Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Blessed Yule

Ah, the holidays: eternal friendship, ephemeral gifts, live trees, fake cards, warm stoves, cold weather, white christmas, black ice, powdered sugar, road salt, clean snow, dirty cars, family, freak-outs, candy, candy, candy, and loooooove.

Happy merry, everyone.

Friday, December 14, 2007

shear terror

Well, its been a super long time since I blogged, so I feel the need to cast my pebble of verbosity out into the mass consiousness. Jesus, I'm glad it's Friday!

I got my hair cut today. It had been growing out for about four months due partly to some planning on my part but mostly to my busy schedule. I finally went over today during lunch.

At the salon I go to (again, because of my schedule), it is first come-first serve and you never know who is going to cut your hair. The important thing is, they are open late and they usually have a stylist available on short notice.

So today I went over and got a new stylist...a man. He quickly informed me that he didn't want me to look at my hair while he was cutting because he had the vision for what we were going to do. He followed that up with a cautionary tale about some guy who once had the nerve to dictate to him what his hair should be cut like...specifically, the guy had wanted a certain set of numbers shaved into his hair. Whatever. Alarmingly, my new stylist had been very offended by this creative smothering and had told the man, " don't tell your architect where to put the support beams. Don't tell me how to cut hair." He then recounted how tempted he had been to shave his own name into the back of the guys head.

So it went on like that as I sat there, not looking, while he did my hair. He asked what I did for a living. I braced myself and told him I worked at the domestic violence project. The usual tyrade about his ex beating him, how he would never call the cops because he would get arrested, and bias based purely on a superficial thing like his own criminal record would impede his quest for justice. PS: he would never hit a woman, tho. of course he'd hit a lot of guys. he used to be a bouncer, after all. (and now he does hair????!!)

Then he moved on to his quest for a girlfriend but how hard it was because women in Maine were so hard to figure out. He just moved here from Boston, by the way. So women in Maine, according to his research:

1) Rarely have a full set of teeth
2)Only like lobstermen
3)All have kids by the time they are twenty two
4)Want a guy with a car (which he doesn't have)

And having further stipulated that he was not looking for a long-term relationship but for "you know what," he asked me for advice on Maine women. Suffice to say I had none, but was trying really hard not to piss him off lest he shave bad things into my hair. I tried to joke with him by saying, "women like if it you are kid-friendly," he said he was NOT kid friendly...why should he be stuck taking care of some lobsterman's kids while that jackass was out at sea? Was that fair? No! But he contemplated it a bit before deciding, "I GUESS I could PRETEND to be kid friendly for the short term." Then berated me for my bad advice, suggesting that I must be pretty bad at my job. He said, "I bet you just sit there telling women to break up with guys all day. If he can't provide childcare, just dump him."

Oh, well. He did a decent job cutting my hair, despite my spanking new stylist-related PTSD.

I can't believe I left the fucker a five dollar tip.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Breaded Pagans

So, happy Lammas! Today is one of the high holidays of Paganism, and it is all about food. What religious holiday isn't? This is a first-fruits-harvest type festival that some people call loafmass. Like Christmas only hot (associated with Lugh, a sun god) and sweaty and very high carb. Good carbs, of course. They are sacred. Enjoy!

Monday, June 25, 2007

solstice circle

We built a small stone circle (to be enlarged gradually) behind my workplace on the Summer Solstice. It was great to see the field behind our building take shape as trash was picked up, dead branches cleared out, and the circle took form.

Thanks to everyone who came! Much love, ljl

Thursday, June 07, 2007

My Spring Garden

Yay! Medicinal herbs! Pretty flowers! Lower back pain! Ah...yay!



Catnip...enjoy the pretty blossoms before the cats get to 'em!

And finally....

My precious new "Beauty of Moscow" lilac. It is just so slightly pink. :)

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Don't be Caught Dead without Jesus!

We encountered this vehicle in the Calais region of the Main-land earlier this month. Made me think theologically again, which causes heartburn, eyetwitches, and erratic sleep. Damn. Literally.

"Accept sweet baby Jesus as your eternal savior or he will grab you, impale you on a spit and slowly roast you over hellfire whilst laughing mockingly (in his infantile yet omniscient way). Amen!"

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Queen of America

So, I can't help but notice that the Queen of England has been touring our cemeteries, planting trees in our gardens, hanging out at our horse tracks...all the things that make a national leader.

Is she taking this country back, now, or what?

Good for her. Why wouldn't she? She's like a shark that smells dumb in the water.

Our fearless leader is probably "autographizing" the pertinent paperwork, even now. Hail to the Queen!

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

may I have my $28 000 back, please?

My whole life has become like my time on the treadmill. If I think too hard I topple over.

Speaking of which....

I saw something on the news today about the woman with the Marian Grilled Cheese. I saw the sandwich for the first time.

There has been a terrible mistake.

That is not the Virgin Mary. No, no! It is Clara Bow. CLARA BOW!

Mary wouldn't have worn that much eye shadow. She wouldn't have worn that style of eye shadow even if she went all to hell in Egypt. No way, no how. That is Clara Bow. Although Crimsoncrow suggests that it may be Clarabell the clown, which is possible. Yet I offer pictorial evidence: I get a cut off that $28 000 sandwich? Oh. Well, fuck it, then.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

something from the vault: short fic

I was what you might call "homicidally creative" when I wrote this, last Halloween. Consider it a very early offering for the next one. :) Trick or treat!

Cressida scrutinized her image in the full length mirror. She was pleased with the whole Halloween ensemble. The Cinderella thing had worked out well.

She looked great in the pink ball gown and cheesy, plastic tiara. Sure, it would be cold with no coat on, but she had two pairs of long underwear leggings concealed beneath the billowing folds of her skirt. It was a worthy sacrifice when she looked this hot.

She was pretty sure that volunteering at the haunted house in her local library would be a good way to meet guys. She was taking admission and handing out tickets. Even that spooky atmosphere felt like a better bet than a club or a bar. Surely she would meet a better type of guy at the library, for heaven's sake.

She had gone to a party at a friend's house last year. It had been okay and she had met a cute guy, but he hadn't lasted very long. This time, she was sure to do better. Especially in this dress.

Cressida stepped out of her apartment building and onto the street. It was perfect New England weather. The air was cool but far from chilly. Flame-colored leaves wafted down upon her like confetti. She liked the sound that her opalescent shoes made as they clicked down the sidewalk.

There were children absolutely everywhere. It was cool to see the costumes. The oldies were out. She saw Frankenstein, Dracula, Witches, and Bugs Bunny. Then came all the new additions. She didn't even recognize all of the characters. Some that she knew included Sponge Bob and several members of the Fantastic Four.

There were already throngs of totally hyper kids and very impatient adults surrounding the library. Cressida had to shoulder her way to the front and wait for the sour-faced librarian to open the door. Yet she felt like a celebrity being slipped into an exclusive club when it swung open just for her.

"You're late," she said. "I asked Ed if he could do it. He can do it if you can't do it. Can you do it?"

Cressida looked around. Nope. There was no one else there. The librarian was definitely glaring at her.

"Ah…sell the tickets?"

The blue-haired lady scowled over her reading glasses for a full quarter-minute before saying,

"That is what you came to do, isn't it? Ed can do it if you can't do it."

"Right. I can do it."

Another quarter-minute. "Well, alright. The card table is over there by the door. I'll just go and tell Ed. Unless you want him to…."

"I can do it!"

Cressida turned on her opalescent heel and stomped to the card table. It tilted to the right when she leaned on it. The cash box slid loudly across the surface and landed in her hands. She saw the librarian glaring at her as she flopped down on her metal chair.

That part was awkward. She had started to reconsider this whole library thing when the doors swung open and a huge flood of people came in. From then on she was way too busy for regrets.

She saw a lot of really cute kids. One brought her a paper cup of candy corn. Then a baby took some of the same sweets out of its mouth and tried to force the goo into Cressida's face. It was a sweet gesture, but it put her off the candy for the rest of the night. Oh, well. Good for her diet.

She counted a lot of change. The number of adults who paid for their kids' five dollar admission with a twenty was outrageous. Cressida had to ask the surly librarian for small bills about two dozen times.

She usually received the money via "Ed" – a giant guy who reminded Cressida of a cross between the Frankenstein monster and Igor. The guy wasn't even wearing a costume. The way he looked at her gave her the creeps.

More importantly, she also got checked out by several cute guys. Some were a couple of years younger than her, but she wouldn't be robbing the cradle. There was an extremely tasty James Dean. She met two hot Elvises (in addition to four more really gross ones).

She got two phone numbers (James and not-gross-Elvis-number-two), but Cressida was a little disappointed at the end of the night. She had not found her ideal man, whom she had decided in her third hour under the library-murals (bearing huge paintings of many literary characters) would have the personality of Harry Potter, the intellect of Charles Dickens, and the physique of Rhett Butler.

She tried not to feel too disappointed. No one bats a thousand, so to speak. Maybe the phone numbers would pan out. Otherwise she would have to focus her energy on New Year. It was the other holiday that she liked to work for dates with cute men.

Cinderella didn't have much more than her glass slippers (and very sore arches) when she began the slow walk home. The pitch-black night was cold and felt considerably less friendly, by then.

It was about ten blocks from the library to Cressida's apartment. It felt a lot farther when she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Every strange sound seemed to echo with hidden and unfriendly meaning.

She had herself thoroughly psyched out by the time she had gone four blocks. Then she heard the footsteps.

For a while she could convince herself that someone else was simply walking in the same direction. Yet two right turns and a left made her feel differently. Someone was following her.

She forced herself to think. She looked around at the darkness that enfolded the entire street. All the shops were closed. All the families and packs of young trick-or-treaters had gone home.

She and this person – whoever it was – were alone.

Cressida thought fast. She had about five more blocks to go. There was no one around.

Absolutely no one, save whoever was following her. She would have to walk home as fast as she could and hope for the best.

"Walk assertively," she thought to herself. "Don't look uncertain, at all."

The memory of those college campus safety presentations didn't do much more than fill the time as her opalescent heels clicked and clacked – each step taking her closer to her goal.

She felt relief flood through her as she reached the front door to her building. She would be safe inside her own apartment in a matter of moments. Her key barely fumbled as she rammed it in the lock. She congratulated herself for being so smooth.

As the door swung open, the little windows that were at Cressida's eye-level flashed a reflection from the dim streetlights. She caught a glimpse of the person who followed her.

It was a man. He was big and broad-shouldered. As she ducked through the entry and slammed the door, it registered. The man was Ed.

She knew that the front door would lock behind her. She raced up the stairs to the landing on the second floor. She had never been so happy to have an apartment at the top of the building, before. She had another flight of stairs to go.

Cressida paused before starting up the second staircase. Her heart fluttered when she saw Ed's form cast its warped reflection through the thick glass in the door.

Her thoughts froze in unison with her breath as a metallic click sounded on the lower floor. Good Samaritans did not generally pick locks.

Cressida slipped out of her opalescent shoes and picked them up. Her stocking-feet made no sound as she scrambled up the next set of stairs. She was nearly to her own safe abode.

She could hear footsteps behind her. They were heavy and slow. Cressida broke into a run, oblivious to the noise that she made.

"Keys. Keys!" she chanted to herself. She swore under her breath as they skittered over the surface of the lock. She would never make fun of those women in the horror flicks again. This was hard work when you were scared shitless and in a hurry.

She fell through the door as it swung open. It was a miracle that she didn't land flat on her face. Yet she was able to slam the door shut behind her. The deadbolt clicked with a reassuring finality.

Surely that was it for Ed. He had no way of knowing which of the four apartments on the third floor belonged to her. Unless….

Shit! She had dropped one of her opalescent shoes. It must be somewhere in the hall – somewhere close to her door.

She could hear Ed come off the landing and into the hall. His footsteps paused before heading toward her door.

Cressida could not believe that this was happening. Not to her. Yet it was. She had to do something.

She forced herself to pry her ear off the surface of the door. She walked on her tiptoes into the kitchen. She looked around for a weapon. Potato masher? No. Can opener? Not really. A grapefruit spoon? Jesus….

She opened the broom closet and began desperately feeling around in the dark corners. She could barely breathe and her shaky hands were slippery with sweat.

"Hurry, idiot! You asked for this when you went out. Now you'd better hurry…."

This whole evening was not going according to plan. All she had wanted to do was meet some sweet, hunky guy with muscle tone like….

Cressida froze. Metal slid into the lock on her door. There was a scratching sound for a moment and then the hinges squeaked. Ed was inside. He had to be.

A tall shadow loomed in the living room. Ed's blocky silhouette wavered eerily in the indirect beam of the kitchen light. He moved toward the living room for a moment – then stopped. His shadow grew thin, then thick. It moved directly toward the kitchen.

Heavy footsteps finally reached the room. Black leather shoes that must have been the largest size made scuffed upon the edge of the beige linoleum. He was here. He was finally in the room.

The six-foot-something stalker lurched into the kitchen. He confronted his prey, at last. He and Cressida stared at each other for a long, surreal moment. Then she split his chest wide open with her axe.

Ed made the sound that they always made. He looked down at his torso and then crumpled like an enormous doll. Cressida's sweaty hands slipped down the axe handle. She had trouble pulling it out of his ribs.

"Pig!" she cried. She braced her foot on his upper leg and yanked the weapon clear.

"You deviant, presumptuous pervert," she finished. "I didn't even get to put plastic down!"

The next blow took his head clean off. Ed's desperate, groaning breaths were cut short with a squelching crunch. The head rolled across the bare linoleum and wedged itself in the gap between the fridge and the floor.

"Oh, great," Cressida muttered. "I'll have to move the whole goddamned fridge to clean that. Where are the paper towels?"

She hated it when things did not go according to plan. She always took the time to meet the right guy. She liked the ones with soft eyes and a good build. She was into the Ken-doll vibe.
More importantly, she was into hygiene. She usually drugged them with some Ambien in a drink, or something. Then the process could be controlled. She always put plastic down.

Now, here she was. A dead Frankenstein knock-off was gushing guts onto her clean tile. He would leach onto the living room rug if she didn't find the paper towels. Not to mention that it was Halloween. If she got any late night, co-ed trick-or-treaters, she was screwed with a capital-s.

Oh, well. She could tell them that it was fake blood. She had made her own little haunted house – and not the PG-13 variety. Sure. If she got the body cut up fast enough, she could probably explain the blood.

Cressida lined the doorways with a levy of paper towels. She washed her hands and put her pink dishwashing gloves on. She would have to reorganize the freezer. She had been running on leftovers for several months, but she still had some chops and about five arms.

"Oh, well. Feast or famine," she told herself. She gave Ed's carcass a kick with her stocking-clad foot and mumbled, "Trick or treat."

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Happy Beltane!

Happy Beltane! See a super-cool article on Cauldron Living about the holiday, if you have questions.

:) set something on fire and think of me. ljl

Monday, April 23, 2007

Spring! (Again!)

Well, here we go again! It's more promising, this time. The weather folk say it will be 70 degrees today!

Star had her first ice cream cone, this weekend. She was meticulous about licking all the sides before they melted. Very neat when it comes to food.

We went to the Bangor Forest to walk her. I also stopped in Bucksport to visit my fave fairy trees. :)

Monday, April 02, 2007

It: Short Fic


It's been a while since I put fic on here. This one is not what you might call an "upper." It has some elements of people I have known, but the outcome is FIC!

Blessed Monday, ljl

This motel is completely for shit. I bet they rent rooms out to whores, by the hour. The lobby smells like mold. I don’t know why it picked this motel. It has a discount for Comfort Inn, and I saw one just down the road.

Maybe it plans to kill me, this time. It says that it will, all the time. It paid with cash. It picked a shit motel.

“Shut up,” I tell my smart-self. She just makes things worse. “It isn’t here to kill you. It probably just wants to snag a whore.”

The lady at the desk shows me where the public phone sits. It is white. I can see dirty fingerprints and Christ knows what else on the handset. Gross.

I pull a folded scrap of paper from my pocket. I got it at an ER, about six months ago. I can’t remember what town that was. Now the paper is faded and torn. I can read it, though. I press the motel key for “toll free.”

Some woman answers. “Battered women helpline,” she says cheerfully.

My mind is flooded with stuff that I could say. I can feel the motel clerk’s beady eyes on me.

Nothing comes out. I could tell her about the time it knocked out my tooth. That’s an easy one. The really hard stuff would never come out. There aren’t words for that stuff.

I could tell her how it put me in an unplugged chest-freezer for a whole night. That was the night I stopped calling it a “him” – a man. No man could do this to his wife.

That night in the freezer, I could barely breathe. The air was stale and smelled of spoiled milk. Every now and then, it would open the door and stare down at me – smiling. Sometimes some spittle would rain down.

It held me down with its heavy hands and burned my thighs with its cigarette. My fourth foster father used to do that. When I married it, I thought all that shit was behind me.

It acted like a man, back then. I guess it was just like a trained animal that could walk on its hind feet. It could smile and joke and hug. It could say “I love you.” It couldn’t sustain the act forever, though. Not much past the honeymoon.

I thought it all over in the freezer. There was plenty of time to think. I thought I would die in there. It just kept laughing at me. It said, “I should have put you in there a long time ago. You’re nothing but spoiled meat.”

It said my cunt is loose. It said that I smell. Then morning came, and it just opened the freezer.

It let me out as if nothing had happened, at all. That’s the way it is. You never can tell.

I remember again that I am on the phone in this shit hotel. The lady on the other end isn’t saying anything. I try to think what I could say.

I could tell her about the hospital. I walked downtown in the snow. They put me in a paper gown and made me lay on a metal table. Then they brought in some sweet-faced nurse aid to hold me down. Everyone holds me down.

My cunt can’t be loose. It can’t be right. It hurt too much when they did the “pap.” Then they took three swabs. I heard them click like the safety on the gun it keeps under our bed.

It hurt. I cried. They held me down. I bucked and gasped like a landed, dying fish. Then they said, “Everything looks okay.” They “documented my burns,” then they gave me that phone number and sent me on my way.

“What’s going on for you?” the phone-lady asks. She reminds me of where I am. I’m at some shit hotel with it, again.

I think for a moment, but nothing comes. I feel like a deer in the headlights.

“It – he says I smell,” I whisper.

The lady on the phone said something sympathetic, but I didn’t catch it. The desk clerk is snickering at me.

She ducks her head when I turn toward her, but I know she was laughing at me.

“Forget it,” I say, and hang up the phone. I flip the desk-bitch off and go outside.

I walk down the concrete sidewalk to 104 – its room. I know it will still be asleep. It drank three bottles of Nyquil.

It does not look peaceful when it sleeps. This is more like going for a hike and accidentally stumbling upon a grizzly bear, slumbering in its cave. Your only thought is, “Please don’t let that wake up.”

I look around for something to do. The room smells like cough syrup and sweat. I can’t turn the air conditioner on. The rumble might wake it up.

T.V.? No way. Might wake it up. Shower? Sound of the water might wake it up. Radio? No.
I notice the bedside table. There must be a Bible in there. And a phone book. If I get tired of one, I can read the other.

I get the Bible and start flipping through. My mom used to do that. She would let it fall open to random pages and act like the first sentence she read was a special message for her.

It says “Isaiah 66.17-24” at the top. I look down at the middle of the page.

“For as the new heavens and the new earth, which I will make, shall remain before me, says the Lord; so shall your descendants and your name remain. From new moon to new moon, and from Sabbath to Sabbath, all flesh shall come to worship before me, says the Lord. And they shall go out and look at the dead bodies of the people who have rebelled against me; for their worm shall not die, their fire shall not be quenched, and they shall be abhorrence to all flesh.”

I look around the room – just thinking. The sound of its snoring is the only sound.

This whole thing reminds me so much of my mother. It all comes back to me, how she used to carry that bible around.

“A prophet isn’t recognized in his own town,” she would say. “Just kick the dust off your feet and move on.”

It sounded like crazy talk, back then. But it’s beginning to make sense. Isn’t that what I do with my life? I am always just moving from town to town. Maybe it’s time to kick the dust off my feet – this time on my own.

I walk to the bed. It is snoring away. Its nose and mouth are wide open and rattling with air. It is face-up with its hooked-nose pointing to the ceiling. If you couldn’t hear the snores, you might think it was saying a prayer.

“From new moon to new moon, all folks will come to worship God,” I whisper to myself. I pick up my pillow. It is free and clear – lying down by its feet. This is easy – far too easy. This isn’t coincidence. This is meant to be. I think of the shit motel, the fake name, the bible in the drawer – yes. This is all for me.

“They will go out and look at the bodies of the dead people that rebelled against God,” I whisper.
“They shall kick the dust off their feet and move on.”

I put the stained pillow down over its face. I hold it tight – so tight. I lean down with all my weight.

It struggles. It hollers. It kicks and swings. It gets me good in the ribs. No matter – I can take it. I have been trained.

Everything is clear as I stand over it. Everything falls into place. It brought me here to murder me. God put it in its place. How else could I be strong enough to win this fight? I am. I can see its strength ebbing away.

Maybe five minutes pass before I take the pillow away. It feels like the length of a day. When I move, it is peaceful and quiet. It doesn’t look like a grizzly bear in its cave. It looks like a weak, beaten thing.

I just stare at it for a good long time. Then I put the bible away. I can have a good shower before I leave. But first, I kneel down at the bedside. Its body is on the altar where I pray.

“Thank you for Nyquil, God,” I whisper. “Thanks for bringing me to your word, today.”

I get up. I am free. I will knock the dust off my feet and walk away.


my little newcomer from the dump, Nettie Pot, is round and happy like the others, now. here are couple of pics of her. everyone is enjoying the warm weather! :)

Friday, March 30, 2007

up and coming

It's funny that Gwen was just saying her lilies are up, because I just took some pics at the St. Francis Church of their flowers starting to bud. The little tongue depressor in the dirt next to them informed me that they were "day lilies." All I know is, IT'S ALIVE! That means it is SPRING! (insert jumping and yelling) :) ljl

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Spring on the Rocks

Yay! It is warm out! My various special places on the property are visible from beneath the snow! The dog was rolling in the (still dead) grass, this weekend. I decided to go out and take a couple of pics. These are of my altars in the back field--NOW VISIBLE! Hope everybody gets a chance to go out and play (she says from her concrete work-day crate). :-p ljl

website stardom

My baby doggie face doodle is on the picture gallery at maine greyhound placement (! Check it out! (her name is Stardom) :) ljl

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Students Opposing Dating Abuse

We did our day-long goal-setting, trainer-refresher course type meeting for the local high school peer educators, yesterday. It was fun. They plan to do a play-with-interviews type of film project and take it to the MYAN (Maine Youth Action Network) Conference, next Fall. We worked on the script until our brains were all melted and then we had a half hour of "theatrical combat" where two of the girls were choreographing an abuse scene. It was a bit surreal, watching them beat the snot out of each other (though I knew in my head that they weren't). :0

food is our primary recruiting tool. :)

Friday, March 16, 2007

over the river and thru the woods to the statehouse we....oh, whatever.

We (a bunch of us from work including a survivor who has been working with us for some time) hauled our asses to Augusta for a dv press conference and legislator schmooze-fest, yesterday. It was okay. I photo-journalled the whole thing for work, the state coalition, and ME! I got to stand in front with the press (both of them!) and everything. Here are some of the pics. Afterwards we went to a Thai place that was literally next door to the Maine Greyhound Placement kennel, where I got star. And we have an intern from the U of Colorado with us. Somebody gave her crack so she would act really funny. At least I'm pretty sure somebody did. It was awesome. We had the whole restaurant to ourselves. :) happy friday, ljl

T-shirt project does community awareness: shirts done by survivors and friends/family.

Some of the legislators meant to stand behind the speakers. Some just got caught on the stairs. "What the hell are they doing? I need to get to the cafeteria!"
The Silent Witnesses commemorate domestic homicide victims.
This is a pretty good restaurant, though some members of our party were not into thai food. I was yelling, "gag into the camera!"
Just say no, KD. And take that nice man's napkin off your head. Please.
We felt as stuffed and sleepy as these two, by the end. Not that that stopped one car from getting sundaes at Dysarts and the other from driving thru Dairy Queen.

Off we go, into the (lack of) sunset!

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

got milk?

I went to one of my social work type meetings this morning -- feeling VERY old on my orthopedic pillow (due to a fall on the steps at work during the icy time)--and they were advertising the infant mental health coalition's "breast feeding coalition" meeting. "Lunch will be served." Well, duh!!!

Monday, March 12, 2007


cool. i finally got an adjustment for my back and neck. now i go three times a week and get a quick adjustment, then a few minutes of "interferential electrotherapy" a.k.a. "cryofreeze (ice) treatment on my back/neck, plus electro-shocks or some junk. very interesting. but it feels great and it is definitely making an improvement! :)

Friday, March 09, 2007

birthday toys!

when I got to work today, my already cluttered office was full of:

more candy
a really obscene amount of candy
a big present on my chair!

the present turned out to be a homer simpson talking clock! he looks really fun. yay, work! thanks, everybody. :)

And here the little bugger is, in my horribly cluttered office, patiently waiting to be fully assembled.