your actual page is starting */ body { background-color: white; } .header { background-color: #FF9933; border-bottom: 2px black; } h1 { font-family: "Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif"; font-size: 30px; color: black; padding-left: 57px; padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 10px; } .leftedge { background-color: #33CC33; } h3 { font-family: "Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif"; font-size: 15px; color: 669933; padding-top: 20px; } .date { padding-left: 20px; padding-bottom: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid #CC9933; } blockquote, p { font-family: "Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif"; font-size: 12px; color: 009933; line-height: 18px; } .postinfo { font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; padding-bottom: 7px; padding-left: 15px; } .rightbar { font-family: "Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif"; font-size: 12px; color: 009933; line-height: 18px; background-color: #99ff33; border-left: 2px 006600; border-bottom: 2px 006600; padding-left: 12px; padding-right: 5px; padding-bottom: 30px; padding-top: 20px; } .blogarchive { color: #006600; } a:link { color: #006600; } a:visited { color: #CC6633; } a:hover { color: #CC9933; } /* end of the style definition */

I Got A Pony When I Turned 10

     

Friday, July 26, 2002

 
Heather does not

have a boss.

Heather cannot

receive "contact reports" from her project manager.

Heather will not

have "action items" e-mailed to her from meetings she did not attend.

Heather will only

use her own bathroom all day long.

Heather will not

understand carpel tunnel in the same way she understands one alien boy's love for Is-A-BELLE-A.




Wednesday, July 24, 2002

 
No comment necessary:

"There have been concerns about Bass' health, education and ability to speak Russian, but space officials say he will be taught everything he needs to know."

Go Lance, Go!



Friday, July 19, 2002

 
This morning on BART, a 9-year-old turned around to inform me that he had an entire seat to himself. He then added, waving the bills in the air:

"I'm a kid millionaire, and I got $4."

I was duly impressed.

Wednesday, July 17, 2002

 
Another Web site I should've built first. Damnit all!

Sarah's Pony Prairie -- it doesn't get any better than that.
 
My Dad -- Bert -- came for his tri-annual west coast visit this weekend. Coming from a man who has lived the majority of his 58 years in the bright sunshine of Huntsville, Alabama, he made some very astute observations.

1. The Yoko Ono exhibit at MOMA "is crap. But everyone should pay good money to go see how bad it is. Because it's that bad."

2. When Sue and Mike head to Turkey for their honeymoon, there is one thing they should focus on: "Kabobs."

3. The Haight is dirtier than expected.

4. Even if your strongest instincts tell you otherwise, air conditioning is not necessary in one's hotel room when staying at the Stanyan Park Hotel in July.

5. A jacket, however, is.

6. Sam Shepard "knows a thing or two about dysfunction."

7. While there are good wineries, there are no "decent shops" in Sonoma. [Eds Note: We did not visit the ice cream shop.]

8. When we saw Jess and Gareth in Sonoma, Jess "was very cute" and Gareth "was probably stoned." [Eds Note: Dad knows his brown clown, as my brother and I discovered while searching his apartment for an extension cord, but that's another story...]

9. When choosing to live in San Francisco, it would be "very difficult to choose a neighborhood because they're all so good. But it's too bad the Tenderloin is one of the closest to the theaters."

10. "Berkeley really isn't that far."

11. Yet, "traffic is a problem."

12. "The 2002 Miss Nude San Francisco pageant is probably the most tame thing going on in the city all weekend."



Monday, July 15, 2002

 
I just found this site and am very upset that I didn't think of the name first.

A Pony for Your Thoughts -- please help them find their Mojo.



Friday, July 12, 2002

 
Dads are cool

Dads are great

Even if a hernia means

they can't move furniture anymore.





Thursday, July 11, 2002

 
"I have no idea," Anna Nicole responded. Well I just don't believe that for a minute.



Wednesday, July 10, 2002

 
In the warm glow of last night, Sue, Allyson, and I celebrated Heather's magnificent 28th birthday by going to see Pat Benatar. Without Heather.

The Saratoga Mountain Winery provided a lovely setting -- complete with fireflies, $5 Bud Lights, salt-free pretzels, really close (and extremely hard) bleacher seats, secret bathrooms, plentiful parking for the low, low price of $10, very helpful parking attendants: "You can park anywhere you want!" and zero cell phone service.

Pat Benatar provided and hour and a half of songs, about 7 of which I knew, an excellent and suprisingly diverse fan base (though jean shorts for the male persuasion was highly favored), acoustic versions of both "Love Is A Battlefield" and "We Belong," an unbelievably rockin version of "All Fired Up," a really bad story about how "Invincible" is her official song for the families of Sept. 11, wicked cool hair extensions, the greatest body I've seen on anyone over 22, a smoking hot t-shirt collection -- I'm talking ripped collars with rhinestone crosses and stuff, and, most important, a plethora of wide-stance air guitar.

Spider provided dumb stories and extraordinarily off-key backup vocals, numerous guitar changes, very cool (and tight) corduroy pants, and ever-so-small windows into PB's soul.

Sue provided a partner for my numerous bathroom trips, an equal fascination with the chick who knew every word and really wanted to stand up and dance but wouldn't, a good eye for detecting the crowd's most special outfits, and a tear for the guy in the wheelchair when Spider came out into the crowd to give him a little pick-me-up guitar solo.

Allyson provided her newly working automobile, an all-important link to these old guys who let us borrow their binoculars, a run-in with the highly-trained and specialized security police, contraband flash photography, a sweet singalong tape for the vocal trip home, and a fabulous purple wig.



Monday, July 01, 2002

 
On the most beautiful Sunday afternoon in recent history (yesterday), friends and I headed to the third weekend of the Ethnic Dance Festival. While mambo and breakdancing were the undeniable favorites of our crew, we had to give props to the Hula brigade, who were not afraid to let the chubby girls dance up front.

As girls do, conversation immediately drifted to dance performaces of our sordid pasts. While Heather and Sue danced into their teens, my first recital, at the tender age of five, proved to be my last. Dressed in my costume -- we were pink poodles -- I cried the entire time I was on stage. I then went home, climbed beneath the chopping block in the center of the kitchen, covered my stupid costume and my head with a blanket, and cried some more. There is an entire 36-roll photo shoot of the scarring incident. The next day, my dad, my hero asked me if I wanted to ride horses instead of dance. Much to the dismay of every female in my family, I wiped away my tears, and promptly traded in my poodle ears for a hoof pick. It was, quite possibly, the easiest decision I ever made.

 
What does being a wet nurse have to do with wedding planning anyway? Someone please tell me.

Thanks, Allyson.


FOR ALL YOUR HOUSEHOLD NEEDS

The Past
Archives

The Present
Runonsentence
Where hilarity ensues

Helenjane
She got married

love/hate
So much conflict

Mrs. Kennedy
What exactly is the fuss?

Dangerous Candy
Don't mix with coke

Worshipping at the Altar of Mediocrity
That's one pretty kitty

The Beakdip
A commuter's log

The Lauren Tewes Fan Page
She's expecting you

The Future
This American Life
SF Gate
Homestarrunner

Weblog Commenting by HaloScan.com
This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?