I’m pretty used to the random webcomment spam. And I’m even immune to the gravity-free sex apparatus spam. But I really HATE the stuff that’s generated to look like a continuing office conversation saying stuff like “Lance, I’ve confirmed the plans with Biff I hope these are ok for you.” What good is this serving?

I’ve been a bit lazy about the personal posts. I don’t seem to get a lot of them done in March. The Women in History stuff wipes me out. And I haven’t actually gotten a lot of knitting done. But I’ve been spinning! I’ve spun this crazy merino mohair stuff similar to the hell’s angel hair but in varying shades of blue. It’s big and thick and thin - totally taking advantage of having this ginormous bobbin while I can.

This morning I mailed the fulted marble beret to my cousin (finally) and the Bombay Dreams yarn to Pamela. We ran a few other errands (this being the only night Cody has off until next Monday boooo) I just had a nice bath and read one of the short stories he’s been wanting me to read. It’s funny how we have reading lists for each other - so we can talk about them later.

After I finish this post? I’m going to drink limeade and ply that crazy fuzzy blue yarn with beaded thread. CRAZY stuff. I might even name it Grover in Drag or There’s a Monster Wearing Pearls in this Skein. There will be companion yarns for it too because I have a bunch more of that blue merino and fluffy soft mohair. Having a ball in spinland. Wish you were here.

I received this interesting email yesterday.

Any suggestions? Best answer I can come up with so far is linking to the disclaimer.

Christ, now I’m having existential dilemmas about my website. Because the personal ones just don’t take up enough of my time.

I’m going to go ahead and answer this here since the email address you posted is obviously fake.

Dear Tony (if that is your real name),

Ya know, being from the south I’m used to backhanded compliments but I have to admit, this one really takes the cake.

First off, I’m willing to bet you’re confusing me with my kiss my ass fairy which is in actuality a model for a Halloween costume - but I am a pretty girl with an occasional shitty attitude. What, exactly do you think the cute huffy hedgehog thing is about?

So you basically said I have a shitty attitude for such a pretty girl. Then something that hinted that being perpetually optimistic despite horrific circumstances is the epitome of femininity?

That’s the most amazingly unrealistic naive controlling attitude towards women I’ve heard in a while. And I’d like to point out, yet again, I grew up in the south I know weird fucked up attitudes towards women.

Dude, even June Cleaver farted and got pms. They just don’t show those episodes, ok? Women are human beings and, as such, we’re allowed to have all kinds of feelings and natural functions. I say if “the prez” is allowed to have verbal diarrhea all over the television I’m allowed to spew anger on my weblog whenever I see fit.

I just want to get this straight about what a woman in Tony-world is supposed to be:

- Women are not allowed to have leg, armpit, or pubic hair but the hair on top of our heads is to be perfectly coiffed with nary a hair out of place - even at high winds or during a bad depressive episode or sugar crash.

- Women are not allowed to wear anything other than flowery dresses cinched at the sixteen inch waist with an apron which, I have no doubt, is edged with rickrack.

- Women are required to wear heels, but they’re not allowed to be taller than a modest, boxy quarter to half inch heel. Or a wedge heel on those informal or vacuuming days.

- Women are not allowed to express an emotion other than sheer joy when her scary tuna and ham casserole comes out perfectly, her husband comes home at two am stinking of scotch with another woman’s lipstick on his collar, or when the dog takes an enormous shit in front of the tv.

I’ll try to keep that in mind.

I read a story once about an artist’s model who married the world’s most famous critic. This was the guy that decided what was or was not fashionable in their country. He was the authority on art, music, fashion, food, you name it. And she was supposed to be the world’s most beautiful, charming, alluring woman. They were the match of a century.

On their honeymoon night he became utterly nauseous at the sight of her pubic hair when she came to him in their marriage bed. These were not the days of a bikini wax nor were they the days when sculptors or painters would reflect anything other than the idealized beauty of the model’s face and form. Venus de Milo has no arms nor does she have any body hair whatsoever - including the partially exposed pubic area. Headless Winged Victory has no armpit hair under the severed arms, no hair on her exposed legs. This critic, while a complete authority on what is beautiful had never seen a real woman in the nude - just artists’ renderings of them sans a single strand of hair except those on her head.

Their marriage was never consummated. And the model ran off with an artist who had been secretly in love with her all along.

Moral of the story? Don’t marry the critics - marry the artists.

Thanks for your (stupid, boring, cliched, sad, old, tired, and really annoying) comment, there Tony. Unfortunately there’s already a person who holds the official title of “Tony the Bastard” in this household or I’d give it to you. How about “Tony the Fuck Pig”? I think that suits you nicely.

Thank you for calling.

(in case you’re worried, the scotch/lipstick thing didn’t happen here it was just a vivid example of the varying circumstances during which we’re supposed to keep happy brave-faced attitudes)

I thought it might be true before, now I’m sure of it: the people behind yourdictionary.com have gotta be Democrats.

not to mention yesterday’s word of the day: crapulence

Skittles? lucia indefatigable eternity? Freaks.

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Username: hedgeblog

I’m not bitter or anything just highly amused with who’s been accepting and rejecting my affiliate applications so I thought I’d post a few of my rejection emails.

And no links to cheap-ass stores selling crap made in third-world sweatshops for my visitors! Or was it something I fucking said? :p