well, that's one reason to kill your husband!
he TOTALLY told me that I had not posted my drunken blog from ...
well, ...whenever the hell new years let me get near a computer!
ah well, no one ever said joel WASN'T sinister,
and that's true (except for me, but word associate "wife" and contradiction seems a good pasttime off-season)

from the beginning of the year, what does your computer history hold?
if you logged your searches, interests, porn, what are you looking at this 2006?
interesting?
hope fucking so.
cause getting ready to do comedy and being married seem to be the least researched or locally sought out information - so my procrastination and voicemail do not say so lately and very not loudly...

ah well, no one speaks of love much
i understand though, it's kind of gross and completely boring
especially if you hang out at my place
soo...

i pass the torch back to the year I met my husband
to someone else
and for anyone who remembers laughter:


"Franny sent me a story. A short one
with all kinds of improper grammar
usage and sarchastic wit... I begged
her to come out to Las Vegas. So we are
traveling across the country together,
in a Uhaul that doesn't have a
functional gas gauge or engine for that
matter and we are broken down on the
side of the road with 5 dollars between
the two of us. This happened in Utah.
I'm going to marry this lady. I knew
this around the time she arrived at the
airport in a wig. To say she's a
brilliant actress would be an
understatement equivelent to "Hitler
was a mean man". I kiss her feet on a
regular basis. I would eat glass for
this woman. I am nothing more than a
pimple on the ass of the earth in
comparison to Franny. Her name rhymes
with Fanny. I had to kiss her. There
was no choice in the matter. Fate? Stoli? It's hard to say in retrospect,
but I know that I love her to death and
it will take a legal restraining order
to keep me from gazing in her direction
at every moment. The thing I love
about her the most is that she hates
this shit and wishes people would stop
fawning over her. But she has no
choice in the matter. There is a small
tribe, just north of the Nomo, who have
molded a statue in her honor out of
clay and dung beetles (there aren't any
Pat Catans in Timbuktu). It really
doesn't look like her but she humors
them and smiles when they show her.
She's kind like that. And she'll
correct your spelling errors in a love
letter with red magic markers and send
it back to you. She's done this to me
several times... I keep coming back.
Some day I'll tell her about the camera
in her bathroom. She hasn't noticed
the sign above her shower head that
reads "please play toward the facet".

now that
is sweet...