I’ve been having a lot of screwy ideas for stories lately, and the only way I know how to deal with them right now is to write them out, stream-of-consciousness style. Here’s an excerpt:

“And she hears singing?? What the hell? And then a little genie comes out. HAHA. The genie’s all, hey what’s up. Not sure what happens after…”

It’s a bit rough, obviously.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I created these little guys a while ago so I figured I better post ‘em now.

So, in high school I had a better-than-modest collection of four-leaf clovers. Finding my first was nothing short of magical, but the magic died a couple of years later when a new patch of clover grew, ALL with four leaves, directly next to the driveway of my parents’ house—I think because of some fertilizer. Some of the clovers were nearly two inches across, some had five leaves. I’ve lost my collection since moving out, and every time I go back home I forget to check for the patch. But I’m not not superstitious, you know, so I think I’ll start searching again.

I’ve been listening to a lot of different (for me) music lately—thanks to Pandora, which does tend to repeat itself after hours of playback—but after I’ve had enough of these guys I like to return to my own stuff in iTunes. Nothing like an ear vacation to make those same tired albums sound new again.

So anyway, yesterday, I noticed something about two of my most favorite messy-pretty songs:

“Stars” by The Clean

and

“Rising of the Sun” by The Rabble

The names of the bands and the titles of those songs are total opposites. Weird, huh. Also weird: The Clean are from New Zealand, as well as another band called The Rabble, but not this Rabble, who came from Canada in the ’60s.

I thought it was interesting! But then I’m pretty boring.

I know this will probably sound like one of those “you never needed it ’til they said you did” scam deals (Latisse, douching with Lysol), but ever since I started lotioning my armpits, I’ve been 200% more comfortable with myself! And I don’t mean stupid moisturizing deodorant; I mean regular body lotion. I’m less itchy, and shaving’s easier.

Does anybody else do this? It’s decadent.

Even though I don’t have an immediately obvious look-alike (other than my mom, according to anybody who sees us together for the first time), I’ve been compared to a lot of different ladies in my life:

Winona Ryder
Laura Dern
Emily Deschanel
Penelope Cruz
Veronica Lake
Judy Collins
Princess Zelda

Pick your favorite!

I’d post photos, but I think we all know how different these six women and sprite are from each other. And while I can’t see myself in any of them, I’d say it’s Laura for the occasional horsiness, Emily for the deadpan voice, and Winona, Penelope, and the Princess for the brown eyes and impish squint. Veronica Lake happened when I had a photo of her in my Facebook profile, and as for a young Judy Collins, this is what my stepdad said just yesterday. I may be a princess, but I’ll never be as ethereal as Judy.

Don’t be shy, tell me one of your resolutions for 2010! I’m especially hoping to hear from anybody reading this old ‘log who has never said hello. Surely there’s somebody? You can e-mail me in secret if you’d like; I love a secret letter.

One of my resolutions for the new year is to start a new web project. I hesitate to use the word launch because it’s not a space shuttle, but in truth I’ve actually already started this thing. I don’t really want to describe it yet since the premise is really simple (like describing a dream, ugh), but it WILL require me to update with a new drawing once a week. Can I do it???

I was given a gift of shower gel once that boasted itself as having “plenty of bubbles.” Seeing as there’s a whole dictionary of fanciful words reserved for such frilly goods, I find plenty to be a strange choice. How many bubbles are plenty? It’s such a vague, casually optimistic word. I prefer more concrete statements about my soaps, like… “It Floats.”

Don’t you trust it? (And then there’s Fairy Soap…)

Ivory soap images via Design History.

I’m not sure if it’s the “Pro-Epil Complex” or some malodorous side-effect of wild roses I don’t know about, but this Dove antiperspirant makes my armpits smell like a candied ham.

Also, I hate the lid.

Here’s what it’s like nearly every day with this guy:

Chris is doing the dishes after we’ve gone two days without doing them. “I’m not doing them all,” he says, and I say that’s okay, I’ll do some. A few minutes later, though, he’s still washing and the sink is nearly empty. “Stop it!” I exclaim, and he says, “I’m not doing them all.” I can tell he’s being cute, so I leave him to finish the dishes. He finishes, the sink is sparkling, and I tell him thank you. Then I go to make something to eat, and I see a single spoon in the sink. He sees me see the spoon and he says, “Told you.”

Orange (Not red.)
Red
Yellow
Green