Niff.Dot

>我想知道如果这甚而将运作。如果它, 那会是冷却。好, 如此, 到目前为止, 它似乎运作相当很好。我不打算为任何人了解这, 但是, 它是性交令人敬畏无论如何。如此, 这写在希腊吗? 噢它呀! 我想知道如果任何人能读希腊语。我能转换字母表的各自的信函, 但不是语言。我不设法是任何人除什么之外我被设法是婴孩。什么呀是稀释哼? 它是绝对必要的, 我的脚愈合。是。好。这个看板卡这是是伞过帐饥饿的脾气坏的人头的结

构树顶层您的狗地点的名字。

Voulez-voulez-vous 的名字.

>Slurping on a cosmic dart
Twirling on a pear…
Thinking twill be yet a knave
Larkspur’s not quite there.

Armadillo winking orange;
What be this odd-tee?
Powder’d turtle sliding fuzz
Noisy crumb-tee-pee

Dainty not quite upsy-doo
Inky sun-shades wince
Keyhole shows a porpoise fair
I’ve not been there since.

Largely lace-tinged mustard books
Quickly stemming forth.
But what can a horsefly swim
Be he headed north?

Alas, tis this which startled thee
Pine-app-les shake hands.
Exploding jelly-gourds abound
Violet rubber bands.

Voulez-voulez-vous what the fuck?

>Ahhhh. Got back to work today. Missed it. Alot. Was nice to be missed. Nice to be told I was needed. Ugh. I like validation way too much. Makes me all warm and fuzzy to be earning a paycheck again.

Did you know that the mantis shrimp has the most advanced/evolved eyes on earth?

They do.

Duke’s licking my toes. He has a foot fetish.

I am going to go do…something. Read a book, paint, study glagolitic, contemlate the trillions of quantum dots, Fingerprints, Nanolithography with diblock copolymers, Annealing and alignment of striped and hexatic phases that plague my daily existence.

Voulez-voulez-vous existence.

>

>Well damn it all.

So, we get the old bed frame disassembled. Current bed and new bed are both kings so the transition from one to the other was to be no problem.

Save for this: There is, ladies and gentlemen, a difference between king and California King.

We realized this after the new frame was assembled. Naturally. This, for lack of a better term, sucks ass.

So now we’re just going to give up and buy a new mattress since we’ve had the current one for 9 years, and it’s a bit tired.

Damn the bed, damn the mattress, and damn California. I’ve actually never been to California. I’d rather go to New England anyway. Or Old England for that matter. Austria. Hagia Sofia. Taj Majal. Notre Dame, Reims, Chartres, Ste. Chappelle. World’s largest Ball of Twine. I’ve got lot’s of stuff to do.

Voulez-voulez-vous California.

>I have limited myself to a 2-line vocabulary in an attempt to annoy the hell out of my husband. The two lines being:

“Nuh-uh”
“Kiss my ass!”

We have a new bed. Well, frame, anyway. It’s in pieces in my husband’s office because I haven’t had the motivation to make the necessary preparations to the bedroom to make the transition possible. We have a California-king-size bed, which means it is one big-ass square. Our current foot & headboard are solid cherry. Heavy as hell. The new head & footboard is iron and brass. Very “Basic-Instinct-tie-someone-to-the-bed”. So you can kind of understand my reluctance to assist in the procedure, being crippled and all. (Sinister Laugh)

So when my husband suggested “We could do the bed today”, I replied,

“nuh-uh”.

Perturbed, he responded, “fine! I’ll just move it into your studio!”

“kiss my ass!!”

My two-line vocabulary doesn’t seem very effective. I think it will be the catalyst for marital problems. We’ll need to seek counseling.

“Now, Jennifer, Bryan tells me you two aren’t communicating…”

“nuh-uh”

“So why don’t we try an exercise I developed –“

“Kiss my ass!!”

Hmm. Maybe I should just integrate fully-composed sentences into my conversational skills. For the mental and spiritual well-being of all. I don’t want it to affect my children. Okay, dogs.

So, I shall wrap this up in order to get lunch out of the way so I can help with the bed and save my marriage. Then we can have sex on it.

Voulez-voulez-vous sex.

>Don’t stop, git it git it.

My name is ZaDough. That’s what my husband calls me. Or “za”, or “dough”. I’ve come to respond to any and all. Below I shall attempt to illustrate the evolutionary process of my ‘name’:

1. Babydoll
2. The Babydoll
3. Za Babydoll
4. Za Babydough
5. ZaDough
6. “Za” or “Dough”.

I like things simple. He’s “Schweets” or “hun”.

To see what we did with our children’s (dogs) names, see blog entry “Wednesday, August 17, 2005”.

After 9.3 years of marriage and 9.3 years of never being called by my proper name, on the random, odd occasions when he does use my proper name, it sounds off; rude, even. We have forgotten what each others’ names really are. Although, thanks to being a Navy wife for the first few months of our marriage, I could rattle off his social security number if you asked. But I won’t.

Oh, my..there do be de pettyest pettyest rose-colored sunset ever. I love being able to see Mt. Si from our back balcony. It is stellar.

I love jumping out of an extra-hot bathtub…you get all noodle-y.

You empty-headed animal-food-trough-water-er; go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! Your mother was a hamster, and you father smelt of elderberries!!!!

Voulez-voulez-vous elderberries.

>I hereby bequeath unto you my theory that with the exception of wood and leather surfaces, and entire home can be cleaned with Windex.

Windex is my cleaning solution of choice, although I do clean my toilet bowl with Scrubbing Bubbles. Though my Scrubbing bubbles don’t have googly-eyes and zoom around like the ones in the commercials do.

Lying bastards.

But yes, sinks, windows, faucets, baseboards, refrigerators, stovetops, toilet seats, sinks, nick-knacks, vases, clocks, picture frames, tea kettles (the exterior, of course), window panes, televisions, electronics, fireplace mantles, BBQ grills, patio furniture, lightswitch panels, basebard heaters, computer hardware, tlephones, lamps, miniblinds, microwaves, baby gates, doorknobs, cabinet handles, those glass bottles containing oil and vinegars, the outsides of dishwashers, stoves, washers, dryers…

I think I’ve run out of things that can be cleaned with Windex. I’ll more than likely come up with more later.

I do go through a shitload of paper towels though. I buy mine from Costco. As well as the Windex.

Swiffer dusters are the bomb too. Good for my bookcases, since I have a shitload of books. I wonder how many I have? Hell, I’m gonna go count them. BRB.

I have 374 books. Not counting magazines. My hasband has 56 in his office.

430 total. No wonder moving into this apartment was such a bitch. A lot of my books are theose enourmous art and history books. Damn. I have a lot of books.

Oops; just found another one. 431.

I think I should seek some counseling. I have a literary addiction. I am rapidly running out of room. I have stacks of books on top of the books on my bookcases. No wonder I’m sneezing all the time.

So, in the proceess of counting all of my books I realized how utterly dusty they are. I’m going to use up my remaining Swiffers.

Voulez-voulez-vous Swiffers.

>17 days. That’s how many days I have been stuck in my apartment. 17 bloody days. Can’t walk anywhere, can’t drive anywhere; I am imprisoned by a broken foot. I am on the brink of madness. Perhaps if I had children, or friends who weren’t my co-workers and AT work, my days wouldn’t be as mundane. I’m stuck in this giant temporal jellyfish with no structure or purpose. I am not structured enough to assign myself tasks to do. I tend to be insubordinate to myself. Although I do know that tomorrow I have to call and make yet another student loan payment. And yes, I have paintings to work on, but that’s not the type of work that rotates on a schedule. And daytime TV is the same fucking series of shows day after bloody day. If I didn’t have my entire collection of Monty Python on DVD I might be in some serious trouble with the law. My mother is more than likely sick of hearing from me. My dogs don’t do a whole lot; they have more fun outside, and I can’t handle them both on leashes by myself. We need dog food. I asked Bryan if we could go get dog food. I need out of this house. He’s working late today. Damn Microsoft. I need to go get dog food. I need to be away from this place for an extended period of time. I think we need to go get dog food in Vancouver. Yes, Vancouver sounds lovely. Ah, the sun is peeking through again.

Voulez-voulez-vous Vancouver.

I just want to sleep. Can’t do it. Not sleeping at night, can’t sleep during the day…that’ll really mess up my sleep schedule.

BLOODY HELL!!! Stop with the damn WHINING! Bee-yatch.

I suck. I suck I suck my brain is stuck down on my luck feel lie a shmuck my mood’s in muck oh what the fuck???

Hmm.

Bryan is home, I believe. Yes! Someone to entertain me. Still maintains Vancouver for dog food is not a good idea.

He sucks.

Ugh…someone got stabbed by a screwdriver. Oh! Here’s my consumers of said dog food:

Greyhound’s official name: Gee
Unofficial name: Bee

Beagle’s official name: Duke
Unofficial name: Koo.

There will be a quiz later.
That is all.

Voulez-voulez-vous quiz.

>Strange things are afoot.

http://www.snarg.net

You know that cat that was just in here? Just ran out the door? Well, he comes up to the counter, you know, and I say, “What’s the word, turd?” and he lays down this burrito, and he kinda looks at me, kinda stares at me, and says, “I have but recently returned from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I am rapturously breathing in all the odors and essences of life. I’ve been to the brink of total oblivion. I remember and foment the desire to remember everything.”

Tis but a pity the imperceptible flan has yet to create the eddy jetty.

Voulez-voulez-vous eddy-jetty