of animals being easier to draw and more 'cartoony'. Little did I know I had flirted with danger and moral peril. I thought I was mimicking Disney. I had no name for the creations. I thought of an animal that suited each personality and went that way. A little later when I started writing and described a sentient mammalian race I'd developed, a friend asked, 'Oh, you've got furries?' I shrugged and said, 'I guess so. They look a bit like an otter so they have fur.' That was as far as my understanding went. No squick because I had no reason to think I should be squicked.

Then I because active online.

And the clouds parted.

And,lo, did the veil of ignorance fall from mine eyes! The earth was split asunder and from the rent ground rose a foul stench like to egg white stuck to a dog's coat and I did tremble and bow before God, saying 'Lord, spare me this evil! I brush mine teeth daily! Why art thou--by Lucifer's sexy (but corrupt, yes horribly corrupt!) arse are those human knockers on that fox? Why show me this? Why? No I don't want to know what 'yiffing' means!

Eat from the Tree of Knowledge?

I must have, at some point.

It's the only logical explanation. I mean, this part of the country is lousy with apple trees and it's perfectly feasible that my own apple tree is cousin to the one that so tempted Eve--though I haven't seen any snakes near it. But I was forever changed and now whenever I think of drawing Professor Slughorn as a hippopotomas with a walrus mustache, I hesitate for fear of toeing the line separating sanity from the land of the fucking batshit insane. And if I shift the weight distribution of a dog from four legs to two, have I crossed an interdimensional barrier that will one day lead me to donning a red panda costume with 'follow-me' eyes and a convenient back door entrance? Where is the line drawn? Where is safety and where is peril?

Well not too long after I learned of the horrors of this delightful geek subculture, I learned what 'slash' meant and promptly farted applesauce.

Shit, that Tree of Knowledge do put out some DEEELICIOUS fruit!

And like those who are tempted by the lust of the furry convention, the slash artist/writer falls so in love with the genre he/she expresses little else. A really good slash artist is usually so single minded, they even draw 2 rival aircraft in the lock and load position and I suppose a furry artist would put, um, fur on the body and make it into a kind of Catbus with wings. Having sex.

All this makes me wonder what sort of nursing home my generation will enter when the time comes. In most senior centers, the 'activity' rooms play music from their inmates youthful past and offer familiar entertainments in whatever passes for a lounge area. For me and everyone younger, we'll be digesting our Vanilla Ensure as we listen to Back in Black or Coldplay while we surf porn and hunt down warez. The old geezer hunched over the keyboard next to me will be hacking into the pharmacy database to replace his heart pills with Viagra. So he can go out with a bang, you see. In today's homes, they have dumbed down computer classes for oldsters. Not for us. Not for folks 50 and younger. Know how they'll punish us for misbehavior then?

By banning us from Facebook.

And I just know who'll be my roommate when I'm 90. It'll be someone who, as I write this, is making sure the Velcro on his 'access hole' at the front of his Balto suit won't chafe him when he spots the juicy-assed Lion King from across the room and passions ignite.

How I anticipate the future!

I feel: amused

Question:


If a heterosexual desires sex with the opposite gender and a homosexual desires the same with their own gender, what the hell do metrosexuals want to have sex with? Metro busses? We have a lot of those in the Seattle area and some of those tailpipes are kinda hot if you look at them the right way. Maybe they want to have sex but only in cities. Or on busses that cross city boundaries. Or people on the busses that cross city boundaries. Fuck, that's nasty, that last one. You ever SEE the kinds of wierdos that hop on a downtown bus, say, after 8pm? Who'd hit that? Not me. Not even if I was a metrosexual. Well if you think that's bad, I'll let you figure out what a ruralsexual wants to cuddle up to at night. Have fun!


Hubby had a good father's day yesterday. He got what all dad's really want but rarely get because everyone assumes they want presents, cards and company instead of realizing what they want is to be left alone. Father's day is never the high-wire act Mother's day is, where one wrong move gets you fucked and splattered all over 5th Avenue. It's more relaxed because the whole 'I just want to relax' vibe comes through if you're attuned to it. Forget a card? No problem on Father's Day. It's better you forget, because to read the mush in it, they have to take their attention away from the James Bond marathon they're watching. Now if I were an alien to American culture and I had 2 photos in front of me, each of the Hallmark card rack near Mother's Day and Father's Day, respectively, I'd know the score instantly. There is no humor on Mother's Day. There is pink and purple and roses and poetry, vellum and Regency font, embossed script and ribbons, but no comedy. Mothers take this day seriously and this is why the legions of daughters, sons and spouses so grimly attempt to pluck one from the rack that won't get them in much trouble. They are indistinguishable in style from condolence cards. Ever see a dracula pop up out of a coffin on the latter? Hell no. And you won't see a cartoon of ol' Mom beating the kids either, which is what SHE really wants to do. The other thing fathers want to do they can't do with the kids and that thing hubby got and was very, very happy.

Happy Father's Day Doodles!

I feel: thirsty

Did I mention that the Pingbox I embedded in the last post is private?

Yes, just like a normal IM, we can talk about all the other people on my flist and they'll never know. Fuck, that's wicked. If you get one, you can gossip about me. Not that there's much to talk about. I haven't been active online for a while. It's been so long between LJ posts that I've entered the 'who gives a shit' zone when I do post cause I fell off the radar. I don't think it's as bad as when men enter the 'friend zone' and therefore can never get laid, but it still sort of smells and I keep sniffing my armpits to see if I'm rancid. I have the feeling that if I don't post Lucius art soon, I might as well hang it up for good around here and start posting about my cat or figure out how I can describe a five alarm fire as if I'm discussing a local knitting club's latest bobble knit tea cozy designs.

Wait.

I have posted about my cat.

Well shit, there goes that ball game.

And yes, I knew someone who really COULD describe (and did) a nearby fire and make it sound about as exciting as the color of their latest bowel movement and I know folks that can make their daily stool into an awe-inspiring headliner.

As for news, I'm working part time now at my own church (Scientology) and it's something I haven't done since 2001 or so, so I'm getting back in the groove. Since I don't go in Saturday that often, I miss the anon crowd but everyone likes it when they turn out because we get in catering and Starbucks and they get to eat the sweat-soaked skin cell detrius from their masks. You tell me which sounds nicer.

Beth is nearly out of school, turned in her baritone, some of her books and got back a mysterious bundle of something that smelled like rags marinated in camel piss after a hearty attempt to first turn it into lutefisk. It turned out to be her gym clothes. Somehow these beauties didn't make it into the general wash cycle over the past few weeks and may have spent weekends roaming the quiet halls of her school searching for lingering students and/or cookie crumbs from the Friday cookie sales. I have to wonder. If she's turned in nearly everything by now, what the hell is making her backpack weigh about 58 pounds? I'm afraid to look. Did the gym clothes spawn and she's too embarrassed to admit it? Have new life forms mutated in her pencil pouch? What is feeding off her science notes from last October?

And completely off topic, Clearwire sucks.

Who here has gone into a Best Buy or listened to their ads and been tempted by cheap high speed? I know we were. The budget being what it is, we ditched Comcast a couple months back with the promise we'd still be friends while Clearwire flexed and oiled up, tanned skin aglow, in the background, waiting for his chance to score. But the tan was a spray on, the glow Crisco and the muscles plumped with watered steroids. In the sack, it was pathetic. It has the worse case of erectile dysfunction and no matter how I stroke it, it won't perform as promised. And I'm married to this limp dicked cretin for 2 years. I can see why the prenup. Any girl would kick this wimp to the curb within days otherwise. And the other day a Comcast rep came to the door. I begged him to take me back and promised that if he took Clearwire out, I'd make sure he had an airtight alibi. It would be so easy. Hell, if my neighbor farts, my signal heads south. How hard would it be to stage a gastronomic earthquake at the right time and place? But I think Comcast is butthurt enough to let me stew in my own juices for a while longer. Bastard. I want my robust and manly connection back! *sob* Oh studmuffin, wait for me! I'll never forget you!

*sniff*

In other, other news, did you guys know Tonner is making their own Lucius doll? I understand it'll have rooted hair and if they put real cloth clothes on it, I'd be ever so happy. Of course they have to get the Jason Isaacs likeness right so I don't wind up with Don Knotts in a blond wig. Here's hoping!

I feel: mellow

Yahoo just gave me a new toy to play with and because I know all of you are fighting and gouging one another for the ripe chance to chat with me LIVE, I plunked in this Pingbox. It's a little impractical for LJ. You have to insert it in an entry and we all know what happens after a short while--it scrolls out of sight, out of mind. I have no idea if you ping me a week from now if the box opens up in a present entry or not. If I can, I'll see if I can modify it for the sidebar because, again, I know how flooded with pings I'm going to be the minute I hit Post to Journal. Your pings and my pongs, we will make beautiful music together.

Last week I went on a violent gardening rampage which resulting in my tearing up a patch of useless lawn growing around my decorative boulder (the one I put lights on at Christmastime). Sod perished by the wheelbarrow load. My neighbor feared a true botanical takeover and immediately got outside and began weeding along her house, occasionally cocking her head back over her should in case I'd pulled a grove of rare orchids out of my ass that would put her tulips to shame. Dirt and grubs flew. I bent a trowel into something resembling a waterslide at Wild Waves in my zealous efforts to pry grass loose from the edges. Her extended family poured out of the house to help in their barren wasteland and I know they got dad involved because today he showed up with a truckbed full of sawdust, which means I may have to splurge on beauty bark or another hanging basket of petunias just to show them whose side of the street is hot and whose is not.

Ah, the lazy,hazy days of summer.

I've got the final trump card though, don't you worry. The moment they slipped inside, I busted ass and planted pumpkins between this window and Beth's and so this fall when they think it's all over but the last shovel of mulch, BAM! out pop glorious globes of orange. Sudden Death Overtime. The Final Blow. +1 to the Cooleys!

Of course now I have the problem of my new garden becoming a communal cat pit stop with all that freshly dug earth. Cathulhu has his eye on one particular patch. Don't you dare, or I swear I'll put so much alum in your food your poop pucker will never unpucker again. I'm watching you!

I feel: accomplished

Oops. I was testing out those three artses I posted the other day to see how they behaved when viewed online--and forgot to take them back down. Naturally I'd never post art with the friends only filter on! I'm too much an attention whore. I want everyone to get the chance to make fun of me, not just a certain privileged few. So for just that opportunity, here's the final version:




And so with this puppy, I hope to win a big, fat contest sponsored by Wacom. Yes the monster is holding the new Wacom Intuos 4 and wearing their corporate logo as a charm necklace. The demon things are trying to steal them because they all suck at drawing and can't hope to win the Intuos 4 on their own. The theme for the contest was 'Good versus Evil'. Now does the drawing make more sense? It does? Shit, go see your therapist or something.

I just wrote my first list and I bet you'd like to see it. Nyah.

I can't leave my hubby alone in the house any more. He can't be trusted. I mean it's not as if he cuts loose on Dash Point with a mankini, a case of Trojans and a freshly waxed set of buttocks or anything, but all the same he needs supervision, specifically when doing laundry. God bless the man. He did laundry while I was gone last Sunday. The sheets were getting that gamey yet somehow exciting scent of past bodily fluids, now dried and part of the weave, so action had to be taken before the cat invited his pals in for a mass rutting orgy (it's spring after all). So he collected the sheets and dumped them in the body fluid extractor off the garage (washer).

Fine and good, good and fine.

What hubby didn't keep in mind, however, were my morning habits. We keep one of the cordless phones in the bedroom so the President won't catch us off guard if he happens to tell us he's dropping by for a social visit and the recharge unit is on my side of the bed, on my bedside table. If the phone rings while half my brain is knocking back 'z's' I have no willpower or energy to replace the phone--nor do I have the necessary aim--so I toss it between my pillows and hubby's. It's an old habit. I know I do it, hubby knows I do it. So why then did he act surprised that the phone was still ON the sheets as he scooped them up and, yes, turned on the washer? And washed the phone. And dried it. It is now very clean, very dry and very dead. But other things wind up on the sheets. Books. Crumbs. The cat. All could be merrily churned to froth if I'm not around to check things. The cat worries me most. He'll just lie there if you go to change the sheets and let you carry him off, though he might swear off that habit after he's gone through the Permanent Press cycle a time or two.

Oh I'm going to do the listy thing.

Reading other people's to-do lists bores the fuck out of me, so why the hell would I inflict mine upon you? Good news. I'm not. I'll keep 'em private unless I'm being deliberately entertaining (like with my New Years 'resolutions'). I just thought I'd tell you I'm doing it 'cause I'm trying to make my goals a bit more tangable that way, by breaking them down from long range to daily. Anyhow if I'm plotting mass genocide during my monthies, you don't really want to read that now do you? Or how I'm growing out my hair so I can cut off the right length of it, dye it platinum blond and make a Lucius wig for hubby to wear during 'special' times? A list keeping track of inches grown will come in handy for that. Or a graph. Or in my case, a backdrop for the Jason Isaacs shrine.

*ahem*

You didn't see that.

I feel: sleepy

*gush*

*swoon*

*squee*

*ovulate*











*****



I want to hug all of you who not only commented on monster!Lucius but also took pains to bring out your Lucius icons so that the whole thread is one big happy Lucius scrollfest. Thanks to you I have the world's most washed screen due to licking it. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Hawt. I really want to get a Lucius macro trend going now! LOLucius.

I feel: Yay it's J.I.!