December 20
Woo, dark and mysterious, I wait for the Rum-Huds baby to arrive! (though, to be honest, this pic was taken yesterday.)
All I Want for Christmas:
I decided that I don't want any of you to get me anything off the wishlist (not like you were all flocking to buy me shit, but hell, it's okay, I didn't want you to). What I do want, and this would mean a lot to me, is for you to write to BHT&TM and tell them of my stalkage. I'm far too shy to let them know myself (sure, Dana) I figure, the more people writing to them, the better the chances are that I'll be able to convince them to play at my party. That's your assignment, friends. Write them a convincing letter (as did Dan and Ken, letters to follow) and forward it to me so I know what you're saying.
Acceptable Examples of Letters to BHT&TM:
a.) The Beseecher:
Dana, of New Haven Connecticut, is completely obsessed with having
you guys play at her 30th birthday party next year.I fear for her mental well being and urge you with all possible force to
agree to do this, or else none of us will ever hear the end of her ravings.She's mad, mad I say! She's already flaunted all reason and watched a copy
of the Star Wars Christmas Special... who knows what she'll do next.She can be reached at asia@connix.com or through her site at
http://www.bobofett.comGranted, if you DO agree to play at her party, we'll never hear the end of
THAT either... but at least she'll be happy.
If you are already booked, I'm sure that an autographed stuffed monkey
(cloth, please.. not the real thing) will be an appreciated substitute.b.) The Creative Approach:
My name is Ken Woods,
and there's a special young lady I'd like to bring your attention to...
Her name is Dana and she suffers from Presbyopia
No one talks about this degenerative disease
yet it affects millions of Americans.
Someone YOU know has presbyopia
yet it's buried under media hype and HMO self-servance.
Our special friend Dana has suffered this for years
and has one holiday wish,
and that is too see Big Head Todd and the Monsters, before it's too late.
I refer specifically to her birthday on Jan. 1
The disease is at the stage now where she must wear a special facial apparatus
to function daily. She sees doctors 5 days a week and it seems to be going nowhere.
Her days are filled with aggrivation, yet when BHT&TM comes on the radio,
she calms, rocking in her chair and smiling.
Somehow your music soothes her soul, and I don't know how to say 'thank you'...
but 'Thank You' and I'm sure Dana would agree.
I know that asking one of the guys in the band to show up
at her special party would be too much. I know that she'd be 'over the moon'
were that to happen, but we all have families...
healthy families to be with this special holiday season
and isn't that what it's all about?
A website has been put together to keep those of us who love Dana
and care about her informed about her daily struggles
you can find it at...
http://www.bobofett.com/index.html
If you can't make it in person then I'll make up a reason why you couldn't
be there. I just don't want to break her heart. You understand.
sincerely
Ken Woods
chairman
Presbyopia Awareness for Parents, Friends and Well-Wishers
or
P.A.P.F.W.W
ps.
even a signed poster or a shirt would be fine
as long as she's still able to see it, time's running out
she'll be 30 soon...
So do me a favor. Write them. It's not like I'm asking you to give money to some stupid charity. Email is free. And plus, the sooner I get them to agree to playing the sooner it'll be that I don't talk about how much I love them every day.
Floor Party:
No matter how dirty that sounds, the reality of the situation is pretty grim. People are supposed to bring something either that they've made or bought or whatever, and everyone from all the offices and labs on the 4th floor sit around and share good will and cheer and all that happy horseshit. I slaved on a crowded line at BJs to bring in a big tin of butter cookies.It's always the same:
1.) BS shrieks and leaps up from her chair, proclaiming "Oh my GOD! It's time to start setting up for the party!! I have to get ready!!" 2.) she runs into the lunchroom and starts fucking around with the food people have brought, commenting on the quality and quantity ("Obviously, this person is NOT Italian!") 3.) pops in the Carpenters Christmas CD, sings along ("there's noooo place like hoommmmme for the holidays..." 4.) people start arriving. see food, no one's eating. everyone sits down, eyeing the food. 5.) BS saunters in, saying "Wow, everyone's waiting for the Big Chief to eat!!" ("More like the Big Cahones", I snort to Nicole) 6.) Dr. X lumbers in. 7.) BS screams "He's here, let the party BEGIN!" 8.) People descend upon the food like locusts. 9.) I grab food, run to my desk, eat in front of my computer. 10.) Party ends. BS bitches and complains about a.) how unfair it is that they who brought no food eat all of the food. b.) how "unusual" a dish someone's brought in ("oohh..what is that? It looks EXOTIC!" "Um..an eggroll. I bought it at the supermarket..") c.) how wonderful the dish Dr. X brings in every year is. d.) how much better the party & food was last time (read: the years before)Later, she could barely keep her flatulence under wraps. She'd walk from one end (hah!) of the office to the other, talking to someone, farting the entire way, raising her voice as necessary. She'd sit at her desk burping and passing gas and pretending nothing was amiss. The closest thing I heard to an excuse or reason was "Woo..I'm having a terrible time TODAY, boy.." Very nice.
Also nice was when she asked me what I was drinking. "Instant Cider", I replied, holding up my glass (see note). "Whoooo....I can't drink cider. It goes right through me." I look away. "Yep, I am Mount Vesuvius with even a SIP of cider.."
Did I Lie?
Where are those eyes looking? Certainly not at the same thing at the same time. Sweet jesus, that's just plain wrong.
On the Other Hand:
Behold! Boba Fett. He's cool as hell.
Tonight:
As usual, we got home from work and let the dogs out to do their business. About 15 minutes later, Nick opened the back door to let them back in. No dogs. Hmm. A mystery. He looks to the gate. Wide open. One does not need to be Kreskin to know what has happened. Jessie head butted the gate till it opened. Moments later, they are rounded up and herded back into the house, soaking wet.
Then came the smell. Somehow, Grayson always manages to roll in the nastiest, stinkiest substances. I've no idea how exactly she knows where to head, but believe me, every time she's ever gotten out, she comes back smeared. Which is never to her advantage, because it always leads to bathtime. And bathtime leads to
a miserable and soggy dog, shaking and sliding all over the house.
I Swear This Quote to be Truth:
"Stop BLEEDING!" said my friend Tracy, to her son Brendan.
"Why, Dana, WHY don't you want to be a mother?" People ask me. "Well, you see," I reply, "I never, ever have to tell my child to stop bleeding."
We went to the movies yesterday and saw Being John Malkovich. I can kind of take him or JM, but that John Cusack, he's cute. I like the long hair thing (as evidenced by my husband, maybe?)
