I don’t post on the weekends because I don’t DO ANYTHING!

I did not go to Rosie’s b-day party Friday because I forgot about it. Saturday, I did not lay out because it wasn’t sunny enough. (I did mow the lawn for a couple hours, though.) Today, I haven’t even left the house. It’s four in the afternoon and all I’ve done today is get laid, eat breakfast, read a little, laugh my ass off at the Vonnage (sp?) commercial with the bottle rocket, and take a nap.

In that order.

Right now I think I’m going to go downstairs and make myself a s’more in the microwave. (Note: if you’ve never done it, putting marshmallows in a microwave is entirely too much fun to be any kind of legal.)

Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit more a burn line than an actual tan line, but the lineness remains unchallenged. The itching, you’ll be pleased to learn, is minor. And I’m not red. Er, not all over. Some of me is brown. BROWN, I say.

I am so laying out on Friday. Maybe even on the pond. I’ll have to buy a new floatie, since last year’s are all crumpled up at the edges of the pond leaking toxic plastic waste into the water and no doubt creating three-eyed fish…

…no, wait. The pond is smack dab hard on the edge of a thousand acres of commercially cultivated cropland. Any three-eyed fish in residence certainly won’t be the result of letting a couple of plastic floaties overwinter in the pond. But I really do need to get up there and collect the dead floaties and throw them away, I’m such a horrible land steward.

If you click here you can download edited MP3s of N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton – edited down into just the swearing.

I am pleased to announce that I have begun my Quest for a Tan 2005 with a lovely foundation sunburn. (And before you all lecture me about skin cancer, please know that I only do this every three or four years, and I rarely succeed in getting very far because it gets so damn hot and sticky in Iowa that lying out becomes a form of such hideous self-torture that not even the desire to be a delicious nut brown can get me motivated.)

Around eleven this morning I put on my hideous off-the-rack string bikini (which was designed to fit a mannikin and no human woman that ever lived, but it’s a string bikini so it’s quasi-adjustable), and took my spray suntan oil (SPF, like, probably a negative number) and a blanket out into the yard/orchard. I spent three or four sessions out there today in ten or twenty minute intervals and have achieved that loftiest of goals: A TAN LINE. Yes! Well begun is half done, as they say!

On my front, that is. I didn’t expose my back to the sun due to the new tattoo still settling in there. And while I do have a couple of red, rather itchy areas upon my person, I DON’T CARE. BECAUSE I HAVE TAN LINES.

I got back from the grocery store shortly past dusk last night. Brett and I were in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags and putting food away when this exchange occurred:

Brett: Mushlette, I think we really need to buy a peahen for the peacock.
Mush: Why? What happened?
Brett: I saw the peacock fucking his own feathers today.
Mush: YOU SAW NO SUCH THING!
Brett: Yes, yes I did.
Mush: His own feathers? How did this work?
Brett: He had his tail out and was humping it and biting it. I think he even came.
Mush: Oh my God, I can’t believe it.
Brett: We seriously need to get him a girlfriend. This has gone way too far.

When you get tattooed at Jade Dragon, they give you a little packet of A&D ointment for aftercare. A&D is a vitamin A and D ointment that you use to keep your new art moist, to help stop it from scabbing. They also give you a little card that tells you to use Preparation H for the next two weeks after the A&D runs out.

I just went to Walmart and could’t find Preparation H, so I grabbed a tube of Neosporin ointment and came back to work. My tattoo is itching and I haven’t put anything on it since about 8:30 this morning, and I figured Neosporin would work just fine. But then I thought I’d look it up, just to be sure. It’s got lots of crazy shit in it and I wondered if any of it would react with the ink or something.

I became totally confused.

I’ve read about nine different pages on tattoo care, and they are all utterly contradictory. One says use Neosporin, another says never use it, another says use only Neosporin cream and never the ointment. Another says use Preparation H, another says never use Preparation H at all, while others say use any good hand lotion. Still others say use only Curel! Or use a lanolin lotion! No, don’t use lanolin!

It’s fucking absurd.

I finally found this page, which says Neosporin is fine as long as you don’t react to it, which I don’t. So I’m putting some on.

I also found a page that says tattoos really hurt. The chick who wrote it has five. I have three, I didn’t find that they “really hurt.” Well, actually it does hurt for the first five to ten minutes, but after that it’s all groovy because you get all those lovely endorphins swimming through your bloodstream. Once you hit the zone you could probably sit in the chair for hours, but the first few minutes are a little rough. The same page recommends that women be careful where they get ink because they will eventually be discriminated against. The whole idea just cracks me up.

Anyway, note to women everywhere: check your calendar before getting a low back tattoo! The first time I got a low back tattoo was the day before my period started. This time I thought my timing was fine… but, alas, it wasn’t. Something about the combination of cramping and bloating and a fresh new low back tattoo just utterly fails to be an amusing physical sensation. I mean, it’s not exactly torture, but if you can avoid the sensation please do.

Brett has no work to do. This means he’s home making a mess, probably doing absolutely no honey-do list items (he thinks he’s a hero if he just bothers to mow the lawn), and he’s all spastic and ready to interface when I get home from work. Not that I mind talking to my DH, but after a day at the Internet I don’t necessarily feel all chatty for three hours when I get home. He’s so high maintenence when he’s well-rested!

AF is here. Ugh. I feel utterly wiped out and personality-free. Not to mention the cramps. I want chocolate.

We’re still broke. But at least we have groovy new ink, and great anniversary weekend in Chi-town memories!

One of LISCO’s web servers was recently hacked, which means I’m knee-deep in the process of moving multiple web sites from the hacked server to our preferred out-sourced hosting solution. This process, believe you me, is TEDIOUS. AS. HELL. It involves logging into the current server and hand-transferring (read: typing) all the existing email users and aliases into the new interface. Then FTPing the site from the old server to my computer and then from my computer to the new host. Then contacting the customer and trying to get them to give me all their email passwords since they’re encrypted on the old server and I can’t see them. THEN I have to try to get the customer to go to each and every email client and change the username from, for instance, ‘mmm’ to ‘mmm.goblinbox.com.’ It’s a fucking nightmare, believe you me. Once all that’s done, THEN I get to do the fun part: DNS.

Did I say ugh yet?

I went through the bank drive-thru to deposit some money while I was out getting lunch earlier. The teller gave me $10 that they’d shorted Mr. Brett when he was there earlier cashing a check.

I love you people. Many of you are desperate to learn how to ping from OSX, and I don’t blame you. Others want to know more about PPC apps or skins. Some of you are STILL SURFING FOR PORN WITH MSN, and you make me sad.

It’s today’s how you found this site, courtesy my beloved L10 hit counter.

Almost every day, someone wants to know how to build a nuke. I suspect this doesn’t bode well.

I have a new tattoo.