Florida or Germany?



To enlighten herself further Eleanor downloaded a clip from Car Stuck Girls, and while she was studying it she noticed that the girl in white stiletto boots revving the seriously overstrained engine had a distinctly Euro accent (Oh, vat vill becomen of me?), not the Tennessee or Texas twang that you would have expected.

When she told me, it dawned on me that the purveyors of this site weren't rednecks that had somehow sexually imprinted on tractor pull type activity, but GERMANS! Of course! How could I have been so blind? Who else but Germans would be so weirdly depraved?



Even though the girls who star in the videos look homegrown and like they strutted right out of a ZZ Top video, I thought there was something suspiciously Teutonic about the site. I mean, why were these ladies running Audis and Volkswagons into the ground instead of Chevys or Fords?



Germans and rednecks do have a surprising amount in common, proven time and again by Loveline's Florida or Germany game, where callers call in to the show and read a bizarre news story that took place in either place. Adam Corolla and Dr. Drew have to guess the provenance of the story and they are often stumped.



This site has a brilliant cross cultural appeal because it combines the perversion of Germans with the redneck's love of cars and mud. I have a feeling that it does quite well.

Florida or Germany?

To enlighten herself further Eleanor downloaded a clip from Car Stuck Girls, and while she was studying it she noticed that the girl in white stiletto boots revving the seriously overstrained engine had a distinctly Euro accent (Oh, vat vill becomen of me?), not the Tennessee or Texas twang that you would have expected.
When she told me, it dawned on me that the purveyors of this site weren't rednecks that had somehow sexually imprinted on tractor pull type activity, but GERMANS! Of course! How could I have been so blind? Who else but Germans would be so weirdly depraved?

Even though the girls who star in the videos look homegrown and like they strutted right out of a ZZ Top video, I thought there was something suspiciously Teutonic about the site. I mean, why were these ladies running Audis and Volkswagons into the ground instead of Chevys or Fords?

Germans and rednecks do have a surprising amount in common, proven time and again by Loveline's Florida or Germany game, where callers call in to the show and read a bizarre news story that took place in either place. Adam Corolla and Dr. Drew have to guess the provenance of the story and they are often stumped.

This site has a brilliant cross cultural appeal because it combines the perversion of Germans with the redneck's love of cars and mud. I have a feeling that it does quite well.

Damsels in Distress Doing Terrible Things to Cars

Or, Unstuck her Truck then F**k



Thank you to Eleanor for this website that offers a fascinating glimpse into a fetish that I was completely unaware existed: Car Stuck Girls. The fetish (or convergence of fetishes) is complicated and I'm still trying to sort it out, but it has something to do with silly, sexy girls who have gotten themselves into a real automotive bind in a deserted locale and need to be rescued by a big, strong man who knows something about freeing cars. At least that's my take. Any theories out there?



I like how the make and model of the car are important elements to the fantasy, as well as whatever substance has mired the ladies down. Each DVD and photo gallery is categorized according to car and situation. Although ice, sand, clay, and wet grass scenarios are available, mud seems to be a favorite entrapment because (I guess) after the girls get themselves hopelessly entrenched by doing all of the things you're not supposed to do when you get bogged down (like spin the tires until black smoke pours off of them), they can turn on each other in frustration and get down to some foxy mud wrestling.



DVDs are available and operators are standing by.

Damsels in Distress Doing Terrible Things to Cars
Or, Unstuck her Truck then F**k

Thank you to Eleanor for this website that offers a fascinating glimpse into a fetish that I was completely unaware existed: Car Stuck Girls. The fetish (or convergence of fetishes) is complicated and I'm still trying to sort it out, but it has something to do with silly, sexy girls who have gotten themselves into a real automotive bind in a deserted locale and need to be rescued by a big, strong man who knows something about freeing cars. At least that's my take. Any theories out there?

I like how the make and model of the car are important elements to the fantasy, as well as whatever substance has mired the ladies down. Each DVD and photo gallery is categorized according to car and situation. Although ice, sand, clay, and wet grass scenarios are available, mud seems to be a favorite entrapment because (I guess) after the girls get themselves hopelessly entrenched by doing all of the things you're not supposed to do when you get bogged down (like spin the tires until black smoke pours off of them), they can turn on each other in frustration and get down to some foxy mud wrestling.

DVDs are available and operators are standing by.

The Street Sheet

Punky and the Very Special Birthday Present



A beat cop spotted Punky skulking toward the alley behind this neighborhood’s Catholic elementary school. Acting on a hunch, the cop trailed him into the alley, where she caught Punky on his knees in flagrante delicto  performing an 807 (lewd and obscene public act) on another local park regular. They were doing this in full view of the rear of the school, which is lined with large paned windowed classrooms full of children. Punky, the height of discretion.



When the police officer asked Punky what he thought he was doing, Punky replied, “Well, it’s John’s birthday and I wanted to give him a present.” The police officer made sure to wish John a happy birthday as she booked them both.

The Street Sheet
Punky and the Very Special Birthday Present

A beat cop spotted Punky skulking toward the alley behind this neighborhood’s Catholic elementary school. Acting on a hunch, the cop trailed him into the alley, where she caught Punky on his knees in flagrante delicto  performing an 807 (lewd and obscene public act) on another local park regular. They were doing this in full view of the rear of the school, which is lined with large paned windowed classrooms full of children. Punky, the height of discretion.

When the police officer asked Punky what he thought he was doing, Punky replied, “Well, it’s John’s birthday and I wanted to give him a present.” The police officer made sure to wish John a happy birthday as she booked them both.

Library of Sand and Fog

The mysterious branch



The branch where I was stationed yesterday is rumored to be haunted, although the staff is very cagey and evasive if you ask them about it. The branch is in old Carnegie library, and like many Carnegies, is built in the Classical Revival architectural style: beautiful and grand, but a little reminiscent of a mausoleum. The neighborhood that this library is in is near the ocean and so it almost always damp, misty, and fogged in, which adds to the library’s overall eerie and mysterious atmosphere.



The first time I worked there was on Halloween night, appropriately enough. I was the only librarian and the evening was uneventful until right before closing. Most of the lights had been turned off, and the staff had completed their final rounds through the aisles to ensure all of the patrons were out of the building, a procedure known as the 'creep sweep.’ It was a chilly night and the steam radiators had been hissing and clanking industriously all evening, but all of the sudden they started rapidly popping, almost like automatic gunfire, and just as deafening. The clanging was interspersed with an occasional loud thud as if someone was throwing books of the shelves with great force onto the linoleum floor. The thudding sounded like it was coming from the back of one of the dark aisles instead of one of the radiators, which I thought at first must have been an acoustical trick. Although I was sure that no one could possibly be back there, I decided to go investigate, because the last thing I wanted to do was lock a patron in the library over night. I had just heard about a notorious incident where one a homeless woman had hidden in one of the rooms of another branch that didn’t have a motion detector alarm on Christmas Eve and had been locked in. Just before midnight she had decided that she didn’t want to be there and had called the police from the inside line. The manager had to get out of bed to go let her out and deal with the situation and he was understandably put out with his staff. I didn’t want anything like that happening under my watch, so just to make absolutely sure there were no stowaways I headed down the dark aisle from where I thought the noise was emanating. As I started to go back there I noticed that the staff was acting a little strange and one of them told me over all the noise,



"It's nothing. Let's go."



Now it sounded like someone was banging on the radiator pipes furiously with a hammer. I was about halfway through the aisle and could see no one, but I just had the undeniable feeling that someone was there. Then one of the staff said loudly,



"I promise you, it's nothing. Let's go."



Not seeing anyone, or anything, but still detecting some kind of presence, I reluctantly followed the rest of the staff out into the night, who seemed very relieved once we were all out the library door. When we exited the library I noticed that all of the hair was standing up on my neck and arms and I had a bad case of cold chills. I shit you not.



Months went by and I was talking to another librarian who likes to dish and has been in the system forever and that branch happened to come up in conversation and he said,



"You know that branch is haunted."



He told me that he had a supernatural experience there himself. To get to the staff room you have to walk through a basement storage area. He was on his break headed toward the staff room when he had the strange urge to read his book in a chair by a bookshelf in the storage room instead of the break room. As he was reading he had the distinct feeling that someone was looking over his shoulder. He slowly turned his head around and of course, there was no one there. He detected no malevolence in the presence - it was as if someone had been looking over his shoulder in a friendly and curious way to ask,



"Hey, whatcha reading?"



He closed his book and walked right back up the stairs, his neck and arm hair all raised, like mine had been.



Supposedly the staff became reluctant to work in the branch alone before the library opens. One night one saw out of the corner of her eye a woman in a long skirt heading for the children’s room. right before closing. When she went to tell the woman that the library was closing, there was no one there.



MMMMMWWWWAAAA



Some of the Buddhist staff members started leaving little offerings for the presence, and recently did a cleansing ceremony, and unexplained activity has subsided almost to nothing. I was secretly a little thrilled when I had to go down to the basement to retrieve Frederick out of storage, but felt nothing, much to my disappointment and relief. I'm not sure if I believe in the supernatural anyway, so who knows if there was anything there at all. The libraries are haunted by enough lost souls that are living, though, so it make sense to me that one or two dead ones might become waylaid there. Maybe that poor lost soul has finally found its way and moved on.



I'll leave you with a quote from Ghostbusters.



Dr. Raymond Stantz: Of course you forget, Peter, I was present at an unexplained, unseen mass sponge migration!

Dr. Peter Venkman: Uh, Ray, the sponges migrated about a foot-and-a-half.

Library of Sand and Fog
The mysterious branch

The branch where I was stationed yesterday is rumored to be haunted, although the staff is very cagey and evasive if you ask them about it. The branch is in old Carnegie library, and like many Carnegies, is built in the Classical Revival architectural style: beautiful and grand, but a little reminiscent of a mausoleum. The neighborhood that this library is in is near the ocean and so it almost always damp, misty, and fogged in, which adds to the library’s overall eerie and mysterious atmosphere.

The first time I worked there was on Halloween night, appropriately enough. I was the only librarian and the evening was uneventful until right before closing. Most of the lights had been turned off, and the staff had completed their final rounds through the aisles to ensure all of the patrons were out of the building, a procedure known as the 'creep sweep.’ It was a chilly night and the steam radiators had been hissing and clanking industriously all evening, but all of the sudden they started rapidly popping, almost like automatic gunfire, and just as deafening. The clanging was interspersed with an occasional loud thud as if someone was throwing books of the shelves with great force onto the linoleum floor. The thudding sounded like it was coming from the back of one of the dark aisles instead of one of the radiators, which I thought at first must have been an acoustical trick. Although I was sure that no one could possibly be back there, I decided to go investigate, because the last thing I wanted to do was lock a patron in the library over night. I had just heard about a notorious incident where one a homeless woman had hidden in one of the rooms of another branch that didn’t have a motion detector alarm on Christmas Eve and had been locked in. Just before midnight she had decided that she didn’t want to be there and had called the police from the inside line. The manager had to get out of bed to go let her out and deal with the situation and he was understandably put out with his staff. I didn’t want anything like that happening under my watch, so just to make absolutely sure there were no stowaways I headed down the dark aisle from where I thought the noise was emanating. As I started to go back there I noticed that the staff was acting a little strange and one of them told me over all the noise,

"It's nothing. Let's go."

Now it sounded like someone was banging on the radiator pipes furiously with a hammer. I was about halfway through the aisle and could see no one, but I just had the undeniable feeling that someone was there. Then one of the staff said loudly,

"I promise you, it's nothing. Let's go."

Not seeing anyone, or anything, but still detecting some kind of presence, I reluctantly followed the rest of the staff out into the night, who seemed very relieved once we were all out the library door. When we exited the library I noticed that all of the hair was standing up on my neck and arms and I had a bad case of cold chills. I shit you not.

Months went by and I was talking to another librarian who likes to dish and has been in the system forever and that branch happened to come up in conversation and he said,

"You know that branch is haunted."

He told me that he had a supernatural experience there himself. To get to the staff room you have to walk through a basement storage area. He was on his break headed toward the staff room when he had the strange urge to read his book in a chair by a bookshelf in the storage room instead of the break room. As he was reading he had the distinct feeling that someone was looking over his shoulder. He slowly turned his head around and of course, there was no one there. He detected no malevolence in the presence - it was as if someone had been looking over his shoulder in a friendly and curious way to ask,

"Hey, whatcha reading?"

He closed his book and walked right back up the stairs, his neck and arm hair all raised, like mine had been.

Supposedly the staff became reluctant to work in the branch alone before the library opens. One night one saw out of the corner of her eye a woman in a long skirt heading for the children’s room. right before closing. When she went to tell the woman that the library was closing, there was no one there.

MMMMMWWWWAAAA

Some of the Buddhist staff members started leaving little offerings for the presence, and recently did a cleansing ceremony, and unexplained activity has subsided almost to nothing. I was secretly a little thrilled when I had to go down to the basement to retrieve Frederick out of storage, but felt nothing, much to my disappointment and relief. I'm not sure if I believe in the supernatural anyway, so who knows if there was anything there at all. The libraries are haunted by enough lost souls that are living, though, so it make sense to me that one or two dead ones might become waylaid there. Maybe that poor lost soul has finally found its way and moved on.

I'll leave you with a quote from Ghostbusters.

Dr. Raymond Stantz: Of course you forget, Peter, I was present at an unexplained, unseen mass sponge migration!
Dr. Peter Venkman: Uh, Ray, the sponges migrated about a foot-and-a-half.

Another One Rides the Bus



While I was waiting for the bus to go to work today the sky bottomed out and the buses became so crowded that I thought for a moment that the entire city was being evacuated. I have never seen the buses so overloaded - it was like rush hour in Tokyo or Mexico City. Like Tokyo, the bus could have used some people pushers, because passengers were not being good team players and refused to share their space until they were coerced by the sheer mass of humanity forcing its way onto the buses.



It was Bedlam in every sense of the word, because half of the passengers were certifiably insane, looking for a cozy place to get out of the rain, I presume, or were having psychotic episodes triggered by the crowded conditions. Though the inside of my bus was like one huge writhing scrum, people did manage to give the man who appeared to be having a violent argument with himself plenty of personal space. It was a frotteur and pickpocket’s dream. At one point the bus picked up a bunch of African American high school students and one of them, a girl, shouted indignantly,



"People be putting their ASSES on me!"



Which totally made my day.

Another One Rides the Bus

While I was waiting for the bus to go to work today the sky bottomed out and the buses became so crowded that I thought for a moment that the entire city was being evacuated. I have never seen the buses so overloaded - it was like rush hour in Tokyo or Mexico City. Like Tokyo, the bus could have used some people pushers, because passengers were not being good team players and refused to share their space until they were coerced by the sheer mass of humanity forcing its way onto the buses.

It was Bedlam in every sense of the word, because half of the passengers were certifiably insane, looking for a cozy place to get out of the rain, I presume, or were having psychotic episodes triggered by the crowded conditions. Though the inside of my bus was like one huge writhing scrum, people did manage to give the man who appeared to be having a violent argument with himself plenty of personal space. It was a frotteur and pickpocket’s dream. At one point the bus picked up a bunch of African American high school students and one of them, a girl, shouted indignantly,

"People be putting their ASSES on me!"

Which totally made my day.

Teacher's Pet



"Miss Oslen, you so nice. Next year I'm going to come back with a gun and kill all the teachers except for you."



What one of my friend's sister's pupils told her when she taught 3rd grade in inner city Atlanta for a year. It's the little things that make teaching so rewarding.

Teacher's Pet

"Miss Oslen, you so nice. Next year I'm going to come back with a gun and kill all the teachers except for you."

What one of my friend's sister's pupils told her when she taught 3rd grade in inner city Atlanta for a year. It's the little things that make teaching so rewarding.

Sleepy Time

Maybe there's a carbon monoxide leak upstairs, because I just had to wake up 5 men who were in the deepest stages of REM in the magazine area of this branch. Rather than wake each one up individually, I just clapped my hands, stomped my feet, and hollered, "No sleeping in the library!" I then hightailed it down the stairs and skulked behind the circulation counter for a while. Sleepy homeless can be very grumpy and unpredictable when startled awake.



Earlier tonight, I noticed one of the homeless patrons hawking and then spitting in a large potted plant. A patron had donated that plant to beautify the library and now it was being used as a spittoon, and this outraged me. I told him that I would call the police in a jiffy if he didn't stop immediately. He harrumphed and then began flipping through Time Magazine, disrespecting my authoriTAY, not intimidated by me in the least.



I'm beginning to dread Tuesday nights because I feel extremely vulnerable. We have no security guards, and there are just some other female librarians here with me and the rest of the support staff are these non threatening, beautiful Asian girls, an old manager's fetish made manifest. I wish this branch would hire some giant thugs to shelve the books like some of the other branches have, because I promise you patrons think twice about acting up when I'm at a branch that has some muscle.

Sleepy Time
Maybe there's a carbon monoxide leak upstairs, because I just had to wake up 5 men who were in the deepest stages of REM in the magazine area of this branch. Rather than wake each one up individually, I just clapped my hands, stomped my feet, and hollered, "No sleeping in the library!" I then hightailed it down the stairs and skulked behind the circulation counter for a while. Sleepy homeless can be very grumpy and unpredictable when startled awake.

Earlier tonight, I noticed one of the homeless patrons hawking and then spitting in a large potted plant. A patron had donated that plant to beautify the library and now it was being used as a spittoon, and this outraged me. I told him that I would call the police in a jiffy if he didn't stop immediately. He harrumphed and then began flipping through Time Magazine, disrespecting my authoriTAY, not intimidated by me in the least.

I'm beginning to dread Tuesday nights because I feel extremely vulnerable. We have no security guards, and there are just some other female librarians here with me and the rest of the support staff are these non threatening, beautiful Asian girls, an old manager's fetish made manifest. I wish this branch would hire some giant thugs to shelve the books like some of the other branches have, because I promise you patrons think twice about acting up when I'm at a branch that has some muscle.

When my little sister and her friend Kate were in town last week we all went to the Benefit makeup bar to have a morning of beauty. Since the girls only had $1500 worth of NARS products between them (that is not an exaggeration), I figured they could use more cosmetics so we went to Benefit to load up.



Elizabeth and I spent most of our time at Benefit having a deep and meaningful discussion with the very personable gay makeup stylist about who was destined to be America's Next Top Model. I have incredibly louche taste in television and our entire household has been transfixed by this show about 10 girls desperately competing to win a modeling contract, definitely a new low in reality TV. Anyway, we debated at length the merits and flaws of each remaining girl: Shandi's rap sheet , Yowana's strangely loose skin, Mercedes' fortitude in the face of a potentially life threatening autoimmune disorder.



We marveled at Shandi's scandalous sexual indescretion with the Italian model, and all had a good laugh about how embarrassingly easy American girls are. One time a girl I met at a wedding who told me about how she was staying at a youth hostel in Florence before she was to begin her semester abroad. She met this other American girl and they decided to go to Rome. The girl seemed sane and friendly and they were having a good time together until they got lost in Rome and the girl approached a policeman to ask for directions. While her travel companion was getting directions my friend consulted her Lonely Planet, and when she looked up from the book she was startled to see her friend making out with the policeman on the steps of a church they were standing on, like they were all in some bad music video, a Mentos commerical, or a porno. My friend was shocked but she was sheltered and afraid to go off by herself so she tagged along reluctantly to dinner with the girl and her new police boyfriend. The two inamoratos were all over each other the entire meal, but the policeman thoughtfully brought along one of his friends for her, a middle aged, obviously married man, who spoke little English and stared hungrily at my friend while he made passes at her throughout the entire extremely uncomfortable meal. The girl then ditched my friend for the night to go off with the policeman and my friend sensibly got right on the next train back to Florence, and, now with her internal skank detector sharpened, became a little wiser from then on about her choices in travel companions.

When my little sister and her friend Kate were in town last week we all went to the Benefit makeup bar to have a morning of beauty. Since the girls only had $1500 worth of NARS products between them (that is not an exaggeration), I figured they could use more cosmetics so we went to Benefit to load up.

Elizabeth and I spent most of our time at Benefit having a deep and meaningful discussion with the very personable gay makeup stylist about who was destined to be America's Next Top Model. I have incredibly louche taste in television and our entire household has been transfixed by this show about 10 girls desperately competing to win a modeling contract, definitely a new low in reality TV. Anyway, we debated at length the merits and flaws of each remaining girl: Shandi's rap sheet , Yowana's strangely loose skin, Mercedes' fortitude in the face of a potentially life threatening autoimmune disorder.

We marveled at Shandi's scandalous sexual indescretion with the Italian model, and all had a good laugh about how embarrassingly easy American girls are. One time a girl I met at a wedding who told me about how she was staying at a youth hostel in Florence before she was to begin her semester abroad. She met this other American girl and they decided to go to Rome. The girl seemed sane and friendly and they were having a good time together until they got lost in Rome and the girl approached a policeman to ask for directions. While her travel companion was getting directions my friend consulted her Lonely Planet, and when she looked up from the book she was startled to see her friend making out with the policeman on the steps of a church they were standing on, like they were all in some bad music video, a Mentos commerical, or a porno. My friend was shocked but she was sheltered and afraid to go off by herself so she tagged along reluctantly to dinner with the girl and her new police boyfriend. The two inamoratos were all over each other the entire meal, but the policeman thoughtfully brought along one of his friends for her, a middle aged, obviously married man, who spoke little English and stared hungrily at my friend while he made passes at her throughout the entire extremely uncomfortable meal. The girl then ditched my friend for the night to go off with the policeman and my friend sensibly got right on the next train back to Florence, and, now with her internal skank detector sharpened, became a little wiser from then on about her choices in travel companions.

MALFEASANCE!



As I predicted, we were thoroughly routed during our first game against Red Fish Blue Fish. We did manage to score one point toward the end of the match, though, and, in a demonstration of class and spirit, celebrated in the endzone by spiking the Frisbee, thrusting our pelvises savagely into the air a bunch of times, and then doing a spirited Highland Fling. Take that, RFBF! I did the exact same thing after I shoved my cousin Eden out of the way to intercept the bridal bouquet at the last family wedding.



The highlight of the day was beating a better team that several of our better men had defected to. If Ted had a soundtrack playing while we were shaking hands at the end of the game it would have been, “I’m Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.



San Jose has been having a drought so the ground was like cement with some grass thrown over it on which our cleats could find no purchase. We were all slipping and falling which we thought was comical until the groin and leg muscles started ripping. I hit the ground hard a couple of times and today I am so sore that I screamed when I sneezed.



The bad news is that some punks went on a real crime spree in the parking lot of the high school where the tournament was held. A slew of cars were burglarized and several windows were smashed. Elizabeth’s purse with BOTH of our wallets was stolen out of our car, which the little assholes jimmied open. So, we been canceling credit cards, filing police reports, and doing all of that other tedious business to restore our affairs in order. The perpetrators used Elizabeth's card to gas up, but that's all they managed to do before we canceled the cards. I hope you fry in hell, delinquents!



Yesterday was a very inauspicious day. Eleanor had a woodworking accident and nearly severed her left index finger (which I call my shushing finger), destroying her handmodeling dreams. I wish that we could regenerate like starfish but since we can't, let's all be extra careful with our digits.

MALFEASANCE!

As I predicted, we were thoroughly routed during our first game against Red Fish Blue Fish. We did manage to score one point toward the end of the match, though, and, in a demonstration of class and spirit, celebrated in the endzone by spiking the Frisbee, thrusting our pelvises savagely into the air a bunch of times, and then doing a spirited Highland Fling. Take that, RFBF! I did the exact same thing after I shoved my cousin Eden out of the way to intercept the bridal bouquet at the last family wedding.

The highlight of the day was beating a better team that several of our better men had defected to. If Ted had a soundtrack playing while we were shaking hands at the end of the game it would have been, “I’m Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves.

San Jose has been having a drought so the ground was like cement with some grass thrown over it on which our cleats could find no purchase. We were all slipping and falling which we thought was comical until the groin and leg muscles started ripping. I hit the ground hard a couple of times and today I am so sore that I screamed when I sneezed.

The bad news is that some punks went on a real crime spree in the parking lot of the high school where the tournament was held. A slew of cars were burglarized and several windows were smashed. Elizabeth’s purse with BOTH of our wallets was stolen out of our car, which the little assholes jimmied open. So, we been canceling credit cards, filing police reports, and doing all of that other tedious business to restore our affairs in order. The perpetrators used Elizabeth's card to gas up, but that's all they managed to do before we canceled the cards. I hope you fry in hell, delinquents!

Yesterday was a very inauspicious day. Eleanor had a woodworking accident and nearly severed her left index finger (which I call my shushing finger), destroying her handmodeling dreams. I wish that we could regenerate like starfish but since we can't, let's all be extra careful with our digits.

This morning I went to Dogster to add new nicknames for the puppies: for Spoon, "Spo'Nique" and for Billy, "Son of Sam." I was thoroughly disgruntled when I couldn't find either of the dogs on the site nor open my account. Billy Jack and Spoon's profiles had been expunged! I thought at first Dogster had removed their profiles because maybe I mentioned something on Billy's profile about how it would have been better for everyone involved if we had just drowned him when he was a puppy, but it turns out the reason that the dogs' profiles were missing is that Dogster was inundated back in March. Dogster was unable to withstand the volume, so many of the dogs added in March 'ran away' permanently.



I also have this icy, queasy dread in my stomach because tomorrow is the first real Ultimate frisbee tournament of the season, and I am woefully unprepared. My only off season conditioning has been sporadic Bikram classes and a 3 mile stroll with the puppies each morning, which won't be of much use to me tomorrow, especially for our first game against one of the top seeded teams in the country. I suspect the rest of my team has the same lackadaisical approach toward their training regimen. I predict a wholesale slaughter, like Gallipoli or Wounded Knee.



My branch has been slammed today! For some odd reason this branch is nestled amidst all of these tattoo parlors, at least four of them. This is a very touristy part of town, so people must think that getting a tattoo on a whim and a lark while they're on vacation is a good idea. Or at least they do at the time. So far today I have had to find images for three different people wanting tattoos. Google images makes this child's play, so I had no problem finding a griffin, a crouching tiger, and a rearing stallion. I'm not so into body altering myself, but if I did have a superfluous nipple I think I would have to get it pierced.

This morning I went to Dogster to add new nicknames for the puppies: for Spoon, "Spo'Nique" and for Billy, "Son of Sam." I was thoroughly disgruntled when I couldn't find either of the dogs on the site nor open my account. Billy Jack and Spoon's profiles had been expunged! I thought at first Dogster had removed their profiles because maybe I mentioned something on Billy's profile about how it would have been better for everyone involved if we had just drowned him when he was a puppy, but it turns out the reason that the dogs' profiles were missing is that Dogster was inundated back in March. Dogster was unable to withstand the volume, so many of the dogs added in March 'ran away' permanently.

I also have this icy, queasy dread in my stomach because tomorrow is the first real Ultimate frisbee tournament of the season, and I am woefully unprepared. My only off season conditioning has been sporadic Bikram classes and a 3 mile stroll with the puppies each morning, which won't be of much use to me tomorrow, especially for our first game against one of the top seeded teams in the country. I suspect the rest of my team has the same lackadaisical approach toward their training regimen. I predict a wholesale slaughter, like Gallipoli or Wounded Knee.

My branch has been slammed today! For some odd reason this branch is nestled amidst all of these tattoo parlors, at least four of them. This is a very touristy part of town, so people must think that getting a tattoo on a whim and a lark while they're on vacation is a good idea. Or at least they do at the time. So far today I have had to find images for three different people wanting tattoos. Google images makes this child's play, so I had no problem finding a griffin, a crouching tiger, and a rearing stallion. I'm not so into body altering myself, but if I did have a superfluous nipple I think I would have to get it pierced.