It's a two-fer day, ya'll. This is what resumes when my brother upgrades apartments and I get his hand-me-down couch (that he got for free from our parents) since he's richer than God and buying new furniture:
Sent at 1:59 PM on Wednesday
Charlemagne: Can you buy me this as a house warming gift and as an exchange for the couch
http://www.walmart.com/ip/Bissell-3-in-1-Vac-Blue-Morpho/13729300
Kate: Ummm sure... I was just at Walmart though. Won't go again for a while.
Charlemagne: Yesssss. It says they are in the stores too. I think there are lots of colors, any of them are fine. Even pink if it is the last choice
Kate: ...
Charlemagne: I guess we will be ready to vacuum tomorrow, that's when Volo can move his shit out of main areas and into his room and we can begin living there
Kate: I'm not going to Walmart today.
Charlemagne: I guess I need to get that vacuum now then. Oh well.
Kate: You can borrow our vacuum if you want
Charlemagne: I have a big one but I want that little one so I don't scratch up all the floors
Sent at 3:01 PM on Wednesday
Charlemagne: I will just go to Walmart and you can pay me 15 dollars for the couch. DEAL. Thanks for the present
Kate: I don't think that's how it works. Plus, you never bought that couch.
Charlemagne: But I need it tomorrow.
Kate: I would not charge you for a couch.
Charlemagne: Would you charge me for a vacuum?
Kate: Did you give me a housewarming present?
Charlemagne: Fine. Take your lousy couch.
Kate: Jesus Christ I'll give you $15
Charlemagne: It is probably full of mouse feces. Mr. Mouse lived in there
Kate: Awesome.
Charlemagne: haha I really don't care, but now that I think about it, a mouse probably did live in it. Better than dying in it though
Kate: I hate you.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Emails From Messica
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:43 AM
To: Kate
Subject: I WANT A DIVORCE
FYI Operation Alimony resumes on Friday. Isn't that exciting?
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:44 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
TEAM MESSICA FTW
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:46 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
PS- I am assuming that the divorce reception will be probably mid to end of September. Leave your calendar open and decide what song you want the dj to play when you walk out as a divorcee maid.
Thanks!
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:50 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Ooooh I'll start brainstorming. I think angry chick rock is appropriate. Or maybe metal.
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:52 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Absolutely! Now, is it inappropriate for me to wear black and bring Jimbo as my guest?
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:54 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Certainly not. You and Ex-Douchebag can have a last dance and whenever people clink glasses you get to punch him in the face.
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:55 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Let's keep our eyes on the prize. Divorce reception... 9-25-10. I would do it on the 18th, but I don't want to interfere with Yom Kippur.
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:43 AM
To: Kate
Subject: I WANT A DIVORCE
FYI Operation Alimony resumes on Friday. Isn't that exciting?
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:44 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
TEAM MESSICA FTW
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:46 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
PS- I am assuming that the divorce reception will be probably mid to end of September. Leave your calendar open and decide what song you want the dj to play when you walk out as a divorcee maid.
Thanks!
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:50 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Ooooh I'll start brainstorming. I think angry chick rock is appropriate. Or maybe metal.
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:52 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Absolutely! Now, is it inappropriate for me to wear black and bring Jimbo as my guest?
From: Kate
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:54 AM
To: Miss Mess
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Certainly not. You and Ex-Douchebag can have a last dance and whenever people clink glasses you get to punch him in the face.
From: Miss Mess
Sent: Wednesday, July 14, 2010 9:55 AM
To: Kate
Subject: Re: I WANT A DIVORCE
Let's keep our eyes on the prize. Divorce reception... 9-25-10. I would do it on the 18th, but I don't want to interfere with Yom Kippur.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
One Ticket to Pound Town...Err...Forks
I just... I can't... You guys...
OK. I had resolved to myself to go easy on the Twilight rage in future posts because I fear I'm becoming a bit of a one trick pony. Is that the phrase? One hit wonder? The Proclaimers. I'm becoming The Proclaimers, you guys. So I was gonna ease up until I have my thoughts organized into a multi-chapter thesis paper detailing the evils of "the saga" and how we need to protect our innocent daughters from its awful, bubblegum, anti-feminist, pro-submissive message, but then, I saw this:
BEHOLD! THE HORROR!
I just. I mean. I...
I can't not say anything. This is like dangling a hun cal fro yo in front of Bubba, but telling him he can't have any. It's cruel, and ultimately we know how it ends. He whines until he gets the Pinkberry.
At the same time, however, I'm speachless and stuttering. I mean, Twilight Barbie dolls? Of course. I've already trashed the perfume, and if Paris Hilton can bottle her stench, why not crappy teen lit? But the Manllow? Sad. Just so sad.
I mean, the condom, while ridiculous, at least had a good message, which shocked me actually, as in my mind that Mormon Meyer and Sarah Palin are actually the same ignorant fembot created by the male governmental elite to keep us ladies down. I mean, at this point, I reject that either is actually biologically female, because why oh why would you do these things you do to your own gender? Windex the glass ceiling, why don't you?
But really, as I'm sure you all suspected, it's the rubber vampire viberator that really leaves me choking on my words. Firstly, I'm surprised it's not sparkly. And secondly, I don't think the tween audience for whom these "novels" are intended are the ones buying this appliance. It's their awful divorcee mothers who are wearing the "Edward likes cougars" shirt and supporting terrible writing, abusive relationships, and throwing your life away at 17. I mean, clearly their marriages to their high school sweethearts didn't work out, hence the alimony check they're using to buy young adult themed sex toys, so why in the name of Neil Patrick Harris would you tell your daughters that opting for eternal life with their 17 year old boyfriends is a good idea?
I mean, I liked my HS BF a lot. A whole lot. I almost threw away my college plans to run away to Canada with him. What a mistake THAT would have been, let alone letting him chomp on my jugular and then fill me up with sparkle juice so that I'd be stuck with his sorry ass for the rest of eternity. Holy shit. That truly would be Hell on Earth.
But dildos. Lets get back to dildos. It's the self-declared MILFs using the dildos, propped up against the Manllow, imagining taking a trip to pound town with some albino emo kid who's perpetually 17. Not only is it completely gross and depressing, it's statuatory rape.
OK. Deep breath. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I'm gonna go YouTube "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" because it's totes stuck in my head now.
da da da (da da da)
da da da (da da da)
Da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da
OK. I had resolved to myself to go easy on the Twilight rage in future posts because I fear I'm becoming a bit of a one trick pony. Is that the phrase? One hit wonder? The Proclaimers. I'm becoming The Proclaimers, you guys. So I was gonna ease up until I have my thoughts organized into a multi-chapter thesis paper detailing the evils of "the saga" and how we need to protect our innocent daughters from its awful, bubblegum, anti-feminist, pro-submissive message, but then, I saw this:
BEHOLD! THE HORROR!
I just. I mean. I...
I can't not say anything. This is like dangling a hun cal fro yo in front of Bubba, but telling him he can't have any. It's cruel, and ultimately we know how it ends. He whines until he gets the Pinkberry.
At the same time, however, I'm speachless and stuttering. I mean, Twilight Barbie dolls? Of course. I've already trashed the perfume, and if Paris Hilton can bottle her stench, why not crappy teen lit? But the Manllow? Sad. Just so sad.
I mean, the condom, while ridiculous, at least had a good message, which shocked me actually, as in my mind that Mormon Meyer and Sarah Palin are actually the same ignorant fembot created by the male governmental elite to keep us ladies down. I mean, at this point, I reject that either is actually biologically female, because why oh why would you do these things you do to your own gender? Windex the glass ceiling, why don't you?
But really, as I'm sure you all suspected, it's the rubber vampire viberator that really leaves me choking on my words. Firstly, I'm surprised it's not sparkly. And secondly, I don't think the tween audience for whom these "novels" are intended are the ones buying this appliance. It's their awful divorcee mothers who are wearing the "Edward likes cougars" shirt and supporting terrible writing, abusive relationships, and throwing your life away at 17. I mean, clearly their marriages to their high school sweethearts didn't work out, hence the alimony check they're using to buy young adult themed sex toys, so why in the name of Neil Patrick Harris would you tell your daughters that opting for eternal life with their 17 year old boyfriends is a good idea?
I mean, I liked my HS BF a lot. A whole lot. I almost threw away my college plans to run away to Canada with him. What a mistake THAT would have been, let alone letting him chomp on my jugular and then fill me up with sparkle juice so that I'd be stuck with his sorry ass for the rest of eternity. Holy shit. That truly would be Hell on Earth.
But dildos. Lets get back to dildos. It's the self-declared MILFs using the dildos, propped up against the Manllow, imagining taking a trip to pound town with some albino emo kid who's perpetually 17. Not only is it completely gross and depressing, it's statuatory rape.
OK. Deep breath. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I'm gonna go YouTube "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" because it's totes stuck in my head now.
da da da (da da da)
da da da (da da da)
Da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
It's Only Teenage Wasteland
Oh. Em. Gee. Tavi Gevinson. The Style Rookie. Too much awesomeness for complete sentences.
Girlfriend is 14 years old. She just graduated middle school, about which she wrote this:
As for me, I learned about a few financially secure men who wisely keep some of their money saved in the bank. I considered Jay Sean's inquiry of whether or not I was "down." But mostly I put away my unreasonable cynicism and insecurities -- that having fun with my peers would mean contradicting my "non-conformist" attitude, hairy legs, granny glasses, and big, fat, pimple. I danced and enjoyed myself and realized that not being the conductor of a grind train doesn't mean that I have to be a wallflower, and then realizing that any labels are stupid, and that I shouldn't make my dress look ugly because I didn't feel "different" enough, and that I shouldn't buy a Daniel Johnston record because Kurt Cobain wore the shirt to the VMA's, and that I can listen to him and enjoy a little Beyonce on the lunchroom dance floor, and that I would really rather everyone just be themselves. And then I was happy because it seemed like everyone was just being themselves. Normally passive-aggressive, catty types seemed sincere when they said they liked my eye makeup. The Dudeliest of Dudes grinded with the girls that hadn't considered a hair straightener or spritz of perfume for the night, maybe because...what's the big deal? I think everyone was just into the music, and into doing what they wanted, and was trying not be dramatic and shut other people out, and to appreciate one another, and to appreciate the small size and community qualities of our grade that we won't have when we enter high school in a few months. Holy shit, a FEW MONTHS. Anyway, that's that.
And about Gaga she wrote that. And her blag is filled with Freaks and Geeks references. Fucking incredible right? She's so ME at 14, but so much cooler and smarter and better dressed. I just want to go back in time and enter high school with her. Eat popcorn and watch Daria with her. Peruse thrift shops and support local bands and drink gallons of coffee at Denny's with her.
Uh oh. That sounds dangerously like "that girl." The one who wears thick framed glasses for the look of them and listens to bands that don't even exist yet. The hipster for the sake of hipness. I hate that girl. I pray to the blag gods that Miss Gevinson maintains her originality through her high school years and embraces the wasteland for what it can be, rather than what it's supposed to be. And then I hope she goes to a university that is way more diverse than mine, so she doesn't get called a hippie simply for having a Bob Dylan poster on the wall of her dorm room, but also that she doesn't get too sucked into the counter culture that she goes vegan or starts protesting football games.
Stay away from the theater majors, Tavi! And the boys who wear girl jeans! Go to keg parties! Listen to country! You can still listen to Dar Williams too, it's OK. Sometimes I paint while watching Jersey Shore. It's all good. Except for Twilight. Twilight is bad, but I have a feeling you already know this. I have faith in you, sistafriend. My So Called Life was totally pop in its prime, but now is neo-retro and awesome. It's all about balance, girl. Go get em.
Girlfriend is 14 years old. She just graduated middle school, about which she wrote this:
As for me, I learned about a few financially secure men who wisely keep some of their money saved in the bank. I considered Jay Sean's inquiry of whether or not I was "down." But mostly I put away my unreasonable cynicism and insecurities -- that having fun with my peers would mean contradicting my "non-conformist" attitude, hairy legs, granny glasses, and big, fat, pimple. I danced and enjoyed myself and realized that not being the conductor of a grind train doesn't mean that I have to be a wallflower, and then realizing that any labels are stupid, and that I shouldn't make my dress look ugly because I didn't feel "different" enough, and that I shouldn't buy a Daniel Johnston record because Kurt Cobain wore the shirt to the VMA's, and that I can listen to him and enjoy a little Beyonce on the lunchroom dance floor, and that I would really rather everyone just be themselves. And then I was happy because it seemed like everyone was just being themselves. Normally passive-aggressive, catty types seemed sincere when they said they liked my eye makeup. The Dudeliest of Dudes grinded with the girls that hadn't considered a hair straightener or spritz of perfume for the night, maybe because...what's the big deal? I think everyone was just into the music, and into doing what they wanted, and was trying not be dramatic and shut other people out, and to appreciate one another, and to appreciate the small size and community qualities of our grade that we won't have when we enter high school in a few months. Holy shit, a FEW MONTHS. Anyway, that's that.
And about Gaga she wrote that. And her blag is filled with Freaks and Geeks references. Fucking incredible right? She's so ME at 14, but so much cooler and smarter and better dressed. I just want to go back in time and enter high school with her. Eat popcorn and watch Daria with her. Peruse thrift shops and support local bands and drink gallons of coffee at Denny's with her.
Uh oh. That sounds dangerously like "that girl." The one who wears thick framed glasses for the look of them and listens to bands that don't even exist yet. The hipster for the sake of hipness. I hate that girl. I pray to the blag gods that Miss Gevinson maintains her originality through her high school years and embraces the wasteland for what it can be, rather than what it's supposed to be. And then I hope she goes to a university that is way more diverse than mine, so she doesn't get called a hippie simply for having a Bob Dylan poster on the wall of her dorm room, but also that she doesn't get too sucked into the counter culture that she goes vegan or starts protesting football games.
Stay away from the theater majors, Tavi! And the boys who wear girl jeans! Go to keg parties! Listen to country! You can still listen to Dar Williams too, it's OK. Sometimes I paint while watching Jersey Shore. It's all good. Except for Twilight. Twilight is bad, but I have a feeling you already know this. I have faith in you, sistafriend. My So Called Life was totally pop in its prime, but now is neo-retro and awesome. It's all about balance, girl. Go get em.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Neo-Hippie Spa Monday
I'm having an existential crisis, friends. I fucking hate hipsters, but I'm finding myself curious about some new natural and home made beauty treatments I've been reading about. I really want to try sugaring, cuz it sounds cheap and awesome, but I've finally outlived the constant accusations of hippiedom I earned in college. (Note: I did not feel these were warranted. I think it was because I had a Dylan poster in my dorm room, and apparently that's reason enough.) No one wants to be a neo-hippie, guys, but I really like nag champa and sundresses.
I need to mull over this a bit more before I can take a stance. I'm hoping that my desire for hairless legs will outweigh the fact that I'm going DYI and rather green. Don't get me wrong, I like doing things and I enjoy not murdering the environment, but proclaiming to do so is so self-righteous and smug that it makes me want to buy a chalupa and then throw the wrapper out the window of my car.
So I'll get back to you on this one. I just wanted to share my inner turmoil. I made couscous yesterday. And gazpacho. I accidentally ate vegan. And it was delicious. But then this morning during my interwebs perusing I see that not only does the Pitchfork Music Festival list directions to the site by vehicle starting with bicycle, they actually encourage biking to the fesival. Oy. This is why, friends. This is why.
I need to mull over this a bit more before I can take a stance. I'm hoping that my desire for hairless legs will outweigh the fact that I'm going DYI and rather green. Don't get me wrong, I like doing things and I enjoy not murdering the environment, but proclaiming to do so is so self-righteous and smug that it makes me want to buy a chalupa and then throw the wrapper out the window of my car.
So I'll get back to you on this one. I just wanted to share my inner turmoil. I made couscous yesterday. And gazpacho. I accidentally ate vegan. And it was delicious. But then this morning during my interwebs perusing I see that not only does the Pitchfork Music Festival list directions to the site by vehicle starting with bicycle, they actually encourage biking to the fesival. Oy. This is why, friends. This is why.
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