Put down that beer. Take that donut out of your mouth. Are you sitting down?
Whatever happens, do not choke. I cannot do the Heimlich over the Internet.
This is me, in a newspaper. They called me stylish. Stylish. Out of all the people they could have profiled, they liked me.
They really really did.
I guess I don’t have to eat worms after all.
Okay, so I went to this press preview thingy for (WARNING: PLEASE CLICK ONLY IF YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO PROBLEMS WITH ANATOMY AND MAY HAVE ACTUALLY DISSECTED A FROG IN BIOLOGY CLASS, FOR EXAMPLE) Bodies…The Exhibition, basically the competing exhibition of the “original” Body Worlds. Yeah, that very same one in Singapore I refused to go to.
I will spare you graphic evidence of what we’re made of.
Instead, I will share this factoid with you.
I am hoping weight has everything to do with intellect.
After that exhibition (Can anyone say Too Much Information?), I just wanted to take a shower and become a vegetarian.
Before I met Jay, I had no concept of Dumpster Diving.
I could not fathom how you could willingly go through someone else’s trash, find something and actually use it. Er, doesn’t that mean you have to be homeless, desperate and/or cheap?
Well, six and a half years, many dumpsters and furnished apartments (Herman Miller tables, people!) later, I stand corrected.
We are not homeless. Maybe we’re semi-desperate. And perhaps we’re a little cheap.
But I have developed a Pavlovian response to dumpsters. I stop whenever we pass one, and without looking back, I know that Jay is already checking it out.
We were walking home today when Jay’s spidey senses activated. He saw tables. He saw a giant dumpster. He saw possibilities.
If not for the copious amounts of bird doo-doo on the tables, we would have carried one home.
LEGEND:
A  Dot dug out the dirt to make room for a concrete pour to extend the walkway.
B  Tree from A is moved to B. Stones are moved from dotted line to new position. Lots of centipedes and earthworms encountered, forcing Dot to say f**k a lot.
C  Legs of Jay, who’s doing touch-up paint all over the exterior.
* Not shown: Extensive weeding effort. And did I mention I hate gardening?
There’s no such thing as a coincidence.
I met a woman today I thought I’d met before. Her name was Dorothy.
I met a woman today who told me her grandmother’s name was Dorothy.
I watched a musical today that told the back story to a famous Dorothy.
There’s no such thing as a coincidence?
Mathematician John Allen Paulos has said, “In reality, the most astonishingly incredible coincidence imaginable would be the complete absence of all coincidences.”
Now that my dear old Mac is back (albeit a little cranky with some non-functioning parts), I thought I’d do a quick re-cap of our wonderfully exciting lives so far.
Jay and Dave organized another exhibition in their gallery. Screen prints. I bought one (See Exhibit D). I named him Monster. The artist named him Monster with a ***. The drunken caucus that night named him Monster with a Wee Wee.
Or Pee Pee. I don’t remember. I had a little to drink, but not as much as Exhibit A or Exhibit B.
I was designated driver and sent the subjects in Exhibit A and B home. Except for the guy in the cap. He had a scooter.
And Exhibit A lives with me, so that doesn’t count.
Exhibit C is just an expensive Eames Lounge Chair that Jay and Dave bought.
Why is Jay making this face?
And what in the Name of Vegetables is that?
Find out in Dot and Jay’s Foray onto Bainbridge Island.
My poor iMac is still in the shop. It’s strange to be blogging from someone else’s computer. It’s like having an affair. I feel furtive. Like I don’t want my computer to know I’ve been touching some other’s keys.
Come home soon!
Meanwhile, in DotandJayLand, this picture answers the question “What do you do when you have to go to two birthday parties in one weekend?”
For a 32-year-old and a 2-year-old?
You get a Darth Vader and a Hello Kitty balloon. While waiting in the Apple Store.
My poor iMac.
Alone in a warehouse somewhere.
Waiting to get her harddrive fixed.
That, my friends, is one of my pet peeves.
Not the Go game (I’ll get to that in a minute), but being called an Oriental and reading the words Far East (and people who know me, I don’t mean that Far East, my all-time favorite shoe paradise), but you know, that geographic reference.
My beef has always been that if Asia is the Far East, then why isn’t there a Far West? That slight whiff of imperialism and center-of-worldness stinks.
Please. Asia is as far as America is democratic. These days, distance is measured in terms of how fast the youtube video you uploaded in Singapore is downloaded in the U.S.
And Oriental? Don’t get me started.
One last thing, whoever that smartass is who invented the all-encompassing font used without impunity to represent all Asian businesses (and everyone since perpetuating that font), shame on you.
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