May 13, 2005

'Cause He Believes in Me

Oh, Patrick--

But I believe in love.
I believe in tariffs.
I believe in magic.
And I believe in you
I believe in you too, Mr. Buchanan! I believe in all kinds of things you'd feel at home with: Cockroaches, mildewed tile grout, Phthirus pubis, flat tires, basement floods, colonoscopies, Ashlee Simpson . . . all the myriad delights and fancies of life we could happily do without.


Oh neat, lists. Here's what Helen wants from the world. Here's Jim's version. I'd list my own, but I don't have a week to give over to it. For now I'll just second this request of Helen's:

Destiny's Child. You know what I'm talking about. Make them fuck right off and never destroy the radio airwaves again. And while you're at it, take Girls Aloud with you. They're whipping me.
Embarrassing question time: Am I the only one who hears "Lose My Breath" as "Lose My Breast?" Is that just me?
Baby boy, make me lose my breast
Bring the noise, make me lose my breast
Hit me hard, make me lose my (Hah Hah)
It kind of sounds like she's begging for a horrible breastfeeding accident that way. I don't think I could do transcription for Destiny's Child, is all I'm saying.


One of my boyfriend's cats died yesterday. I was going to mention that but then I realized technically, that's catblogging. So forget I mentioned it. And for pity's sake don't try to say anything kind about it.


To get our minds off dead animals we watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. At some point the who-cares-what-his-character-name-is, we-all-know-it's-Charlie-Kaufman guy said something to his girl Clementine about ceaseless trap-flapping not necessarily equaling intimacy, sharing, bonding, something like that.

At that, the boyfriend pointed to the screen and said, "See? See? Listen to the man."

"Don't compare me to that crazy drunk slut," I shot back. "I would never do half the dumb shit she does. Walking on frozen rivers, breaking into empty beach houses, dyeing my hair Day-Glo colors--"

"I wasn't comparing you to her," the boyfriend interrupted, "I was just saying you need to give us quiet types a break once in awhile."

"Though now that you mention it," he added, "You are sort of like all her worst traits, without any of the fun ones."

So now I have to bury a boyfriend AND a cat.

Posted by Ilyka at May 13, 2005 07:10 PM in hell is other people

Hah! Cat blogging! It's like I can see into the future or something. I'm like that Miss Cleo but I charge by the hour instead of by the minute. And I've never hung out with Dionne Warwick. And I'm not black. Or female. And I don't have a cool accent. And my predictions come true.

Other than that, I'm just like Miss Cleo.

Posted by: Jim at May 13, 2005 07:28 PM

Ilyka's Prayer:

Lord grant me serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
to change the things I can, and
to hide the bodies of those people I had to kill because they pissed me off.

Posted by: rammer at May 14, 2005 04:23 AM

MmmmWAH! Both those comments were awesome. Jim, I am enjoying picturing you in Miss Cleo garb. Rammer, I am enjoying the last line of that prayer oh, ever so much.

Posted by: ilyka at May 14, 2005 04:30 AM

Another item on my list:

Guys, quit asking us to die our hairs colors that only Rainbow Brite could possibly pull off. Kate Winslet's blue hair looked cool, but it's a cover-up for her character being really fucked up and do you have ANY IDEA how hard it is to get a job outside of Blockbuster Video with hair that looks like it met with the business end of a highlighter? You don't? Then quit asking us to imitate the mental ones, mmm'kay?

Posted by: Helen at May 14, 2005 07:09 PM

I was just about to ask that you dye your hair chartreuse with vermillion highlights.


Posted by: Ciggy at May 16, 2005 06:45 PM