It was a truly terrible experience, flying to London to see David
Tennant and Catherine Tate in Much Ado. Just. Terrible. My suffering
was beyond understanding. I fear I may never recover. Sniff.
XXX
I'm old and sour and I'm going to go write my own fucking book now where I am goddess.
Mulder was the woman in the X-Files.
So, yesterday I went to see my friendly, ginger dentist, Dr. Film.
(Really.)
All I needed was a filling replacement. That's all--no large organ
removals,
no implants--just a filling replacement. Everything went fine. I was in
and out of there in 45 minutes. No pain at all, even from the numbing
jab.
My appointment was in the early morning, right after Emily headed off
to school, so I took the opportunity when I got home to nap. About an
hour
into my snooze I wake up because I am in absolute agony. The numbing
jab
has worn off and now I have a tooth ache that makes my C-section feel
like
my cat accidentally snagged me. I ring Dr. Film, who reacts with the
casual
"it's all in your head, little girl"ism that I have come to expect
members
of the medical profession. (At least he remained both friendly and
ginger
throughout.)
I believe it was my statement, "I've never felt anything like this
in my mutherfucking life, motherfucker! What the mutherfucking hell did
you do to me????" (or something similar, said with extra boldness and
underscoring)
.
"It's probably pulpitis," he admits. I know he shrugged at the same
time, too. Bastard.
"Wuhthufuh is muthafuh fuhing 'pulpitis?"
He says something friendly and ginger that I don't quite get because
of the sudden appearance of a tunnel of light and several deceased
relatives.
"...codeine. "
I bat off my dead granny and some geez in a top hat, choosing to live
at the promise of that sweet, sweet opiate nectar. "Wuh?"
"I'll call in a scrip for some codeine."
"I love you."
"Go to bed, Mrs. Etheridge."
"No. Really. I'm going to have your ginger baby."
"You've had a hysterectomy. "
"I know, but Abe here says to believe in miracles."
Really. This is mostly the God's-honest- truth of what happened. Well,
the pain and drugs part, anyway. And he is ginger.
Pewpewpew! I haz lihgtnin punch!!1
Who needs Sam and Dean? I own three ghost boxes (google "frank's box"). I have no fear of anything except my own toe cheese and Gizzie.
I refuse to believe all that came out of my keyboard. I am innocent. Innocent, I say. I wrote none of that. The Other Me may have, but I have surveillance records proving she never escaped from the kennel. So there you have it. Guiltless. I suspect it is all part of the plan to turn this into a Doctor Who list. Yes, that must be it. Down with DD, up with DT, I say! Wait--no I never said that. Shit! The Other Me is out and gnawing on my husband's pepper plants. The whole garden will soon be up in flames. Oh, the humanity.
I would have been the first in line opening weekend, but I was in Pagan Holiday Camp, sinning and turning brown.
God damn I am sunburned and god damn I had a good time. Naked pole dancing, three-story bonfire, Brushwood crack, naked mud wrestling, naked whiffleball, Raquey and the Cavemen, massive pyrotechinics, parrots everywhere, wine, nude swimming, inflatable planetarium, BDSM beat-and-greet hosted by vikings, David Bowie's nipple antenna, white rabbits, pirates, dumbeks, djembes, frame drums, dijeriedoos, more dumbeks, more wine, shopping, sarongs, Incus, more parrots, a crow, more pirates, prancing flowers, more adorable babies per square foot than possible or natural, raves, argle-argle monsters, the Church of the Subgenius, oiled naked twister, PVC geodomes, the 1,000 gay men of Faeriewoods, wine, pirate raiding parties, and two 10-foot tall luminescent gods who appeared to dance during the Telesma concert.
"Oil me down. I'm goin' in!"
"Where else but Starwood can your naked pole dance be interrupted by giant puppets?"
Oh dear mother of jellybabies! The Cute! The Horrible Cute! And that's just the zebra.
Right then. Gizzie, bend over. You're next.
followed by:
Yes, it is an amazing strap-on, I agree, thank you.
So Bush is all like, "nuh uh" and the House was like, "subpoenowed"
and now the Senate is all like "what they said, biatch"
(Lisby adds: I didn't come up with the line about Bush and
Supenowed.
I was using it as my sig. I'm not sure who said it--I think it was
someone
on Democratic Underground. Mayhap you can note that it was forwarded
through
me. It's a hilarious quote.)
Damn my dramatic ass. Butt I am serious.Really.
My personal prediction is that it turns out they were on the run
until
they were forgiven, somehow, and they are back at the Bureau working
for
Skinner, and that they had a relationship but they broke up (the sop to
the no romos) and the sexual tension of getting back together or not
will
be the sop to shippers, and William's name will not be mentioned; there
will be nothing other than perhaps a kiss and whether they are together
or not at the end of the movie will be left hanging. And I will explode
after eating CC's surfboard and part of his leg.
-on the new XF movie
Gizzie, if you start singing again I'm going to pop a cap in your ass.
Don't forget that "revenge is a pickle on a cold plate."
"Hey--I'm being held hostage at the Ritz Carlton for three days and even forced to have room service and attend a fancy-dress party. Not the costume kind--the black and sparkly kind. Amanda rules as a despot while I am away drinking from my minibar. Pray for me."
They tried to break me with a chocolate fountain, but I wouldn't
talk....
(triumphant return)
When I was up at Lake Erie a few weeks ago I turned to my son and said, "Do ya smell Canada, hon?"
"Oh, how you o misunderestimate my flexiliciousness."
"The highlight of the trip was the whiffleball championship pregame, where the completely nekked ump and the completely nekked first baseman got into an argument over a call. Various anatomical parts were flying everywhere until a guy dressed like Jesus jumped in to break it up."
I believe I have been "chill-axed" at some point. It's not for novices.
Amanda-- did I just send Fran to the Pit because you prong-sucked
the
Godiva????
(funniest w/out explanation)
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Happy Borg Xmess!
The SpongeBob socks are a defining sartorial statement.
The wind
is like an eggroll
it wonders where
the
fuck
everyone is
(haiku to a quiet XOK list)
Smartassiepants.
"I'd say the problem is the planetary reverberations and increased
cosmic
rays, sun burps, and star wobbles caused by my duct-tape based
relationship
with Bill, eh wot?"
(on William Shatner dreams....)
I must be relatively together. I'm using words like equidistant. Cool.
Next Friday, Marlene and I are being swung low on that sweet chariot to Starwood, where nekked hippies abound, battery-operated faerie lights twinkle like the stars in the heaven, and the Roundhouse goes round and round like a great cosmic battery of goodness. (Then there's the Pufferdome, but I don't go there 'cause it's waaay up in a field from the main camp and the music sounds like a giant slug pulsing... but I digress.)
I think Venus is having a big effect on my parrot. He's been humping my hand like crazy all week.
"You will serve your beloved liege lady and mistress beginning now
and
lasting until such time as the slackers Michele and Amanda and so forth
post their stories unto us. The stories will continue until that watery
Australian bint who is Triple Dog Dared posteth also. To save
themselves,
those so lame as to not enter this most holy and auspicious challenge
will
serve me grapes, annoint me in myrrh oil, wash that man with the
glasses
and no hair and that other man who those other men are
beating on while he is tied to the rack--yes, the one with the
infinitely
strokeable hair-- and take them to my tent, paint my
toenails, do my washing, dip the cat in chocolate, and so forth and
so on."
"Amanda, by the Lord of Mid-Graystroke and all the Merry Elves of Whippingham, I, Lisby, sometimes called the Pouting Idol, always called "ma'am," DOUBLE DOG DIRTY DARE (with extra cheese and mushrooms) you, MaybeAmanda, Untenured Keeper of the Holy Minions, to finish the story as your entry into this challenge.
"Phil, phil, phil, you need to get groovy with the vibe of X-OKdom. Stress not over anything you post here. We are the very zen of Philedom. We exude acceptance and open-mindedness and all sorts of other stuff (some of it slightly greenish-purple). Ommmmmm, Phil. JUST SAY OMMMMM."
Lisby's Golden Rule:
Be Nice.
Share Your Toys.
And this:
This list is an Online Paradise. If anyone screws with it, I will eat
them toasted with salt. Possibly *alive* and toasted with salt. If I'm
just done meditating or up from a refreshing nap, I may just use the
"ban"
key invested in me at the time of my ascention to the Higher Realm of
List
Owners. I just *may* use it. <Sweeping glance with glaring, piggie
eyes>
And this:
Goochie Goochie. Who's yer, Mama? Whhhhoooo'sss yer Mama???
"I suck. Suckity suck suck suck."
"Word of the Day: Bip-slatch-- What you do to your sassy co-worker after tying one on at a corporate lunch."
"Word, indeed."
HUSBAND: (who is in San Antonio on
business,
having left while I was at Starwood): So how are your Sims?
Did they miss you while you were gone?
LISBY: I think they feel slighted.
HUSBAND: I told them
mean and false things about you.
LISBY: I guess that explains why Scully
won't talk to me.
MOMMY (after the housekeeper had finished
cleaning):
Let's
try to keep this house a little cleaner for a little longer, huh?
NICK: So, what closet are you gonna
lock Emily in? Or maybe you could just put down a big tarp and roll her
and her crap up in it at the end of the day.
"You are the folding queen
Old and Mean
One-hundred and seventeen... ooooyyaahhh."
-revising ABBA for Marlene
"Seriously, I'd gnaw you to a nub like an overly enthusiastic puppy if I was in mouthshot."
"I've got enough drama here with my cane and with Spike the parrot humping Marley."
"Okay-- so yesterday was her 5th birthday party. It was a princess
party
with her little friends Mimi, GoGo, and Allie dressed up like little
prancing
royal FRONCHwimmen. We got Emily this gorgeous dress on Easter
clearance--
green taffeta with a sheer peach overskirt all embroidered. And a pair
of 1-inch heels. She looked liked a freaking goddess with her curling
preraphaelite
hair dripping over her shoulders and special pink sparkly lipstick....
Anyway, I turn away from her for three minutes and I enter the
living
room to see my son sprawled on the couch wearing a Chinese dragon-print
shirt, green bottle-cap sunglasses, and an expression of ennui that
would
end all space and time if released off his face into the rest of
creation.
Next to him on the sofa, Emily is sitting with almost the entire sheer
overskirt of her party dress stuffed into her mouth, causing her cheeks
to swell out like a concentration-camp chipmonk who escaped into a
large
bag of hazelnuts--a glazed expression on her face as she stared at the
wallpaper bleeding, or whatever it was doing in her universe. When I
yell
at her (something incoherent like "Whadafuh? Emily, whadaFUH?") she
just
blinks at me with this vapid echoing expression of "GwadaFuh?" like she
has no earthly idea how her goddamned skirt got into her mouth.
"I told you not to suck it," says my son, his voice positively alive
with
prepubescent boredom.
"Oooooh no. I am only capable of writing to you all now because of the maximum joyous vibes of the Gayland Healing Circle. There were cocks and bollocks in pantyhose with wings flittering serenely above me all night (I'm still picking feathers out of my hair). The room echoed with the gentle notes of "Can't Get You Out of My Head." How divine."
"He gave me more drugs. I think they are orange or something."
"My definition of flame (and consequently the one that is THE LAW here [ah, the benefits of a dictatorship!]) is a nonconstructive unsolicited e-mail containing personal insults. Something like this: "You stupid biiach, you must never have been laid by nobody to write such a piss-poor sex scene between Frohicke and Marita. Or I'll bet you're a queer. Ether way, suck my hillbilly butt." A flame is *not* "I cannot agree that Mulder would ever cover himself in whipped cream and dance to 'Get it On, Bang a Gong' in other other version but the original T-Rex. He is a rock and roll purist."
"No one believes your feigned innocence. No one. Especially not me. It's all a fiendish plot. You beaver-spearing FRONCH genocidal snow-lickin' frilly-cuff wearers with your ideas of imperialist expansionism. I will taunt you with a bowl of cookie mix and a spatula. There! Now run away and hide from my patriotic American snow-covered righteousness, you girlie Canuk person!"
"I fear that Gayland and Canukberg are moving south with the intent
to kill all the pansy-assed and rule the planet."
on the cold temps in the states
"Do the drag queens up there ever do that group jump into the frozen river thing? God, what I would pay to see a whole bevvy of queens prancing about and leaping into the water through the hole in the ice. The comments on the size of ballage would be priceless."
"This is great. I wish I could download the eyeballs."
(funnier
without
an explanation)
"The electrician will be out tomorrow morning to fix the lighting
problem.
He will be here early in the AM and the conditions may be a bit noisy
but
it is only temporary. He should be out before 10:00. (These times
can change - just like arrival and departure times at the airport).
What happened is the flux capacitor in cargo bay 3 has become unstable
since the positrons, and fig neutrons became discombobulated and the
diffibulating
current has exceeded its amperage sending the megahertz frequency into
an overloaded condition which raised the temperature to 4000 degrees
centipede
therefore taxing the slippage factor which circumventillated the
power."
-excerpt from a memo Lisby got
at work. Honestly!
" There's nothing wrong with MSR. There's
nothing
wrong with M/SK slash. There's nothing wrong with Doggett fic. There's
nothing wrong with K/M/SK. There's nothing wrong with K/M/SK/SC.
There's
nothing wrong with K/M/SK/SC/D/CSM. There's nothing wrong with
K/M/SK/SC/D/R/CSM/WWM/BH/Marita/Arthur
Dale/Kersh/Kim/LGM/Yves/Pusher/Barf
Monster/Tooms/Big
Blue/Queequeg. And there is certainly nothing wrong with DD/me."
"But *damn* I need a Skinner. I really neeeeeeeeeeed one."