April 01, 2008
Sabrina, the Middle-Aged Witch
I'm changing my name and adopting a whole new life. Deal with it. I had to. Especially after an unexpected name change happened without my consent.
I'll no longer be Da Goddess. Just call me Sabrina.
That's all you need to know. Now say hello to my flying musical (natch) monkeys.
Posted by Da Goddess at 08:06 PM | Comments (0)
March 09, 2008
New Bravo Show I'll Definitely Watch
I'm a Project Runway addict and since the season is over, I'll glom onto anything PR-related.
Yes, I watched SNL last night. Wanna make something of it?
Posted by Da Goddess at 04:18 AM | Comments (0)
February 14, 2008
Fat. Naked. Dangerous.
Yes, as a matter of fact I am. So what?
Posted by Da Goddess at 02:22 PM | Comments (6)
October 25, 2007
Humor Not A Victim Of Fires
Even fire can't burn out a sense of humor. The Hamburger Factory (just up the street from me) had this sign propped in the middle of the driveway to the restaurant.
Posted by Da Goddess at 08:06 AM | Comments (0)
March 18, 2006
And Pimps Think They Have It Hard
After a recent spate of complaints, I began to think I should give up editing for Blogcritics and become a pimp. They have it easy compared to what editors go through. Don't mind me...I'm feeling somewhat goofy and loopy from pain meds.
Oh, the glorious life of an editor. Yeah, I know you're all thinking that we editors sit around in some room, passing the bottles of booze, the smokes, and the haute cuisine. Sure. Wouldn't that be a beautiful thing?
Reality check!
Fact is, the life of an editor is a lonely job. Unless you count the endless emails.
Imagine a handful of people sitting around in their individual abodes. Contrary to popular belief, we do not live in a commune on some exotic island.
So there we sit. Alone. We look at the volumes of emails all screaming for attention. Editor 1 has sent out a missive letting everyone else know that they're working on an article requiring input from others. "Is this going to get us in legal trouble?" "Is it just me or does this read like someone fed a dictionary to a hamster and ran it through a duck press to see what came out?" "Can someone please edit my article about the breaking news story from three days ago?" Ah, yes, even editors must wait in line. And we're regularly stumped by some of the articles we read. Yes, we read all the articles. Forget the sexy centerfolds, we have to read everything!
Then, after six hours of nonstop emails, queries from writers and other editors, and near-blindness, I realize I need to use the bathroom (Damn, is it supposed to hurt that much when I pee? Why can't I just have a foley catheter and skip the whole 'pee like a racehorse' thing twice a day?), tend to a starving or bleeding child, nod at a spouse or significant other, and maybe grab a piece of that stale and suspicious looking piece of pizza in the back of the fridge. As I step over the pile of unread mail and newspapers and dirty clothes, I grab the milk from the fridge and sniff at it warily. I think, "when was the last time I went to the store? It smells iffy. If I drink it, will I collapse on the floor and writhe in pain for hours? If I take my chances on the milk and the pizza, end up with food poisoning, do you think the writers will understand that I can't reach the computer from the bathroom and their articles are going to have to wait?"
The crying from another room remains largely unheeded. For me, I know my boyfriend will live if he doesn't see me for a few more hours. Hell, I got him those movies to keep him busy. Why can't be occupy his time like my son does - with Gameboy Advance and the Blades of Thunder game? "Look at me! Be with me! I have needs, too!" Men.
The lonely and beleaguered editor settles down in front of the computer again, having tended briefly to personal needs. Said editor contemplates trifocals for a split second, dismissing the thought as another time wasting activity. Who needs vision? Oh, well. Whatever.
Climbing over the bodies of editors past, I approach the pending queue. How could there be another forty articles in pending since I walked away thirty-eight seconds ago? Don't these writers have lives? Must they churn out an endless stream of content? Crikey!
Diving in, I consider the possibility of joining the circus. Surely, it would be quieter in one of the three rings and cleaning up after the elephants. What on earth is this? What does the author mean by "the talker in the movie spun around and disappeared after talking to the other talker"? Huh? Isn't this an article about the latest takeover of the L.A. Times by the Branch Davidians? I'm confused. Hmm, I'll email the other editors, maybe they'll get it. HOLD FOR CLARIFICATION. I email the author, while I'm at it.
After emailing everyone, I notice someone else has a question about something I know a lot about. I read that. Wha-aat? Oh, okay. I'll handle it. Except Yahoo groups is slow and the issue has already been resolved and I'm just mucking things up. Crap!
Moving on, I pick up another article. Oooh! My luck's changing. I should buy a lottery ticket. This piece doesn't require anything from me other than hitting "publish". I start humming "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah" and wiggle delightedly on the sofa. I let the phone ring as I embrace the next article with great anticipation and hope for another easy edit.
Suddenly the sky darkens and theme song from Jaws is heard in the background. I haven't a clue as to what this is about. I'll email the editor of that section. Oh, wait...that editor's in the hospital. Hmm, what to do? Oh, I know, I'll ask EO to have a look at it. Yeah, that's the ticket. I know he's not busy. Right. He emails me back asking why Advance hasn't been updated and why the hell haven't I written anything on the latest concert or TV show. Uh, I'll pretend I don't see that email.
Going back to the pending queue, I realize that it's been another four hours since I heard a peep from anyone in the house. I briefly consider hobbling up the stairs to check for signs of life. Nah, if they needed something they'd have shrieked or rattled their chains.
Next article is fairly straightforward. No attribution for the quoted text, but hell, who cares? Oh, wait. This is looking really familiar. Google. That's what I'll do. Googling the quoted passage, I discover the whole article is simply a collection of paragraphs from the forty articles on GNews. Another email to the author and the editor group.
On to the next item.
Crap! Was that a mouse that just ran over my foot? Oh, no...it was just the weeds swirling around in the water. Water? Uh oh. Fine, whatever. I'll deal with that later.
The food poisoning is starting to get the best of me. I ignore the rumblings in my belly and publish another four articles. I'm not sure they made any sense, but I hope. I'm a hopeful person.
There are 12 BC Yahoo groups digests in my mailbox. Do I dare read them? Nah. I'll wait.
I finally read EO's email and respond. He sends one back telling me not to worry, he was just curious and wanted to update the affiliates with good news. I quickly check Advance, realize that I forgot to publish the articles I added to the site, make the changes, and publish. I wonder where my template went for the articles. I create a new one. EO's happy. The affiliates are happy. My kid shows up at my side, having gnawed through his restraints, and he wants food. Didn't I just feed him last week? Whatever.
Crap. There goes the power. Damn. I knew I forgot something. Those people at the electric company sure expect a lot, don't they? Money, money, money. I make a call and beg for them to restore service. After all, I can't run the respirator for my boyfriend manually and well, you know. No such luck. It'll be three days before they can turn the power back on. Fine. I pick up the laptop, grab the kid, step over the trash that's collected by the front door and head off to Panera where I can feed my kid AND have free wifi.
I publish another couple articles. Amazing how much faster this goes when one's eaten and had a chance to clear one's brain for a few minutes.
I'm feeling good about everything and start to do a little happy dance in the middle of the restaurant. People look at me with pained expressions. C'mon, I'm not that bad! I then realize that I've been sitting in the place in a long t-shirt and nothing else. And, what's that smell? Oh man, when did I last shower?
Eh, if they can't handle it, screw 'em.
Back at the computer, I see the writers I contacted earlier have responded. Ouch! Such language! I kick it up to EO. He has nothing going on, right? Right.
My son nudges me and tells me that they're kicking us out of Panera. Reluctantly, I load everything into the car and head back to the bleakness of my powerless home. By some miracle, there's a light shining from within. Whoa! The candle I left burning in the bathroom after my earlier visit seems to have set off some sort of chain reaction and the place is on fire. I grab the cell phone and dial 911. Thankfully, there wasn't much to burn what with the flood from earlier. Whatever.
I send my child over to his dad's house and call a friend asking for a place to stay for a couple days. I secure a room, a shower, some clothes, and most importantly, Internet access!
All is right with the world once again.
Maybe I should try my hand at the Presidency. That shouldn't be too hard after all this, right? Oh, crap. I can't. I have to get back to editing. And, really. Why would I give up my glamorous life as an editor for such a thankless job as that?
Posted by Da Goddess at 09:17 PM | Comments (1)
February 05, 2006
Blogger Caught with Pot in Car
After paying my rent, I stopped by an estate sale the other day and picked up two very inexpensive items.
The first, a belt buckle with dolphins (one of his favorite animals) for Little Dude's next birthday. I'll have to carefully hide this...and then remember where I put it. His birthday isn't until October.
The second item was a Revere Ware pot that's perfect for stovetop popcorn popping. You can't find these pots anymore. Not the same kind I grew up using, anyway. And most new pots and pans are not conducive to good poppage. Needless to say, I was thrilled with my find.
Now, if only I could remember to bring the pot and the belt buckle in from the car.
By the way, I'm going to keep most of the news about Mikey over on his site. Not all, just most of it.
Posted by Da Goddess at 04:14 AM | Comments (0)
December 12, 2005
Flying Spaghetti Monster Outraged At Da Goddess
DG Underwire, San Diego - The Flying Spaghetti Monster and his following, the pastafarians, have set up camp out side the home of Da Goddess.
Outraged over her revealing photographs of tortellini, the Spaghetti Monster alerted his minions to stand together against the photographer, calling her work "unspeakable, exploitive, crude, tasteless, vulgar, bordering on criminal."
FSM, as he is called by some, stated that he and the others would remain on the premises until the X-rated photos were removed from Da Goddess' website.
"In this day and age, when pasta has worked so hard to achieve the success and acceptance that has been denied them for so long, it's disgraceful to see such blatant and distasteful objectification of such a classy pasta as tortellini. It breaks my heart. It really does," he said.
Da Goddess issued a statement late this morning.
"I am sorry that the Flying Spaghetti Monster and his pastafarians have chosen to view my work as something other than I intended. I believe the meaning of any work of art is in the eye of the beholder. If the pastafarians see anything other than delicious flour and cheese in my photographs, perhaps they need to look deep into their hearts and ask why they see what they do. For me, I only wanted to convey the natural beauty of the tortellini. The long curves, the delicate folds, the mouth-watering appeal. I believe I accomplished what I set out to do and do not apologize for my art."
Da Goddess has remained locked in her home since the protesters appeared. According to neighbors, the pastafarians have been chanting incessantly since they arrived. Rocks and bricks of parmesan have been hurled toward the residence of the photographer as well.
"It's horrible," one neighbor was heard to say. "I don't understand why anyone would protest a couple of photos. It's not like they were photographed being eaten or anything."
Reporters will remain on scene to bring you updates.
Posted by Da Goddess at 09:59 AM | Comments (6)
December 07, 2005
Warped - That's Me
Because my inner child doesn't really exist, I must indulge the outer child and revisit all the golden oldies. Yes, I'm repeating myself. It's Old-Timers for the under-40 set, m'kay?
I was showing a friend these the other day and he didn't get the appeal. He's almost as warped as I am so I'm rather stymied as to how he failed to see the brilliance of the following:
For Scott, the Fat Guy - It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time! (Just know that this is all his fault anyway.)
For no reason other than I laugh hysterically everytime - Spiderman will make you gay.
And, last, but not least - Trogdor!
P.S. I want a Trogdor sticker for my new car that Santa just HAS to bring me.
Posted by Da Goddess at 01:13 PM | Comments (3)
Don't Bother To Knock
Sometimes you read something that someone's written and laugh. I mean, really laugh.
Such was the case upon reading this:
HALF-NAKED FEMALE: DON'T YOU KNOCK? (putting shirt back on)
ME: Before I come into my office?
HALF-NAKED MALE: GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! (buttoning pants)
ME: (starting to enjoy this) I have a student coming in two minutes. Finish up....
HALF-NAKED MALE: STOP HARASSING US YOU PERVERT OR I'LL REPORT YOU!
ME: (still holding door) You'll report me for your having sex in my office?
Just in case you would like to read the very delightful story in full...
Posted by Da Goddess at 02:15 AM | Comments (2)
November 10, 2005
Like, "Toadally", Dude
Back in the day, I was a bit of a Valley Girl (before the term was actually used outside of San Fernando). I was, totally, like, you know, all talking like this, and stuff. Fer shure! Oh my gawd!
Yeah, well, like your lunch after developing food poisoning cases, it passed. But, one thing remained - the memory of trying to teach my very proper English friend how to speak Val.
Juju couldn't soften the second "t" of totally and I finally had to show her a photo of a toad. I taught her to say "toadally" instead. It worked.
All that to share this bit of silliness.
I don't make this stuff up.
Posted by Da Goddess at 02:20 AM | Comments (5)
October 24, 2005
I Don't Make These Things Up
I don't make these things up, I just report them. This sign is the real deal. Between Las Vegas and Los Angeles, drivers see billboards advertising the Mad Greek and Bun Boy restaurants.
Somehow, I don't think a whole lot of thought went into the combination. Or maybe a LOT of thought actually did. Either way, I got a big giggle out of the whole thing.
Posted by Da Goddess at 02:19 AM | Comments (3)
April 01, 2005
TGIF
Prior to her trip to Texas, Buffy (a New Yorker) confided to her sorority sisters she had three goals for her trip to the Lone Star State. She wanted to taste some real Texas Bar-B-Que, take in a bona fide rodeo, and have sex with a real cowboy.
Upon her return, her sorority sisters were curious as to how she fared.
"Let me tell you, they have a tree down there called a Mesquite and when they slow cook that brisket over that Mesquite, it's oh so good. The taste is unbelievable! And, I went to a real rodeo...Talk about athletes! Those guys wrestle full grown bulls! They ride horses at a full gallop then jump off the horses and grab the bulls by the horns and throw them to the ground! It is just incredible!"
They then asked, "Well tell us, did you have sex with a real cowboy?
"Are you kidding? Once I saw the outline of the condom they carry in the back pocket of their jeans, I changed my mind!"
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A Cajun walks into a bar with a pet alligator by his side. He puts the alligator up on the bar. He turns to the astonished patrons.
"I'll make you a deal. I'll open this alligator's mouth and place my family jewels inside. The gator will close his mouth for one full minute. Then he'll open his mouth and I'll remove my unit unscathed. In return for witnessing this spectacle, each of you will buy me a drink."
The crowd murmured their approval. The Cajun stood up on the bar, dropped his trousers, and placed his Johnson and related parts into the alligator's open mouth. The gator closed his mouth as the assembly gasped.
After a minute, the man grabbed a beer bottle and smacked the alligator hard on the top of its head. The gator opened his mouth and the man removed his genitals, unscathed as promised.
The patrons cheered and the first of his free drinks was delivered. The man stood up again and made another offer. "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try."
A hush fell over the crowd. After a while, a hand went up in the back of the bar. A Blonde woman timidly spoke up... "I'll try it! Just don't hit me so hard with the beer bottle!"
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Sorry for the lack of posts and the ongoing lack of blogroll. I've had one of the worst weeks yet since I hurt my back. Everything that's been posted this week has taken days to put together. I'll give you the full rundown on what's up with the back next week after my doctor's appointment. The blogroll and the rest of my site design are at the mercy of those who know more about these things than I do. Skits kept me up and running. Mox has given up on the archives. Darling Anton is toiling away at them when he gets the chance. I may just have to run and help him with a project of his one of these days. Anyone else with experience and willing to try is welcome to email me at dagoddess - a.t. - gmail - dot - com.
In the meantime, click here to listen to some great music!
Posted by Da Goddess at 08:10 PM | Comments (5)