Slices of Stacy

Because I'm just not interested in albino porn...

...I've had to install a verifier for comments.  Sorry.  The spam was getting unmanageable.

Blog Entry Copout #2

A photo taken the week after a tornado hit downtown Atlanta:

And guess what?  This is my 500th entry.  Huh.  You'd think I'd do something memorable...

Guest Blogger: Sweet Pea!

Mommy, can we start my quilt?  You said we could start my quilt after Christmas.  Christmas is over.  Can we start it tonight?  I have squares and a blanket.  I'm going to make a quilt for Baby and Baby Brother.  This pink will be very pretty.  I have a pink one for my girl baby and I have another pink one for my big sister. 

Dear Internet:  My Mom is sick.  It's boring.  Daddy stayed home from work to take care of me.  I went to my friend's house for dinner.  We had pizza and lasagna.  It was good.  I can run and jump.  I have a guinea pig named S'Mores.  She eats a lot of apples and food.  She stays in her house and she comes out of her house when we hold her.  And she eats oranges, apples, spinach and her snack food.  It's really Mrs. F__'s guinea pig and we're taking care of her over the break.  I have a marker.  I play 'rock paper scissors.'

bv  v rdsxccgc gbvxt8xvcc cgsdfffgxgxsvvfcxczsf csfegfdgfdfdxbsxc hdgutryfhgfvgygt7ie c  fghgyhfygyrtf ger8t56556e4td3wrestrdydiydstggbefsegfhweafygjhjhhggfchgfgvbhghvb fvhbnrfhruyhyhj

Blog whoring

Technorati, baby. Technorati Profile

And BlogRush because Sarah said so. 

AND I finally fixed a couple of old links (sorry, Beth) and added Sarah.  Because next time she'll fly through Atlanta and we'll have beer(s).

*AND I've been fucking around with my blog for almost two hours instead of doing homework.  I need to be in bed by midnight so I now have 59 minutes to write two lesson plans, six running records and a long drawn-out reflection on my own fabulousness.

In which the author demands a cigarette afterwards

Food porn.

Dear Pete:

For what it's worth, I know I can't edit worth a damn.  See, I get started on an entry and then about three paragraphs into it I go back and reread what I've written.  I do some spot editing then: verb tense irregularities, obvious misspellings and the like.  Then I keep writing and I try to come up with a pithy ending.  Then I reread again.  Then I try to finish again.  Pretty soon it's been one long damn circle and I end up just thinking "Fuck it, dude," and hitting 'Publish.'

Deal with it.

Love,

Stacy

P.S.:  Are the phones broken in New York? 

PostSecret mini-movie

My Sunday morning routine involves grabbing a can of Diet Mountain Dew, taking my Effexor, then turning on my computer.  I play my daily Sudoku game, then head to PostSecret.

Sunday Frank posted a mini-movie he made and it's amazing.  It's haunting and hopeful all at the same time.  The very first postcard he features is one that I have never forgotten -- before I read it, I wondered if anyone had used 9/11 as a "get out of jail free" card from their lives.  Now I know that at least one person did.

Because RLP can still say it perfectly

Yes.  Read and absorb every word, my friends.

Two worlds collide

I'm checking my e-mail when DJ, looking over my shoulder, notices that there's an e-mail from Sain't saying only 'Marry me.' 

DJ:  Hey!

Stacy:  What?  He does that all the time.

DJ:  Why? (At this point he's thinking either, "Yo, man, das' MY bitch," or "Yo, I can totally unload this bitch!")

Stacy:  Well, he does these entries where he prepares, photographs and then describes the food he's serving and you know me... it's like food porn.  So I make a vaguely suggestive comment and he asks me to marry him.  It's our shtick.

DJ:  Your shtick?

Stacy:  Yes.  Shtick.  Our thing.  And if you're not careful, I'll tell you to shtick it, take Sweet Pea and head for S.F.

Searching for Mimi Part 2

Hey, guess what?  My friend Melanie got an email from Mimi Smartypants!  I know, right?  In the blogosphere, that's HUGE!

Of course, Melanie only knows about Mimi because of this entry.  In fact, I know THREE PEOPLE who ordered Mimi's book after that entry.  Did I get an email from Mimi?  No, I did not.  I read her blog like it's a religious experience, I send her business, and do I get an email?  No.  I want to get hammered and make out with Mimi, and do I get an email?  No.

Where's the love, Mimi?  WHERE'S THE FUCKING LOVE?????