the slack daily

Where I Invent the Mullet.

Slackmistress, circa 2004

 

I just looked at this photo of myself, pulled from the depths of a nearly-dead computer that was sent out to pasture, and thought I don't look half bad with short hair. Maybe I could keep the front short, and just grow out the back.

Then I realized I invented the mullet.

A Letter to the Guy Reading War & Peace While Walking His Dog.

Hey There Dude Reading War & Peace While Walking Your Dog,

Most people are content to demonstrate their smartness by walking and chewing gum at the same time, but you, sir, you took that challenge and turned it up to eleven! First I thought perhaps you were working out your biceps with Tolstoy's giant tome of the effect of the Napoleonic Wars on Russian Aristocrats, but you made sure to crack the spine into submission as I walked by to show me that you were as serious as...well, War & Peace.

I can only imagine the conversations you have with your dog - who I imagine is ironically named Lenin because he likes his dog bed extra cold - at home. While Daisy and my most frequent conversation goes something like "HEY! GET OUT OF YOUR BUTT!" you must be discussing the cultural ramifications of Tsarist Upper Class Problems. (I got 99 problems but a Tsar ain't one.)

In the meantime, my hat is off to you, sir, in your quest to multitask your education with pet care. Just look where you're going, because Lenin just shit right in the middle of the sidewalk.

 

Love,

The Slackmistress
(Who is vaguely related to some Russian Aristocrats way back when.)

Soul Botox?

 

On Twitter: Me, Jan Libby, & Virginia Corbett.

THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG WITH THIS.

And that very wrong thing is: DID MISS PIGGY HAVE A FACELIFT?

Wild Kingdom

I used to smoke a lot of pot. Mostly because I dated someone who smoked a lot of pot. I liked pot, although after about six months every time that I inhaled it would feel like my throat was on fire. To my ex's credit, he'd drop a couple of ice cubes in the bong, but that didn't quell the feeling that my esophagus was melting.

I was told that all I needed was a vaporizer, but I decided that rather than purchase a device that was a gateway drug to nights of Pizza Hut and chipwiches that it was probably just easier not to smoke pot.

However, it was during one of these lost evenings that my then-boyfriend's roommate looked at his cats and said

Y'know what's weird? I have wild animals living in my house.

Some days I look at Daisy and wonder if aliens exist, do they have house pets?

I dress her up as a Detective to pass as human...

It Ain't Ozzie & Harriet.

Two things said to me in the last week:

Real Conversation #1:

The vomit should be more...chunky? Definitely chunks of things in it. Less transparent, more vomit-like.

Real Conversation #2

If the TV guy gets here in the next ten minutes, I won't be available. I mean, I'll be here, but I won't be available. I'll be in the bathroom. Because...well, you know. Okay, I'll be pooping, okay? I WILL BE POOPING!

I don't want kids because I was trying to avoid vomit and poop. But clearly IT IS LEGION.

...

You still have one more day to win a pair of free jeans from the GAP! More info here.

Booze 0, God 1.

 Yesterday was spent with my butt firmly planted (and do I mean firmly, unless you stake out a cushy chair you are in for eight hours of butt-numbing torture) in the 11th floor juror's room at the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center (which is reviewed...on Yelp?) I wasn't picked for a jury, and at 4pm, we were released with our civic duty done for another year. I walked down to the Walt Disney Concert Hall where they have jurors park, taking a mental snapshot of what direction I'd have to head in to get home.

I've lived in Los Angeles for nearly fifteen years now, and there are still sections of the city where I have no idea where I am. But I just needed to remember where west was, and I'd be okay.

After driving the maze to get out of the garage, I hopped in the left turn lane only to realize too late that it was the wrong left turn lane, and turn after turn had me, well, turned around. I finally found my way to Figueroa.

A street I recognized! After all, Will and I have spent many an evening at the bar at the Hotel Fig.

As I drove I realized that while one of us was always a Designated Driver, we drove to the Hotel Fig and back. There wasn't a lot of wandering around the neighborhood.

I swung my car around and found myself back at Grand Avenue.

Oh, good, I thought, I know where the Seven Grand is!

And then realized...I was in the same predicament as before.

As I turned down Temple, I recognized the Cathedral of St. Lady of the Angels, which is something I would always pass as I took the 101 into downtown. I did the mental math.

If the Cathedral is on my right as I'm heading downtown, and now I'm on the other side of the Cathedral, it should be on my right as I head home....

I turned my car around again, finally headed in the right direction home.

God: 1. Booze: 0.

Next time, booze. Next time...

...

You still have a week to get your entries in to be a guest host of LAGenX radio!  Stay tuned for our entry, which should be headed your way this weekend...

The Slackmistress Mailbag

There is a candy-apple red 2009 Corvette that has been parked outside of our apartment building for days. Some may say it classes up the joint, but it's the sort of car that I expect an 1980's high school movie villain to pop out of at any minute.

Is he still awaiting my never-developed Reality Show, The Two Billys?

From the slackmistress mailbox:

Why do you hate children? I'm referring to this.

First of all, the child in that blog post is THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD. But I still can't understand how peopel can not wrap their head around the fact that I don't want kids, yet I do not hate kids. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Kids are awesome! You can brainwash them in any way you choose and send them into the world like adorable little propaganda machines! They can be your designated driver when they get their Learner's Permit! Their tiny little hands can fit into the toaster when you have a stuck bagel!*

It's sort of like Golden Retriever. I like Golden Retrievers. I just don't want one of my own.

The Billy Zabka of dogs?

Dear Reader: I hope this clears things up for you. If you'd like to ask the slackmistress a question, click on that link on the upper left part of the screen and fire away.


ALSO: I invented a word yesterday, which is Drunklexic. It's when you transpose letters because you've been drinking. Please use and abuse at will.



*Okay, this is a lie. Everyone knows I don't really do carbs.

Urf Day

Today is Earth Day, where we're all supposed to don hemp panties and write a post about how green we all are. Then someone is supposed to comment that we're doing it wrong, that they're greener than us because they not only separate the paper from the plastic but they also drive a Prius. And then someone else is supposed to interject that we're both full of shit, because not only do they separate the paper from the plastic but they don't even own a car. And the someone else is supposed to jump in I'm a breatharian so I don't even rape Mother Earth for her delicious, delicious vegetables. PNWED!

A friend of mine once asked me if I was green and I said yes, and in fact when I was growing up I hated my olive complexion so much that I used to slather on this lavender goo to give me the peaches-and-cream complexion that my WASPy brethren had.

She doesn't speak to me anymore.

I'm not anti-Earth Day. I love the Earth. Without the Earth I'd be floating somewhere in the atmosphere and you can't breath out there without a special suit and while I love dress-up, an astronaut suit would make my ass look fat, and when I'd ask Will if my ass looked fat in this astronaut suit he'd be all you are the most beautiful woman alive and then I'd know he'd be lying and then we'd get in a big fight so let's keep the Earth around, mmkay?

To sum up:

Earth = good.
Will = good.
Astronaut suits = puffy.
Breatharians = hungry.

 

With Hilary Duff  at the Environmental Media Awards in 2001. We won for the Lizzie McGuire episode "Obsession." (This picture is pre-jaw surgery, so yes, my smile looks different.)

Galliano or Gygax?

I don't follow fashion. I'm mostly interested in personal style (on a budget!)

But this model from John Galliano's most recent show (via Jezebel) caught my eye:

A D & D character:

Maybe next year's line will be inspired by the Fiend Folio?