web-goddess

Parents have no sense of irony. I wore my “goddess” shirt in front of my mother last week and she didn’t complain. Of course, I’m not 14 anymore either. But still, we were figuring out our “porn star names” on the school bus in eighth grade, and I don’t know anybody from my class that went on to make X-rated films.
 
Oh, and I really don’t appreciate the way this article goes on and on about the horrors of teenage girls wearing promiscuous slogans, but barely mentions the fact that just as many boys wear this stuff too. *PUKE* I suppose boys are just crude and expected to get off on this stuff, while little girls are like tiny delicate flowers that must be protected? No wonder these chicks get a kick out of shirts that read “Hottie” and “Good Girl Gone Bad.” I would too.

You’re probably thinking, “Okay, Kris. You’ve been back from vacation for 24 hours already. Where is the 17-page photologue with in-depth commentary that we’ve come to expect?” Wellll… it’s coming. Unfortunately I was a lazyass and didn’t take many pictures. My sister, however, did, and she’s scanning them all in for me to use. So fear not, the Great Narrative of My Life will continue very soon.

Hmmm… Could that fire at HarperCollins’ London office this morning have had anything to do with this? There’s no justice like divine justice. Now leave my Narnia alone, bastards. (Link courtesy of John.)

Update: Snookums found out that it wasn’t a fire, it was merely the building’s diesel backup generator kicking in and coughing up some smoke. Darn. Snookums also pointed out that what HC is doing to Aslan is no different than what Disney have been doing to his beloved Winnie-the-Pooh for years. Good point.

What a fun day back! On my walk through Hammersmith this morning, I was startled to find that all the lights were out in the pedestrian subway. They were also out in the Hammersmith Broadway shopping center… and all the way down King Street… and all the way to my office. The best part was that the traffic lights on the Hammersmith Roundabout were dead, which meant that crossing the street became a life-and-death chicken game. I sent a quick text message to Snookums to enquire whether the other office was dark as well. He called me to report that they were all standing outside, as it looked like the HarperCollins building was on fire. Lovely. And it appears that all this mayhem was due to a construction worker that accidentally cut a major electrical cable. I have to admit, it certainly livened up the Monday-after-vacation.

Just checking in… We made it to America, no thanks to the extremely unhelpful and unefficient bastards at the airport in Montreal, Canada (more on that when I get home). Went to my brother’s high school graduation yesterday, which was nice. Now we’re off to Cedar Point. Back in a few days!

Sorry, folks, I’ve got too much pre-trip anxiety to do anymore blogging today. In five hours Snookums and I take off for the land of Mountain Dew and Choco-Tacos. I’d like to give a quick “Congratulations, Antny!” to my brother, who’ll be graduating from high school this Sunday. We’ll be running around quite a bit this week, but I might be able to sign on for a few minutes to let you know what we’re up to. (You can, of course, expect a full photo diary when I return.) Oh, and if you feel a disturbance in the Force this Wednesday, as if two young people were hurtling to their deaths, that’ll be me and Snookums on this thing.

Rick Schroder is leaving NYPD Blue… and they’re replacing him with Mark-Paul Gosselaar?? Man, Steven Bochco is just pillaging my childhood television boyfriends left and right. I just gonna predict right now that when Zack leaves in two years, he’ll be replaced by the middle brother from The Hogan Family.

“The Wind Done Gone” is supposed to go on sale June 28, but Amazon still doesn’t have it available to pre-order. Dammit, Jeff! I want this book!

Well of course somebody’s going to get more excited about a DVD player than chocolates. A DVD player costs, like, five hundred bucks, while chocolates are, like, two-fitty. Now, if the comparison were between a DVD player and $500 worth of chocolate, THAT would be an interesting experiment. (Link courtesy of Sore Eyes.)

Ow, you guys! My ass! Seriously.
All South Park jokes aside, my bum really does hurt. My legs creak. My lungs burn. Why? Because exercise is the Devil, kids. Just a little tip from your Aunt Kris.
 
So last night I decided to try yet another new class at my gym: spinning. In case you’ve never heard of it, spinning basically consists of a bunch of people pedalling furiously on stationary bikes while a little blond ponytailed twig-person screams at them over really loud dance music. Or something. I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as how the only other person there at first was this old guy. Remembering the Aqua-Robics experience (old people = nice and leisurely workout), I figured this would be a cake-walk. Until I saw him lacing up his special Nike pedalling shoes. I must’ve looked scared, because Little Old Guy (L.O.G.) told me not to worry, that he was just a “poser” and that I wouldn’t have any trouble. He was a damn liar.
 
The first thing I realized when I jumped on my bike was that, unlike regular bicycles, you can’t stop pedaling while the wheels are turning. The pedals are literally connected to the wheels, so once you start it’s really, really hard to stop. Bravely, though, I placed my water bottle in the holder and my towel over the handlebars and started to pedal. I managed to keep up for the first 20 minutes, until “Shannon” (the twig-person) introduced the concept of standing up and pedaling, as if one were riding up a hill. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT KILLS? I was dying. Eventually I collapsed onto my seat, having made a bargain with my body that I’d at least continue to pedal as long as I didn’t throw up all over my nice new Reeboks. Wearily, I looked over to L.O.G., who’s standing up and pedaling away like Lance friggin’ Armstrong or something! I think that’s when I first got the urge to cry. The end eventually came, but not before a lot of mental cursing of “Shannon” and L.O.G. I’ve never been so happy to get off a bike in my entire life.
 
The worst part of the whole thing is that I still feel like crap today. It’s as if the spinning somehow fundamentally altered my body on a genetic level. Or else my body got pissed off at its perceived punishment and is now paying me back. Regardless, my calves are sore, my ankles are weak, and my bum is still shaped like that damn bicycle seat. Never, ever spin, kids.