Just found out that my brother's circumcised.
While this is essentially good news for him, (i guess,) damn I want to erase that knowledge.
Damn mothers who reminisce.
Update:
My mother also told me that occasionally clinics take 24 hr urine to test for kidney stuff. You have to walk into the clinic with your red jug full of pee.
Weird.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Not Shoplifting by Kathryn D'Elia
He had been there a hundred times before. It was the old beat-up Winn-Dixie down the shady side of Michigan Avenue, the closest full grocery store within biking distance. Allen swung one leg off his bike as he glided toward the bike rack to the left of the main entrance. Several disgruntled employees stood outside smoking and staring into space. He rode about three-fourth of the way down the length of the ramp before coming to a complete stop and dismounting fully. Allen glanced up at the men by the door as he removed his bike lock and chain from his knapsack. Swiftly, he wove the chain through the wheel spokes and through the frame in the way that his father had taught him. “They’ll never get it away from you that way, Son!” He tugged at the lock to ensure its hold and turned to go in. He looked at the floor directly in front of him as he entered, avoiding the two smokers and carefully noting how the ground changed from cement, to rubber matting, to cheap brown tile, to scuffed beige linoleum as he walked.
It was a short list, only a half-dozen items. A small jar of JIF peanut butter, beer (for when Derek would come over,) a box of cereal, goldfish food (for Lillian and Gilbert,) coffee, and a memo pad for future list writing (as lists on the back of receipts and envelopes seem less official). Allen had a general understanding of where all these items would be and slowly made his way through the aisles, scanning his surroundings as he went. In the breakfast aisle there was a pretty girl in a pink sweater analyzing the cereal bars. She stared the boxes on the shelves as if they were going to present her with the meaning of life. As Allen approached to claim his box of Cheerios, she looked up and smiled. He smiled back, and tossed his cereal into his green wire basket in what he hoped was a suave way. He mumbled an “excuse me” as he passed her, but she was already back to searching for answers and didn’t seem to notice.
Gathering the rest of the items presented events of no particular interest. As always, there was a biker in the liquor section, sizing up his options. In one aisle he saw a mother struggling with the unhappy children in her shopping cart trying to quiet them by throwing Zebra Cakes in the cart. The only real challenge was choosing which memo pad suited him. There were a few with kittens on them. One had a rooster at the top, (he guessed for those people with the cutesy country themed kitchens). He considered one with clip art footballs around the border, wondering if would make him seem more manly, but finally chose one that was just pale green and stuck it in his pocket.
With all items checked off (except the last one, it always seemed dumb to check off the last one,) Allen walked to the registers where three bored looking women stood around, yelling to each other from time to time. Sitting his grocery basket on the conveyer belt at #6, he noticed the girl in pink walking to line #4.
“Hey Sugar, Did you find everything all right?” said the cashier, a tall woman with frizzy blond hair, and a rather appallingly thick application of red lipstick.
“..Uh, yeah. I did.”
“I’ll need to see your ID for that beer.” She smiled an over-attentive grin, like she was trying to absorb the attractive young man in front of her.
“Oh, yes. Of course,” he replied, ignoring her interest. He groped around in his back pocket for his wallet, and upon pulling it out, ended up with a pale green notepad in his hand as well.
The Cashier’s eyes zeroed in on Allen’s discovery. Her countenance transformed immediately. The cheesy smile evaporated. She snatched the notepad out of his hand. “What the hell do you think yer doin’? Stealin? I swear none of them nice lookin’ boys are good at all.”
“No, really. I meant to-“ Allen stammered. He tried to interrupt but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Tom! Get over here!”
Allen looked around desperately. The girl at lane 4 had turned around to see what all the excitement was about. One of the bulky smokers from the front entrance bustled over.
“What do ya want, Carolyn?” said the man, who could easily break Allen in half. “He must work with the heavy produce. Watermelons,” Allen thought.
“This boy was shopliftin’!” shrieked the woman.
“No- I didn’t mean-”
Tom crossed his massive arms, his stained uniform pulling tight across his chest. He gave Allen an appraising glance, and seemed to also feel that he could easily cause Allen irrevocable damage.
“Oh he was, was he?!”
Becoming even more intensely nervous under the scrutiny. Allen grabbed at his knapsack and ran for the door, leaving his goldfish food, beer for Derek, Cheerios, even that damned notepad on the counter. This seemed to be the last thing either angry employee expected and they stood there, dumbly watching Allen flee. The girl in pink scowled at him from her place at Lane #4. He could see her through the automatic door. Allen frowned and unlocked his bike with military precision and hopped on it, with chain still in hand. By this time, Tom had wandered out of the door after him. Allen looked over his shoulder to see the large man shaking his head, as he shrunk in the distance. Allen didn’t breath again until he was a considerable distance down Michigan Avenue.
It was a short list, only a half-dozen items. A small jar of JIF peanut butter, beer (for when Derek would come over,) a box of cereal, goldfish food (for Lillian and Gilbert,) coffee, and a memo pad for future list writing (as lists on the back of receipts and envelopes seem less official). Allen had a general understanding of where all these items would be and slowly made his way through the aisles, scanning his surroundings as he went. In the breakfast aisle there was a pretty girl in a pink sweater analyzing the cereal bars. She stared the boxes on the shelves as if they were going to present her with the meaning of life. As Allen approached to claim his box of Cheerios, she looked up and smiled. He smiled back, and tossed his cereal into his green wire basket in what he hoped was a suave way. He mumbled an “excuse me” as he passed her, but she was already back to searching for answers and didn’t seem to notice.
Gathering the rest of the items presented events of no particular interest. As always, there was a biker in the liquor section, sizing up his options. In one aisle he saw a mother struggling with the unhappy children in her shopping cart trying to quiet them by throwing Zebra Cakes in the cart. The only real challenge was choosing which memo pad suited him. There were a few with kittens on them. One had a rooster at the top, (he guessed for those people with the cutesy country themed kitchens). He considered one with clip art footballs around the border, wondering if would make him seem more manly, but finally chose one that was just pale green and stuck it in his pocket.
With all items checked off (except the last one, it always seemed dumb to check off the last one,) Allen walked to the registers where three bored looking women stood around, yelling to each other from time to time. Sitting his grocery basket on the conveyer belt at #6, he noticed the girl in pink walking to line #4.
“Hey Sugar, Did you find everything all right?” said the cashier, a tall woman with frizzy blond hair, and a rather appallingly thick application of red lipstick.
“..Uh, yeah. I did.”
“I’ll need to see your ID for that beer.” She smiled an over-attentive grin, like she was trying to absorb the attractive young man in front of her.
“Oh, yes. Of course,” he replied, ignoring her interest. He groped around in his back pocket for his wallet, and upon pulling it out, ended up with a pale green notepad in his hand as well.
The Cashier’s eyes zeroed in on Allen’s discovery. Her countenance transformed immediately. The cheesy smile evaporated. She snatched the notepad out of his hand. “What the hell do you think yer doin’? Stealin? I swear none of them nice lookin’ boys are good at all.”
“No, really. I meant to-“ Allen stammered. He tried to interrupt but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Tom! Get over here!”
Allen looked around desperately. The girl at lane 4 had turned around to see what all the excitement was about. One of the bulky smokers from the front entrance bustled over.
“What do ya want, Carolyn?” said the man, who could easily break Allen in half. “He must work with the heavy produce. Watermelons,” Allen thought.
“This boy was shopliftin’!” shrieked the woman.
“No- I didn’t mean-”
Tom crossed his massive arms, his stained uniform pulling tight across his chest. He gave Allen an appraising glance, and seemed to also feel that he could easily cause Allen irrevocable damage.
“Oh he was, was he?!”
Becoming even more intensely nervous under the scrutiny. Allen grabbed at his knapsack and ran for the door, leaving his goldfish food, beer for Derek, Cheerios, even that damned notepad on the counter. This seemed to be the last thing either angry employee expected and they stood there, dumbly watching Allen flee. The girl in pink scowled at him from her place at Lane #4. He could see her through the automatic door. Allen frowned and unlocked his bike with military precision and hopped on it, with chain still in hand. By this time, Tom had wandered out of the door after him. Allen looked over his shoulder to see the large man shaking his head, as he shrunk in the distance. Allen didn’t breath again until he was a considerable distance down Michigan Avenue.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I Drew A Saggy Old Man!
Surprisingly, Old man penis is no more icky than any other variety of penis. At least this guy was normal. i haven't inspected an entire sampling.
Anyway, he was twitchy and blinky and had skinny little old man legs.
At the end of the session, after getting back in his light green polo and khakis, the squinty little man gestured towards my drawing that I had pinned up to the wall,
"Whose is this?"
"Mine." *raises hand*
"If we can't make an artist out of you, we should just give up."
I decided then that I love him.
Yesterday, February 22, 2010.
Enough things are whizzing through my mind, and enough things took place, that I feel that yesterday deserves a second blog update.
First of all, I did end up at Barnes and Noble. The "Twinkle Sews" book does have some really great patterns in it. The images of the completed pieces are really beautiful. The downside of it, (and there's been a zillion customer reviews about it) is the way she chose to add the patterns to the book. The book includes a cd with all the patterns on it, and in order to get your paper pattern pieces, you have to print it out on 8 1/2" by 11" sheets and tape them all together, before cutting out your size. This seems like a major headache, though the patterns look like they could be worth the struggle. I know at BurdaStyle.com they talk about having your digital patterns printed at Kinko's. If the cd in Twinkle Sews is compatible for that format, I'd fork up the cash it get it printed. The other downside to the book is that it's a real fashion-forward book and therefore, it involves bubble dresses, baby dolls, and tunic tops that are voluminous. Translation: that won't be flattering on everyone. I figure any of them could be modified though, or belted. Everything is better when belted. I didn't buy the book, yet. In store it was $24, and I distinctly remembered seeing in online for $17. I added it to my wishlist on Amazon.
In addition to that, I added this. I have a zillion patterns. Rarely do I make the same pattern more than once or twice, therefore I have 20+. Some of those haven't been used yet. Anyway, I think it's kind of lame that I don't know how to make my own patterns. It really zaps the cool factor when someone finds out that you make clothes...but "oh...you used a pattern." In addition to that, searching around for a pattern that matches what I've envisioned making, takes way too long and usually involves compromises. It be nice if I could just do it.
On a separate note, The men in my life. Now, I agree with what my dad once told me, that it's surprising that men can function at all with all they have to deal with. Emotional repression, greater responsibility, and then all the obsession with any and all things sex, the poor kids never have a chance.
Nonetheless, Gentleman #1: Our facebook messages back and fourth are dying slowly. There's little more to talk about, so now it's time for you to ask for my number. Slightly overdue, really. Work on it.
Gentleman #2: I don't really understand our friendship, but I will not have you pencil me in after your weekly enchantment with Lost. Also, I have no interest in half of the movies you ask me to watch with you. You are tactless. May God have mercy on your soul.
Sometimes I wonder what things are coincidence and which are planned, or better yet, slip ups. I got "You're a Giver," today, in a conversation that didn't necessarily call for it. I took the four letter personality test a few days ago. I'm an ENFJ. I posted a link on my profile that interpreted my results. The title of the linked page is "Enfj, The Giver." I'm wondering if this is an odd coincidence, or if people I wouldn't expect on my Facebook have found themselves there.
Last thing, this may be a gross thought, but, men get to mix semen with their paint and make it raw, sexual, and weird. (like this guy: http://onmytruth.wordpress.com/2007/07/20/on-art-modeling-and-painting-with-my-penis/I wonder if there are female artists that paint with menstruation blood or vaginal mucus? Yup...lil bit of gross right at the end there. Sorry.
First of all, I did end up at Barnes and Noble. The "Twinkle Sews" book does have some really great patterns in it. The images of the completed pieces are really beautiful. The downside of it, (and there's been a zillion customer reviews about it) is the way she chose to add the patterns to the book. The book includes a cd with all the patterns on it, and in order to get your paper pattern pieces, you have to print it out on 8 1/2" by 11" sheets and tape them all together, before cutting out your size. This seems like a major headache, though the patterns look like they could be worth the struggle. I know at BurdaStyle.com they talk about having your digital patterns printed at Kinko's. If the cd in Twinkle Sews is compatible for that format, I'd fork up the cash it get it printed. The other downside to the book is that it's a real fashion-forward book and therefore, it involves bubble dresses, baby dolls, and tunic tops that are voluminous. Translation: that won't be flattering on everyone. I figure any of them could be modified though, or belted. Everything is better when belted. I didn't buy the book, yet. In store it was $24, and I distinctly remembered seeing in online for $17. I added it to my wishlist on Amazon.
In addition to that, I added this. I have a zillion patterns. Rarely do I make the same pattern more than once or twice, therefore I have 20+. Some of those haven't been used yet. Anyway, I think it's kind of lame that I don't know how to make my own patterns. It really zaps the cool factor when someone finds out that you make clothes...but "oh...you used a pattern." In addition to that, searching around for a pattern that matches what I've envisioned making, takes way too long and usually involves compromises. It be nice if I could just do it. On a separate note, The men in my life. Now, I agree with what my dad once told me, that it's surprising that men can function at all with all they have to deal with. Emotional repression, greater responsibility, and then all the obsession with any and all things sex, the poor kids never have a chance.
Nonetheless, Gentleman #1: Our facebook messages back and fourth are dying slowly. There's little more to talk about, so now it's time for you to ask for my number. Slightly overdue, really. Work on it.
Gentleman #2: I don't really understand our friendship, but I will not have you pencil me in after your weekly enchantment with Lost. Also, I have no interest in half of the movies you ask me to watch with you. You are tactless. May God have mercy on your soul.
Sometimes I wonder what things are coincidence and which are planned, or better yet, slip ups. I got "You're a Giver," today, in a conversation that didn't necessarily call for it. I took the four letter personality test a few days ago. I'm an ENFJ. I posted a link on my profile that interpreted my results. The title of the linked page is "Enfj, The Giver." I'm wondering if this is an odd coincidence, or if people I wouldn't expect on my Facebook have found themselves there.
Last thing, this may be a gross thought, but, men get to mix semen with their paint and make it raw, sexual, and weird. (like this guy: http://onmytruth.wordpress.com/2007/07/20/on-art-modeling-and-painting-with-my-penis/I wonder if there are female artists that paint with menstruation blood or vaginal mucus? Yup...lil bit of gross right at the end there. Sorry.
Monday, February 22, 2010
This is what I want:
Or at least what I think I want. I'll have to look through it on my next Barnes and Noble trip before deciding. 
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