Lunaniña's Unconscious Mutterings: 160

You will play now! It is word association! Do not pause to think! You begin now!

1. Baby step::


2. Wasted::


3. Reggie::


4. Pitiful::


5. Acting out::


6. Tomato::


7. Bad night::


8. Trip::


9. Finance charges::


10. Sport::

Intermezzo

Intermezzo

I said:

1. Baby step:: onto the bus


2. Wasted:: time


3. Reggie:: waters (whozzat?)


4. Pitiful:: pit bull


5. Acting out:: lula


6. Tomato:: sandwich


7. Bad night:: again


8. Trip:: acid


9. Finance charges:: 0%


10. Sport:: tennis

Go see Luna to sign up & play every week. It's all the rage! You will return next week to play again!

She's a Photo Whore for Pressies

I got Aughra a present, so she did and exalted warrior for me. Good trade!

Revisiting Old Thoughts

I still don't think enough of you read this yet, so I'll just put it back at the top and pretend it's new. Winter is almost over, so this may be my last opportunity to do some first-class shoveling. Also, why was he not beating her senseless?!? I'll expect a full report in my comments. Thank you! My Daddy says I'm bad.

Shovel, shovel, shovel.

Think, think, think.

While I drive, I hold entire conversations inside my head; who doesn’t, right? But for some reason, when I get to the part where I say, no!, I say it out loud. And with much more attitude than I would ever use in real life. It’s like a Nnnyeawwwww, with an implied and f### you! behind it. I’m just practicing for the day I might actually need to say it just like that. Strangely, I never need to practice my yes.

This guy is a Buddhist priest who teaches in a local school; I was introduced to him by a mutual friend upon a chance meeting at Office Max . He was introduced to me by his real name, which is Todd. I didn’t know anything about him. When he shook my hand, he said, “Please … call me Wisdom.” Without missing a beat, I said, “And please ... call me Beauty.”

When I comb my wet hair and I have a tangle, I pull really hard until the tangle tears out in a giant clump. For some reason, I derive enormous satisfaction from this. It makes me feel alive. Yes! I have torn out a gigantic chunk of my own hair! Now bow and pay homage unto me! Then I go to the store and buy some detangler.

I may have mentioned this elsewhere, but until I was 9 I never realized that my head had a back to it. There was my twin sister, always brushing her hair, and then me, with the front nice and brushed and the back one gigantic sleeptangle. I also didn’t wear a shirt until I was 12, but that is another story.

I derive the greatest enjoyment in life from being completely, utterly, nakedly, rawly honest. These scarce moments of utter clarity, best when shared with another human being, are moments of pure beauty and utter humanity. I am saddest when I have shared that with someone and then it is lost because we have both put up our defenses. But I also recognize that it is necessary for daily functioning, and that only the very insane and the very young live like that all the time. I wonder if there is a way I could be like that all the time and not have people think I am insane. Maybe when I am 90.

When did we start thinking that buying bottled water was OK? I remember when it first started, I was like, yeah right. As if! Now it seems commonplace. Kind of like cell phones; remember how weird it looked when someone was talking on a phone in the car? Wow! Now every middle-schooler I see in front of my school is on the cell phone, probably calling their au pair to make sure they have a ride to Abercrombie.

The absolute best water I have ever tasted comes out of a well on my grandparents’ farm; it’s chock-full of lime and clogs the pipes something terrible, but boy is it delish!

I remember precisely two things about third grade recess. One of them is climbing the pole on the jungle gym over and over. Boy, did I like climbing! The other was chasing Clement all over the playground and, when I caught him, straddling him and pinning him to the ground. Boy, did I like pinning him down! I figured out much later that the funny feelings I got in my tummy from the two activities were closely related.

In 1979 my sisters and I had a fantasy of building an elaborate system of snowtunnels, all interconnected, with various openings at critical points in the lawn. We got as far as digging a 3’ deep hole and then gave up in a sweaty heap, and started making snow angels instead. Wow … when I think about that now, I can’t believe we had even that much energy. It just sounds like work.

Kind of like shoveling. Was it always this hard?!?!?

Kitty in a Sandwich

Today when I go to work I will have a secret ... known only to myself and the internets. Underneath my teacher clothes, I will be sporting my new swag. It'll be like having a little Jiggs along for the ride, all day long.

In the Icy Grip of Pure Terror

Evidence of the demise of civilization continues to pour in to Spinning Girl Central. Feast your eyes on this little tidbit, sent by friend and loyal reader Quilting Girl:

There simply are no words. All right, maybe a few words are needed. Scarier than Teddy Bears Dressed as Other Animals? Without a doubt! What is that thing on the right? A duck? Make sure you get one of these for your little baby girl if you want her to be really f***ed up and spend her entire inheritance on counseling.

Next we have what may be the most horrific TBDOA submission to date, from alert cellphone-photographer at large, DaMasta:

Yes. Two of life's greatest horrors, rolled into one horrific bundle. With shells for boobs, no less! The only thing that would make this one worse for me would be if it had a blowhole.

Finally, from jiggs, this swag item:

You just did this to piss me off, right pally? I was shopping at cafepress for my thong when I found this little dainty. Needless to say, that little bear is staying in the shop.

If you would like to do any research on TBDOA, please visit the Bears Dressed as Other Animals section of my sidebar. There you will discover various signs of the Apocalypse, and the recently-revealed Portal to Hell.

Keep those photos coming, folks! As you can see, TBDOA isn't just about Bears anymore.

Total T-R-to-tha-izzash

I just Gizoogled my site.

This is the best thing since sliced bread.

Ridicizzles!

Chizzay it out.

Props to Anna for this. Thats off tha hook yo.

Slip-n-Slide Straight to Hell: Teddy Bears as Celebrities!

Steven Spielberg

Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter

Cher

Actually, sales of these Teddy Bears at the Siegfried & Roy: Masters of the Impossible website benefit people in the Las Vegas area with intellectual disabilities. Maybe I will buy one after all, to benefit the cause. I'm a sucker for charities, even if the Devil's minions are this closely associated.

Or you could always go to eBay and check out this horror, sent to me by alert Apocalypse-spotter Julia. Make sure you watch the audio/video portion. Girls just wanna have fun!

My New Favorite Word is ...

Vajayjay (n): Slang for vagina, as uttered here by Bobby.

Times used in a sentence today: 9

Times cracked up while using or thinking of word: 24

Please Drive Up

Visit The Window. I crave your input.

It is so Very Very Wrong.

Thank you, MadMeer, for your splendid Apocalypse-spotting skills. This impostor shall not be allowed to continue his evil work! We all know there is only one Monkey. Check out the bellybutton, too.

All Must Flock to Me! ... Preferably, with Gifts in Hand.

My newset flockee, Everest, has gifted me with two items from my wish list! This wonderful book and this very educational film. Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my bottom!!!

I Am So Wired.

I finally got a phone that works (I have been without a 6 and a 9 button for ohh ... 4 months now), and a headset so I don't have to break the law anymore.

I feel so grown up.

Now throw down your digits, and we'll parlay!

Are You Freaking Kidding Me.

Had enough? No? All right then.

Si Si, Signore

You Should Date an Italian!

You long for old fashioned romance, with an old fashioned guy. An Italian guy is the perfect candidate to be your prince charming, if this guy is unavailable. If your head doesn't spin enough, just down another espresso with him. Invest in a motorcycle helmet ... and some carb blocker for all that pasta!

Which Foreign Guy Should You Date?

Lunaniña's Unconscious Mutterings: 159

Are you ready to play? It's easy. Just fill in the blanks with the first word that comes to mind.

1. Right time::


2. Funeral::


3. Calculate::


4. Believe me::


5. Chat::


6. Anniversary::


7. Let you down::


8. Shout::


9. Sweatsock::


10. Prayer::



I said ...

1. Right time:: Born at the (Paul Simon!)


2. Funeral:: Siegfried (Wagner!)


3. Calculate:: Calculator


4. Believe me:: Lie


5. Chat:: Room


6. Anniversary:: Mom & Dad


7. Let you down:: New York


8. Shout:: Whisper


9. Sweatsock:: Pants


10. Prayer:: Lord




Luna puts new words up every week; go sign up so you can play, too!

I am a Prankster!

Since he now reads this blog, I am re-posting this for my friend (the victim of the prank), Señor Calcetines. ¿Que tal, guapo?

A foreign language teacher in my school made the mistake of leaving his flash drive plugged into my computer. I made some new folders for him.

Mmmm. Eat.

In reponse to Jiggs' post about meat, I will now itemize the meats I have eaten.

BIRDS:
Chicken
Turkey
Goose
Duck
Pheasant
Grouse
Cornish Game Hen
Ostrich
Emu

HOOFED MAMMALS (includes cloven hoof)
Beef
Antelope
Venison
Pork, suckling pig too
Wild Boar
Sheep
Lamb
Goat
Elk
Bison

NON-HOOFED MAMMALS
Rabbit

FISH
Salmon
Bass
Tuna
Perch
Red Snapper
Bluegill
Mackerel
Trout
Pollock
Catfish
Grouper
Carp
Pickerel
Mahi Mahi
Tilapia
Monkfish (and vowed never to eat again after I found out what it looked like)
Swordfish
Eel
Cod
Haddock
& others, probably too numerous to mention ...

ARTHROPODS
Lobster
Crayfish
King Crab
Blue Crab

MOLLUSKS
Squid
Octopus
Clams
Oysters
Mussels
Scallops
Conch
Escargot, whatever type of snail that is

REPTILIANS
Alligator

MISCELLANY / UNIDENTIFIED
Tube Steak
Eggs
Caviar
Tube-shaped meat I found in Wonton Soup & wrote to unnamed Soup Behemoth about
Bologna
Liverwurst
Olive Loaf
Headcheese (sült)
Spam
Jerky
Blood Sausage
Meat Loaf

MEATS I WILL NEVER EAT
Insect
Spider
Monkey
Manatee
Horse
Zebra
Any African exotic meat, except maybe gazelle or antelope
Any mammalian or avian predator
Brain
Tripe
Tongue
Ovary
Rodents
Cat
Snake
Dog
Human (unless stranded)
Baby Seal
Whale

With any luck, this list will grow & grow as I discover and remember more meats. This may in fact be the very best post I have ever written.

Redefined

Spinning Girl [noun]: A person of questionable sanity who starts her own cult, the mantra of which is the chant, "stick it in your pooper." How will you be defined in the dictionary? at QuizGalaxy.com

Immortalized; Food for the Soul

I think it is almost time for me to write another Ode ... I have a few subjects in mind. No requests, please, the Muse works alone. There was a phase here at 11.5 when we wrote odes to one another. I post for you now the Ode that Fritz wrote for me, which I love, and which makes me feel better about myself at times, and which I printed out and read before sleep. Below that, my Ode to Bobi, on the occasion of him meeting Bethie, whom he adores, and who is worthy of his love. With apologies in advance for length and reposting, I now present to you ... the Odes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

ODE TO SPINNING GIRL (by Fritz)

CHILD MOON

The child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, "See the moon!"
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth
-Carl Sandburg, Chicago Poems

I preface this Ode to Spinning Girl with Carl Sandburg. He is one of my favorite poets, because he eagerly brought nature and the city together in his work. His lyric schemes are landscapes of sounds and verbs. Perhaps not a teacher in the traditional sense, Carl Sandburg and Spinning Girl are two cut from the same cloth.
And Now....(drumroll)...the Ode to Spinning Girl.

Canto I.

There is a classroom in a town in Connecticut
Where a very tall woman presides.
Her hair is like that of a moth's wing
and her nose is aligned with pride.

She talks about history or math
Or perhaps, physics and atoms.
No matter the subject she's teaching,
it's more than the students can fathom.

She's brilliant and oh-so-pretty
With eyes clear and bright with intellect.
She tells stories about lions and children
And nary a student she rejects.

Canto II.

Spinning Girl is the moniker she uses
When she dabbles with internet pleasure.
Her words are like little rubies
and her blogs are unexpected nectar.

She has readers, far and wide.
Her passion is unrelenting.
The talent she has in her little finger
Daunts my own, like a thimble.

At times, she may seem contrary
But this mood is never lasting.
Back she'll come with a comment
always funny, always witty.

Canto III.

I myself live in Georgia
With a boyfriend and a cat.
I have lots of issues
keeping thoughts intact.

But Spinning Girl is Athena
A goddess wise and fair
And when I read her blogs
I'm refreshed of my own flair.

She does this crazy stuff
with Adobe Photoshop
And lots of times I'm duped
by pictures that she's cropped.

Canto IV.

(Muse in fairy garb swings across imaginary set in my mind, changing entire mood of 'Ode to S.G.')

If there is a soul out there that nears Spinning Girl,
may that soul be bright and cheery; may that soul be
rested and unweary. May that soul
be kind enough to listen to Spinning Girl's words
and learn the immortal lessons she teaches. May that soul
be good enough to keep her safe at night.
When all the lights have burnt out, or a power surge erupts
and you and I and BOBI can no longer read her stuff,
let us pray that Spinning Girl and her ephemeral life
go on and on like Fate's three threads:
epigrammatic, ambiguous, enchanting.
Let us all remember Spinning Girl, and sing of her to children.
If every teacher taught like her,
all minds would be like fertile fields of Narnia or Elysian Lands,
or the soft light stuff that makes up heaven.

Canto V.

(A little child sings):
Thank you, God, for your bright star.
Spinning Girl, Spinning Girl, wherever you are.
Teach me now, teach me at morn
Weave me a tale
To last through all time.

(Curtain down)
(Applause).

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ode to B.O.B.I. (by Spinning Girl)

on the occasion of his birthday two and twenty

this sixteenth day of Tenmonth

in 2005 the Year of our Lord.

Song I

Beyond the lakes and the wide, wide river
in the North, in the cold
of the snowy, frozen plains
within the walls of a spacious abode
together there live three Men.

Dane is the second
the third is Another
but then there is the One,
and that One is BOBI
he is the One of whom we sing.

Gather now, and still your noises
Silence your iPods, turn off your toyses
and listen to the tale of this One.


Song II

We speak the name of Bee-Oh-Bee-Aye
with reverence, with love of a kind
for he has chosen us as the vessels
for the magic that he pours
from his brightly blazing mind.

He speaks to us of the world of wizards and of emus
and of drunken nightly mirth
of Alan Rickman and Target
of the Universe and its rebirth.

His brilliant blue eyes alight
at the mention of Lord Vader
His hands and feet point directly
at a shapely, promising bubble-invader
... who primly nods and prances by
obliviously passing up
a chance at bliss unequalled
at the hands of this young suitor.


Song III

For BOBI's single quest
condoned by Gods above
is to be finally dealt a hand
that wins the game of Love.

He throws his net and hopes, and longs
and it catches, time to time
on a likely find
then comes loose and drifts again.

Night after night, day after day
he casts far and wide.
Ever the net turns up empty
ever the cupboard is bare
ever the cold desert of BOBI's bed
calls out for a soft pink soul
to warm it, and the bountiful heart that lives there.


Song IV

A Spinning Girl sits at her wheel
spinning away her days
and weaving a wondrous web on her loom
of storied threads and nostalgic ways.

One day her web catches and holds
this wandering Lancelot, this BOBI lad
He tickles her fancy
and pokes at her mind
and awakens the sleeping Muse.

They spar and they duel
on Middle Earth's fields
sharing fireside secrets by email
A battle of wits
and of hearts has begun
In his company, she finds
respite and sustenance for life's long travail.

In dreams he mounts his shaggy steed
A guanaco? Alpaca? No indeed!
No less than mighty Llama-kind
for the russet knight-errant
when he courts his maiden fair.

(an ominous low chord sounds, and holds for entire last stanza)

But in night's dark hour
her fears and doubts
denounce his affections
she tosses her web to the wind
and BOBI flies free of her charms
to wander the world once more
heavy-hearted, yet happier, somehow.


Song V

(A chorus of soft girls' voices)

pianissimo

: O sweet wanderer
never fear, never doubt
for love will come to you. :

Song VI

What now for this knight, this knower of souls

this delver, this digger, this miner of the unkown?

This speaker of languages both real and imagined

This master of sword and of bow?

This coaxer of melodies from cello's strings

And singer of harmonies low?

BOBI will rant, and wax philosophical

about fecal bullets, and domos, and jelly

miniskirts, afros, and schooldays bygone

no topic too sacred, no topic immune.

He finds solace in a soul who lives close to his heart,

awaiting the day when One comes to his side

and climbs on Life's coaster with him

together to laugh on the dips in the ride.

Song VII: Finale

(a great and rousing chorus erupts)

Let those who are worthy and those who are strong

who've come from afar and traveled long

gather now, to BOBI and all flock about

to sing his praises in a glorious shout:

"No other so mighty, No other so true!
BOBI’s tremendous, through and through.
BOBI Majestic, we really love you!"

(curtain)
(thunderous applause)

Live! 24-Hour Coverage from the Big Scary Storm Desk

New England blizzard hype always cracks me up.

Well, the way the local news channels try to hype it up, that is. First they set up a special area in the newsroom (about 4 cubic yards) and call it The Storm Desk or Blizzard Central or The Whiteout of 2006.

Then, they get all geared up in their LL Bean Snow Fashions, like hats with flaps and 6 layers of fleece and Goretex™. If they really needed all that gear, they’d have frozen junk in their noses and pieces of flesh falling off from frostbite, but I guess that doesn’t boost ratings.

Next, the news team heads to the grocery store, where panic-stricken locals are “stocking up” for the storm. Now, a few people actually are stocking up, which makes me wonder why they don’t already have batteries, bottled water, bread ... and a shovel (just in case you thought it was all b-words they were out of). Is this your first winter in New England, or did you just move into your house? Otherwise, you should have that stuff.

But the majority of people are just doing their normal grocery shopping, yet the news people try to hype it up as though they are in fact “battening down the hatches.” They film the items as they are scanned at the checkout: deli ham … a bunch of bananas … some Lean Cuisine … dental floss … as they film, they narrate: “the local supermarkets are crammed with people stocking up for The Big Whiteout of 2006!” They milk the story, trying to get someone to admit they are stocking up:

Announcer: “Hello ma’am, I see you are getting ready for the big storm here.
Bored Woman in Sweats: “Ummm, not really, I’m just shopping, I don’t really freak out about the snow”.

A: “Aren’t you worried though? I see you have some salt here …” (points to Morton salt) "Is that so you don't slip on your walkway?"
BWiS: “That’s just for my pantry. I need to fill my cock and hen salt and pepper shakers."

Announcer moves on, desperately scanning the store for somebody who is actually freaking out as much as he is about the impending storm. When this fails, he turns to the camera and says, “Time will only tell how much snow we will actually get, but all forecasts point to one of the biggest storms of the century. Back to you, Bob.”

After the storm, of course, we then need to re-hash how much snow we got, how deep it is … the newscasters trudge out with their gear and their little wooden rulers, sticking them into the highest drift they can find to emphasize just how deep this snow is. They film the people shoveling and the poor woman with the no mittens, scraping her windshield with the CD case.

It’s beautiful, in a sad kind of way. We have lived here all this time, and snows like this are inevitable; somehow we need to keep talking about it, just to make sure that we really are as excited as we feel on the inside. It’s OK to be excited, don’t freak out everybody, just grab a sled and go outside. After you’ve spent your last bit of energy, come inside and eat your ham and bananas, and tell snow stories to your kids. And if you miss out on sledding this time, don't worry, there'll be another storm, and another, and another winter after that. Maybe you can go out and buy batteries now, so you'll be ready.