Thursday, Jan. 31, 2002
Dear Diary:

����When my bank installed their new security system a few months back I'm sure there were lots of technologies they could have gone with, but clearly they opted for state of the art UglyVision for their system.

����Going to the bank now officially saps my will to live. I sweartogawd that if Liv Tyler lined up at my bank and the rotating security camera flashed her image up on one of the big UglyVision teevee monitors at the front of the bank, you'd feel an irresistible urge to feed her a Milkbone, pat her on the head and murmur, "Good girl."

����You can imagine what it does for me, eh.

����We were down to our last few buckazoids, though, so desperation drove me into the bank. I was already fairly cranky because I have new, aching muscles.

����You know, you would think that after ten months of regular gymming I have pretty much made all my muscle groups ache, but you would be so wrong.

����Yesterday, Dave my Nazi Trainer introduced me to the wonderful world of the free weight squat. He had me hold a ten pound weight up in each hand, plant my feet a ways past shoulder width apart so my knees wouldn't be drawn into the exercise, and then mimic sitting down.

����"That's easy," I told him, and proceeded to do three sets of ten. He warned me that if I continued to squat as deeply as I was, I would feel it intensely the next day. I pooh poohed his warning.

����Never in the history of man has a woman so fervently wished to retract her pooh poohs. Today the insides of my thighs and my buttal area are so alarmingly sore that should the spousal unit express an urge to merge in the next few days I fear that our marital duties will bear a startling resemblance to necrophilia.

����.:Cough:. Well aren't you so glad I shared THAT?

����Yes, so, um, there I was, lined up at the bank, lamenting my sadly misplaced pooh poohs, but feeling that I was handling the situation very well. I told myself that I was being a very brave buckarette and no one would ever guess the discomfort I was in. Then an image flashed up on the big security teevee in UglyVision spendour.

����"Man, THAT woman has a bug up her butt," I thought to myself, thought I.

����And then I realized that Ms. Bug Up Her Butt of 2002 was none other than me.

����Guess no one will be calling me "Marn, Woman of Mystery" any time soon, eh?

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (0 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.