TMI

Steve Skyped me a few minutes after we had signed off for the night so he could go to bed.

Steve: I have to go out and put a body in a bag, honey. They rang me just after I got off with you.

Steve is a CSI, for those who are wondering what the hell is going on here.

Me: Oh, OK. Is it a bad scene?

Steve: Well, there's blood everywhere, so it may be suspicious.

Me: May be?

Steve: Well, it's not on the walls or anything, just all around the body . . .

Me: Do you randomly bleed when you die?

Steve: Well, the body is kind of decomposed, and sometimes blood and other bodily fluids leak out and-

Me: Darling, a yes would have been fine.

Fin.

No Cats in the Bedroom

Fine, Steve. You win. This is totally Bastet's M.O.

A Good Wednesday, Or, Why I Love Project Runway

I have been a fan of Project Runway since its inception, in large part because of the ever-so-distinguished designers' mentor, Tim Gunn. There was one episode where I had a fit of pique directed at Mr. Gunn when he described one of the (size 6) models as 'zaftig,' but I'm willing to concede that in the world of fashion, if you're a size 6, you're pretty much this girl:



Over time, I've forgiven Tim because of the bon mots that continually fall out of his mouth. He is impeccable, a very, very dignified, stately speaker, and everything he says is imbued with incredible gravitas.

But, due to the nature of the show, last night he announced to the designers, whose task it was to design costumes for female pro wrestlers, "You have 30 minutes at the House of Spandex, and $100. Now, go."

Thank Jebus we live in a time and a place where one may visit the House of Spandex should the need arise. New York is indeed a special place.

A Little In My Mouth

Yesterday, I was grooving in what psychologists call a 'flow state,' wherein (according to Wikipedia [and if you read it on Wikipedia you know it's true {brackets are fun}]) one is fully immersed in what he or she is doing, characterized by a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and success in the process of the activity.

My activity was checking page rank for keywords, and when you're a giant flaming SEO dork like me and your keyword set is doing well, it's the endorphin-spiking equivalent of finding $50 stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

So there I was, happily tapping away at the keyboard, when my phone rings. I scowled at the receiver before snatching the phone from its cradle.

"Ms. Keller, you have a delivery in the hallway."

'Oh my god,' I'm thinking, 'can't they just bring the damn thing in to me? I'm working here!'

I stalk out into the hallway, where a delivery man is clutching an absolutely massive bouquet of flowers - roses, lilies, snapdragons, sunflowers, and my favorite - gerbera daisies.

Cue the girlish giggling and immediate, high pitched "Ohmigod!"

My sweet, sweet wonderful Irish boy, having left NYC just the day before, still got around to sending me anniversary flowers and making me throw up a little in my mouth as a visceral reaction to how freakin' cute and thoughtful he is.

The fact we've made it to our first milestone despite the fact we're both in the wrong country makes me smile like an idiot.

Ladies, get thee an Irishman posthaste; they're grand!




(love you, darling! Sorry for calling you Irish boy -- but not really)

Some People I Know Must Drink A Lot of Ovaltine