Posts by Danielle
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Quite apart from the apostrophe catastrophe (TM Jo Hubris) and other punctuation crimes, what is that first sentence supposed to mean?
I think it's a conjugation abrogation. Doesn't he mean 'giving' rather than 'give'? (Although, if you're asking what 'higher income areas' and 'poor areas' are in this context, I got nuttin'. He makes no sense.)
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Oh and Danielle because she tells funny stories.
Thank you! :)
(But my god, the pressure! What tale to tell next? Emma already broke out a 'Father Run Amok With .22 Rifle' story, so even though I have one of those myself, the originality is questionable. Oh dear. I suppose I'll be inspired when the time is right...)
Also, the mutual admiration society is in full effect over here. You know in 'As Good As It Gets' when Jack Nicholson says 'you make me want to be a better man'? I'm like that with the regular women posters. (Except, you know, not a man. And I hate Helen Hunt's scrunchy acting face, and I can't believe she won the Oscar. And the film kind of irritated me, in general. But apart from all that. OK, it's late and I will shut up now.)
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Inverting 19th century notions of racial and gender supremecy is not, I submit, the new hotness.
No... but is that actually happening here?
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I'm concerned about how much I'm starting to sound like a redneck. Almost as much as Danielle.
Confusion: you're almost as concerned as I am, or you sound like almost as much of a redneck as me?
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Goodness, you are a well-travelled bunch. Erm, also, Heather and Emma: are either of you going to follow up with more detail on the 'catastrophically hirsute' (heh) and cat-shooting stories? You're leaving me hanging here. I can't be the only one who wants to know more. I need eyebrow-singeing and cat-injuring context, dammit.
Robyn, I actually do have a periodically drunk Uncle Gary. Is Gary the go-to name for uncles or something?
(I was going to make some sort of joke involving 'dominique-nique-nique', but Grant's was infinitely funnier. No one remembers the Singing Nun anyway.)
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London. I forgot about that year until reading these stories. I would tell the lengthy tale of my London Christmas with friends... but I don't actually remember much of it. We were drunk by 10am. Other helpful substances were ingested. I seem to remember a giant feast for about twenty people, which I was unable to appreciate fully. Everyone played dressups. Some unwise photos were taken: some of them are still hanging on my wall at home. My friend from Texas became intimately acquainted with the stinging nettle in the back garden, and still speaks of it in bitterly reverent tones. After twelve hours we collapsed, exhausted, in various places. We all spent Boxing Day sitting fragilely on a couch with giant spliffs and a black and white TV. (I think we watched Antiques Roadshow and Mary Poppins, which is probably the last movie anyone needs to see in black and white.)
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But then I think we may be required to become members of some sort of cabal?
There's a People Who Still Know Partridge Family Songs Cabal? Awesome. Sign me up.
(I wish a lesbian cabal actually did run the country, just for the entertainment value I'd get from certain people's reactions. Can you imagine the Sir Humphreys/DPF comments getting *frothier*? It's almost inconceivable.)
(Oh, and Gender Genie thinks I'm a man, too. And my latest blog post, which I used as an example, was practically a gimme: it was all about how I am a bad feminist, for crying out loud! Yeah, I know, it only uses certain words. But still!)
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It’s more the times I wonder if I’m the only one here who’s ever sat in a gang house and listened to guys talk about killing people.
I've sat in a cocaine dealer's trailer and listened to guys howl aggressively at pay-per-view boxing. Does that count?
Also, to quote David Cassidy, I think I love you.
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Deep-fried turkey should not be scoffed at, for it is some *good shit*. I mean, my arteries are now, fundamentally, aluminium tubing filled with chicken wire and shortening, but it was worth it.
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I suppose no one is going to tell the Tales of Family Knockdown Dragout Fights, since NZ is so small and there's bound to be blowback from the wrong person reading these stories... I'll keep my local ones on the down-low too, in that case. (Or am I the only person with nutbar relatives?)
In America, I did once attend a giant family Christmas where there was an actual crack-baby in attendance, and there was a giant showdown when his grandparents attempted to take him away from his teenage mother to go to the doctor. That girl screamed like a fire-engine siren.
Christmases in Louisiana often included a Christmas Eve by an outside bonfire, roasting an entire pig over the flames and drinking whiskey and 7Up until all participants were completely sozzled. Large chunks of the crackling had usually been stolen by the people who couldn't hold out for lunch the next day (ie my cousin and me). That pig roast should probably go in the 'memorable meals' thread too, now that I think about it...