Ultramundane.com -- It's Just Not Natural.

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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Friday, August 29, 2003

Please Observe The 'No Letting Go' Sign.

I'm working on a project for the International group at our company. Which is fine, and there's no problem with the actual graphics I'm making. But everytime I see the folder on my desktop, I find myself singing "International Lover" by Prince:

If 4 any reason there’s a loss in cabin pressure
I will automatically drop down 2 apply more
And 2 activate the flow of excitement
Extinguish all clothing materials and pull my body close 2 yours
Place my lips over your mouth, and kiss, kiss, normally.
In the event there is over-excitement,
Your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device.

Which, again, is fine, until I start singing it out loud. In meetings. Is it time to go home yet?

It might be noted that Prince is one of the few people I don't judge for writing as if they were text messaging or in a children's book. At least he's consistant. (Well, except that first album, which wasn't called "4U". I blame Warner Brothers. Or the Jehovah's Witnesses. Or something.)

05:24 PM PST (link)

Thursday, August 28, 2003

I Can Get Peevish In The Morning.

Today in the subway a woman was blocking the escalator with her wheeled backpack. She then rolled over to the emergency gate, let herself out of the station and onto another escalator, where I passed her. I think she was getting out her cellphone preparing to walk and dial at the same time. I hurried away, because I don't think a jury would consider that just cause for a self-defense plea.

I'm not sure why it bothers me so much that people exit (and enter) through the emergency gate instead of the turnstyles. I think I'm projecting a feeling of entitlement onto those who do so, as if they're saying "I'm better than the plebes in the regular turnstyles, and besides which. I can save myself six strides while on my way to yoga class." The gates used to have alarms, but I suspect station agents got tired of hearing them go off everytime some schlub wheeled his backpack through. Wonder if they can afford to hook them back up with that extra quarter we'll be paying starting next month?

My face is starting to twitch. I think I need to stop thinking about it now.

03:03 PM PST (link)

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

Too Much Information About Slippery Topics.

One of the raffle prizes at the fundraiser I went to last week—the prize that I won—was a 16 ounce jar of Boy Butter Lube. I'm not really much for lube for most um, purposes. In fact I'm usually in BJ's ideological camp about the matter. But there are some times when it's necessary to supppliment what happens naturally. And even in one's most personal moments, the novelty of a different sensation is at least, well, novel.

Truth be told, I had the option to take some fuzzy handcuffs instead, but between my dislike of bondage and the cute name, there was really no contest. Besides, can you blame me for wanting lube made by this man?

Regardless, I was confronted in the bar with my margarine tub of lube, which I dutifully carried with me the rest of the evening. We stopped for food afterwards and discussed applying the stuff to an order of waffles, but alas, I had left it in Sister Rox's car. She did not allow me to "accidentally" forget it was there, unfortunately. "It's Crisco," she said, looking at the ingredients. No, surely it's more than that. Isn't it?

Anyway, I finally got the courage to open and try the stuff. It's slick, it does the job, it cleans up easily, and it wasn't salted like margarine—so no, probably not very good on toast, but not as harsh on mucus membranes either. They claim it's odorless, which I suppose is true when you first open the tub. But after everything was finished and warmed up, there was a distinct smell that brought me immediately back to Junior High School home economics class. It smelled like I had just made biscuits on my torso. It smelled, I suspect, like sex with Florence Henderson.

If I elect not to use the rest, do you think I could use it to make chicken?

02:08 PM PST (link)

Monday, August 25, 2003

A Plastic Hug That Just Keeps Going Around.

Not only are the two men wonderful hosts, but Aaron and Keith's house is indeed beautiful; and you can tell that they've put as much love into it as they have for each other and as they will when they become parents. It was an excellent evening surrounded by so many good people.

As we drove home from the housewarming party, the Boyfriend asked me, "So, do you want to go hooping next Sunday?" Looks like the Hooping Marketing Team deserve a promotion. My next dilemma...What color hoop should I get: black with silver spider webs, orange with black ones or shocking pink?

05:52 PM PST (link)