stella and her asshole linguistic ways.

stella occassionally likes to think i don't know how to pronounce words in English or Spanish or Latin. and because she's got this big fancy linguistics degree, she like to sometimes correct me in her 'grammar nazi' voice (the truly annoying thing about this is that 9.5 times out of 10, when i mis-pronounce something, i'm doing it on purpose. hello. except the Latin, i'll admit to screwing up the Latin every single time). the point of this?

she ruined my becks dream last night!

earlier yesterday i watched her posting of the beckhams, posh and hottie mchottiestein beckham, on the ali g. show. pretty funny. it's true, my boy becks seems to be a man of few words...er...grunts...er ...thoughts.

but, if we're all honest here, we don't love the becks for his brain. we love him for his athletic prowess. the man is a soccer god. no one runs up and down the field like becks.

or, as stella kept insisting in my dream last night, like beaks. there i was, hanging out with becks at some fancy schmancy bar or bordello or something, saying 'becks this' and 'becks that' and suddenly there's stella, shaking her finger at me.

'inga,' she said, emphasis on the 'ga.' she shook her finger some more. 'honestly. it's beaks, not becks. they're the beakhams. not the beckhams. my father, you know, lives in England.' then she looked down her nose at me and shook her head sadly. voila. then becks was gone, and poor old inga was alone at the bar, yelling, 'becks! come back! becks!'

stupid linguists.

dinner tonight.

so stella & dev oversaw a week long summer camp at our uni this week. they spent way too much time with teenagers and had to (horrors of all horrors) sleep in the dorms with the kids. suffice to say, they've been a wee bit slap happy this week. camp ended this afternoon, so stella is home for the first time in almost a week. to say she's happy and excited about sleeping in her own bed is like saying the sky, on a sunny day, is blue.

dev fell asleep as soon as he got back from camp. stella did, too, til dinnertime. she woke up starving and sick of dorm food, so she suggested we go to dinner at giovanni's. it's what passes for upscale here in x. and since we've just been paid and since stella is way too tired to drive to y for sushi, giovanni's seemed like a good idea.

or not. midway through dinner we both realized why we actually hate giovanni's. here's the short list:

1.
our plump perky waitress. too, too, too fake, too, too, too smiley. stella and i, wisely, decide to split an entree. then i say 'oh, i'll have a glass of the blah blah pinot noir.'

'i'll have the same,' stella chimes in.

'oh, great,' perky mcperkystein says. 'two glasses?' gee. no. we'd like a couple of straws so we can share a glass of pinot noir.

2.
meanwhile, up at the bar sits a relatively hip looking older couple. they're all trendy in their dress, she's got on nice jewelry, he's got good hair. the hostess comes up to seat them. they pick up their drinks. now, if i was a betting woman, i'd have guess a martini, dry, for him. a nice zinfandel or cabernet for her.

wrong. he carried a fruity umbrella concoction in a decidedly pastel color. i did guess partly right for her, though. it was zinfandel. unfortch, it was white zin.

3.
and, finally, the food. to top it all off, our entree sucked. the sauce was so heavy it was like pudding. the asparagus was overcooked. and the garlic mashed potatoes? sadly, no garlic.

as stella and i left, running to escape the cheerful adieus of our waitress, we paused outside the door to shake hands and agree to never, ever, ever eat at giovanni's again.

at least until the next time we forget how god awful it really is.

cuteness.

okay, so i totally realize that with a title like 'cuteness,' you're thinking - uh, hello, y'all are snarky girls, not cutie pies! i swear, the snark will be back and it will be back snarktastic, but rye just did the cutest/stupidest thing. and i guess making fun of adorable dogs doing stupid things is kind of snarky, right?

so a couple of weeks ago i left the bug in the driveway, windows rolled down. when rye and vivian came out of the house en route to the backyard, rye spied the open window and voila - jumped through the window and settled himself in the front seat of the car. pretty damn cute. he's since repeated this action a few times.

until today. getting back from errands, i again, like usual, parked the car in the drive. i opened the door, like usual, to let rye and viv into the backyard. and, well, like usual, on his way past the car, rye spied an open window and tried to jump through it.

however, the window was up.

rye bonked into the window, froze in the air for a moment, looking much like a basketball player coming down after hanging on the rim for a moment, and plonked onto the ground, none the worse for the wear.

he's fine. stunned for only a moment. it was the funniest thing i've ever seen.

so, see? kinda snarky.

have the times changed?

so stella and i are having the carpets steam cleaned on friday. fret not, though, because the company is eco-friendly and all aces (we checked 'em out). since i'll be down visitin' definer, we talked about how we'll pay the eco-people in my absence. we laughed - i could leave my credit card with a note 'please let stella use this card to pay. sincerely, inga.' but would that work?

i mean, when i was a teenager, ena would sometimes let me use her credit card and she'd totally give me a note to show the salesperson. and sometimes i'd use my father's gas card - but always with a note handy, just in case. the only weird thing that ever came up was once, at a gas station in insert large southern city here, the man behind the counter handed me the receipt to sign. i signed with the only pen i had in my purse - it was purple or pink - signed and handed it back. the man looked at the receipt, shook his head and tore it up.

great, i thought. now how am i going to say the (probably) $5 dollars in gas i just put in my car? i was sixteen. i never had cash on me (ah, youth!).

but the dude was printing off another receipt. he slammed it down in front of me and stuck a pen in my face. 'must sign in black,' he shouted. 'colors do not count!'

i mean, was that ever true?

good news for inga!

inga should feel muchos better! according to a tip from tomas, inga is taller than all of these women! Check it:

Dolly Parton, Janeane Garofalo, Carrie Fisher, Dame Judi Dench, Kristi Yamaguchi, Missy Elliot, Patricia Arquette, Sheena Easton, Natalie Wood, Shakira, Gloria Estefan, Lili Taylor, and Stevie Nicks.

So there.

note to the kiddies

From the Chronicle of Higher Ed: Jimmy Wales, founder of Wikipedia, discourages students from using site as a source. He makes a good point: For God's sake, you're in college; don't use the encyclopedia as a source.

Word.

eew.

so i am not religious, not by any stretch of the imagination. but this creeps me out.

and by the by...does anyone ever really look anything like the celebrity they think they do?

a new kind of love.

so yesterday oonagh had a great idea. she's sad, you know, because her beau has gone away. we spent the weekend making merry ~ drinking good wine, seeing a fun band (her brother's), eating crappy tapas, hanging out with friends. but oonagh was still sad. understandably. but then she had an idea, something so crazy, so insane, so outrageous, i realized that even though i had never partaken of said pleasure, it was the only thing that was going to make oonagh feel better.

and as her best friend, who was i to decline a friend such a request? it would have been plain rude. plus she offered to take care of it.

so, yes. oonagh and i did it together.

we got pedicures.

ohmygod. pedicures rock. how have i made it this long in life without ever having one? i mean, sure, in many ways it's a completely bizarre and weird ritual. you sit on a cushioned chair. you stick your feet in hot, swirling water. someone cuts, clips, buffs, shines, essentially pretties up your feet, paints your nails, voila. that's it.

and your feet look like heaven.

my toes have never been more beautiful, my feet never smoother.

my name is inga. i'm addicted to pedicures.

creepy.

RIP

will we ever be the same? will they ever be the same? fyi - kevin's the one who likes to look kinda gangsta. i think he might have been the inspiration for the verbal sparring going on over at our pal definer's blog.

weekend edition.

so i spent the weekend in x, which is so much better than y, where stella and i live. as always, visiting x makes me wonder why, why, why i live in y...but then i remember - y is where my job and house are, so of course it's where i live.

but i digress.

so here are some thoughts about the weekend.

a. suburban housewives over a certain age (let's say fifty), should not take their overly botoxed selves out in fashions which should be reserved for those ages 13 -17. seriously, ladies. you look like overly made up hoochies.

b. big lesbians freak the shit out of me. seriously. in x, as in many cities across the country, this weekend was gay pride weekend. the neighborhood where we went out for dinner and drinks last night is up and coming; trendy bars, trendy restaurants, handsome hipsters. and, last night, lots of lesbians. now i'm up with the lesbians. sure, i'm not one, and sure, my girl crush is gwen stefani. we've all got at least one.

but again, i digress. big lesbians scare me. especially, when walking down the street and lesbian #1 is on the phone arguing with someone, and lesbian #2 gets totally annoyed that her girl is walking down the street with her but arguing with someone else, and then lesbian #2 hauls back and starts whacking lesbian #1 upside the head, right in the middle of the street. ouch.

c. we stopped at a new tapas restaurant for, well, some spanish tapas. the sangria was awesome. the atmosphere was pretty dark and kitschy. the food? awful. i mean, have these people ever actually been to spain? the place was billed as authentic spanish tapas, not fusion-style tapas. and they sucked. the calamari, which the waiter recommended, was gummy and tasteless. the queso de cabra was in a pool of runny ketchup-style tomato sauce. the bread was soft multigrain. multigrain! while inga is all for the grains, not at a tapas place. and not soft. my recommendation? thumb way down. it would almost be worth divulging my real world location, just to sway people away from this place. almost.

but not quite.

d. a bar nearby my friend's house passes its daylight hours as a gathering place for older eastern european men. the owner, in all his swarthiness and pony-tailed glory, sits at the end of the bar, eating raw veggies (for real) and sipping coffee. the squeaky-voiced, ultra-thin waitress scurries about refilling his coffee, cutting more vegetables, serving beer to hang dog looking men who speak in heavy dialects of their native languages. the bar is interesting in itself - lots of mosaic tiles and metal work. the beer is cold. the windows slide open so that on warm summer days and nights a cool breeze blows through. i've only been there in the day.

imagine my surprise when, en route to my friends' apartment last night, we stopped by the bar and, instead of swarthy eastern europeans, it was populated by a young hipster set. sure, the owner was still in his perch at the end of the bar. and sure, the squeaky voiced waitress was running about, but the atmosphere was, well, yes, it's cliche, like night n' day.

must go back. after older swarthy eastern european men, my second favorite crushes are the emo boys. i mean, a girl's got to get sensitivity from somewhere, right?

ty pennington is a genius.

so the illustrious host of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, ty pennington, has just announced amazing news! news, that frankly, someone should have realized years ago.

cancer, ty announced on tonight's epi, is a really bad disease.

where was this guy six years ago?

the one on the left, i mean. i'm pretty sure letterman was in just that same place then.

news!

congratulations to my wee sister, who just got the letter of acceptance from the college she's been wanting to transfer to!

she's such a smarty-cutie.

sadly, my eyes were not playing tricks

on our way to work yesterday, inga and i pulled up at the light behind a big-ole pickup truck. after a few seconds, i asked, "are those testicles on that truck?" inga replied, "looks like." looks like, indeed.

how fucking gross. and why??!?

we's learnin' so much, mon.

stella has recently discovered (re?) da ali g show. an ali-g flight, if you will.

herein stella learns that she might enjoy the beckhams after all. and that posh really does seem to be the catch in that pair (could becks rub two syllables together to grunt "fire"? methinks not.):



and then, for dev:



where the hell is my chiffon??!?:



and finally, wait for the gang warnings near the end. I think we've all got reason to be concerned:



out of drag:

stop it right now

i know y'all think i'm crazy, but i've been fast-forwarding through so you think you can dance? to catch glimpses of my favorito, musa cooper. anyone who knows me even a little knows i've got a soft spot in my heart for the breakdancers and street performers. how can you begrudge me a guilty pleasure that puts some hip-hop/street funk in my living room every damned week?

you can't. see:

oh so brain-exhausted!

So, no real writing anymore tonight. Just many, many videos. First:



It's okay if you need to skip ahead to about :45 in. Stick with it, though.

young love gone sour

poor oonagh. she's going through a pretty nasty break-up right now with the guy she's been with for 2+ years. as if the break-up weren't bad enough, she's recently discovered that her two (yes, two!) previous beaus, ones who hemmed and hawed about serious committments, are hitching up this summer. one just got married. the other is getting married in a month. here's a heart-felt shout out to oonagh. as better off as you are without the grooms, girlfriend, we feel your pain.

young love

so many moons ago (like, say, undergrad) i had a little fling with a hottie from singapore. dude was awesome. long black hair i'd have killed for, great hands, and a penchant for briefs (ick, i know, inga hates, no loathes, the briefs, but on this guy, hello - we're talking red ones and blue ones and - yes - leopard print ones! but seriously, anyone out there remember kavi? if you do, then you understand why the briefs didn't matter). anyway, kavi was something else, all deep brown eyes and sappy poetry. i'll admit it. he was hot. and my super fair skin entwined with his smooth tanned skin? nice.

okay, so the point of this story? young love.

in my class this summer, i have a kavi-clone. he's a practiced player, to be sure, or at least would like to think he is. there's a blondie in class who has caught his eye. she's languid in her movements. he's full of energy. he came up to me during break one morning, asked if he could move his presentation time to another day.

sure, i said, having just announced earlier that people presenting on the same day could work together to co-present their information.

dude spent a lot of time looking at the sign-up sheet, pretending to contemplate different days. i was amused. i could have bet a million dollars on where he was going to sign up. sure enough, after much contemplation, he put his name on the date blondie is also presenting. then he looked up, soulful eyes so earnest.

'oh,' he said, wide-eyed and innocent. 'who is x?'

'x,' i said, 'is the girl sitting directly in front of you.'

he glanced behind him at the row of desks. blondie was looking at her notes. a look of 'surprise' crossed his face. 'oh, really? cool.' he glided back to his seat, nodding non-chalantly to blondie.

seriously, do the kids just not get that from the front of the room we can see everything? well played, dude.

but i wonder - does that mean my profs picked up on all the subtle flirting and such during my days as an undergrad/grad?

alack!

when a pair of leather sandals costs $160 dollars...

so stella and i have been hanging out on the porch this evening with our friend arbour, who is about to fly away to england for seven weeks. we hate her. but aside from that, as we sip our sangria and discuss fark.com with dev, we came to the realization that we've found even more solid evidence about what's wrong with independent films these days: the sundance catalogue.

Reminded Me of Stella

Reading the Newspaper

and the semester isn't even 5 hours old yet...

and already I have my new favorite student! over coffee this morning, I checked my email. there were two messages from a student i'd yet to see, as class did not start til 9:30. one was sent at 1 am. one at 6 am. the 6 am message wondered why I hadn't emailed back yet (?). sure, inga's an early riser and all, but not that early. said student wrote that he had an appoitnment with his advisor at the exact same time! as our first class meeting (which essentially equals a week's worth of classes during a regular semester) and would, alas, be absent. would I forward the syllabus?

note 1 - uhm, wouldn't said advisor know said student had his first class this morning? which leads us to
note 2 - even if said advisor did need to meet with said student this very morning, would the meeting take all 2 hours and 45 minutes of class time?

I directed said student to our online blackboard. then i suggested he come to class after the advisor meeting.

guess who (a) didn't email back & (b) never showed up? yea!

*
I turned in my syllabus for this class a few weeks ago, so copies could be make for my students. I'd emailed the draft of my syllabus to stella, who made suggestions via track changes. I made changes, saved new document, sent to secretary via email. no problem.

today I pick up said syllabi from secretary. I get to the classroom. I open the envelope. and there are copies of my syllabus with the track changes comments visible. uhm...

couldn't said secretary (1) have emailed me and asked for a clean copy or (2) accepted changes before, uh, making copies? did she think i wanted the comments on the syllabus?

of course, this is the infamous secretary from last summer who freaked me out the first day I met her by making every statement I made into a question. no, really. try it sometime. it will freak out your friends and make small children cry.

example:
me: hi, i'm inga. i'm here to pick up the texts.
her: you're inga? to pick up the texts?
me: yes. uhm, are they here?
her: are they here? the texts?
me: yes.
her: hmm, yes? oh, here. are these right?
me: yes. yes, these are right. thanks.
her: thanks? oh, it was no problem.

freaky.

summer in x.

we're melting.

stella and i live in x, a lovely spot in the middle of y. winters are kind of bitchy - you know, lots of cold, lots of bitter wind, lots of snow, lots of high heating bills thanks to the ever rising cost of natural gas. fall in x tends to be pretty nice. we have changing leaves, a crisp smell in the air, and we can wear wool skirts and tights with mary janes til the cows come home. spring? again, not so bad. flowers burst through the soil. birds start to migrate back home. undergrads tromp through campus either (a) shirtless or (b) belly-baring or (c) both. and summer in x? what can i say?

1. the humidity sucks. seriously, we aren't in the deep south, so what gives?
2. the heat itself. ice cubes don't stay whole long enough to cool down a water, a mojito, a glass of sangria, or a bottle of low carb wine.
3. the fact that because we live in x, and no one expects it to be, oh, hot, that central air in most houses (including this lovely 95 year old monstrosity) is but a dream.
4. the kids on the block who believe that partying until 7 am (yes, 7 am. i stumbled out to water the flowers before the heat fell upon us and kids on the block were still going at it. and if you doubt the 7 am, ask stella, whose window was closest to the partying) is a good idea.
5. given the fact that many americans are obese, the amount of skin shown on a daily basis is sickening and cruel for us innocent observers (sure, go ahead, tell me to cover my eyes and not look, but what kind of responsible driver would i be?)

but there are some good things about summer in x, in no particular order.

1. last night at the bar, a wave of cold air engulfing us as we walked through the door.
2. last night at the bar, the beer on tap was super cold. and there's nothing like a super ice cold beer on a hot night. as a matter of fact, i'm even inclined, thinking back to the days yahto lived here, to say there's nothing quite so good on a hot summer night in x as an ice cold can of pbr. true that. argue amongst yourselves.
3. summer dresses. inga rocks the summer dress, if i do say so myself.
4. corn on the cob off the grill.
5. late nights on the porch with friends.

see? inga just about convinced herself x is a fabulous place! must be the quickie sangria she imbibed with stella at lunch - one part chardonnay, one splash grenadine, lots of ice cubes, a handful of freshly cut berries. AND feet in vivian's baby dog pool outback.

just plain cold.

alack!

how cold.

hit the nail on the head.

thanks bunches to our friend Definer, who finally hits the nail on the head as to why, why, why dudes should never, ever, ever refer to their bits as junk.

tragic indeed.

bizarre and tragic seems a little understated.

cribbing again from Video Dog

This reporter's legally blind, in case that matters to anyone. It certainly doesn't seem to matter to GWB. Fucker.

so snark

reminders for definer

package.

sushi+too much to drink = ????

more to follow.

alright, already!

So, Definer's here for an in-person visit, on which the Snarky Girls will likely elaborate inappropriately later, but he's given Stella snark for not posting lately. Well, Stella has been in St. Louis on "vacation" with her family, and she admits she's got some snarking up to do.

Here's a lead-in. A long bit from the Daily Show via Video Dog:



My boyfriend Jon's at it again!

I'm Cold and I'm Ashamed...

bitches.

so i've got these neighbors. they're an older couple who own a candy store. two, actually. you'd think anyone who owns a candy store and makes their own candy would be, well, sweet, right? wrong. when i moved into my house a couple of years ago, Mr. Neighbor welcomed me to the 'hood not with a basket of other-wordly chocolate delights, but with mowing his lawn at 7 am. seriously. dude totally thought i was a student whose parents bought her a house to live in.

so i tried to make nice-nice with Mr. Neighbor. he's old(er) and frankly a curmudgeon. aside from making candy, they neighbors are also dog-showers. they've got two show dogs that are truly, undeniably, horribly ugly (and this! from inga the dog lover!). they dogs are obnoxious. they bark and bark and bark at rye and vivien. they bark at me every time i go into my yard. so, naturally, by comparision, my dogs look like red-headed stepchildren. Mr. Neighbor tries to offer helpful advice, such as

"You need choke collars on those dogs. That'll help keep 'em under control."
"Obedience school. That's what you need."
"Your dogs are how old? Hmm."

And then there's my personal favorite mode of advice, Mr. Neighbor's silent gaze down his nose as he surveys the most helpless girl and her dogs in the world across his fence.

last summer, the neighbors got a third dog, a puppy show dog, and really, the puppy is cute. and he and rye (who is obviously so totally gay) love each other. they run along the fence and frolick, bark, banter with one another. it's cute. cute enough that even Mrs. Neighbor will sometimes remark "oh, look how rye and sir puppiness get along! they really love each other!"

so i felt like the puppy and rye's relationship was sort of a bridge between the neighbors and me. they'd see that my dogs are frolicky, happy beasts who are well-loved, despite their non-show dog obedience.

too bad rye and vivien aren't in on the plan.

yesterday, while out walking through campus, we came across the neighbors and the show dogs walking, too. and, as always, instead of happily wagging tails and crooning love, rye and vivien acted like total and complete assholes - barking like idiots, growling, attmepting to break free of their restraints and maul the show dogs. as soon as the neighbors and show dogs quickly walked away and around the corner of a building - voila. i suddenly was walking the happiest, most well-behaved dogs in the world.

jerks.

a new addiction?

could be. first hex epi on bbc. hmm...

funniest. thing. ever. for stella especially

so our friend simon is getting ready to go to jamaica. am i jealous? of course. inga love beach. and sand. and sea. i'm happy for simon, though, because he's certainly ready for a vacation. and, as if feeling bad that he's going and i'm not, he gave me this gem:

asks i, "how are you getting to the airport?"

says simon, "yahto's driving us all in the mini van."

five seconds of total silence pass.

"what?"

simon laughs. "didn't you know yahto's got a mini van now?"

now here are the reasons this is funny,
1. yahto, in his former life, was a member of a xxx band that was relatively well known and toured the US and Japan
2. yahto, in his present life, rocks out still in various bands
3. his students sometimes recognize the band from #2 and are floored to know he was a part of them
4. yahto is kind of hip in a i-don't-give-a-shit kind of way
5. yahto would shudder at the idea of conforming in any kind of way

yahto now drives a mini van. and he doesn't even have kids.

ah, how sweet it is!

the omen redux.

So awhile ago Stella and I decided we wanted to see The Grudge. We’ve got satellite. It was on. We were excited. Dev, however, was suspicious.

“You two?” he asked pointedly. “You two want to watch a horror movie?”

“Oh my god, totally,” I said. “My favorite movie is Rosemary’s Baby. I adore the original Omen, that kid is freaky good, all 666 and stuff.”

“Hey,” Stella said. “You’re my boyfriend, Dev! I can totally watch a scary movie if you’re here.”

(note: Stella and I really don’t use totally as much as it might seem)

Dev rolled his eyes. “Uh, okay.” He did not sound convinced. Stella and I made some drinks, got settled in for the movie. She and Dev got cozy on the couch. I sat on the love seat. The movie began.

Sarah Michelle Geller, cute random boy actor. A suicide. A pretty Japanese girl walking around an empty house where the crazy mom from Big Love lives. Everything is fine. Everything is dandy.

And then…

That creepy ass little Japanese kid and his damn cat. Seriously. Dev went to the bathroom. Stella and I fast-forwarded the movie. Dev came back. He rolled his eyes. We begged him to tell us what happened. He rolled his eyes some more. Finally, we fast-forwarded to the end and voila. It was over. Finally. A full length movie watch in a mere 22 minutes.

So the point of this is that the original Omen really is one of my favorite films. The nanny’s “It’s all for you, Damien!” And the new old lady nanny? And poor Damien’s mama. I’ll certainly never water plans perched over a ledge, standing on a chair in high heels again. And the photographer? And poor Gregory Peck realizing he’s got to kill sweetie pie Damien?

And as we all know, the new Omen opened on Tuesday. Cool. We planned to go, really, we did. Dev and some other friends and me (Stella, conveniently, decided to go on vacation the very week this remake opened. Coincidence? Ha! I think not!). Tonight Dev, et. al, are at this very moment watching The Omen with my boy toy Liev. And me? I totally wimped out. Completely and totally. I’m here with Rye and Vivien, drinking a glass of wine and thinking, whew. Even though I know what’s going to happen, I completely wimped out. Am I ashamed? Hell know! I’ll wait for the dvd and fast forward all the scary bits, rewind, then watch again.

keep the lights on.

oh, who doesn't love a story of a cute little boy with a loyal dog?

it's a good thing rye is so damn cute.

so rye, the lovely mutt i inherited from holden and his wife, spent his time up at the farmhouse running free. seriously, that dog frolicked in the woods, in the prairie, in the meadow. he ran all day and crashed hard at night. to say it's been a rough adjustment for poor rye upon returning from the country to the land of fenced in yards is a bit of an understatement. dog wants to run. far and fast. instead he gets to chase a ball and vivien in the back yard or he gets super long walks. no free style runs, sadly.

so he's got a bit of pent up energy. enough for the masses. yesterday stella and i were out at the same time for a couple of hours. upon returning home, it was discovered that rye and vivien had gotten into some trouble. a chewed up paper bag. a chewed up cheap flip flop. a managled cat food can. and the remnants of stella's prescription hand cream.

okay, to back up - while our poor dev is dealing with the pink, stella got into something that ganked up her hand real good - an allergic reaction resulting in blister-like gankiness on her hand and a trip to the emergency clinic.

flash forward - so, yes, one of the dogs had managed to get a tube of cream off the butcher block and into his/her mouth. and then the panic set in. first, stella called the pharmacy. they had no idea if the cream was toxic for dogs. next, the vet. they didn't know either, but suggested we call the aspca's poison control hotline. yes, the aspca has a poison control for animals. yea! sure, it costs $55, but when your dogs are looking at you and there's an empty metal tube...well, you call.

the good news: vivien is just fine - she apparently did not eat the hand cream. rye is okay, except for an amazing thirst and an amazing need to pee all the time (normal, according to my new bff at the aspca). he's got unlimited water and we're adding canned pumpkin (yep) to his kibble (yes, yes, again, thanks to my new bff). plus i learned some interesting tidbits about what might be poisonous to our furry friends - aloe vera plants good for humans, bad for animals. paintballs are toxic! lemon seeds in limitation aren't bad, though they might produce a few stomach aches.

the bad news: rye is just a little more hyper than usual. the hand cream had a high concentration of steroids (hence the thirst...and rye's unusual desire as of late to play tug of war with the neighbor's vw).

think holden would have forked over that dough?

why i want to be a rich girl

According to the fine folks at Defamer, here's a little story about Mario Lopez (Saved By the Bell!) and Eva Longoria (Desperate Housewives! band boy dater! basketball player dater!):

"While Mario was friendly to everyone, Eva was sullen and refused to talk with anyone. When the waitress gave her a $17 bill, she handed over a hundred dollar bill and when the waitress brought back her change, Eva grabbed her changed, snipped at the waitress that "Celebrities should be comped!" and stalked out without even leaving a tip."

See? If I was rich I could
a) be snarky & rich
b) not care about the little people
c) flaunt my wealth & fame
d) be cheap
e) get all the bad press I want and still get a cool paycheck and hottie beaus

Damn. Inga needs to take some actin' classes. And hang out with Zach and the gang. And, according to how waitress karma works, Eva obviously never waited tables. Or else she totally sucked at it. Waitress karma would never allow the above scenario to happen - not without a fight to the death.

poor dev

This sucks.

it never changes

i'm in a bitchy mood, for a few reasons.

first, over the weekend, my brother holden, the one i used to like, made the lesbian insinuation because i dared to go away for a week with family and (gasp) not take a boy with me. the biggest factor for not taking a beau is because we were spending time with the brother we really don't like and seriously, why would i subject someone i like to that? plus i've always kept my personal life personal. my family meets the beaus when it's serious, not when we're just sleeping together.

second, holden and his wife have decided they want to take rye back, thus looming on the horizon i foresee an ugly custody battle for the dog they gave up. don't even get me started on that.

today stella was looking at the measurements of my house and she started laughing. "oh, shit," said she. "where you've signed your name on your mortgage papers it says, in big letters afterwards, 'unmarried individual." we laughed. i mean, it's true. i am unmarried. legally, according to some lawyer friends, i'm considered a spinster. fine, fine, fine. it's not the unmarried that irks me. or the spinster (because really, i make one damn fine spinster).

and just because i own a house (all on my own), support myself (all on my own), am independent, and like being on my own does not mean i'm a lesbian. please. inga like dick.

where inga gets her snark

so my parents, ena and algie, came for a visit, most of which was spent in a 100 year old farm house on 90 acres of woods and meadows (certainly inga should win an award for best daughter ever!). the visit was fine. sure, it may have lasted one or five days too long, but ena and algie are great people. i can't think of anyone who would argue that.

my entire life, though, ena has often said things like "oh, inga! your tongue is too sharp! you are a wicked girl. where is this mean streak from?" or "inga! be nice when you talk about people. not everyone can be as pretty or as smart as you" or "inga! don't make fun of your brothers, they don't understand sarcasm!" ena is essentially a kind-hearted woman who, whenever i bust out with the snark, purses her lips together and shakes her head sadly, as though she is as golden as, say, mother theresa or pa ingalls.

so, imagine my surprise when, the other afternoon, after a day of shopping, she frowns at a woman crossing the street in front of her car. the woman is wearing a top and skirt of a lycra-like material in turquoise and white. the skirt has a slit up the side. the woman is wearing a black lace slip; we know because it peeks out from the slit. ena shakes her head.

"oh, look, her slip is showing," ena says, motioning with her head. "and my goodness, what a tacky skirt! did she even look in a mirror today?"

rock on, ena. i think we all know the apple does not fall far from the tree.

tautology, june 2 edition

the other day, inga's mom, inga, and i were driving past a farm affiliated with the murder of an heiress in the 1970s when ena mentioned that there'd been a true-crime book written about said murder. she compared it to in cold blood in that she'd read both long ago and didn't anticipate re-reading either. of course, i had been in the backseat not really listening (still procrastinating the writing of a review for my alma mater's literary journal), so i ask my most common question: "what?"

inga explains, calmly and sincerely, that ena had said that whatever-the-title-was was exactly like in cold blood. except, she elucidates, it wasn't written by truman capote, and it wasn't a true literary masterpiece.

one of the reasons we love inga? she tosses around phrases like "true literary masterpiece" with a straight face.

he's obviously the youngest child

from Video Dog.

dick be damned

a ha! so if you're a prince, worth approx. a billion dollars or so, and the head of a tiny, tiny country, condoms are too much of a chore? huh.