All photos here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157611636801968/
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Altarboys House Party
Dec 12 2008, somewhere in North Portland
All photos here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157611636801968/
All photos here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157611636801968/
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Snowpocolypse 2K8
For those of you not in Portland (or Seattle) let me clue you in to wtf has been happening the last few days, specifically yesterday.
Blizzard conditions: the sky shitting snow with 35+ mph winds, with temperatures in the low teens feeling around zero with the wind chill. Weather which is awesome to watch from inside your (somewhat) warm house while sipping hot chocolate but is NOT at all fun (and is actually infuriating and utterly miserable) to be out in when not properly prepared.
I had to catch the bus home yesterday from Luke's house and it sucked seriously bad. Mostly because I wasn't properly dressed because I was anticipating a ride home but then had to leave before Lukey woke up. Anyway, I waited in the snow for like 20 minutes at a super crowded bus stop, coughing and snivelling and generally being pathetic, and when the bus finally came it was FULL and we all had to keep waiting. I took a picture of the bus arriving in the snow downpour and texted it to everyone with the caption: "I hate my life I hate my life I hate my life"
Truth knockin.
Anyway, the point of this entry is not to bitch about the weather because that is totally boring and everyone is already doing it.
What this entry is about is just last night, where me and Luke walked back from Bog to the house in this shitstorm. For the record, you have to either be a drunk or just a serious asshole to voluntarily go outside right now, especially just to go to the bar.
I was wearing:
Two pairs of socks under fuzzy boots, covered in plastic bags to keep them dry (do I look stupid? yes. am I warm and dry? yes. fuck you.)
Two layers of stockings, my thermal pants and leg warmers.
A slip and my skirt on top of all that. Plus a long sleeve shirt and my hoodie and a giant jacket (best coat ever, thanks Nate) and a beanie and scarf and gloves.
... no seriously.
Dramatic, yes.
BUT!!
I was totally warm and dry and stomped (drunk) home, totally stoked, in the snow piles all the way to my house. This is noteworthy because I HATE snow and would rather it just fuck off and never happen. Soooooo it was super fun and exciting.
Also I did not wake up with this bronchitis crap I've got being any worse. Yay.
The end.
Blizzard conditions: the sky shitting snow with 35+ mph winds, with temperatures in the low teens feeling around zero with the wind chill. Weather which is awesome to watch from inside your (somewhat) warm house while sipping hot chocolate but is NOT at all fun (and is actually infuriating and utterly miserable) to be out in when not properly prepared.
I had to catch the bus home yesterday from Luke's house and it sucked seriously bad. Mostly because I wasn't properly dressed because I was anticipating a ride home but then had to leave before Lukey woke up. Anyway, I waited in the snow for like 20 minutes at a super crowded bus stop, coughing and snivelling and generally being pathetic, and when the bus finally came it was FULL and we all had to keep waiting. I took a picture of the bus arriving in the snow downpour and texted it to everyone with the caption: "I hate my life I hate my life I hate my life"
Truth knockin.
Anyway, the point of this entry is not to bitch about the weather because that is totally boring and everyone is already doing it.
What this entry is about is just last night, where me and Luke walked back from Bog to the house in this shitstorm. For the record, you have to either be a drunk or just a serious asshole to voluntarily go outside right now, especially just to go to the bar.
I was wearing:
Two pairs of socks under fuzzy boots, covered in plastic bags to keep them dry (do I look stupid? yes. am I warm and dry? yes. fuck you.)
Two layers of stockings, my thermal pants and leg warmers.
A slip and my skirt on top of all that. Plus a long sleeve shirt and my hoodie and a giant jacket (best coat ever, thanks Nate) and a beanie and scarf and gloves.
... no seriously.
Dramatic, yes.
BUT!!
I was totally warm and dry and stomped (drunk) home, totally stoked, in the snow piles all the way to my house. This is noteworthy because I HATE snow and would rather it just fuck off and never happen. Soooooo it was super fun and exciting.
Also I did not wake up with this bronchitis crap I've got being any worse. Yay.
The end.
Now we just need to get her a sled to pull.
Ok, so last night after we got back to the house I let Punkie out to do her business before we went to bed.
Punkie hates the snow even more than I do. Probably because she's only like 6 inches tall and has barely any fur and hates being cold. She'll generally just stand there and shake and won't do anything else when she goes outside in inclement weather. So last night I was justifiably concerned about letting her out in the middle of the blizzard.
When I brought her out there (in her sweater I made out of one of my socks) I cleared a part of the yard so she could stand there mostly on the grass and not freeze.
And what does she do?
She climbs out of the area I made her.
Into the snow.
And I'm waiting for it, waiting for her to fall into it and be buried and for me to have to run over there and save her.
But you know what happened?
The fucking dog is so small and light, she just ran across the barely-frozen snow surface and didn't even break through. Like a mosquito on the surface of a pond, or fucking Jesus walking on water. Punkie pranced right down the street on top of about 7 inches of snow on her tiny little chihuahua feet, peed in the middle of the sidewalk, then ran back to the porch, up the stairs and inside. I just stood there, crying I was laughing so fucking hard.
On that note:
Punkie hates the snow even more than I do. Probably because she's only like 6 inches tall and has barely any fur and hates being cold. She'll generally just stand there and shake and won't do anything else when she goes outside in inclement weather. So last night I was justifiably concerned about letting her out in the middle of the blizzard.
When I brought her out there (in her sweater I made out of one of my socks) I cleared a part of the yard so she could stand there mostly on the grass and not freeze.
And what does she do?
She climbs out of the area I made her.
Into the snow.
And I'm waiting for it, waiting for her to fall into it and be buried and for me to have to run over there and save her.
But you know what happened?
The fucking dog is so small and light, she just ran across the barely-frozen snow surface and didn't even break through. Like a mosquito on the surface of a pond, or fucking Jesus walking on water. Punkie pranced right down the street on top of about 7 inches of snow on her tiny little chihuahua feet, peed in the middle of the sidewalk, then ran back to the porch, up the stairs and inside. I just stood there, crying I was laughing so fucking hard.
On that note:
Monday, December 15, 2008
Iron Bartender
Benefit for The Giving Tree
Crown Room, Portland
December 12 2008
All photos here:
http://flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157611543152765/
Crown Room, Portland
December 12 2008
All photos here:
http://flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157611543152765/
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The case for not putting nutrition labels on booze.
Big thanks to my friend Joe for totally harshing my drunk mellow.
What effect does drinking have on your waistline?
One shot of Makers Mark = 100 calories.
One PBR = 150 calories
Average saturday: 4 shots of Makers, 3 PBR
(4*100) + (3*150)= 850 calories
... no wonder I've gotten so fat. Jesus, dude.
That doesn't even factor in the "I'm drunk so I can eat whatever I want and it doesn't count" 3-AM junk food maneuver.
SO!!!
I'm going on a detox.
I'm not smoking.
I'm not drinking beer.
I'm not eating junk food.
Exceptions:
Whiskey (is not beer).
Taste-tests of all the cookies I'm making in like, two days.
My voice has been shot for over a week. I can't sing and it's pissing me off.
There are a billion calories in the booze and shit food I'm eating. It's got to stop.
So detox here I come. Let's see if I can make it till the end of the month.
*It's 8 AM. I'm drinking PBR. This is my LAST one till at least New Years, for real.
What effect does drinking have on your waistline?
One shot of Makers Mark = 100 calories.
One PBR = 150 calories
Average saturday: 4 shots of Makers, 3 PBR
(4*100) + (3*150)= 850 calories
... no wonder I've gotten so fat. Jesus, dude.
That doesn't even factor in the "I'm drunk so I can eat whatever I want and it doesn't count" 3-AM junk food maneuver.
SO!!!
I'm going on a detox.
I'm not smoking.
I'm not drinking beer.
I'm not eating junk food.
Exceptions:
Whiskey (is not beer).
Taste-tests of all the cookies I'm making in like, two days.
My voice has been shot for over a week. I can't sing and it's pissing me off.
There are a billion calories in the booze and shit food I'm eating. It's got to stop.
So detox here I come. Let's see if I can make it till the end of the month.
*It's 8 AM. I'm drinking PBR. This is my LAST one till at least New Years, for real.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Hour 12 of studying for finals goes like this:
Me: I am so fucked. Like. Fucked. TOTALLY fucked.
Brooke: The capital of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The standard deviation of Dajah is... Fucked.
Brooke: The magnitude of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The instantaneous velocity of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: The amplitude of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The specific gravity of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: The interference color of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The acceleration of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: There is a polymorph of kaolinite, and it's dickite. Dick. Ite. D-I-C-K. I-T-E.
Me: You should spike that into your Mineralogy paper, just like you said it.
Brooke: I already put 'Dajah is a whore' in my paper.
Me: *looks* ... whoa, you did. Sweet.
Brooke: The capital of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The standard deviation of Dajah is... Fucked.
Brooke: The magnitude of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The instantaneous velocity of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: The amplitude of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The specific gravity of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: The interference color of Dajah is Fucked.
Me: The acceleration of Dajah is Fucked.
Brooke: There is a polymorph of kaolinite, and it's dickite. Dick. Ite. D-I-C-K. I-T-E.
Me: You should spike that into your Mineralogy paper, just like you said it.
Brooke: I already put 'Dajah is a whore' in my paper.
Me: *looks* ... whoa, you did. Sweet.
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